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hookingminor · 2 months

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4 times you took care of him + 1 time he took care of you - nico hischier

a/n: rewrite of an old fic of mine

cw: brief mentions of blood, stitches, alcohol

word count: 7.4k

summary: nico is the cute neighbor boy across the hall

Sunday nights were your nights. After a long week of studying and working crazy hours, you only had one day to yourself where you weren’t running around like a chicken with its head cut off and could take five minutes to finally breathe.

Sundays were also the only days you actually took the time to make yourself dinner. Most of your days were either spent in class or at the hospital, so you never prepared anything that couldn’t be done in less than ten minutes. Sometimes you were so lazy that you just counted on cafeteria food and granola bars to hold you over before having cereal for dinner and crashing by eleven o’clock.

Tonight’s specialty was your own take on a carbonara with some grilled chicken on the top. It wasn’t anything fancy, but you had been working on a recipe to perfect this for nearly three months now, and you were almost satisfied with the results.

It was in the middle of adding the finishing touches by combining the pasta and the sauce when you heard a knock on your door. Setting the towel on the counter and reducing the stove heat to a low simmer, you made your way to answer the door.

“Oh, hi, Nico,” you said with surprise when you saw your neighbor on the other side. He lived across the hall from you, but you rarely saw him in the building. Still, it wasn’t hard to notice that he was incredibly attractive.

“Hi,” he greeted you. The smells of your dinner wafted over him, and he peeked over your head to catch a glimpse of what you were preparing.

“I just stopped by to drop this off,” he said, handing you an envelope. “They keep mixing up our mailboxes.”

“Thank you,” you replied as you glanced down at the letter. “I have a few for you as well, hold on just a second.”

You turned away from the door and walked back towards the kitchen to where you kept a stash of his mail. You’d been meaning to drop it off, but your hours at home never coincided with each other.

Granted, you could have slipped it under his door, but you really just wanted an excuse to talk to the cute neighbor boy. You were just waiting until you worked up the nerve to knock on his door.

Nico took a few steps into your apartment, not wanting to overstep but also not wanting to stand in the hall awkwardly as you rummaged through some papers. As he waited, his eyes wandered back over to the stove where you were cooking some type of pasta.

His stomach growled lowly as the smell of seasoned chicken and sauces flooded his senses, and he realized he hadn’t eaten anything in nearly five hours.

“Sorry,” he said with a blush. There was no way you hadn’t heard that grumble. “Guess I forgot to eat something after practice.”

“Did you want some?” You asked almost too eagerly. “I mean, I made quite a bit,” you backtracked quickly, “I usually survive the week on leftovers.”

“No, it’s okay,” he chuckled, but Nico wanted nothing more than to shove a forkful of whatever you had made into his mouth. “I’ll probably just order something for delivery.”

“Please, I insist,” you persisted, “I made a lot, and your food won’t be here for, like, another hour at least.” God, you were coming off as desperate, and you mentally slapped yourself for it.

He looked at you hesitantly, obviously not wanting to intrude, but damn if he wasn’t really hungry.

You didn’t wait for his reply before dropping the mail back where it was and crossing the kitchen to the stove. Pulling out an extra plate, you began piling it with pasta and chicken, and Nico figured it was too late to refuse you again.

“Take a seat,” you suggested as you plated a dish for yourself. “You’re not an intrusion, I promise. I don’t get a lot of company anyways.”

“Busy life?” Nico asked. It was then that he realized he really didn’t know much about you despite having run into you multiple times in the hallways.

“You could say that,” you chuckled humorlessly. It was a combination of being both busy and having no friends, but you weren’t about to tell him that.

“What do you do?” He questioned as he rested his elbows on the table.

“I’m a nursing student, so I spend all my time studying or working at the hospital,” you explained as you brought the plates over to the table. He mumbled a quiet ‘thank you’ when you set his food down in front of him. It looked delicious. Nico’s skills in the kitchen were subpar to say the least; he couldn’t make anything that didn’t come with box instructions or wasn’t baked chicken and vegetables. So having an actual home cooked meal was starting to feel like Christmas.

“Is that why I only ever see you coming home at midnight?” He wondered, picking up a fork to take a bite.

Nico was right, it was delicious.

“Yeah, hours are a little crazy for me right now, but they should settle down once I graduate,” you replied as you took a bite. It was your best carbonara yet, but it wasn’t quite perfect. “What about you? Why are you always coming home at midnight?”

You’d never talked to him much after that first day when he helped you with a couple boxes as you moved in. Most of your interactions were restricted to passing each other in the halls and the polite conversation about how your day was going and the weather.

“I, uh, play hockey,” he started, “and we get back from road trips really late sometimes.”

“No shit, really?” Your eyes widened in shock, “like you play for the Devils?” You weren’t well versed in sports in general, and even less so in New Jersey sports. However, you did hear chatter around from your classmates and coworkers about various games.

Nico nodded his head in agreement, “Yeah, I’m the captain.” Every revelation about him continued to shock you.

“So I’m dining with New Jersey royalty then, huh?” You teased after a moment. Even though you didn’t know much, you did know the Devils were doing exceptionally well at the moment.

He blushed at your compliment, “I’m not royalty.”

“Your team’s current record says otherwise given the team’s horrendous past ,” you commented, dropping the little bit of knowledge you knew as you overheard your lab partner go on about the Devils’ hot streak.

Nico raised his eyebrows in surprise at your statement.

“I’m not an actual fan, so don’t test me,” you chuckled at his surprise, “My lab partner is always talking about the Devils, and I may have unknowingly processed some of the information.”

“It’s not because of me. The team’s just doing well in general,” he brushed it off casually, but you knew that wasn’t totally the case. The team may be good, but good leadership can be what makes or breaks them.

“So you’re not a big cook then, I presume?” You asked instead, changing the subject to something else. Nico probably talked about hockey enough with other people, you didn’t want to bore him even more.

“You could say that,” he said, repeating your phrase from earlier. “If it’s not something a seven year old could make, it’s not something I could make.” He had barely registered that he’d finished off everything on his plate by now while you were still finishing yours.

“Did you want more?” You asked, noticing his empty plate, but Nico shook his head.

“No, thank you, this was more than enough,” Nico insisted. “I’ve bothered you enough tonight.”

“Really, I don’t mind,” you said, clearing off your plate. “It’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t asking me about upcoming exams or patient reports or asking for more painkillers.”

“It’s nice not talking about hockey, too,” he agreed.

Rising from your seat, you took his plate and yours to the sink as you were both now finished.

“I got this,” Nico said quickly, following you to the sink and lightly hip checking you out the way. “I do know basic manners. You cooked, so I’ll clean.”

You opened your mouth to argue with him, but the look on his face said the conversation was already over, and he grabbed the sponge with one hand. Deciding to leave it alone, you held your hands up in surrender and backed away from the sink. While he was busy, you packed up the leftovers into a plastic container.

“I make dinner every Sunday,” you said after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “So, if you want, you’re always free to join me.” You didn’t look at him when you said this, trying to keep it casual and so he wouldn’t see the way your face was riddled with embarrassment. You were trying to subtly ask him to come over more, and you didn’t want to be faced with his rejection.

You heard the sink shutoff and saw his body turn towards yours out of the corner of your eyes as he leaned against the counter.

“I’d really like that,” he said, “but I do have one condition though.” You looked up and met his gaze with raised brows.

“You have to teach me how to cook,” he continued with an easy grin as he dried off his hands with a towel.

“You’ve got a deal,” you agreed, matching his smile with one of your own.

You sent Nico home that night with the leftover carbonara and his mail despite his protests, but you argued that he couldn’t live off takeout forever and that you could always make more food whereas he could not.

The next Sunday he had showed up around dinner time once again, this time bringing over a plate of cookies that he most definitely bought at the store but tried to play off as baking them himself. He had said if you were going to be doing a majority of the work, the least he could do was bring you something in return.

Every Sunday after that Nico was at your place. On the off chance he was out of town, he always left you a note on your door saying he wouldn’t be making it and notifying you of when he’d see you next. You didn’t need the notes, he didn’t have to tell you whether or not he was coming, but they made your heart flutter every time you came home and saw a blue sticky note waiting for you.

You taught him a few staple dishes, mainly how to cook pasta and rice and some salads. His capabilities weren’t all that vast, and he wanted to remain in the realm of foods that weren’t too complicated so he couldn’t fuck up.

Making dinner with Nico turned into messing around in the kitchen for a couple hours most of the time. You teased him about his chopping abilities and he teased you every time your small hands dropped something due to your lack of coordination, to which you complained how not everyone could be a professional athlete.

And every time you two ate at your same spots at the table, sometimes splitting a bottle of wine that Nico would bring over.

Every once in a while Nico would arrive with a bag of takeout in his hand, declaring that you needed a break from all the cooking. There was no reason to have dinner together since it wasn’t under the guise of teaching him something new, but you still welcomed him nonetheless.

Sundays were no longer your nights, but that was perfectly fine by you as long as you could keep sharing them with Nico.

Nico was getting a little desperate.

Two months had passed since he started coming over for weekly dinners, and he was making no progress. It’s not like he was really trying, though. If he was being honest, he wasn’t quite sure how to flirt with a woman without the intention of sleeping with her.

Which isn’t to say he didn’t want to sleep with you because he definitely did, it just wasn’t all that he wanted.

He hoped he conveyed interest on his part, but he wasn’t positive you were picking up on his hints. Or maybe you just weren’t into him.

So, he decided to take it one step further. He bought some plants.

Nico knew next to nothing about plants other than that they needed water, but he’d noticed you kept a few in your apartment near your large window.

Once again, he found himself knocking on your door, but this time you weren’t expecting it.

“Hey, what’s up?�� You asked him when you opened the door. It wasn’t like him to show up to your place out of the blue.

“I wanted to ask you a favor,” he replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’ve got a week long roadie and was wondering if, maybe, you’d look after my plants?”

“Oh yeah, definitely, I can do that,” you said with a smile.

“Do you have a minute right now? I can show them to you really quick,” he asked, gesturing with his arm to his door. You nodded your head in agreement, and Nico took a few steps backward to let you into his apartment.

You followed him through the entrance and paused briefly. His apartment layout was the exact same as yours only flipped. He walked until he hit the same balcony window where you kept your plants, and you saw he had about four small pots along with a large pot that sat in the corner.

“This is the gang,” he introduced, spreading his arms to show them off.

“This is so cute,” you chuckled, stepping closer to get a better look at the plants. You noticed one of them was also one you had.

“I’m going to be honest,” he started. “I only recently bought them, so I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“Well, they seem to be still living, so you haven’t done anything too bad,” you teased lightly.

“Oh, let me get the spare key for you,” he said suddenly before he turned and left you alone to fetch the key.

Nico returned less than a minute later, small black key fob in his hand. You opened your hand for him to place it in your palm.

“When will you be back?” You asked, stretching back up from your squatted position.

“Next Wednesday,” he clarified, “and I leave tomorrow.” You nodded.

There wasn’t much more to say, so you told him a brief ‘good luck’ on his roadie before leaving. Returning to your own, you made a mental note to check in on his plants tomorrow.

The following afternoon, you let yourself into Nico’s apartment with the key he’d given you. You read the sticky note he left for you on the counter, the words reading ‘in case of an emergency’ along with his phone number.

You rolled your eyes at the note, laughing lightly at his phrasing of ‘in case of an emergency.’ You hardly thought watering plants would cause a catastrophic event, but the gesture was cute.

Filling up a few cups of water, you made your way over to his plants and distributed the water throughout until you’d gone over all of them. Before you could think better of it, you snapped a picture of the plants in the window before opening a text thread to Nico.

You: First day all done! :)

He didn’t reply for a few hours, but that was okay because you hadn’t expected him to reply at all.

Nico: They’re looking better already!

Ever since that first day, you began exchanging messages. His replies were sporadic, but you didn’t mind; he was a busy guy. Still, he managed to text you whenever he could, and your conversations quickly turned away from his plants to other subjects.

You recommended some new shows for him to watch while he was on road trips, and he told you where his favorite takeout restaurants were when you felt too lazy to cook.

Honestly, Sundays didn’t feel the same without him, but you didn’t tell him you stopped cooking when he didn’t show up.

Even when Nico was back in town, you found yourself texting him frequently in your classes and also on your breaks, and Nico found himself waking up every morning looking forward to whatever message you’d sent after he’d fallen asleep.

The incessant pounding at your door woke you up from your sleep. You knew who it was immediately as there was only one person who visited you, and you were ready to yell at him after you answered the door.

Throwing on a sweatshirt, you stomped your way to the door and shouted out, “I’m coming!” so Nico could take the hint to shut the hell up.

“Oh my god, Nico,” you groaned as you threw open the door, “It’s two in the fucking morning.” But it wasn’t Nico you were greeted with.

Or rather, he wasn’t the only one outside the door.

“Uh, hi,” a man said as Nico leaned against him, very obviously drunk.

“Hi?” You asked, your eyes flicking over to the drunken Nico.

“I think he lost his key,” the stranger said, “and then he was knocking on your door before I could take him back to my place.”

“Of course,” you sighed. “You love bothering me, don’t you, Nico?”

“Y/N,” he slurred your name when he heard your voice. “I told you she was beautiful, Hughes.” He clearly meant to whisper the last part into his friend’s ear, but his impaired state changed his whisper into a quiet shout.

“Alright, buddy, let’s keep it down,” his friend said with a chuckle as he tried to spare him from saying something else embarrassing.

“Do you still have my key? I forgot mine,” Nico asked instead, lifting his eyes to yours.

“I left it in your apartment last time I watered the plants,” you answered and Nico let out an annoyed groan.

“It’s fine, he can stay here tonight,” you said, addressing his friend this time.

“You sure? I don’t want to bother you,” his friend insisted. “I can just bring him back to my place.”

“Don’t worry about it, you already dragged him all the way here. I can handle it,” you said and opened the door further.

His friend lugged him into your apartment and led Nico to the couch, plopping him down on the cushions.

“Thanks for doing this. I’m sorry for waking you,” he apologized once Nico was settled.

“No problem, I’m used to him interrupting my nights,” you chuckled lightly, though it sounded more sexual than you intended for it to.

“Yeah, well,” the stranger said with an awkward laugh, “I’ll get out of your hair then.” And then he turned to leave. “Hischier! Text me in the morning!” He called out one last time and Nico grumbled his acknowledgement. Then his friend was gone, leaving you alone with a drunken twenty-something year old.

“Alright, Nico, let’s get you ready for bed,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him. He was splayed out on his back on your couch, head lolled against a decorative pillow. If it weren’t for his indecipherable sounds, you would’ve thought he was asleep.

You left him alone for a minute as you retreated back to your room to grab a couple extra blankets and a pillow that wouldn’t end up hurting his neck.

When you returned, Nico was now on his stomach with one arm dangled off the couch.

“Feeling okay, bud?” You asked gently, brushing back a few strands of his hair to check if he was still awake. He hummed a quiet ‘yeah’ and you lifted his head to replace the throw pillow with a fluffier one from your bed.

You draped one large blanket over his body and then set another smaller one on top of that. Nico sighed in content and you made a quick trip to the kitchen to retrieve a couple Advil pills and a glass of water.

“Can you drink this before you fall asleep?” You asked when you got back to the living room.

Despite his intoxication, Nico managed to sit up just enough to swallow the pills down with a drink of water before flopping his head back down. You set the half-full glass on the coffee table and leaned over to turn off the lamp.

“You good to sleep?” You questioned, and Nico nodded his head to the best of his ability.

“I’ll be in my room if you need anything,” you said finally, making your way back to the hallway.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said quietly before you were out of hearing range, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Nico,” you murmured with a small smile.

“How the hell did this even happen? Sticks are supposed to remain on the ice, you know,” you wondered with curiosity.

Nico knocked on your door at nearly midnight, hair still damp from his shower and still in his Devils sweats. If it weren’t for the fact that you were awake and watching a movie, you wouldn’t have noticed the knocking.

When you opened the door, you were met with split stitches and tired eyes. Ushering him into your apartment, you led him to the bathroom where you kept the first-aid.

Nico pushed himself up so he could sit on your counter and gave you a sheepish smile.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “They stitched me up after the game, but they came out.”

“So, why didn’t you contact your trainers or something?” You inquired, opening your kit and grabbing the alcohol.

“Because I have a perfectly good nurse here at home to stitch me back up,” he answered with an easy grin. You gave him an incredulous look.

“It seems like I’m constantly getting the short end of the stick in this relationship,” you said as you stepped between his legs to inspect his face. It wasn’t anything serious, just a few stitches that broke. In all honesty, he probably could’ve survived the night without fixing it, but you weren’t going to turn down an opportunity to be this close to him.

“Close your eyes,” you ordered before he could say anything back. Nico followed your instruction obediently, fluttering his eyes shut as if he had all the time in the world.

Using a small pair of scissors, you snipped at the remaining stitches. You took the tweezers next and gently pulled at the broken strands, slowly removing them from his cheek. Nico’s eyes twitched slightly at the discomfort, but he said nothing as you reopened his wound.

“You’re really good at this,” he stated, and you noticed that he had opened one eye to watch you. You blushed at his compliment, your cheeks heating at the warm feeling you got when you looked into his eyes.

Averting his gaze, you muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ before opening an alcohol pad.

“You’re going to want to really close your eyes for this, it might burn,” you recommended. The cut was along his cheekbone, stretching about three inches and oozing just a little bit of blood.

You cleaned along the cut lightly, one of your hands cupping his cheek while the other managed the wipe. After throwing the bloodied pad off to the side, you brought out the small bottle of lidocaine you had stashed away underneath all your bandaids. You squeezed a bit onto a cotton swab and dabbed the area around the cut. The lidocaine took a few minutes to kick in, so you busied yourself by preparing the thread and sanitizing the needle.

“I want you to know that I’m not actually a certified nurse yet. I’m still in training,” you explained. “So, if this hurts it’s your fault.”

“I trust you,” he said simply with a smirk.

“I would hope so,” you scoffed, “You’re letting a nursing student with a needle stitch near the eye of the New Jersey Devils Captain.”

“Besides, if you fuck up, I’ll just blame it on you when we lose after I can’t play because I’ve been blinded,” he teased.

“Don’t even joke about that, Nico. All of New Jersey would burn me alive,” you said, slugging his arm in response.

Was he about to let a beautiful, uncertified girl stitch him back together just because he wanted an excuse to spend more time with her? Absolutely.

He gave you a light chuckle as he leaned back on his hands, the fabric of his t-shirt stretching deliciously over his broad chest. It took everything in you to not linger your eyes over his arms and how large they looked right now.

“Is it numb yet?” You asked instead, refocusing your attention on threading the needle.

“Yeah, I think so,” he replied, bringing a couple fingers to poke at his cheek, but you swatted his hand away before he could do more damage.

Taking the same position as before, you stood between his legs again and angled his head slightly to the side so you could examine it under better light.

“Just let me know if it hurts, okay?” You insisted, holding the needle between your tweezers. You waited for Nico’s nod of agreement before starting.

You punctured the skin with the point and crossed the wound before poking through the other side. Nico’s hands instinctively reached out to grasp at your hips as he breathed in a sharp breath of air.

“Oh my god, is it not numb?” You panicked, pausing all your movements as you gauged his face for any signs of pain.

“It stung a little bit,” he replied, but the tightened grip on your waist said otherwise. “I was just a little shocked, is all.” He added that last part when he saw the worry spread across your face as your eyes widened in fear of hurting him. “Keep going, I’m fine.”

You gave him a hesitant look, not wanting to continue if it was going to cause him pain. This time when he squeezed your sides, it was to reassure you and encourage you to continue.

Nico kept his hands where they were, sliding his thumbs just underneath the hem of your shirt to trace soft circles into your skin. Recommencing your movements, you repeated the same crisscrossing threads over his cut, trying to work as quickly as possible.

When you’d finished, you knotted off the ends, clipped the remaining thread, and applied a salve over the sealed wound.

“There you go,” you said as you finished touching him up.

“And my kiss to make it feel better?” He asked with a smirk. You rolled your eyes at his presumptuousness but leaned in to press a light kiss near his stitches.

“Can I trust you to not pull them out again?” You retorted, stepping out of his grip to clean up your supplies.

“I don’t know…” he trailed off as in deep contemplation, “I might need you to spend the night and keep an eye on me.”

“Nice try, bud,” you chuckled, “but it’s not going to happen.” He pouted.

“And if you do tear them again, I’m not restitching it.”

You finished packing away your materials and walked Nico back to your front door.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said when you opened the door.

“Anytime,” you replied, “Goodnight, Nico.”

Leaning forward, he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek in appreciation before crossing the few feet to his door. You hoped he couldn’t see the way your eyes widened in shock, but if he did see, he didn’t say anything about it.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

+ 1

For the first time since you’ve met Nico, it was finally your turn to cancel on dinner. You really didn’t want to, as the dinners with him were the highlight of your week, but you knew if you broke concentration for even a minute to entertain him, your mind would be thinking about him even after he left. And you were not going to pass the NCLEX if Nico was invading all of your thoughts. You’d been studying for this exam for months, but now it was a week out and it was crunch time.

You: Gotta cancel on dinner Sunday, sorry :(

Nico: Going out of town? Got a hot date?

You: The only dates I’ll be having for the next week is between me and my millions of notes for my board exam

Nico: Stressed out?

You: You wouldn’t even believe, so if I’m MIA for a few days, don’t worry

Nico: Are we still on for next Sunday?

You: Yes. We will either be celebrating or commiserating, so get your wine ready

Nico: I’ll bring over the best since we’ll be celebrating :)

You didn’t know how to reply, so you reacted to his message with a thumbs up before leaving him on read.

For the next few days, you studied your ass off. Sunday came, but when six o’clock rolled around, you couldn’t help your thoughts from straying from your studies and over to what you would be doing with Nico if it weren’t for this stupid exam.

And as if he had read your mind, your phone dinged with a new text message.

Nico: Open your door

Your brows furrowed in confusion as you read the text, and you were just about to tell him off for disturbing you after you already told him you didn’t have the time.

However, that wasn’t the case because when you opened your door, Nico was nowhere to be found although a paper bag rested on the ground in front of you.

Cautiously, you picked up the bag and brought it inside, immediately smelling the tzatziki sauce from your favorite Greek restaurant.

You: What’s this?

You texted him, along with a picture of the bag.

Nico: Even if we aren’t making dinner, you should still eat, and I figured gyros were better than cereal

He was right. You had planned on pouring yourself a bowl of cereal when the hunger became too much and forced you to take a break. And gyros definitely were better than Frosted Flakes.

You: You’re a lifesaver, truly. Thank you!

Nico opened the message and didn’t reply, even though he really wanted to, but he knew you had studying to do and the last thing he wanted was to distract you.

After pulling an all-nighter, Sunday slowly turned into Monday, and you had finally decided to go to bed at nine on Monday morning. The few hours of sleep you got were welcomed, but rest did little to calm yourself down. The exam was on Friday, and you still had four years worth of material to remember.

So, you dragged yourself out of bed around three in the afternoon and plopped yourself on the ground in front of your couch where all your notes were still spread on the floor.

You’d gotten through about four chapters in your review book before you heard a knock at the door.

Pushing yourself up by your hands, you crossed the length of the apartment to the door. If it was Nico, he was about to be really turned off by how messy you looked.

And once again, it wasn’t him.

Just like yesterday, something awaited you in front of your door. This time, it was a four cup drink tray filled with different coffees.

Picking them up off the ground, you walked it back into your home and set it on your kitchen counter. There was a blue sticky note attached to the top in true Nico style, and you were smiling at the familiar handwriting before you even read what it said.

Thought you could use a pick-me-up :)

PS: I didn’t know what you liked, but you’re NOT allowed to drink these all at once

You chuckled at the last sentence. Of course he would send you four different orders because he didn’t know what you wanted. In all honesty, you could survive on just plain black coffee with nothing added if needed, but the fact that he sent you options had your heart swelling.

You scanned through each cup, reading the labels on each one as they ranged from a standard black coffee to a sweet caramel latte, all of them iced (you had mentioned once that you only drank iced coffee, even in the middle of the winter). It didn’t slip your mind that this was from that expensive shop a few blocks down, the one you could only allow yourself to go to once a month because you knew it would drain you quickly.

Deciding to tease Nico a little bit, you stuck a straw in every single lid. You connected all four straws in the middle and closed your lips over them and took a drink. The resulting taste wasn’t fantastic, but it was worth the funny selfie you took drinking them that you sent to Nico.

You: What was it that I wasn’t allowed to do? Your note wasn’t clear

Nico: I’m never sending you coffee again

On Tuesday, Nico sent you a bouquet of sunflowers. They were massive and bright and you couldn’t see over them as you placed them on the table.

Hope these sunflowers brighten up your day

On Wednesday, Nico got back from his short roadie. Maybe it was the constant studying, or maybe it was the little gifts Nico sent you, but your stress levels seemed to calm down as the week went on. There was still the pressure to do well, but every time Nico sent something to you, it was as if everything became a little bit more manageable.

You invited him over to hang out for a little bit, just to thank him for the things he’d done for you. You expected him to stay for a few minutes, maybe a half hour at the most, and then you’d send him home with some cookies you’d baked for him. Instead, he grabbed the plate of cookies and made himself comfortable on your couch.

“You just made these?” He asked with a mouthful of cookie as he picked up a stack of flashcards. You nodded as you took a seat on the opposite side of the couch.

“What’s the therapeutic drug level for theo… theoph…” he began to say, but trailed off, “Never mind. I was trying to help, but I can’t pronounce any of these words.” He ended the sentence with a chuckle before flicking the flashcard over to you.

“The word is theophylline,” you laughed, “and the answer is 10-20 micrograms per deciliter.”

“I understand none of those words, so that probably means it’s right,” he said as he finished his second cookie.

“If you want to help me I know something you can do,” you said eagerly, “And you don’t even have to speak, just sit there and look pretty.”

“That I can do,” he agreed with a nod and sat up to place the cookies on the coffee table. “Where do you want me?”

“Right there is fine. I’m just going to do a standard routine checkup like you’d get at the doctor’s,” you explained, grabbing your small bag of medical tools.

You ran through your procedure, checking your notes periodically to make sure you asked all the questions. Nico had no problem being your puppet, even answering some questions with ridiculous answers.

“And are you sexually active?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He asked with an eyebrow wiggle. You gave him an unamused glare.

“It’s part of the questions, dumbass,” you rolled your eyes and Nico laughed. “Never mind, I already know the answer anyway.”

“That was one time!” He groaned as he flopped his head back against the cushion. You were obviously referring to the one time you had a run in with one of his hookups. “I haven’t had anyone here since then.”

“Thank god for that,” you muttered, “but she did seem like a nice girl.”

Nico gave you a disbelieving look. You’d ran into them as you were returning from an overnight shift at nearly seven in the morning as Nico was trying to get rid of her, but she was hoping to get another date out of him before she left.

It was an awkward interaction to say the least, and Nico immediately called over to you to get your attention. The girl was displeased because you were interrupting their conversation and also because Nico had used you as an excuse to get out of scheduling another date.

“Oh, Y/N, you still needed me to fix that thing for you, right?” He had asked when he saw you walking down the hall. It took you all of two seconds to process the situation and Nico’s panicked and pleading eyes before you were agreeing. You even threw in the fact that it was urgent and that he needed to help right now, to which the girl gave you an eye roll.

Needless to say, Nico thanked you profusely for saving his ass and never called the girl again. That was over three months ago, and you had yet to see another girl leave his apartment.

“Well, I think I’m done with all the questions,” you concluded finally. “I think it’s safe to say you are in impeccable shape, Mr. Hischier.”

“Is this your subtle way of kicking me out?” He asked.

“Technically, I never invited you to stay. You kind of just sat here and made yourself at home,” you replied.

“I’m sorry for wanting to catch up with my friend after not seeing her in a week,” he joked.

“And you’re going to have to wait another few days for that, bud,” you chuckled.

“Fine, fine,” he conceded, “I’ll go, but I’m taking the cookies.”

“They were yours to begin with, idiot.”

On Thursday, you received one final package. It was a wrapped box, obviously done by someone who’s never wrapped a gift in their life.

Opening it, there was Nico’s same scrawl on the familiar blue sticky note.

Something to look forward to after you ace this exam tomorrow!

Underneath the note was a ticket to a Devils game on Sunday against Vancouver, but it wasn’t the only thing in the box. You pulled out a red sweatshirt with the New Jersey Devils logo on the front. There was nothing on the back, but the number ‘13’ could be seen on both sleeves.

The thought of Nico sending you something with his number on it had your cheeks heating instantly. He’d been teasing you about coming to a game, and it seemed you finally had a reason to go now.

After you took your exam, it was like a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Your school days were behind you now, and you could now start your career. The exam results still took six weeks, but you were feeling pretty confident in yourself.

Nico had texted you instructions to wait for him after the game on Sunday. He wanted you to try and meet him somewhere, but your navigation skills were terrible and you were sure to get lost in an arena you’d never been in.

So, you met him outside his car in the parking lot where the team parked.

“There he is,” you called out, clapping, when you saw him exit the arena, “First star of the night with two goals, Captain Nico Hischier!” You gave him your best announcer voice.

“Shut up,” he replied with a chuckle, but his face was beaming with a wide smile.

“Good game tonight,” you said with a smile of your own. “Trying to impress someone?”

By this time, Nico had reached the car, and he was dropping his bag on the ground before wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off the ground in a hug.

“I’m always trying to impress you,” he mumbled against your hair before he set you back down.

“Well, consider me impressed,” you gushed.

“I was thinking...” Nico said after a moment.

“Uh oh,” you interjected with a worried look.

“Don’t be a dork,” he chuckled. “I was thinking that instead of going back home and making dinner I can take you out tonight instead.”

“Celebratory dinner for your win?” You questioned.

“And for your exam,” he added, “And also maybe as a date?” Nico said the last part quietly and quickly averted your gaze.

“Are you asking me on a date, Nico?” You asked for clarification, but the smile on your face was spreading wider as the seconds passed.

“Yes, I am,” he said with a deep swallow.

You squinted your eyes, as if in deep contemplation.

“Well, I’ve only been waiting, like, months for you to ask me,” you teased. “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

“Really?” He asked, eyes bright as he reached out to pull you closer to his body. You hummed in agreement and connected your hands behind his neck.

“I was starting to think you’d never get the hint,” you said quietly.

“I was just waiting for the right time,” he insisted, hands resting on your hips, “And if I’m being honest, I really want to kiss you right now.”

You didn’t answer him in words. Instead, you pushed up on your tip-toes and leaned in to connect your lips to his. The kiss was soft, neither of you wanting to push too far too fast. He moved his lips against yours gently, taking his time to convey how he felt about you.

When you finally pulled back to catch your breath, you both had stupid looks on your face as you were both giddy with joy.

“Atta boy, Cap!” A loud voice shouted across the lot along with some hoots, and you let your head fall against Nico’s chest as you chuckled to yourself.

“Fuck off, Jack!” Nico yelled back before dipping his head down to kiss the top of yours. “Ignore him, he’s annoying. Let’s get out of here before they try and come over.”

“Lead the way,” you said, breaking apart so you could climb in his car.

Six weeks later, your results came in.

You let yourself into Nico’s unlocked apartment. Ever since you started dating, it just seemed a lot easier to leave your apartments unlocked during the day so you could easily bounce between places.

“Nico, it’s here!” You exclaimed, spotting him on the couch. He looked up from whatever show he was watching and paused it immediately when he saw the envelope in your hands.

You basically sprinted across the room and plopped down onto his lap before shoving it into his hands.

“You open it, I can’t do it,” you murmured against the side of his head, your arms slinging over his shoulders as one of his arms wrapped around your waist.

Nico chuckled as he ripped open the paper and pulled out the letter.

“What does it say?” You asked, your head tucked into his neck so you couldn’t read the results.

“Babe…” he said softly, “I’m sorry.”

“What?” You asked worriedly, peeling yourself from his neck to read the letter yourself.

Congratulations! You have passed the NCLEX exam!

You didn’t even bother to read the rest of the letter once you’d read those first two sentences.

“You asshole, that wasn’t funny!” You said, pushing his head away from you as he laughed.

“I thought it was kind of funny,” he replied, “And now my girlfriend is officially a sexy nurse.” Nico pressed a quick kiss to your cheek.

“You better get that idea out of your head right now,” you said warningly, already knowing where his thoughts were headed.

“All jokes aside, I’m proud of you, baby,” he said happily.

“I probably would’ve combusted from stress had it not been for your little gifts,” you admitted.

“What can I say? I was so whipped for you,” he said.

“You really were, weren’t you? The flowers and the sweatshirt with your number on it…” you teased, and he poked your side in retaliation.

“Kidding,” you giggled happily, “and I’m whipped for you, too, Nico.”

#nhl imagine #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagine #hockey imagine #fics #my writing #nhl fic #nhl x reader

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celiastjamesoscar · 9 months

Text

Clean

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: when Natasha comes back hurt from a mission, she lets you clean her wounds.

Warnings: fluff, light cussing, mentions of sex, jokes about kidnapping, reader being a menace

My Masterlist

Word Count: 3.6K

AN: this is probably the softest fic I have ever written 💀

The sound of soft footsteps echoed throughout the compound as Natasha made her way into the kitchen. She quietly opened a cabinet and grabbed a bowl along with the box of Raisin Bran. She set the bowl down on the island before moving to the fridge and grabbing some milk, and then she made herself a bowl of cereal.

Today had been one of the rougher missions she's been on; it was supposed to be a simple bag and grab, but Hydra agents had gotten the drop on them, and she came back battered and bruised. Along with the bruises, Natasha had minor cuts littering her body, and a small jolt of pain ran through her body every time she moved.

You had warned Natasha not to go on the mission; it sounded too easy. And now, as she sat on the couch and rewatched her comfort episodes of New Girl, she wished that she had listened to you. You were always the wiser one in the relationship, and Natasha sometimes hated that about you. You would always try and talk her out of doing risky missions and she rarely listened to you. She was scared to face your wrath, so she wasted as much time as possible before entering your shared bedroom.

You had joined the Avengers as a surgeon; you were one of the country's best and met Natasha during one of her missions. She was undercover at a bar in Italy when she saw you.

It was a rowdy Friday night, and Natasha’s target was at the same bar. You had accidentally bumped into her, causing her to ruin her dress, and naturally, she was bitchy with you for it. You ushered out a plethora of apologies; you told her that you were only here because your friend had dragged you here but then left once she found someone to hook up with, causing you to be stressed, and that’s why you accidentally ran into her.

You bought her a drink as an apology, and she gladly accepted it. You wanted to talk to her, but she told you she had some business to take care of once she saw her target leave the building.

“See you in a minute, yeah?” She asked once she finished her drink and placed her hand on your arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Of course,” you replied, smiling as you watched the redhead leave the bar. Natasha was a willow, and she bent right to your wind, begging you to take her hand and meet her after dark.

Naturally, you didn’t see the woman again, and you felt ashamed for getting your hopes up. Eventually, you saw Natasha again in the same bar, and this time, she bought you a drink. The two of you conversed back and forth about your lives, even though you suspected she wasn’t telling you the whole truth about her job.

“I do background checks at the Smithsonian Museum in Washington,” Natasha said as she sipped her drink. You lightly laughed at her words but didn’t pry; you knew she was lying because her forest-green eyes refused to meet yours for over three seconds. You told her that you were a surgeon at one of the hospitals in New York City, and when she asked what specialty you are, you told her trauma.

The pair talked into the hours of the night, and when it came time to leave, Natasha asked you for your number, and you happily gave it to her. You spent one more week with Natasha before you returned to New York, and it was the best week of your life. You went on lunch dates with her every day she was free, and you quickly bonded with the woman.

When it came time for you to leave, you kissed Natasha’s cheek as you stood outside her apartment with a bouquet of lavender and violets. “I’m heading back to New York at 3 today, and I just wanted to say goodbye before I left,” you said with a smile, but your eyes had pain in them as you handed Natasha her flowers. She smiled at them and welcomed you into her apartment while she put them in flowers. The apartment was bare of any photos except a few that you could tell were of a fake family near the fireplace in the living room.

Take-out containers were in the trash can, while the fridge had a scarce amount of food in it. You weren’t naïve; all the signs you had picked up on that Natasha was a spy. You had dipped your toes in this line of work before; you had worked with Interpol for a year and a half before switching to medicine, so you knew all the signs.

When Natasha returned after putting the flowers in a vase, she invited you to watch a movie with her until your flight, and you gladly accepted it. When the clock hit one, you pulled your head up from Natasha’s lap and grabbed your things. “See you in a minute, Natasha,” you said as you kissed her cheek again and disappeared down the hallway.

Naturally, when Natasha returned to the States, she ran your name across all kinds of databases, and eventually, she found you. She read your file a dozen times: graduated high school as the valedictorian with enough college credit to be an incoming sophomore, finished a year early in criminal Justice, and soon worked with Interpol as a spy. You spent 18 months with Interpol before an injury threw you out, and that’s when you switched to medicine.

Just like high school, you graduated at the top of your class and got an internship at one of the best prestigious hospitals in the country. You’ve been there for roughly a year now, but you were one of the best residents there.

You weren’t even back home for three weeks when an agent from SHIELD asked you if you would like a job offer at Stark Tower. At first, you were a bit shocked at the offer, but when you entered the first floor of the Stark Building, and you saw your redhead, you knew it was her doing.

“It’s nice to see you again,” Natasha said with a sly grin as she led you through the luxurious building and toward a room with ‘T. Stark’ on the name mantle beside the door. You give her a questioning look before entering the room. “Good luck,” Natasha said gently before leaving you alone with the genius, billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist.

The interview went well, aside from the fact that Tony kept hitting on you, and you were offered the job of a head surgeon. The salary was definitely an increase, and it had much better benefits than your old job, plus, you would get to see Natasha a lot more, so of course you took the offer.

One week into your new job and Natasha asked you on a date. It was nothing fancy; a picnic date on the top of Stark Tower, but you would be lying if it weren’t the best date you’d ever been on. You two talked and drank a bottle of Dom Perignon deep into the night, and when it was time to go your separate ways, Natasha pulled you into a soft and gentle kiss. It’s been eight months since Natasha started calling you hers, and she’s never been happier.

However, as she recalls all the happy memories since the start of your beautiful and gentle relationship, she gets called back into reality when she hears soft footsteps echo off the walls. She held her breath and prepared for the scolding that she would inevitably receive, but to her surprise, it was Wanda up looking for a light night snack. “Trouble in paradise?” Wanda asked as she grabbed her own stash of pop-tarts; no one dared to mess with Thor’s.

Natasha sighed at Wanda’s words; the poor girl was on the same mission as her, and Wanda knew how badly Natasha was banged up. “No, I just know that Y/N is going to have my head when she sees how bad it is,” Natasha said with a defeated sigh as Wanda walked over to her.

The Sokovian placed her hand on Natasha’s shoulder and gently squeezed it, “I wish you the best of luck with your lady; may your survival be long,” Wanda joked as she walked off.

“May your death be quick,” Natasha mumbled under her breath once Wanda left the room. She finished up her cereal and cleaned the bowl and spoon before she tipped-toed to your shared bedroom. The Russian quietly opened the door and gently climbed into bed, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you into her. You sighed at the contact before subconsciously nudging your head into your girlfriend’s neck.

“Where were you?” You mumbled into the crook of Natasha’s neck before kissing her clothed collarbone. “I had an amazing day, love. I’m so glad you asked,” Natasha joked as she pulled you closer and kissed the top of your head.

You groaned at Natasha’s words before nudging your head against the redhead’s chest. “Life360 said you got home an hour ago, Nat. So where were you?” You asked as sleep left your body. Natasha knew that this conversation could go one of two ways: she could be honest with you and have you scold her, or she could lie and have you not find out until training in the morning and then have you scold her. “I'm cheating on you,” Natasha lied.

“Seriously, Natasha? I'm not going to fall for that,” you stated. The last time she had pulled that was when she snuck out at midnight to watch Barbie with Clint. When she told you she was cheating on you, you went ballistic; you were on the verge of throwing her off a cliff until you saw a pink box in her purse backpack.

“Natasha, what’s this?” You had asked as you made your way over toward her bag. She tried to stop you, but you were too quick, and you pulled out a Barbie doll from its box. “Did you go watch Barbie without me?”

“Y/N, I love you so much, but this was the only time Clint could go with me. You are so beautiful,” Natasha said while making her way over to you. “I bought you the Barbie and car the theater was selling.”

You scoffed at Natasha’s words before setting the Barbie down on your dresser along with the car. “I want to wrap my hands around your neck and not let go, but I’m going to let it slide: on one condition,” you stated as you walked back to Natasha and stopped before her.

“Yes, anything.”

“I get to be on bottom for a week, no questions asked.”

“Deal.”

See, Natasha was one of those people who will lie only when the truth sounds like a lie, and you quickly found that out after that incident.

Pulling back from the memory, Natasha wrapped her arms around you tighter and whispered, “Promise me you won’t get mad?”

“Depends on what it is,” you replied. Natasha took a deep breath and kissed your head once and then twice before speaking, “The mission went a little south today, but I’m okay.”

At the mention of the mission going wrong, you pushed yourself up and the bed and turned on the lamp next to the bed. “What happened, Natasha? Are you alright? I swear to god if someone hurt you,” you trailed off at the end at the thought of losing your lover. “I’m fine, detka. Don’t worry,” Natasha replied as she gently grabbed your hands at the hems of her shirt.

“Natasha,” you warned as your eyes pierced the other soul; she knew you could be intense, especially regarding her safety and well-being. The Russian groaned at your words before allowing you to take her shirt off, and her heart broke at the small gasp that left your lips.

“I told you it’s not bad,” Natasha joked as you pulled her into the bathroom and flipped on the lights. You motioned for her to sit on the sink while you looked through the cabinets for a first aid kit. Now that you were in better lighting, you could see all the cuts and bruises that littered your other half’s body. There was hardly enough skin that wasn't either turning a dark purple or that didn’t have a cut on it; you didn’t know whether to scold her for being so reckless or to cherish her for still being here with you.

Deciding to go with both, you gently cupped Natasha’s cheeks and pulled her into a loving kiss expressing all your love for her. She kissed you back as she wrapped her arms around your waist and slid off the sink. “I love you,” Natasha murmured against your lips as her breath fanned your lips. You kissed the words and pulled back, “I love you too, but I cannot believe you got this hurt and didn’t tell me about it! Now, get back on the sink so I can take care of you,” you said as you opened the first aid kit.

You grabbed some peroxide and put it on a cotton ball before gently pressing it against a cut on Natasha’s lower abdomen. Natasha hissed at the sting and gripped the sink’s edge as she groaned. “I told you to be careful,” you remarked as you set the cotton ball down and put some Neosporin on a bandit. “Yeah, yeah,” Natasha mumbled.

“Tell you what, for every cut I clean up, you get a kiss?” You proposed as you gently placed the bandit on Natasha’s cut. The redhead smiled at this proposition and tried to pull you into another kiss, but you put a finger to her lips, stopping her advances, “Nuh-uh, you’ve already gotten yours for this cut.”

The woman threw her hand back and groaned at your words, “Why do you hate me?” She exclaimed. You scoffed at her words as you grabbed another cotton ball and put peroxide on it, “I don’t hate you; I’m just not letting you bend the rules,” you said with a playful smile as you ignored how Natasha mumbled something under her breath.

When you placed the cotton ball on a cut near Natasha’s collarbone, applying more pressure than needed, she hissed and pushed you away from her, “Ow! What the fuck was that?!”

You rolled your eyes at Natasha’s comment before grabbing her shoulder with your left hand to keep her in place as you pressed the ball back onto her skin. “Stop being a baby, Nat, and let me clean your wounds,” you replied with a slight chuckle, causing Natasha to smack your arm. “Hey! Do not hit me, you little shit!”

“Don’t call me a baby, then!” Natasha retorted, refusing to let you clean her wounds again. You scoffed at her words and put the first aid kit back in the cabinet, and walked off to bed, “Fine, then. If you aren’t going to let me take care of you, I guess you just have to have Doctor Lee take care of you.”

Natasha froze at the mention of Doctor Lee. She’s only been to him once since you started working here, and she hated every second of it. You had the day off and were having dinner with a friend when you got a call from Natasha.

“Excuse me for a second,” you said to your friend while exiting the dining table. “What’s up, my love?” You asked when you stepped outside the restaurant and answered the phone. You had expected Natasha to ask if you would pick her up some food or maybe even ask if she could top tonight, but you didn’t expect her to scream in Russian about Doctor Lee. You had picked up a little Russian just from being around Natasha, so you knew the basic of what had happened: she had gotten a small cut on a mission that required stitches, and Lee made the cut worse, so Natasha had to get more stitches than needed and Lee complained about how rude Natasha was to her face.

Doctor Lee was a grumpy older man but was the best doctor you had ever worked with, so everyone put up with his attitude. You listened to Natasha rant about him for another five minutes before you interrupted her, “Natasha, I love you so much, but I’m going to need to get back to Kate before she thinks I left her,” you said with a small laugh when you heard Natasha groan. “Fine, let’s just hope I don’t bleed out all over our floor, and you have to clean it up,” she replied in an upset tone.

You rolled your eyes at her comment as you walked back into the restaurant, “you will be fine until I get back. If it’s that bad, I’m sure Lee can help you again.”

“He’s the one who got me into this mess!” Natasha yelled into the phone.

“Ah, so it must have been him who stabbed you then?”

The phone was silent for a few seconds before Natasha replied, “Yes.”

“Oh my god, you leave that poor man alone! He’s brilliant,” you said as you sat down at your table and across from Kate, who sent you a knowing smile. She was friends with Natasha’s sister, and she knew that the sisters shared a similar trait of exaggerating things.

“Just because he’s smart doesn’t mean he’s a good person,” Natasha retorted.

“I guess you’re right. I’ll talk to you when I get home, okay? I love you.”

“That’s if I don’t bleed out and die,” Natasha mumbled into the phone before adding with excitement, “I love you too,” before hanging up.

Natasha shook off the painful memory when she heard you get into bed and shut off the lamp. “Hey, Y/N. Wait,” Natasha said as she walked into the bedroom and sat beside you, touching your hip. “Please don’t make me go to Lee.”

You rolled over and faced Natasha, your face heating up as her hand was now on your lower abdomen, and you had to fight back your thoughts. “Are you going to complain?” You questioned. Natasha shook her head and prayed that you would finish cleaning her wounds; she would rather die than return to Lee. “Okay,” you said as you moved from the bed and walked back into the bathroom with Natasha on your heels.

“Do I still get kisses for every cut cleaned?” Natasha asked as she sat on the sink. “Maybe, if you behave,” you replied with a playful smirk as you got out the first aid kit again.

You repeated the same actions with the cotton ball as you did moments earlier and lightly pressed it onto a small cut on Natasha’s shoulder. “Do you remember when we first met?” Natasha asked randomly as you placed a bandaid on her cut. “Mhm,” you replied as you quickly kissed the Russian’s lips, holding up to your end of the deal, “the bar in Italy.”

“Yeah, but do you remember when we met again in the bar?”

You weren’t quite sure where Natasha was going with this, but you wanted to play along. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

The redhead hissed when she felt the sting of peroxide seep into her cut as you pressed the cotton against her skin. You noticed how her eyes looked everywhere but you and how she played with her fingers in her lap; she was nervous about something, and you had no idea why. “I went to that bar every single night after I first saw you,” Natasha admitted after you placed another bandaid on her.

You laughed at her words and her nervousness. “Natasha, you literally stalked me and basically kidnapped me after knowing me for a week! Why are you so nervous to admit you also stalked the bar looking for me?”

“I did not stalk you!” Natasha defended, “I just missed you so much; I searched everywhere for you and didn’t stop until I found you. And I didn’t kidnap you. You were 24 years old!”

“Mhm, if you say so, you can still kidnap an adult,” you replied as you threw away the ball and kissed Natasha again, “that looks like all the serious ones.”

Natasha frowned at your comment; she didn’t enjoy you cleaning the cuts, but she wanted the reward of your kisses. “No, I think I have some more on my back,” your girlfriend replied.

You pulled her off the sink by her hands and turned her around; there were tiny cuts over her back and some light bruises, but nothing that needed cleaning. You pressed your pointer finger into a bruise that was turning purple, “nope, looks good.”

The pain that shot through Natasha’s back when you dug your finger into her bruise was something she would never forget; she would be on her deathbed and still remember that feeling. She ducked away from your finger and turned around, “What the fuck is wrong with you?! That hurt!”

“That’s what you get for ‘adultnapping’ me,” you replied as you put up the first aid kit and left the bathroom. The older woman was right on your heels after turning off the lights, “Don’t act like it wasn’t the best crime ever.”

The sound of laughter bounced around the room as you climbed into bed and opened your arms for Natasha, and she quickly crawled into your grasp, laying her head on your chest. “We were jet-set; Bonnie and Clyde, huh?” You replied and placed a kiss on Natasha's head. “Mhm. I’m just glad you didn’t turn me in for the crime,” Natasha mumbled against your collarbone as sleep slowly took her.

“Of course not, my love,” you replied as you kissed Natasha’s head and rubbed her back as sleep consumed you; slowly drifting off with the love of your life in your arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: I rushed this and I kinda hate it but oh well 💀

#natasha romanoff #natalia romanova #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #marvel #black widow #natalia romanoff

1K notes · View notes

risriswrites · 1 year

Text

Just Roommates

summary: a series of moments between bradley bradshaw and his roommate that prove they're a little more than "just roommates"

pairing: roommate x bradley bradshaw, fem reader

warnings: none, just some mild language and lots of fluff

author's note: this is my second fic and i just wanted to say thank you all for the love on the first one! it made my heart happy :) likes, comments, and reblogs are welcomed and appreciated!

word count: 9.1k

“Okay but hear me out. What if we painted the living room wall a pale green?” you question, gesturing to the beige wall directly across from you with a spoon, that was once being used for your bowl of cereal; which had been discarded five minutes prior in favor of the sudden inspiration to revamp the living room.

Tilting your head to the side you allow your eyes to wander the length of the wall before adding, “Not like a pastel green but more like a sage green. I think it’d compliment the couch…and the wood floors.”

Bradley was leaning in the doorframe of the hallway that led to your separate bedrooms, arms crossed over themselves and letting his eyes trail over the way you’ve perched yourself onto the granite kitchen island, one leg crossed over the other.

It was a Saturday morning, so it didn’t surprise him that you’d foregone pants and settled on an oversized t-shirt, really short shorts, and fuzzy socks. You always complained about how you couldn’t sleep if it was too hot, so he made sure to keep the thermostat at a comfortable 70 degrees, but as soon as you woke up, you’d be freezing and needed socks to keep your feet warm. He’d never understand it.

Dragging his eyes away from you he lazily glanced at the wall of the living room. Honestly, he was fine with the way it was, but he wasn’t an interior decorator, so his opinion didn’t really count for anything in the name of “design”.

“I don’t think it really matters” he shrugs, letting his eyes wander back over to you. Your hair was still a little messy from sleeping, but in way he found oddly, cute.

A huff slips past your lips as you slide off the counter and move to wash the bowl you’d been using, “Bradley, the apartment could use a little bit of color. It’s kind of bland in here,” you grimace, sparing him a quick glance before resuming your assault on the navy-blue bowl.

Sighing, Bradley pushes himself off the doorframe in favor of moving to the granite island you’d been sitting on a few moments ago, “Well, you pay for half of the apartment, so whatever you think will make the place look decent that’s up to you.”

“That’s not how decisions work between roommates, Bradley. We have to both agree with it,” you mutter.

Shaking your head you force a breath out, “Look, we can talk about it later if you want, it’s not a big deal. We can always meet in the middle and bring in a plant or something instead? You keep the neutrality of the apartment, and I can have some greenery to look at.” you negotiate, all while wiping your hands on the hand towel hanging across the bar of the oven, shooting him an awkward smile, doing your best to not glance at his naked chest.

He forces his own smile back at you and nods his head the tiniest bit to let you know he’d think about it.

With that conversation ending you decide to leave Bradley to his thoughts in favor of snuggling into the couch for some warmth and an excuse to binge watch “The Witcher”.

You and Bradley had been living together for a little over a month, having been introduced to each other through your friend Jamie.

Jamie was a landing signal officer for the navy that you had met while you were in college. He was just getting his associates degree to pass the time while he worked on achieving all of the necessary credentials to start training in the navy, and once he graduated, was stationed out in Miramar. He had worked alongside Bradley during a few different missions and had kept in contact with him over the past few years. The two were close enough that Bradley valued Jamie’s feedback and opinion, so when Bradley came to him with his roommate dilemma, he knew the perfect person to recommend.

Based on your first meeting alone you liked Bradley. He was well mannered, reserved, and yet, still had a certain rugged charm to him. And now you were here, laying on the gray couch you had convinced Bradley would look perfect in the small living space, snuggled under a knitted blanket from your grandma, as Bradley fixed himself a cup of coffee.

“I’m going to go out for a run in ten minutes, do you need anything while I’m out?” Bradley called out to you.

You tilted your head back to look at him from the throw pillow you were currently laying on, “No thanks I’m good,” you smiled, quickly turning back to your show, successfully avoiding gawking at your roommate as he maneuvered around your shared kitchen.

Ten minutes came and went, and you never heard Bradley leave the house. Crinkling your eyebrows, you sit up from your spot on the couch and peer back into the kitchen to check if Bradley had snuck out without you noticing. Only to see him sat on a barstool at the kitchen island, one arm leaning on the long piece of granite and the other holding his coffee mug in his hand, casually sipping at the hot beverage while his eyes were glued to the tv screen.

A smirk grows on your lips, “Going for a run, huh?”

Bradley’s gaze breaks from the tv screen and snaps to you, his eyebrows pinching together as he shoots you a playful glare, mumbling into his mug, “I’m about to leave.”

“Sure, you are” you snort.

Silence ensues as you continue to smirk at him and he glares at you, before finally he breaks.

“Alright fine,” he huffs, “One episode, and then I’m going for a run.”

You turn back to the tv with a knowing smile on your face before getting comfortable under your blanket again.

Bradley stays put at the kitchen island for the next episode, but once you’ve started the second, he’s gravitated to sitting on the arm of the couch.

You glance over at him every now and then, smirk growing larger with every minute he continues to sit and not leave to go for his run, too enraptured in the show currently playing on your shared tv screen.

Grasping the remote in your hand you pause the show, turning you head and quirking an eyebrow at him, “Soo…still going for that run?”

Bradley huffs and throws his head back groaning, “I need to.”

You stay in your position allowing yourself to let your gaze roll over the scars that litter his neck and along his cheek. Seeing the war waging on in his brain you decide to make it easy for him, “How about you go on that run, and I’ll just pause it until you get back? It’s on Netflix so it’s not going anywhere anytime soon.” You smile.

Bradley turns to face you, moving his arms behind him to rest on the couch, further exposing his naked chest, “You sure? I don’t wanna make you wait to finish the episode.”

You push aside any thoughts about how hot he looks right now and instead focus on his honey brown eyes, letting your smile turn into an easy smirk, “I’ll be okay Bradshaw, I’m a big girl I can wait one hour for you to finish your run.”

Bradley raises an eyebrow while leaning towards you a little bit, letting his tongue poke out to swipe across his lips before he fixes you with a sarcastic smile of his own, “Sweetheart, it’s cute you think that it’s gonna take me that longto go on a three-mile run.”

And with that statement being put out in the air, he’s moving off the couch and heading towards the door, passing the water bottle he set out earlier.

Momentarily dazed from his proximity, you regain your train of thought and call after him, “Have fun show off!”

“Don’t start that episode until I get back sweetheart!” he yells, pointing a finger back in your direction, letting the door swing closed behind him.

A snort escapes you as you take to scrolling through your phone, waiting for Bradley to come back.

And exactly twenty minutes after you last saw him; not that you were counting, Bradley strolls back inside, a sheen of sweet glistening from his chest and abs as he strides towards the water sitting on the island.

Having looked up at his arrival, you quickly force yourself to look back down, cursing under your breath at how heaven sent he looks right now.

As Bradley is unscrewing the cap from his water bottle, he glances towards you propped up on the couch scrolling through the many apps you have on your phone before he slides his gaze to the tv, smiling to himself when he sees that you’ve kept your promise in keeping the show paused.

Allowing himself a few gulps of water, he sets the bottle back on the island and turns his attention back to you, “You mind keeping it paused for a little longer? I need a shower.”

You keep your eyes glued to your phone screen, “Don’t need to ask Bradshaw, I’d rather not have you tainting our clean couch with your sweat.” You snicker, wrinkling your nose in disgust.

He just shakes his head and smiles as he sets off towards the bathroom.

Another ten short minutes had passed before Bradley saunters back into your shared living space freshly showered and wearing a pair of gray sweatpants.

You stare for all of five seconds before becoming conscious of what you’re doing and move to grab the remote that’s been lying dormant on the side table for the past thirty-five minutes, eager to distract yourself from allowing him to take up any further space in your mind.

Bradley, however, has other plans and is picking your legs up off the couch and maneuvering himself under them in order to sit, bringing them back down and settling them in his lap, unknowingly regaining your attention.

Said attention being specifically on his right hand that is currently resting on top of your left leg, allowing a warmth to settle where his hand is, and traveling up through the rest of your body, a flush no doubt currently on your cheeks. Giving your head a small shake, you press play on the remote before forcing yourself to relax into the throw pillow and focus on Geralt arguing with Jaskier.

He's your roommate.

You’re very attractive roommate, but your roommate, nevertheless. And reminding yourself of that fact helps you stay focused on the show before the two of you part ways a few hours later.

He’s your roommate. Nothing’s going to happen.

“Pretty sure this is the kinda injury you go to the hospital for, Bradshaw. Not your very unqualified roommate and a first aid kit” You grimace.

Bradley was currently sitting on the toilet seat of your shared bathroom; after what you can imagine was another interesting night at the hard deck, in his typical white tank and Hawaiian button-down combo while you stood in between his jean clad legs, attempting to control the bleeding above his eyebrow.

“I’m serious you might need stitches,” you grunt, grabbing some more gauze and pushing it against the laceration.

Bradley snorts, “I wouldn’t say you’re completely unqualified if you’re gonna stand there and say I need stitches.”

You roll your eyes at the statement and resist the urge to smack him, “Anyone with half a brain can deduce that you need stitches, doesn’t take someone with a degree to know that.”

“So, you’re saying you’re perfect for the job, since you don’t need a degree? That’s perfect, thanks sweetheart,” comes the reply of a grinning Bradley.

A huff escapes past your lips as you mutter out, “You’re impossible”.

Your eyes examine the items from the first-aid kit that are currently scattered across the countertop, landing on a small box that says, “butterfly wound closures”. You light up at your luck before ordering Bradley to keep pressure on the gauze you’ve been holding as you move to get the much-needed bandages.

Once you’ve grabbed two or three bandages from the box, you push Bradley’s hand off the gauze and slowly peel it back to check on the bleeding. Luckily, it’s stopped now, and you can focus on closing the wound.

Grabbing a square packet with the words, “alcohol pad” on it, you rip open the packaging and take out the small piece of moist fabric, before sucking in a breath. Just knowing how much this could burn against Bradley’s wound has you wincing and hesitating to clean the area around it. “This might sting a little if I get to close, so try to stay still” you whisper, trying to keep your voice steady as you start wiping around the wound. “How’d this happen anyway?” you question, attempting to distract him from any pain he might be feeling.

Bradley watches your face as you begin to wipe away at the dried blood above his eyebrow, nose scrunched, eyebrows pinched, and eyes focused on his wound. It’s endearing, how seriously you’re taking this.

“Some guy kept bothering Phoenix, she can usually handle guys like that on her own, but this one just wouldn’t take no for an answer. I stepped in to help escort him out of the hard deck with Hangman when the guy swung on me. It’s not a big deal.” He sighed.

You forced out a chuckle at his response, “I wouldn’t say that. Not when you’re coming home with blood rushing down your face”.

Bradley clocked the skip in his heart at the word “home” coming from your lips.

Ignoring that thought he rasped out, “Yeah well, better me than Phoenix. Plus, he definitely looks worse than me, I can guarantee you that, sweetheart.”

And just when you were about to retort back, you made the mistake of brushing the alcohol pad too close to his open wound.

Bradley’s eyes instantly force themselves shut, reaching out to grip your legs as he inhales sharply.

“Shit, shit, shit, I’m sorry Bradley” you apologize, moving your hands to hold his head in place. And before you even register what you’re doing you’re blowing air on his wound, applying the same knowledge you have with the reaction between small cuts and hand sanitizer to this scenario.

Bradley slowly let out the breath he’d been holding, muttering out an, “It’s fine sweets,” allowing his body to relax again.

Discarding the alcohol wipe, you quickly grab the bandages you set out, unwrapping them at a swift pace before moving to place them one by one over Bradley’s cut. Gingerly, you smooth your thumb over the last bandage, securing it in place on Bradley’s sun-kissed skin.

“Okay” you let out a breath, “You’re all set to be a hero again” you smile softly. “Don’t get into the habit of getting into fights with drunk men.” You warned, moving your right hand to squeeze his shoulder.

Bradley’s eyes flutter open meeting your soft gaze, and he can’t help but to let one side of his mouth quirk up into a smirk, “I make no promises sweetheart.”

Rolling your eyes at his confession you take a step back from him, forcing his hands to drop from your thighs, “You think you can manage putting everything back in the first-aid kit, show off? Or do you need my help with that too?” you smirk.

Bradley scoffs, pushing himself off the toilet to tower above you, “I got it,” he jests, light blue Hawaiian shirt swaying at the speed he moved from the toilet.

With the smirk still playing on your lips you back out of the bathroom, rounding the corner completely before calling out to him, “good to know you’re not completely helpless, Bradshaw!”

It’s been almost a year since you and Bradley started living together and somehow, he’s managed to supply endless excuses as to why dagger squad wasn’t able to meet his roommate. No one was more frustrated about the lack of an introduction than Phoenix, as Bradley’s closest friend she was a little pissed and mildly offended at the realization.

So, after some choice words between Phoenix and Bradley and the occasional nagging from Hangman, Bradley folded and told the duo that he’d talk to you about inviting them over for dinner.

Dragging his feet, Bradley opened the door to your shared apartment, taking in the smell of the lavender essential oil you had diffusing in the entryway.

Bradley faintly remembers you educating him on the effectiveness of essential oils when it comes to mental and physical health, and how lavender was best for promoting sleep and relaxation. Something you learned from your “stress management” class in college. It’s funny how that knowledge has him instantly relaxing once he’s stepped into the apartment; or maybe it was just knowing you occupied the same space as him.

“Honey I’m home!” Bradley calls out, tone light and playful.

He rounds the corner to see you propped up on the couch, book in your lap as you glance up at his loud and flashy entrance.

Quirking a brow at the flight suit currently tied around his waist, you watch him move one arm above his head to lean against the doorway, black fitted tee straining as he makes himself comfortable. You shoot him a playful smile, “Have a good day, sweetheart?”

Bradley lets a smirk grace his lips as he watches you, “I’ve had better.”

Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention downwards towards the book in your lap, “Well there’s always tomorrow” you reasoned.

Bradley allows himself to take in your appearance, tongue poking out to wet his lips as he watches a strand of hair fall in your face. He decides then and there that the matching green sports bra and spandex shorts set is his new favorite outfit that you own and there’s definitely gotta be some rule about inappropriate thoughts about your roommate that he’s ninety-nine percent sure he’s breaking.

Breaking his gaze from you he moves to the kitchen, focusing on fixing himself a glass of water when he remembers Phoenix’s words from earlier.

Meandering around the kitchen for a few more seconds he decides to just throw it out there.

“Hey sweetheart, are you okay with a few members from my squad coming by the apartment?”

Hearing his voice echoing through the kitchen into the living room, you allow his words to sit for a second, letting them mull over in your head until you decide to answer him with a, “why not? The more the merrier,” and glance back down to continue reading the murder mystery you’d been attempting to finish for the past few days.

Letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding; Bradley smiles softly at your focused expression before grabbing his phone and shooting a group text to Phoenix and Hangman to let them know they could swing by later this week.

Only putting his phone down when he got a thumbs up from Hangman, and an enthused text from Nat telling him to send the details when he can, allowing himself to refocus back onto the girl currently sat on the gray couch, with an impressive number of throw pillows surrounding her, and a book he’s never heard of before in her hands.

Smiling quietly to himself, he runs a hand through his curls and decides to head to the bathroom to shower, already hearing you in his mind telling him how you don’t want the smell of jet fuel on the couch.

Once he’s finished, he throws on an old Navy tee and gray sweatpants, heading back into the living room to try and persuade you to put down your book and watch a few episodes of “The Witcher” with him instead.

Maneuvering himself around the coffee table and onto the couch, he quickly grabs your legs and props them onto his lap and shoots you a wide smile.

Peering over the top of your book you fix your gaze on his honey-brown irises and quirk an eyebrow at his disruptive actions.

Bradley nods his head to the tv in a silent question, and you hide the growing smile on your face behind the book you’ve had your nose in for the better part of the last few hours. “Bradshaw, can’t you see I’m reading?” you challenged, quirking an eyebrow up at the man sitting in front of you, puppy-dog eyes on full display.

He nods, “I see that, and I raise you with a much more interesting proposition.”

Lowering your book just a tad, you tilt your head to the side and scoff, “Oh really, and what might that be?”

Bradley bites his bottom lip before shooting you a dazzling smile, “You, me, and at least three episodes of ‘The Witcher’, accompanied by pizza and wings, if you’re into that kinda thing?”

You hum at his idea and look up in thought, biting the bottom of your own lip in the process, “I don’t know Bradshaw, this book is really starting to get good, and I’ve been wanting to finish it for like, a week now” you exaggerate.

He gives you ten seconds, and then he’s reaching across the couch to swipe the book from your hands tossing it behind him, earning a surprised shriek from you.

“What book?” he smiles again, beaming from ear to ear.

Not able to contain your own smile, you let out a soft laugh, “Go order the pizza, show off.”

Bradley stands, sending you a mock salute as he makes his way to his phone.

“Oh! And I want a Hawaiian pizza Bradshaw!” you call out.

Bradley scrunches his face in disgust at the thought of pineapple on pizza, turning back to you phone now up to his ear as he waits for the line to connect, “Still can’t believe you like pineapple on pizza, it’s a crime.”

“It’s really not!”

Pushing yourself up onto the arm of the couch, you bring your knees to sit underneath you, using your hands for emphasis as you argue the point of how perfect the sweetness of the pineapple compliments the saltiness of the pizza, and all Bradley can do is roll his eyes and smile at how enthusiastic you are. And despite him not agreeing with you, he orders the pizza for you anyway. Moving back to his spot on the couch once he’s placed the order and grabs ahold of your left leg, massaging it as you continue to rant about the different universally accepted sweet and salty combinations.

Once the pizza has been delivered, the two of you spread the small feast across the coffee table, as you start the second season of “The Witcher”.

Every now and then Bradley will make a small comment that makes you laugh, distracting you long enough that you’d have to rewind the show every few minutes to make sure you caught everything. And Bradley would just smile in return, taking pleasure in knowing that he’s the one making you laugh.

Once the pair of you have gotten through the third episode, you exit out of the Netflix app and turn the tv off, and before you can make a move from the couch, Bradley brings up the topic of his friends again and you tell him Friday at six should be good for you.

Sending him a small smile you slide your legs out of his grip and stand from the couch, bringing the leftover pizza with you and placing it in the fridge, Bradley close behind you with the wings. Once everything is put away, the two of you exchange “goodnights” and part ways to your separate rooms, lingering looks, and fond smiles left in the shadows of the dark.

Two Days Later

Friday comes quickly, work having been overwhelming and taking up most of your limited time. The time you normally are reading or hanging out with Bradley is almost nonexistent.

Once you’ve made it back to the apartment you make a beeline for the bathroom to wash off the day. Letting yourself linger under the hot water long after you completed your routine, forcing yourself to turn the water off, step out of the shower, and dry off.

Remembering that Bradley invited his friends to come by tonight, you curse under your breath, wrapping the towel around your body and swinging the bathroom door open, stepping out into the hallway, only to crash into a hard chest.

“Shit” you mumble, scrambling backwards towards the bathroom.

Looking up you make eye contact with Bradley, who’s sporting his black tee and flight suit attire from his day working at the naval base. Gulping you tighten the towel around your body, squeaking out a “sorry” as you try to look past his eyes towards your bedroom door.

Bradley ignores the urge to look down past your eyes, willing himself to think of anything other than your naked body, and shuffles back a few steps to let you past.

You take that as your opportunity to scurry to your room in an attempt at avoiding any more awkward moments for the night. Deciding to throw your thoughts into what outfit you’re going to wear instead of the recent interaction between you and Bradley. Coming up with jean shorts, a white t-shirt, and white socks, you give yourself a onceover in your floor-length mirror and nod at your reflection, leaving the safe space of your room to wander around the kitchen.

Since you and Bradley had ordered pizza earlier on this week, you take it upon yourself to order takeout from the local Chinese restaurant. Not having been able to go out and grab groceries to prepare for tonight’s dinner, ordering Chinese seemed better than ordering pizza for a second time.

The bathroom door opening signals to you that Bradley’s finished showering, almost like a warning of his inevitable presence.

Busying yourself with tidying up the living room, you don’t notice him walk out of the hallway, too focused on how to lay your grandma’s knitted throw blanket over the couch.

Bradley lets out a breath, closing his eyes and wills himself to forget about your moment in the hallway, instead choosing to put his shoes in a more orderly fashion by the front door, and switching the diffuser on as he passes it, the smell of lavender quickly flooding his senses and bringing him back to thoughts that all involve you in nothing but a towel.

Shaking his head, he forces the image of your wide eyes, wet hair, and glowing skin from his mind and moves back to the kitchen to unload the dishwasher.

You finally take notice of him and send him a shy smile. He sends you one back and breaks the silence by asking about your day at work.

Thankful for the distraction, the awkward tension dissipates and the two of you fall into easy conversation until three sharp knocks come from the door.

Looking to Bradley he sends a reassuring smile your way before going to answer the door. The sound of two voices arguing back and forth hit your ears and you instantly smile and let out a small laugh at the loud, “Bagman I swear, if you don’t shut your mouth, I’m going to sew it shut with the next toothpick I can find.”

Composing yourself quickly, you tuck a stray hair behind your ear while you sit at the kitchen island, only standing when a woman with shoulder-length black hair and chocolate brown eyes, moves around the corner.

Once Phoenix makes eye contact with you, she’s instantly grinning and coming closer to give you a polite hug, introducing herself with her callsign and then her name, telling you to call her by whichever, and settles in on the barstool next to yours.

A blond with perfectly styled hair and a smug smirk follows shortly after Phoenix and quickly scans you from head to toe, smirk deepening (if that’s even possible), Bradley right behind him with a sheepish smile on his face as he looks towards you.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes” the blond drawls, he’s a little short compared to Bradley and you take note of his southern drawl, Texan maybe?

Eyes flitting from Bradley back to the blond, you let a sarcastic smile settle on your lips and hum, leaning your arm onto the counter, hand forming a fist as you rest your chin, batting your eyelashes at him, “Bagman, isn’t it?”

Nat snuffs out a laugh, hiding her smile behind her hand as she looks at you.

“Hangman, actually.”

“That’s not what I heard,” you retort back, smile staying stationary on your lips, challenging him.

“Oh, I like you,” Nat grins. “I like her” she states, turning to give Bradley a pointed look.

Hangman breaks the stare down choosing to look towards Bradley instead, “I like her too.”

Rolling your eyes at the statement you also turn to Bradley, tongue coming out to swipe across your bottom lip as you point a finger towards Hangman, “I can learn to tolerate him.”

Bradley lets out a chuckle moving to grab a set of beers from the fridge huffing out an, “We all do that, Sweets” the room erupting into laughter at the expense of Jake “Hangman” Seresin.

Somehow over the course of the night you and Nat had made your way over to the couch, her sipping on a Heineken and you on a coke, leaving the boys to their own devices in the kitchen.

“So, how long did you say you’ve been roommates again?” Hangman questioned, nodding over to you, toying with the perspiration sweating off his beer bottle.

Bradley brings his beer up to his lips slowly, “About a year now, were good friends” taking a sip after he answers.

Jake hums, “And how long have you been lying to yourself about that second part?”

Bradley whips his head towards Jake, eyebrows pinching at his suggestion, “What?”

Huffing Jake turns his attention from the couch where both you and Natasha have started gossiping about some picture on your phone, back to Bradley, “Bradshaw, when’s the last time you went on a date with a girl, or even hooked up with one?”

Jake is met with silence from the naval aviator, and takes a sip from his beer, “That’s my point. You like her man.”

Bradley leans on the countertop, eyes focusing on the way your eyes light up at something Phoenix says, your giggles filling the space of your shared apartment and making him suppress a fond smile. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, we’re just roommates, Bagman.”

Jake watches Bradley watching you, a knowing smile breaking his smug façade, then he moves to sip at his beer, glancing back over to you and Nat, “Whatever you say Bradshaw.”

From the way the wind and rain were whipping against the windows of your apartment, you’d think you were dealing with a stage three hurricane, but according to the weatherman it was just a bad storm. Maybe someone should double check his certification.

Every few minutes thunder would rumble, ricocheting off your apartment complex, shaking the building, and sending you into another gathering frenzy. Moving around the apartment in a flurry, you grab the collection of candles you’ve been hoarding and any lighters you can find.

In your rush, you don’t hear Bradley enter the apartment, too busy with collecting all of the necessary items.

Bradley smiles as you pass by him, oversized tee flowing behind you, socks making you skid on the hardwood floors of your apartment as you spread the abundance of candles throughout the living space.

“What are you doing?”

A shriek escapes your lips, narrowly avoiding dropping three candles as you recompose yourself, straightening your back you let out an exasperated breath. Placing the remaining candles down onto the side table you huff, “What does it look like I’m doing?” You turn to face Bradley, who looks like he’s soaked from head to toe; he must’ve left his flight suit at the base today since he’s sporting just a black tee and his workout shorts, “I’m preparing for our inevitable demise.” You exaggerate.

Bradley chuckles at your dramatic opinion of the weather, “I don’t think fifty candles are gonna help us sweetheart.”

You give him a reprimanding look, groaning as you say, “No but they’ll help with our vision whenever the power goes out. And some of us, are afraid of the dark.”

Bradley’s smile softens at your admission and angles himself toward the foyer table, reaching into one of the drawers and pulling out the flashlight you’d been looking for. Turning to you and giving it a little wave in an effort to make you feel better.

You smile at his thoughtfulness, “I’ve been looking for that everywhere.”

Giving the flashlight a light toss, Bradley chuckles, “And looking in all the wrong spots apparently.”

Another round of thunder rattles the apartment, making you jump, eyes flashing with fear for a moment. Bradley raises his eyebrows at your reaction and sets the flashlight on the kitchen island.

“You okay?”

You turn to him, giving a small nod, “Yeah, I’m fine. Storms don’t normally bother me but this one just feels like it’s closer to a hurricane than a regular storm.”

Bradley nods at your statement, “You gonna be okay if I take a quick shower?”

Throwing your hand up nonchalantly, you wave him off, “I’ll be fine, probably gonna light a few candles and start a new book.”

His eyes wander the expansion of your face, looking for any cracks in your calm and collected façade you’re putting up. Not finding any, he rationalizes that he’ll only be gone for ten minutes tops, and can coax you into cozying up on the couch to watch another episode of “The Witcher” once he’s finished.

Shooting a reassuring smile your way he side steps out of your way to head to the shower, “I’ll be out shortly sweetheart!”

Shaking your head, you force yourself to move again throughout the apartment, huffing as you grab a case of water and set it on the island.

Standing at the entryway to your home you play with a strand of hair nervously, studying the progress you’ve made throughout the space, giving a decisive nod of approval, before heading off to your room to pick a book and grab a few extra blankets to set on the couch.

The wind has picked up even more now, making the patter of rain on the window hit with a force you thought for sure resembled hail. Shivering at the thought, you clutch your collection of blankets closer to your body and make your way back out to the living room, throwing yourself down on the couch and cuddling into your favorite throw pillow, snuggling under the blankets.

Another loud boom of thunder rattles your building, making you let out a soft whimper in response, snuggling further into the couch for comfort. In an effort to calm yourself down you reach across the cushions to grab the pink book peeking out from the collection of blankets, totally abandoned in your haste to hide from the thunder.

You thumb through the first few pages until you see the intricate curvature of the words “Chapter One” typed at the top of the page and immediately immerse yourself into another world of fiction. And within five minutes, you’ve completely forgotten about the raging storm outside, the sharp beating of the rain on the window turning into a dull thumping as your eyes scan the pages in front of you.

Bradley curses to himself at the amount of time he’s spent in the shower, quickly stepping out and drying himself off, throwing on a white tee and his favorite gray sweatpants. Hanging his towel back on his hook, he swiftly opens the door and takes long strides to the living room, reaching his hand around the hallway entrance and poking his head out to see where you’ve scurried off to.

Momentarily panicking when he doesn’t pinpoint your exact location, until his eyes zone in on your blanketed figure on the couch. A grin splits his lips, and he bites the bottom one to contain his chuckle, you’re reading that new book you were talking about, but the way you’ve huddled into the blankets reminds him of the alien from E.T. all wrapped up with only your head being visible.

Sidling up to the frame of the hallway he folds his arms over his chest, shaking his head as he calls out your name. Actually, letting out a chuckle this time when you don’t acknowledge him.

“You good over there, sweetheart?” he tries again.

This time you do look up, and his heart clenches at the sight of your wide eyes, “Shit! I’m sorry Bradley, how long have you been trying to get my attention?”

“Not long sweets, don’t worry about it.” He juts his chin towards the tv, “What do you think about a few episodes of ‘The Witcher’?”

Glancing down at your book you think about it for a second, it was starting to get interesting but you could never say no to Bradley or “Geralt of Rivia”. So you smile and push the blanket off of your head, “You know,” you clicked your tongue, “I’m starting to think you like this show way more than I do.”

Bradley scoffs, “Definitely not, I’m only suggesting it because there’s nothing else worthy of watching on that godforsaken streaming service.”

“Oh please,” you roll your eyes, “just admit it Bradshaw.”

And just as Bradley opens his mouth to give you some smart retort back, a loud crack echoes throughout the room, and the power flickers off. You suppress a scream and instead resort to a quiet whimper.

“Shit sweetheart, are you okay?” Bradley calls.

You bite down on your lower lip and close your eyes to avoid looking into the void of darkness that’s encompassed your apartment, “Not really,” you breathe out.

Bradley goes quiet for a second, trying to make the moment lighthearted in an attempt to make you feel better, “All those candles and you didn’t light any of them huh?”

An offended scoff that closely resembles a whine leaves your lips, “Seriously Bradley.”

“Hey, I’m just pointing out the obvious, sweets” Bradley teases.

“At least I thought about this happening and got us prepared,” you sputter out. “Some of us were too busy washing their mustache to care” you sneer, eyes still screwed tightly shut.

Bradley pinches his eyebrows, “Hey now, no hating on the stache.”

“Bradley I can’t see anything and it’s really loud so I’m sorry, but the feelings of your mustache are not on my list of priorities right now” You huff.

“Okay well then how about we try to find the lighter so we can actually see in here?”

“Fantastic idea Bradshaw, best one you’ve had all night,” your tone exaggerated, moving your hands to aid in pushing yourself up from the couch.

Letting out a puff of air, Bradley ignores your comment and starts using his hand to navigate through the living room, hoping he’s getting close to the couch, bumping his knee into what he thinks is the side table, letting out a low groan.

“You okay over there, showoff?” you call out, taking a few tentative steps forward.

“Yeah,” he grunts, “I’m fine.”

You nod your head in understanding and mumble out a quiet, “Okay, good.”

Bradley moves forward again, maneuvering around what he thinks is the coffee table. He can hear your shaky breaths so he’s almost a hundred percent sure he’s a few steps away from the couch.

Growing a little bolder you take two steps forward, which proves fatal as you end up tripping over what felt like a shoe, forcing you to stumble forward in an attempt to catch your footing, throwing your hands out to avoid crashing into anything, only for them to land on Bradley’s warm and hard chest.

Not quite balanced yet, you stumble forward a bit more, Bradley grabbing your wrist in hopes to help steady you, pulling you closer to him in the process.

You haven’t been able to see since the power went out, but having him this close allows you to see the outline of his face and the sparkle of his eyes, your breath hitches in your throat at your proximity and it all becomes overwhelmingly intimate.

Looking away from his profile into the darkness, you momentarily forget about the fear of the storm and instead are distracted by the very muscular, very attractive man; that is your roommate, currently holding you.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” Bradley whispers.

Closing your eyes, you turn your head and force a shaky breath out from your lips, “Yeah, just tripped over a shoe or something.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” He mumbles, voice a little raspier than normal.

Shit.

Your eyes shoot open, your head tilting back to face him, “If you’re referring to the fact that it’s darker than a black hole in here right now, then no, I’m not okay, I would really appreciate at least one of those candles being lit right about now.”

Another roll of thunder crashes into your living room, echoing along the walls and through your chest, making you press further into Bradley’s firm hold.

Closing your eyes again you huff, “I’m sorry.”

Bradley moves the hand that doesn’t have a grip on your wrist around your back, tugging you into his warm embrace, “You have nothing to be sorry for sweetheart,” he reassures, resting his chin on top of your head as he speaks.

You sigh, allowing yourself just for a moment, to enjoy how close he is right now. Just roommates you remind yourself.

“I swear I’m not usually this bad with them,” you mumble against his chest, referring to the raging storm outside.

Bradley’s chuckle rumbles through his chest, nodding his head in understanding, “Where do you think that lighter is right about now?”

“I have no idea, maybe on the island? That’s where I put the majority of stuff.” You mumble, placing your hands flat against him to aid in inching yourself away from his chest.

Bradley hums, keeping a firm grip on your wrist as he steps back slowly towards the kitchen, pulling you with him. “Okay,” he nods, “Lets focus on getting the flashlight and then the lighter. That sound okay with you?”

Feeling the way his thumb is rubbing small circles into your skin, you whisper out a “Yeah,” gulping down your nerves that are so frazzled you’re not sure if it’s from the storm, or from how tender he’s being.

Taking a few more short steps; with Bradley leading the way, the two of you eventually make it to the kitchen island. Bradley letting your hand go in favor of roaming his over the countertop, blindly searching for the flashlight while you focus on finding the lighter. After what seems like hours, Bradley announces his accomplishment and flicks the button on the metal piece of the flashlight, a beam of light hitting your pupils making you flinch and close your eyes. Bradley cursed under his breath in apology, moving the light down towards the countertop in search of the lighter, allowing you to reopen your eyes and get accustomed to the new source of light.

Eyes scanning over your pile of necessities, you spot the lighter peeking out from behind one of the candles.

“Found it,” you sigh in relief.

Bradley’s eyes pan over to you from where he’s standing, watching as you reach past an emerald, green candle that has a picture of the woods wrapped around it; the words “sandalwood” in some typewriter font scribbled at the top, and pull the lighter out of the dark and into the beam of light coming from the flashlight.

Meeting Bradley’s eyes you shoot him a soft smile, giving the lighter a little wave, “Lets light these candles.”

A soft chuckle rumbles through Bradley’s chest while he shakes his head in amusement, “Leave it to you to make a ‘The Boys’ reference.”

You smile, turning away from him as you grab the same emerald, green candle that he was just looking at, clicking the lighter on and pushing it against the wick, “It’s not my fault okay, there’s some great one-liners in there. I just so happen to be capable of altering it to fit our scenario.”

The sky rumbles shortly after your statement and has you kicking into gear, setting the newly lit candle back down onto the island and moving swiftly throughout the apartment, lighting as many candles as you can to brighten up the room, but also not enough to be a fire hazard.

Lighting the last cream-colored candle by the couch, you straighten up and turn towards the room to look at your handiwork, Bradley standing next to you doing the same as he clicks the flashlight off. A soft yellow glow has settled in different areas of the living room and kitchen, the areas surrounding it darker, the further away you get from the candles. “I think that’s good enough.” You murmur, arms crossing over themselves while you scan the space.

Bradley hums in approval, moving an arm around your shoulder and tugging you closer to him.

“What do you wanna do now sweetheart?” Bradley’s voice is soft as he asks his question, allowing his thumb to rub small circles onto your deltoid. It’s comforting.

Allowing your guard to slip, you lean further into his body, turning your head up to look at him, whispering, “Can you sit with me on the couch while I read?” Eyes flickering towards the darkness of your room before returning to his gaze, “I just don’t want to be by myself right now.” You mumble.

And for what feels like the millionth time in the past year, Bradley’s heart skips at your confession, his mouth wanting to grin at just how cute you are and pull you into his chest. Instead, however, he settles for a soft smile and a, “Anything for you sweetheart.”

Gripping your shoulder tighter, he pulls you back towards the comfort of the couch making himself comfortable as he settles into the cushions, allowing you to leave his embrace to grab your book. But once you try to sit back at the opposite end of the couch, Bradley immediately grips your wrist and tugs you back to him.

“You’re gonna end up here anyway, sweetheart, just sit with me.” He rasps out, his warm breath hitting your ear, making you shiver.

Not trusting your words, you hum in response, letting him guide you back into his chest, propping your knees up to rest your book on them as you open it, conveniently landing on the page you had last read.

Somewhere in your brain a little voice was screaming at you that this isn’t what normal roommates do, getting a little louder once Bradley hooked his left arm around your waist, but an even louder voice was telling you just to enjoy it while you could. And in the end, what did it matter anyway? You were going to read and the two of you would part ways once the power came back on to your respective beds and everything would go back to normal. So, what’s the harm in lying here with him now?

The thunder was still rolling outside along with the sharp gusts of wind, but now that you were reading in Bradley’s arms you honestly couldn’t hear it anymore. And what felt like a few short minutes, turned into three hours, your eyes growing heavy, almost dropping the book on your face once you started to nod off.

Becoming mildly alert, you shift your body upwards to set your book on the coffee table, turning to tell Bradley you were going to bed, only to see him peacefully sleeping with his head tilted back onto the throw pillow, right arm flexed behind to support his head as he slept.

Smiling softly to yourself you shake your head and move to get up to go sleep in your bed, only to be anchored down by Bradley’s arm.

Frowning, you grab his hand with yours and begin to try and peel it away from you, Bradley’s grip only growing tighter and successfully pulling you back against him, your hand promptly landing on his chest to avoid faceplanting into it.

Just when you were about to make a second attempt Bradley’s raspy voice rings loud in your ears, “Stop trying to leave me.” He grumbles. Eyes still closed he brings his second arm around your back and pulls you tight against his chest, “Just stay.”

Biting your bottom lip at his drowsy statement, you try to pull your body away from him again, his arms only squeezing tighter around you. “Bradshaw, I need to go to bed,” you huff. Bradley pushes his body further down the couch, keeping you in place as he makes himself comfortable, “Sleep here” he mumbles.

Jesus Christ he’s gonna put you in an early grave.

You allow your eyes to examine his face, the way that his eyelashes touch the tops of his cheeks, sweeping over the tiny freckles littering his face, and stopping at the curve of his lips. Goddamnit. Shaking your head, you squeeze your eyes shut, you can’t do this.

“Bradley” you whisper, voice shaky as you break your gaze from his face and focus on the flickering candlelight, “I really can’t sleep here.”

This pulls him from his drowsy state almost instantaneously and has him fluttering his eyes open, blinking a few times to bring his gaze into focus.

His thumb has a mind of its own it seems, since you feel it push under the fabric of your t-shirt and rub your skin in small circular motions, biting your bottom lip to refrain from doing anything rash, a small “Bradley,” slips past your lips, tone warning.

He doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he brings his other hand up to your face and forces your gaze back to him. It’s quiet as the two of you stare at each other, blood rushing in your ears over the silence that’s only broken by the distant roar of thunder.

Sighing, you start to move your body backwards to put some distance between the two of you, “Bradley, I need to go to- “, your sentence is cut off by Bradley, who’s pulled you down and collided his lips with your own. Your eyes fluttering closed at the sensation of his lips on yours, a moment passing before you understand what’s happening and push your lips against his.

The hand that Bradley has resting against your cheek pulls you further against him, fingers curling around the nape of your neck to keep you close, as you melt into the kiss, his lips caressing yours, mustache tickling your upper lip as they slot together over and over again, until you pull away to catch your breath.

Your eyes flutter open, reconnecting with Bradley’s. His honey-brown eyes have a certain glow behind them as he takes you in, leaning forward to recapture your lips with his own, “Stay.”

Closing your eyes again, you push your lips against his, letting them linger there for a moment before you lean back, and whisper out a breathy, “Okay.”

A soft, adoring smile pulls at Bradley’s lips, giving his head a short nod as he leans the two of you back, settling himself into the couch cushions while you pull your grandma’s knitted blanket off the back of the couch and over the two of you. Nuzzling yourself into his neck, placing a few chaste kisses along the scars that have made homage there. Slipping your hand under his white t-shirt while you mutter, “Just so you know,” another kiss, “I will be milking the fuck out of this.”

Bradley lets out a chuckle, kissing the top of your head briefly before closing his eyes, “Wouldn’t have it any other way, sweetheart.”

Two Weeks Later

Nat and Jake had come over again for another dinner night. This time, you chose to make dinner, a simple “lasagna roll-up” recipe you found on pinterest that has never failed you when it came to impressing guests.

Bradley and Jake were sitting at the kitchen island, mulling over the salad Bradley had just finished tossing while Jake gave him “pointers”, occasionally stealing glances at the two women sitting on the couch, deep in gossip.

Every now and then you’d look over and send Bradley a soft smile, until Natasha grabbed your attention with another story of the shenanigans that had taken place earlier on base. Jake watching the love-sick expression on Bradley’s face, and stewing in the knowledge that Bradley Bradshaw had it bad for you; just like Jake had told him he was several weeks ago.

“Took you long enough Bradshaw,” Jake poked, bringing the beer he’d been holding up to his lips and taking a sip, smirk prominent on his face.

Bradley spared Jake a glance before returning his attention back to you, clicking his tongue, “When are you gonna tell Phoenix how you feel, Seresin?”

Jake’s eyes flicked to Nat’s figure currently relaxing on the gray couch, not giving anything away, keeping his expression in his traditional cocky smirk, “I have no idea what you’re talking about Rooster.” Taking another sip of his beer, Jake moves his body off the stool and towards the living room, sitting himself down ungracefully next to Nat, her throwing an irritated look at him.

Rooster suppresses a chuckle at his teammates and shakes his head before moving himself to sit next to you, easing his arm around your shoulder, you relaxing into his embrace immediately.

Jake leans onto the arm of couch, permanent smirk etched onto his lips, “Okay I gotta know. What got you hooked on our very own ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw?”

Nat smacks Jake’s wrist and immediately reprimands him with an annoyed “and this is why we only tolerate you, Bagman” while you sit there, a blushing mess, as Bradley rubbed small circles into your shoulder.

You mull it over in your head for a second while Nat continues to reprimand Jake before you speak up, “Honestly?”

Everyone goes quiet at your consideration of Jake’s question, apart from Jake who lets his famous smirk return to his face, “I’d love to hear the honest answer.”

You look up at the ceiling briefly, cheeks flushing as you mumble, “Definitely the mustache.”

The room immediately erupts into laughter, Jake and Nat rushing out questions at a million miles a second, while you cover your face in embarrassment.

Bradley just chuckles to himself and pulls your face into his side, kissing the top of your head, emphasizing the rub of his mustache against your forehead, making you burrow further into his side.

“Just Roommates my ass!”

#bradley rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster x reader #topgun maverick #topgun fic #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagines

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htchnr · 6 months

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★ gentle hands ❥ A. HOTCHNER.

➻❥ masterlist. ➻❥ patreon.

CW ➥ reader has issues with eating ⋆ very brief mention of an alcohol problem ⋆ mention of binge eating or not eating ⋆ sweet and sappy comfort fic ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!

WC ➥ 1,3k. SONG ➥ chocolate mint , duster.

SUMMARY ➥ you've always had issues with food, you either eat too much, or not enough, or not at all. you've always struggled with it yourself, but now that you live together with Aaron it's a little difficult to avoid or hide. so when you tell him about your struggles, he comforts you. as requested by an anon, but i lost the ask 😭

AUTHORS NOTE ➥ i'm getting a little bit better! still feel like i've got the flu, but i've atleast been able to concentrate on writing a request! 😁 i'm gonna try my best to finish up the remaining Kinktober posts, those will at the very least be all done before the end of November!

you rolled on your back, eyes glued to the ceiling as you tightened your jaw. the clock had briefly flashed 3:28AM when you moved. your hands clenching and unclenching at your sides.

the urge to eat something was so overbearingly painful. you weren't necessarily hungry, you just need something to eat. you've tried explaining it to therapists before, but it never came out the way it needed to. you've briefly talked about it with Morgan once, though ended up not continuing the conversation after you got a call about a case and left.

and you didn't want to bring it up with Aaron; he already worried about the smallest things, the tiny bad habits you had. Aaron was one of the best people you've met, but you felt like you only burdened him with your flaws. though if Aaron ever heard you say that, he'd crush you in a hug and force you to apologise. to yourself, for ever daring to think that you were a burden to him.

your fists clenched one more time before you sat up, rubbing your hands across your face in frustration. some nights food was comforting, other nights; like this night, it was a nuisance and it frustrated you so much, your self image took the bullet for it.

you carefully moved the blankets off of you, letting your feet quietly hit the cold wood floor of your bedroom. you glanced behind you at the figure in your bed; Aaron laid peacefully, the deep creases in his face looking more relaxed as he slept.

you brushed a hand through your hair as you quietly left the bedroom and walked towards the kitchen. you yawned as you pulled open the main cupboard where you kept most packaged foods like crackers, cookies, cereal etc. one hand holding the door, the other on the bare skin of your waist, you hadn't bothered putting anything else on beside the bralette and the pair of pyjama shorts you had worn to bed.

you hesitated, i should shut the door and just go back to bed, you thought to yourself. but your body moved on it's own accord, grabbing a box of cereal and two granola bars. your hold tightened around the bars, plastic crinkling in your grip before you set the items on the counter. you pulled open the fridge to grab the milk, and pulled out a rather large clean bowl from the dishwasher. you made a mental reminder to empty that out after you were done eating.

you poured the cereal into the bowl, hoping the sound didn't trigger Aaron and then twisted open the cap of the milk before pouring it in, the quiet 'crackle' of the cereal filling your ears.

you cracked open the dishwasher once more, grabbing a spoon and shoving it in the bowl, stirring and coating all the cereal in the milk. you took a bite, your tense form almost instantly relaxing a smidge as you chewed on the cereal. see? eating was a good idea. you stood facing the counter while you ate, stuck in your own headspace.

so much so that you hadn't noticed that Aaron had left the bedroom. you rather quickly finished the bowl of cereal, putting it down on the counter beside the sink. as you grabbed for one of the granola bars, a pair of warm, gentle hands slid around your waist and their fingers splayed across your stomach, followed by a pair of lips pressed against your bare shoulder.

"what are you doing up honey?" he asked quietly. he noticed the atmosphere the second he entered the kitchen. your hand tensed around the granola bar, before shoving it against the counter and letting it go. your frame was still tense, even against Aaron's warm body. you don't need the granola bar, you eat enough as it is.

you shook your head a second after Aaron's question. "it's nothing, i was just-" you paused. don't tell him, you'll just give him more to deal with. one side spoke. while the other side encouraged you to open up to him about this. "what's wrong? i can hear those brilliant gears turning. talk to me dear." he spoke endearingly, a slight tease to his tone, that left as soon as it came. you turned in Aaron's arms, your lower back now against the counter, the granola bars behind you as you faced Aaron's bare chest.

"it's nothing Aar, go back to bed.." you insisted, still not meeting his eyes.

Aaron's hold tightened a little on the swell of your hips before lifting one hand to tilt your chin up to face him. "i know when something's wrong, please just talk to me about it." he spoke in a tone a little higher than a whisper. he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss against your forehead.

"it's just that," you paused. are you doing this right now? "i," you suck in a breath. you couldn't seem to find the words now.

Aaron stroked your cheek. "hey, take your time." you encouraged you gently, a reassuring smile on his lips.

you nodded, looking down at your hands. do it, come on. "i have a problem with eating." there, it wasn't that hard, was it? Aaron nodded lightly, prompting you to continue. "i, i either eat too much or nothing at all." Aaron's hand returned to your waist, his thumbs rubbing reassuring circles into the soft flesh.

this wasn't as hard as you made it out to be. "some nights i feel like the urge to eat is so strong, that it eats away at me until i eat. though i'm not always even hungry, i just, have to eat. that doesn't make sense does it?" you chuckle sadly, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his warm chest, your arms still hanging at your sides. "and some days, i just avoid food all together. it's like the feeling of eating makes me feel so sick? not necessarily physically sick, but mentally." you continue, a slight crack in your voice.

Aaron's heart breaks at your confession. he knew something was going on, but not that it ran this deep. "and some days, i just drink all day. being drunk blocks out all the issues with eating. either i eat a normal amount, or i don't really eat at all, but it takes the bad feelings about each away." you mumble. this is embarrassing. Aaron lowers one of his hands down to one of yours, intertwining his fingers gently with yours. your thumb fiddled around with his thick fingers.

"i'm sorry i'm laying this all on you i know-"

"hey, don't." he speaks, his voice still gentle and quiet, but more assertive. you look up at him. "don't be sorry about something you can't control. as for not talking to me about it, i'm not mad at you, i just wished you'd come to me with these things more often. i know you're struggling, but i have no way of helping you, or even just being there if i don't know what's going on in that gorgeous mind of yours."

tears well up in your eyes. Aaron's thumb coming up just before a tear rolls down, gentle wiping it away. "come to me when you feel like this okay? come to me when you're having one of those days where eating pains you, or when you crave to eat the whole day. i'm here for you okay honey? i'm here for you, no matter what." he's here to help you, so let him.

you nod, licking a tear off your lips. he wraps an arm fully around your soft bare waist, the other one wrapping around your shoulder as he pulls you against him. your arms wrapping around his waist as you hold him tight. "thank you." your voice is muffled by his skin, but Aaron hears it. "i love you." you hold him tighter, pressing your face against his warm chest, the feeling of being held by him calming down any negative thoughts or feelings.

"i love you too." he whispers back, placing a firm kiss on the top of your head.

he pulls away, his thumb wiping away some tears. "do you want to eat something before we head back to bed?" he asks you, he had already spotted the granola bars behind you. you think for a second before nodding.

Aaron nods along, reaching for one of the bars behind you. he opens it, leaning away from you for just a second as he throws away the wrapper and hands you the bar. his hand wraps around yours as you take the bar from him, his thumb rubbing brief but gently against the back of your hand.

you eat the bar slowly, having Aaron stand in front of you calms the intensity of the craving. and when you're finished with the bar Aaron smiles. he leans down and captures your lips in a soft kiss. you wrap your arms around his neck as you lean into it. Aaron leans down, his warm gentle hand sliding down your waist and hips until they reach the back of your thighs, pulling you up and into his arms. you wrap your thighs around his bare waist and lean your head on his shoulder as he carries you back to the bedroom.

tonight might've been conquered, but there's still many more nights and days to go. though, now they don't seem as dark and daunting..

#⋆୨🩷©2023 htchnr #⋆୨⭐️aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner comfort #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner angst

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rainbowfoxes · 2 months

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Just so you know, if you tag things "for exposure" on Ao3 I hate you, specifically.

Ao3 has no algorithm - it is an ARCHIVE; that means it stores works in a completely value-neutral way. Nothing you do will put it in front of eyeballs that did not go specifically looking for it.

So when you tag things "for exposure" - meaning you tag things that are not in the work at all in order to put it in front of people who DON'T WANT IT. If you use a /Reader tag "for exposure" and have NO /Reader in your work, all you're going to get is a bunch of people mad at you because they went looking for /Reader and got whatever you wrote instead. And all the people who would've liked what you wrote are going to skip over it because they don't WANT to read a /Reader fic.

Tags are not advertising, they're the nutrition facts on the back of the cereal box. They tell you what is ACTUALLY IN THE THING so you can make an informed decision about it. But if people LIE about what's in it, then everyone gets rightfully upset because there were nuts in their nut-free granola. And if I was promised nuts in my chocolate bar and didn't get any, I'd be mighty peeved.

So don't tag things "for exposure" it's rude and scummy and most of all, annoying.

#ao3 #ao3 tags #fandom culture #fandom wank #Saw a TMNT fic that had every /reader and /OC tag under the sun #and then a tag that said those tags were 'just for exposure' and I became incredibly enraged #that's SO fucking rude oh my god

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harrygoeswest · 1 year

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Infatuation On A Mutual Level

You and Harry are housemates and are both secretly quite fond of one another.

A/N: Woooo she’s here!!! I loved writing this one shot a lot and I really hope it shows. I haven’t had motivation to write for ages and this year I’ve really come back to it and I’m so happy. I hope you all love it as much as I do. She’s special to me. Special mention to the only person who ever wants to read for me @all-things-fic <3 Please come tell me what you think afterwards!! Katie x

Trigger Warnings: sexual content, brief mentions of loss, nightmares

Word Count: 18,777

~.~.~.~.~

Now

Every morning was the same.

The creak from the only bed on the first floor began the day. Then the gush of the tap in the shared bathroom. The kettle in the kitchen on the ground floor. The door closing when George left for the day. Then again 15 minutes later when Rhys did. Abbie starting the shower immediately afterwards now her boyfriend was gone. And then the only thing that ever made your skin prickle:

Harry’s door opening.

Every morning you would roll over at the sound, away from it. God forbid the man who defined ‘sex on legs’ ever pinned you with that warm, green-eyed stare first thing in the morning through the open gap of your own bedroom door. No, you might never be able to survive such a thing.

Living in a shared house was hard. Not least because you felt responsible for the place itself; owned by your single dad who would do anything to bring in what income he could, including taking more rent off his eldest child than he’d like. An argument arose regularly over your living situation but it was hard enough filling the fourth bedroom with a tenant. Living in the third was the least you felt you could do. The building was in dire need of some TLC but it wasn’t exactly an affordable fete. Sometimes the ceiling leaked on the second floor when it rained thanks to some shabby scaffolding work a few years back; the main reason why it was so hard to let the fourth bedroom. Part of you didn’t want to.

It was also hard in a house share because people were messy and you had a horrendous phobia of general mess. If you could quit your job and play full-time housekeeper you absolutely would. But your dad wouldn’t allow that. “Not in my lifetime,” He’d say with the gentlest scowl.

But the hardest part, by far, was being in such close proximity to the man who rented the bedroom across the hall. You weren’t sure why you were so terrified of him. Scarred by your original encounter with him, perhaps, but he wasn’t actually scary. He was, rather annoyingly, the nicest person in the house. Constantly aloof, yes, but still the poster boy for gentlemen everywhere.

Maybe if you spoke to him you’d learn he’s just a normal bloke, your inner voice trilled.

“Shut the fuck up.” You hissed into your pillow.

You waited for the inevitable sputter of the shower starting up again, and then rolled out of bed, threw on the clothes you’d hung up on the wardrobe door the night before - clean white shirt and grey trousers, ironed within an inch of their life - and scurried downstairs to arrange your usual to-go breakfast. Coffee in a reusable cup and a cereal bar. Hair and makeup could be fixed at work. You were always thirty minutes early anyway.

Harry wasn’t sure how you managed it. How every day you managed to evade him to avoid a puffy-eyed “good morning” or a potentially awkward conversation over breakfast.

As he stood in the hallway between your bedrooms towelling his hair dry in nothing but a pair of boxers and a damp t-shirt, he stared into your bedroom and marvelled yet again at how you seemed to have managed to keep it tidied to a borderline compulsive degree.

A large king bed sat against the left wall with ironed white linens and a plush sunflower yellow throw draped across the foot. One lone bedside table tucked against the right side with a tasselled muted green 60s velvet lamp and a book resting atop. A picture hung above the headboard - some vibrant canvas of abstract art. Every morning he wondered if you’d painted it yourself. Against the opposite wall stood a tall regal-looking cherrywood wardrobe next to a matching dresser with a sleek TV on top. It was the most modern thing about the room. In the window overlooking the garden a dream catcher hung in the dead centre. It was the only nicknack you seemed to have, and part of him hated that it seemed like something negative. Something to catch nightmares, to ward off evil.

Did you have bad dreams? And if so, why?

As always, the window had been opened two inches to let in fresh air. You never closed your door, not even at night. You never had clothes left out. Clutter didn’t exist in your vocabulary. Dust wasn’t permitted in your room. Or the bathroom, or kitchen, or living room, he’d deduced. You took Wednesdays off in the week and cleaned when no one else was home to bother you. He doubted the others had picked up on these things about you, but he’d noticed.

Harry had noticed a lot about you.

Especially that in the mornings, you waited until he took his bathroom time to get ready for work and leave without having to run into him. Some chaotic part of him wanted to change his routine so you’d have to. He wanted to know what you looked like straight out of bed with puffy eyes and linen marks on your cheeks and hair in disarray. The other part of him, the gentleman, told him not to. Who knew what might happen if he threw your routine off kilter.

Distress, probably?

No. He wouldn’t be having that.

Shaking his head, he wandered into his own room and shut the door behind him. One day the puzzle of you would finally form a complete picture. Today, he settled for the tethered, jumbled segments he’d managed to collect this far.

You stared at your phone, face a picture of bewilderment. Deciphering text messages from the housemates was starting to get increasingly difficult, no thanks to the fact that you were shit at it and everyone else seemed to excel.

Blackpool Tower

🌚 👰🏼❌🧽🍽️🔄

🌝 🙈🖕🏼

👰🏼 😕

Translation: Abbie George didn’t wash his dishes again.

Rhys Oh for fuck’s sake.

George Whoops.

You were on a roll with the emojis. It had started as a joke because George had said he hated people who only used emojis to text each other rather than actual words, so for a week the four of you had sent every text using only emojis. Then it had turned into a bet: how long could all of you go without using words, and who would be the first one to crack. You all knew that, without a doubt, Rhys would crack first, even though he was the one who’d proposed the bet in the first place. It had been two weeks and no one had cracked yet.

🍉 🤔👰🏼🥄🥄🍱🔄

👰🏼 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😠

🌝 😒🙄

🌚 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️

👑 ❌❌❌❌❌❌❌

Translation:

Harry Maybe George should cook dinner again…

George HAHAHAHAHAHAHA no.

Rhys Yeah right.

Abbie No thank you.

You Absolutely fucking not.

Why did all of you have such ridiculous headers?

Abbie and Rhys were the twin moons because that was the look they always gave each other when they thought something was cute, funny, interesting, or otherwise. They’d moved into the house as a couple and had remained in said couple for 3 years. Sharing a room was their way of saving money to buy a house. It made sense.

George was a blonde bride because he was the most outwardly gay man any of you had ever known and often acted like an utter madam. Madam was actually George’s nickname to his friends now thanks to the house’s light ribbing. He had also chosen his own emoji.

Harry was the watermelon because we were never without it thanks to a frankly concerning obsession. If there wasn’t a watermelon in the fridge, or slices, or packaged chunks, something was very wrong.

And you were the crown because you’d refused to pick an emoji and the house had affectionately bestowed the title of Tower Queen to you. You’d pretended to hate it, but they all knew you viewed it as the highest compliment.

Oh, and the group chat was called Blackpool Tower because you lived together in a tall, two-rooms-to-a-floor townhouse at the top of town. The Eiffel Tower had been suggested but George immediately pointed out that we were not a classy enough bunch to live in such a fine establishment. I’d told him to speak for himself.

The talk of food made you hungry, and it hit you like a landslide that you hadn’t had any dinner. You rolled off your bed and sent a text to Blackpool Tower, then shoved your phone away.

Multiple things happened at once. The shower turned on in the bathroom; your bedroom door opened with a quiet creak (which would not happen again since you went through WD40 like a bee in pollen); Harry’s phone vibrated with another text.

Blackpool Tower

👑 👩‍🍳🍝 … 🌚🍝🌝🍝🍉🍝➡️🧊 … ❌🍝👰🏼

Harry snickered.

Translation: You Making dinner. Leftovers in the fridge. None for George.

It wasn’t unusual you’d make enough food for everyone. Harry had learned that you’d picked that trait up from your dad. Sometimes no one would stop you, especially since there was never anything wrong with a meal you’d cooked. In fact, if there were a restaurant with food cooked by you, Harry would dine there every night. But he also knew that letting you cook for all the other housemates all the time wasn’t fair.

🌚 🍉➡️🍉❌🍉➡️🍉❌👑

👰🏼 🚫🚫🚫🚫

“For fuck’s sake.” He muttered.

Rhys must have been in the shower. If George or Abbie were home they’d have rugby tackled you to the floor given the chance.

Harry abandoned his phone and lurched out of his room, down the stairs to the kitchen. He nearly stacked it twice but he made it, with panting breaths to accompany him.

You turned your gaze on him with a startled look, giving him a once over. “What are you doing…?”

“Don’t you dare cook for everyone else.”

You blinked twice and then rolled your eyes. “It’s fine - I’ve got plenty.”

“It’s not fair.”

“If I don’t cook it today it’ll go off. So might as well.”

Harry looked at the produce you’d piled on the counter and back at you, then back again. “Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You bought enough for everyone.” He straightened and folded his arms across his chest.

You spluttered and scoffed for far too long. “No.”

“Yes.”

“You can’t stop me.” You scowled at him.

It was the most emotions he’d ever seen on you. If he’d known all this time that all he needed to do to get a conversation out of you was wind you up a bit, he’d have done it much sooner.

“Yes I can.”

You put a hand on your hip. Christ. “How?”

He stared at you, statuesque and cursing himself for challenging a bet he couldn’t win. You were right. How would he stop you? He wasn’t going to drag you away from the kitchen and up the stairs without your permission. Hell, he didn’t want to do anything without your permission, threats begotten. He hadn’t thought this through.

You let out a breath, a mocking one, and turned away from him and picked up a knife to start chopping. “Didn’t think so.”

“You can’t do this forever.”

Chop.

“Do what?” You challenged, refusing to look at him again.

Chop chop.

“Look after every person that comes in here because you feel like you owe people something. The world will take advantage of you. Is that what you want?”

Your shoulders visibly tensed over the words that tumbled out of his mouth. They weren’t even spoken with malice. They were soft and cautious.

CHOP.

“This feels like a very deep conversation to be having on a Tuesday evening.”

He growled, frustrated. “Stop babying everyone.”

Chopchopchop.

“If they didn’t want me to baby them they simply wouldn’t let me. And maybe I like babying people. Sometimes it’s nice to have a responsibility.”

“That’s just it, though. They’re not your responsibility.”

You smacked the knife down on the chopping board and turned to face him, an unfamiliar anger in your eyes that muddled with something else murky and grey. Hurt. “Will you just let me cook my fucking dinner in peace?”

Harry stood, tense, staring at you with his fists clenching and unclenching. Finally, he said, “Fine. But you’ve got to let me help you.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Harry.” Your head lolled back.

“Two different people, but I appreciate why you might get confused.”

You stared at him for an indecipherable length of time. Or gawked might have been a better descriptor. And then you snatched the tea towel off the side and smacked it in a whip-like movement against his arm. “Git.”

Two weeks later and you and Harry had begun a sort of ritual; you would cook with each other every other night. The distinct difference was that when you bought food, you bought enough for everyone. When Harry did it he only bought enough for the two of you.

You hadn’t quite figured out yet if being in this new… friendship with Harry was better or worse. Cooking together four nights a week versus blissful ignorance towards him and his attractiveness? The now near-constant proximity to him was making your head spin for stupid reasons. Namely said attractiveness.

His biceps for one. No one should be allowed arms that had the ability to make one’s mouth water. Pair his strong muscles with the litter of tattoos that were drawn down his right arm and you’d found yourself sweating even on the coldest day. A man’s body should not have such a strong effect on a person, yet here you were - a swoon personified.

Then there was his face, which was worse. Eyes mouth jaw. Those three things individually on a man were the first thing that always drew you in, but Harry had a triple threat. Seaglass green, blush pink and the perfect 100 degree angle. Not too square. And to top it all off, a wispy mop of chestnut waves atop his big head.

The perfect man?

“Aye,” Harry took the knife off you before you started chopping an onion, “thought we established that needed sharpening. A blunt knife is more dangerous than a sharp one.”

A man who cared about your wellbeing?

His bedside manner could use some work.

“Fuck off.” You whispered to your inner voice.

“What?”

“Nothing.” You shook your head, cheeks burning. Great, he probably thought you were crazy.

You silently passed Harry the stone out of the drawer. He could sharpen it if he was going to make such a big deal out of it.

“Thank you.” He mumbled, and started swiping the edge of the knife along the full length of the stone.

Chalky noises. Sharp noises. Furrowed brow. Biceps flexing. Obscenely attractive. Abort abort abort.

You busied yourself by turning on the hob and drizzling oil into a pan. Basically looking anywhere but at Harry and his arms. Sexy arms.

Sex on legs.

Your legs were wobbling. A flame of burdened heat licked its way between your thighs and you had to lean against the counter to stop from buckling. It had been a long time since a man had touched you.

Yeah. This was worse. Definitely worse. Hyper-awareness of everything going on around you wasn’t unusual, but being hyper-aware of everything Harry did was like some unfound form of torture. There was being attracted to someone and then there was whatever this situation was.

Ridiculous?

It was ridiculous, but at least you could suffer knowing that your inner voice had been wrong. Harry was not a normal bloke. He was some kind of enigma.

For the past couple of nights Harry had kept his door open. He’d learned that you did indeed have nightmares regularly so the dreamcatcher you kept in your bedroom window was doing little for your unconscious mind. He’d debated buying a bigger one for you but wasn’t entirely sure how appropriate that would be.

You weren’t loud. In fact, if he hadn’t kept his door open he never would’ve known, because the ajar-ness of his door had come prompted for completely different reasons - that unusual urge to see you first thing in the morning. Now two nights in a row he had been woken up by your little yelp, followed with a hissed string of curses while shifting around your bedsheets to get comfortable again. As soon as he knew you were asleep, he wasn’t too far along after you.

He still hadn’t been able to decide if cooking with you nearly every night was a good thing or a bad thing. While he never failed to enjoy himself during your bi-nightly kitchen sessions, he hated separating from you afterwards. It wasn’t enough. The persistent nearness of you for an hour or so only to be followed by a later severance was almost painful. The bedroom door being left open was just another attempt at trying to get closer to you.

He knew it was you in the bathroom because you took longer than everyone else. Not because you were using up all the hot water but because you used it as an excuse to give it a thorough clean. Being able to hear everything going on in the house was both a gift and a curse, but Harry wasn’t attuned to all the tenants. Only you.

Five minutes later the bathroom door opened, and you plodded up the two flights of stairs. He knew the way all the stairs creaked, and you were going at nothing more than a leisurely pace. He caught a glimpse of you as you passed, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. The scent of strawberries and jasmine wafted through the gap in his door after you.

Harry’s phone vibrated.

Blackpool Tower

🌝 Friends coming over tomorrow night for drinks 🍻 we’ll behave

👰🏼 You idiot

🌚 RHYS

🌝 NOOOOOOOOOO

🍉 Pay up dipshit

🌝 😭😭😭

A few minutes later Harry got a notification to say he’d received a £10 payment into his bank account.

Then

The cold had crept in again. Not from the weather - it was warm at night. This was a different kind of cold. The sweaty kind that kept you up at night. Medication had kept the nightmares away for some time but now you were locked in the house for the foreseeable future you couldn’t bear the idea of being constantly dimmed down by it in front of your housemates.

Last night was the first time you’d had a nightmare in close to a year and it was just as terrifying as it used to be. Some traumas just wouldn’t leave you be. You’d taken a couple of painkillers to numb your headache and they’d graciously knocked you out for another few hours and brought you right on through to 8am. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d slept that late. With everyone at home all the time now, it seemed no one wanted to get out of bed.

You had a job to do today, anyway. The room next to yours had finally been rented, so you’d been tasked with giving it a proper clean before the new tenant arrived this evening.

You did need to eat, but before that you wanted to get the window open in there to coax some fresh air in.

Hauling yourself out of bed, you meticulously tidied your room the same you did with every morning, dressed in clothes appropriate for cleaning, and took the short step across the hall to the other room.

The door was closed which was unusual. You always left the doors to the empty rooms open with a wedge so they wouldn’t get stuffy from disuse. Maybe you’d opened the window yesterday and forgot? Had the wind closed it for you?

Shrugging to yourself, you opened it anyway.

“Oh,” your eyes widened, “fuck, shit, sorry.”

Inside, collapsed face down on the bed dressed with only a sheet was a man, near-naked in only a pair of boxers. You couldn’t see much of his features bar a mop of chocolate curls, a heavily tattooed arm, and a particularly nice arse beneath his pants.

He lifted his head, complete with a gorgeous profile, and peeled open an eye. A very green, beautiful eye. He made a confused, questioning noise.

The room was full of belongings, so this must be the new tenant and not some homeless person who’d managed to sneak in without anyone realising. At least you hoped.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were moving in later today. Sorry.”

“Friday.” He managed. A sleep-coated, groggy and somewhat delirious voice. It was delicious. You wanted to taste it.

“What?”

“Friday was moving day.”

“Yes. Today.”

“No. Yesterday.”

You looked at your phone. “Christ. I’m sorry. Isolation is getting to me. You don’t care. I’m sorry. I’m interrupting your sleep. I’ll go. Sorry.”

You pulled the door closed before you could embarrass yourself any further, and then hid yourself in the bathroom out of sheer embarrassment.

If you never saw that marvellous-looking man again it would be too soon.

Now

Harry often thought about that first day.

Morning. Just after dawn. Early summer sun casting you in gold. Tiny shorts. Faded creaseless t-shirt. Sleepy face messy hair.

He hadn’t seen you anything of the sort since and he craved it like an addict did cocaine.

A pandemic had ruined many things for many people, and the most recent ruin back then had been Harry’s longest relationship. That’s what had brought him to a double bedroom in a shared house rather than a flat and his own fucking space. He couldn’t afford the latter.

It had been hot that night, moving into a new home in the darkness. He’d picked up the key from the owner, your dad it had turned out, and transferred his possessions from one place to another in the late night simply to avoid having to discuss his situation with people he didn’t know.

But yes, the heat is what had caused him to strip down to his underwear before passing out. The startled look on your face at the sight of him had absolutely been worth it. The sight of you had been worth it. Such a strong attraction to someone fresh after a breakup should be wildly inappropriate, but there you suddenly were, bare-legged and dangling yourself in front of him like a piece of string to a kitten. Still, the fact remained that Harry liked to think himself a gentleman. He tried to be a gentleman, and after living so close to you for so long, it didn’t take long to learn that you liked to keep to yourself. So he had done the same.

Until now, apparently.

“That housemate of yours here?”

Harry’s ears pricked up at the question like a cat’s would if it heard something interesting. He recognised the voice and hated the speaker. He always had. Today was no exception.

“Which one? I’ve got three of ‘em if we don’t include Abbie.” Rhys’s oblivious laughter filtered up the stairs to the sanctuary of the top floor.

“Well I ain’t talkin’ about the lads, am I?”

Harry shivered. He imagined if you could hear them then you would too.

“She’s here”, “Don’t bother,” came simultaneously from Rhys and Abbie. Abbie sounded almost defensive, and that pleased Harry to no end.

“Why not?”

“Because she isn’t interested.”

“Maybe you should let her decide that for herself.”

Unconsciously, Harry rose from the desk in his room and made his way across the hall to yours. The door was open, obviously.

You were sitting up with a book but you had earplugs in. Whether it was playing music or just to block out the noise from downstairs he wasn’t sure. As soon as you spotted him a small smile curved on your lips, and you pulled an earplug out. It was playing music.

Harry had never met anyone who could listen to music and read at the same time. There were surely plenty, but this put you in the Elite Tier in his head.

“What’s up?”

Footsteps began on the stairs, and Harry threw a cautionary glance over his shoulder before he slipped inside and closed the door behind him, sliding the lock across.

You were leaning forward now, a crease in your brow. “What’s going on?”

“Rhys’s friends are here.”

You blinked. “I know.”

“Yes but his idiot friends are here.”

You tipped your head. “I’m not following.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know… Gaz? The one with the teeth.”

“Oh. Right. Why not? He’s harmless, no?”

“Is he? I’m not so sure.”

Your name suddenly trilled from the floor below. “You home?”

You looked at the door as Harry moved to the side, dumbfounded. Harry shook his head at you when you began to move.

Why not? You mouthed.

Harry pretended to drink from an invisible glass and grimaced.

The idiot called your name again and knocked on the door. “Come on, come say hi.”

Harry was really scowling now. You flashed glances between him and the door multiple times.

“She’s probably asleep, mate!” Rhys hissed from outside the door. “She works early some Saturdays.”

That was not true. You’d never worked weekends, not even as a teen. It was Rhys’s smart ruse to get him to back off.

The door handle jostled. Harry suddenly looked more threatening than a mafia boss, and your jaw fell slack from shock.

“Oi,” smack, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What? Worth a shot.”

“No it fuckin’ weren’t, go downstairs.”

Some heated muttering commenced, but neither you nor Harry moved or spoke until you were satisfied they wouldn’t hear anything.

“Did he seriously just try and get in here?”

“While you were ‘sleeping’?” Harry air-quoted around the word. “Yes. He did. Hence the distrust.”

“What the fuck…”

He watched you for a moment and the look on your face said it all. You were upset, in a confused sort of way. Your mind was somewhere else, no longer in this room. Eyes glassy and breathing shallow.

Someone had tried to come into your personal space while they had the impression you were sleeping. If that had been the case there was no telling what would’ve happened. If Harry hadn’t come in you probably wouldn’t be any the wiser to Rhys’s friend’s real character, and that was what scared him. You had a tendency to put too much faith in people as just people. If someone was being nice to you that must mean that they are nice.

“What are you reading?” He asked into the silence, not only to break the quiet but to pull you out of the trance you’d been in.

“Oh, er,” you looked down at the book in your lap and turned it upwards, flashing the cover to him, “some daft romance.”

You put it aside after slotting the bookmark inside to keep your place. He smirked to himself. God forbid you dogear a page.

“Happy ending?”

You nodded, playing with your loose earbud. “Yeah. Has to be.”

“They’re my favourite.”

You gawked at him then. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Is that so shocking?”

You laughed musically. “I don’t know… I kind of assumed a guaranteed happy ending would irritate you or something.”

“Not at all. Sad endings are rubbish.”

“Aren’t they?” You patted the bed by your lap, suddenly animated. “I hate them.”

“Me too.”

“What are they for? No one wins, everyone is miserable, and someone has almost always died in the middle.”

He folded his arms, brows furrowed in a mock defence. “Now who hurt you? Tell me. Who do I need to beat up?”

“John Green.”

Harry scoffed. “He’s the worst.”

“Paper Towns? What the fuck was that all about?”

“Load of shit.”

“Exactly!”

He grinned, relaxing his posture. A commotion began downstairs, and he turned over his shoulder towards the door. Two phones dinged inside the room.

Blackpool Tower

🌝 🍻🍻➡️🌃➕👰🏼

You were being left alone. Thank God.

Harry met your gaze with a passive smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “I’ll let you get back to your reading.”

“Wait…”

He raised a single brow at you. “Yes?”

“Why don’t we watch a movie? If they’re pissing off out…”

He was both surprised and elated by your suggestion. All he’d be doing otherwise was looking for flats to move into alone and listening to some murder podcast before passing out. Friday nights were raucous in one’s late twenties.

“Two movies.” He bargained. “One we can bitch about first, and then one we like to make ourselves feel better.”

Your returning smile was prizewinning. Priceless. “And… takeaway? I really don’t want to cook.”

He clicked and pointed a finger at you. “You’ve got yourself a deal, madam.”

This was a new low for you. Or perhaps it was a high - you hadn’t decided yet. Using the newfound common ground over a love of happy endings off the back of the fear of a mad man trying to let himself into your room to coax Harry into a movie night with you. In your room, no less. The house was empty yet you chose to suffer the shitty WiFi signal in your tower room because your bed was more comfortable than the communal sofa in the living room on the ground floor. The cold ground floor.

Now, after a shared pizza that was delivered in record speed, you and Harry lay parallel to one another as you batted bitchy comments between one another about the infuriatingly devastating plot of Atonement.

“I wanna smash her face into a wall.”

You nearly choked on your wine, and wiped a pre-existing tear off your cheek. “Harry,”

“What?” He whined. “Every time I get to the end and she tells the real story I see red. Why get people’s hopes up like that?”

His eyes were red around the rims.

You sat forward as the credits began to roll and looked at him with a timid smile. “Opinionated, aren’t you?”

He was draped across the left side of your bed closest to the door, legs crossed at the ankle and hands tucked behind his head against the headboard. He was close to slouched, but he looked so impossibly at ease you wanted to just nestle right into him.

You could do it. Nothing is stopping you.

You repressed a growl.

“Coming from you?” He retorted, amused.

Childishly, you stuck your tongue out at him. “What’s next?”

He pursed his lips and gave a thoughtful look towards the ceiling. “Notting Hill?”

You gasped. “Fuck yes. Do you fancy dessert?”

“Always. What have you got?”

“I picked up a chocolate trifle on the way home from work.”

“That sounds dirty as fuck.”

“It is dirty as fuck.” You agreed and stood from your bed. “I picked it up on the way home with the intention of eating it all by myself, but… I’m willing to share.”

“How kind.” Harry chuckled. You felt his gaze on you leaving the room.

Two minutes later you returned with an unwrapped trifle and two spoons. Harry had already found Notting Hill on one of the many subscription sites you paid for and had it paused right at the start. He sat up straighter as you settled back down, pressed play, and then the two of you sunk into cake and gooey chocolate layered beneath sweet cream.

“Is Hugh Grant too posh?” Harry asked between mouthfuls.

“Yes, but it suits him?” Your question pondered. “Like, I couldn’t imagine him with a Scouse or Georgie accent.”

Harry’s returning laughter was delighted, magical. “This would be a very different film if he did.”

You gave a gutterall, mischievous laugh. “I would like to see it.”

Once you’d spoiled yourselves with trifle you settled back down, two parallel figures unmoving in the dim room, except to drink wine.

Harry was an ominous presence beside you. Warmth radiated off him in languid rolls, beckoning to you like an evil sea siren. Your hands fisted on your stomach, muscles tense. It really was taking everything in you not to lean into him and inhale his scent. Let it lull you to sleep like a safety blanket.

Occasionally you peeked glances at him. If he’d noticed you he never said anything, and it made you brave. After so long the film became background noise and Harry was the real star. A black t-shirt across a flat, muscular chest, steady breaths causing a rise and fall. Black jogging bottoms that rose higher up his legs with each slight movement, showing more scrumptious leg hair per inch. Big, boney, veiny feet with heinously long toes. Hair taken off his face with a tiny claw grip, a little greasy around the ears.

The overwhelming need to shove your face into his armpit finally gave motive to look away. Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts meant nothing anymore. There was a sexy man sprawled across your bed who ate your trifle and wanted to watch stupid rom-coms with you.

You fell asleep before the end.

Harry was sure he was dreaming. It wasn’t possible, the situation he found himself in. It was what he wanted, what he had really wanted for a while now, but the actual possibility of it coming to fruition had been next to none. Zero. Impossible.

He’d woken up in your room. That was the first tell that he was still dreaming. Then he found a warm body curled around him, and him around them in return. Your warm body. Leg draped over his thigh, arm slung across his torso, head tucked under his chin, his arms around your shoulders and inhaling your strawberry shampoo.

You were both still on top of the covers, neither able to finish the movie without passing out. He’d even noticed you had nodded off first but he didn’t want to leave you without making sure you’d lock the door behind you again in case Rhys and his idiot friends returned.

Huh. Maybe it wasn’t a dream. That was too accurate and not nearly lucid enough for an unconscious mind.

He didn’t want to move in case he stirred you, but he was desperate to see your face. Your beautiful, sleeping face. He refused to believe you’d cuddled up to him while conscious. Because it had been that way around - you were parked up on his side of the bed. His lips pricked upwards at the corners with that knowledge.

It was raining heavily outside. It fell against the window in loud smatters, the room cast in a dull grey tone. It made him want to squeeze you tighter, to keep you from any harm. He still refrained.

Eventually you woke. He could tell from the way your body tensed and your breath caught in your throat.

“Don’t freak out.” He mumbled, voice thick from lack of use.

You took in a deep, obvious breath. “No? Why not?”

“You don’t need to.”

“I think I do.”

“Explain, please.”

You hesitated, wetting your lips, and took in another deep breath. “I’ve embarrassed myself.”

“How?”

“I’ve put myself into your personal space without your permission.”

“You were unconscious.” He argued.

“Doesn’t make it any better. You should’ve run for the hills the second my foot touched your lovely hairy leg.”

Harry chuckled. He tightened his arm around you and brushed his nose through your messy hair. “Maybe I don’t mind you in my personal space. Maybe… I like it.”

“Do you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

He laughed again. “You’ve nothing to worry about.”

You sat up and faced him.

Gah. There you were. Puffy eyes, cracked lips, scruffy hair. His stomach did a backflip at the sight of you - a dream he had nightly. In equal measure, he missed having the warmth and weight of your body against him.

“Don’t think about it too much.” He gave you a gentle smile. “Nothing needs to be complicated.”

You remained silent, either awestruck or dumbfounded. He wasn’t sure.

He stood, reluctantly, and pinched your cheek. “You’re cute when you’re in shock.”

That sorted you out. Your face rearranged itself into a scowl, gaze following him as he left the room. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but such a conversation felt too poignant for 8 o’clock in the morning. You needed space to let your thoughts take over.

Cooking dinner and movie nights. That had become yours and Harry’s thing. After he’d dropped what you considered a bombshell that he didn’t mind you in his personal space you’d had the longest shower of your life - accidentally using all the hot water - and then spent the morning face down on your bed trying not to scream into your pillow.

Since then you’d been obsessively cleaning, more so than usual by way of distraction from the man living across the hall. The house was spotless. You’d even cleaned the windows at one point, outside, with help from your dad and looked at a way to fix the leaking problem in the empty bedroom.

It still didn’t stop your mind from constantly drifting back to the other morning. Waking up curled around Harry like that had been both terrifying and utterly perfect. For a man with such a hard physique he’d been incredibly comfortable. Too comfortable. Then he’d said a number of things that threw your somewhat orderly brain into complete disarray and chaos.

“You’re cute when you’re in shock.”

Harry hadn’t seemed to take his own words lightly, either. He’d been more comfortable in closer proximity with you since that morning, in the little things like light touches to your arms and back while you cooked together, or a kiss on the top of your head before you disappeared into your room for the night. Some nights you would share a bed after a movie because it was just easier - you were already settled, and you always woke up cuddled against him like a fucking creep.

“This,” Harry said as he pulled the oven door open, a waft of heat filling the cold room, “is gonna be fuckin’ banging.”

“Mhm.” You quipped, shoving a tortilla chip into some salsa, and then into your gob.

It was a Saturday night. By a freak stroke of luck, all the other housemates had gone away for the weekend - George to his parents’ and Rhys and Abbie on a weekend break to Amsterdam. So, a dinner and movie night had been a given, but you’d stuck a portable heater in the communal living room downstairs, found as many blankets as you could and piled them onto the sofa, then queued up enough movies to last all night.

Harry’s carefully crafted pizza sat atop the stove, cooked to perfection with your favourite ingredients on one half and his on the other. Your mouth watered.

You carried everything into the lounge, set it all up on the coffee table, and pressed play on your first movie of the night.

It was civil while you ate, and you were admittedly starving. To Harry’s credit the pizza was delicious and you wished it was bigger because you could’ve eaten another. You filled the hole in your stomach with tortillas and salsa instead. He graciously took all the dirty plates back into the kitchen when you were done, and returned with two bowls of strawberries, raspberries, and of course, watermelon. It was a very healthy dessert but the watermelon looked seriously out of place.

“I can’t believe you’re letting me eat your watermelon.” You joked. “Feels like a sacred honour.”

He snorted but remained silent.

Eventually, after all the food and a couple of glasses of wine, you were horizontal, your feet in Harry’s lap. He had his hands locked around your ankle after you accidentally kicked him in the thigh.

“If you were in a rom-com, who would you want to play your love interest?”

Harry pursed his lips. “Hugh Grant.”

You giggled, turning your face into the sofa cushion. “90s or current Hugh Grant?”

“90s. Current Hugh Grant is into much more sophisticated roles that I don’t care for. Even if they are generally great films.”

“I see…” you mused.

He squeezed your ankle, a smile flirting on his lips. “No, I don’t know. Who’s queen of romantic comedies? Reese Witherspoon? J-Lo?”

“Oh my God, I love J-Lo.” Your voice was a dreamy, breathy sound.

“A fine woman indeed.”

“I love it when you talk like it’s the 1800s.”

He laughed so loudly it was almost a bark. “Noted. Who would you want to play opposite?”

“Sam Claflin.”

“The king of rom-coms.”

“Exactly. Very easy on the eye.”

Harry was smirking again. His hands were moving now, smoothing up and down your leg in easy strokes.

Thank fuck you shaved, you little scruffy bear.

You mentally flicked your inner tormentor behind her ear.

The film played on and held your attention for some time. You were possibly the most relaxed you’d been for a very long time. Not one muscle in your body felt tight.

Harry’s lackadaisical caressing continued, which you were still half-conscious of. It was nice to be touched that way - you don’t think you ever had been. You didn’t panic until you realised he’d been venturing just a touch further up your leg with every stroke; until his fingers tickled your thigh.

You gasped, grabbing his wrist, wrenched yourself upright.

Heat flooded your centre, slick and warm. It was so instantaneous it took you by surprise, and your cheeks burned, the tips of your ears warm.

His eyes were on you, wider than usual. “Sorry,” he tried to speak but it only came out in a whisper.

What is wrong with you, woman? You wanted this.

The inner tormentor was right. You had wanted it, and for quite some time. But the advance of it had taken you so completely off-guard that your body had reacted before your brain did.

“Shouldn’t have done that.” Harry muttered, a furrow between his brow. He was angry with himself.

Finally you managed to shake your head. You managed to manoeuvre yourself by taking one leg - the leg he still had his hand on because you were keeping it there - off his lap and tucked it under itself. You pressed his palm flat against your skin, smoothing over each of his long fingers in turn, and met his intense gaze.

You were much closer now, faces and bodies mere inches from each other. You could feel his breath against your face, and you knew he could feel yours too from the way his eyelids fluttered with each exhale. Shiny eyelids, you noted.

He slowly closed the space to brush his nose upwards against yours, and your next exhale was much shakier.

“What are we doing?” You asked.

“Whatever you want.”

You wanted many, many things. And 99% of them involved him.

You licked your lips, and his gaze dropped to them at the action. Your stomach squirmed and your inner voice squealed with nerves.

Harry placed his other hand firmly on your hip and tugged, and you spilled over his lap, straddling him with your hands using his shoulders for balance. Another gasp fell out of you at the feeling of a certain something between your legs. A certain hard something.

“Is this okay?” He asked, both hands tentative on your thighs.

“Mhm.” You managed.

His hands spread wider, and you grew wetter, breathing heavier

He swallowed thickly. “Can I kiss you?”

All you could do was nod.

You noticed the beginning of a smile before his mouth was on yours. That mouth you’d thought of many times, at all hours, on all days of the week. And it was finally on yours, and perfect too. Soft, big, spongy. It felt like heaven against your own.

He took his time, leisurely testing the waters with you. What you would allow and what you wouldn’t. What you liked and what you didn’t.

You liked all of it.

His tongue was reverent as it eased your lips open, but thorough once you’d granted him access to you. He tasted like strawberry and watermelon, a delicious combination. A lethal combination.

His hands still smoothed over your thighs, reaching for your arse but never quite making it there. He didn’t want a repeat of the previous reaction from you.

You held onto him tightly, hands squeezing over his shoulders in an accidental but welcomed massage. You wanted to touch him everywhere but weren’t sure if he was okay with it.

“I never thought I’d be able to do this with you.” Harry’s voice was gruff, strained. He spoke against your lips.

“Neither did I.” You said breathily.

“Thought about it a lot.”

“Me too.”

He groaned into your mouth, hands rising to your hips and waist, tugging on your loose t-shirt.

You continued kissing, mouths bruising with lust, skirting around the removal of clothes. His arousal only got harder between your legs and it made you wriggle. Your wriggling caused friction, and the friction caused whimpers.

“I won’t last if you make noises like that.”

This information gave you immense satisfaction. He practically ate the smile off your face, and you wriggled again over the top of him. More whimpers, more movement. Back and forth, back and forth until you were utterly soaked inside your pyjama shorts.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed.

“Harry,” you moaned, fisting his t-shirt at the chest.

“Keep going.” He practically begged.

You gave a frustrated noise and did as he said, rolling your hips over the length of his clothed shaft. Over and over and over again. Tits began to bounce. Back began to sweat. Toes began to curl.

Harry stripped you of your top and buried his face in your chest. Kissing, licking, sucking, bruising. A canvas of vivid colour. He dragged his lips across any inch he could, leaning forward, arching you backwards, just to access more. More more more.

Rolling, dragging, rolling and dragging your dampness against his erection. It was your sole focus. You needed it - the release you hadn’t felt for some time. You were always too nervous to masturbate with only two walls and doors separating you and Harry. You needed this more than anything else.

He held onto your back with one strong arm, hand gripping your waist while his other cupped your breast, and he took your nipple into his mouth without any further hesitation. Lick, suck, lick.

You squealed at the sensation, grabbed his face and brought his mouth back to yours. Faster faster faster you moved your hips and devoured his mouth until-

“Harry!”

Heat burst through your body, crashing through every cell, corner and crevice. You were tense as you came, clinging to Harry as tightly as possible. Then, as breath left you, you fell limp against him.

Harry stroked your hair and kissed your temple. His nose drew circles on your cheek.

When you pulled back, thoughts catching up to you, you looked confused.

“What?” He asked, head tipped to one side.

“This doesn’t make sense to me.”

“What doesn’t?”

“This,” you pointed between him and you.

“Why doesn’t it?”

“Because,” you gestured at him and then dropped your hands to your lap, “have you seen you?”

“Many times.”

You gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m serious, Harry. People that look like you aren’t interested in people who look like me.”

“What a horrifically outdated cliche.” He said in a flinchingly bored tone. “For the record, I think you’re bloody gorgeous. Have done since the day I met you.”

“Why?”

“Because I do! Life is too fucking short to let society dictate who is attractive enough to date who.”

You made a face, one where your eyebrows and your mouth stretched. “Yes, but-,”

“-No buts. I fancy the pants off you and that’s all you need to know.”

“Are you sure?”

He laughed. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t have let you do what you just did if I wasn’t sure. Would I?”

“I don’t know… some men are pigs.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Look,” he took your face in his hands, “some men are indeed pigs. But I like you. A lot. And I’ve had fantasies a hell of a lot like what we just did together for a damn embarrassing amount of time. About you. That’s all you need to know. Ever since I met you, I’ve been all about you.”

You pulled your lips between your teeth and stared at his chest, unseeing. Giddiness filled your tummy and white noise flooded your ears.

Harry picked up your hand and pressed a kiss to the palm. He watched you closely as he peppered kisses to your skin. “You’re thinking too hard, but I get it.”

“I think too hard about everything.” You mumbled. “Especially when it comes to you.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“I don’t know but I’ve always thought about you more than I’d like to.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re very distracting.”

“Sounds like a compliment to me.” He said, and pecked your nose. “Shall we finish our movies and go to bed?”

Involuntarily, and as if prompted by the suggestion, you yawned. “Probably a good idea.”

Harry smiled, wrapped his arms around your middle and squeezed you tightly to his solid frame. “Let’s do it.”

Harry worked late a lot over the next week or so. He hated it mostly because it meant less time with you. Less conscious time, anyway. For the first few nights he’d come home to find you asleep and couldn’t bear the idea of accidentally waking you up, but after sharing a bed with you for so many nights now, it had been a hard drug to quit.

It was late now, well past midnight and you’d probably fallen asleep hours ago. But seeing you curled up and facing the window, sheets bunched up to your chin and face buried in your pillow, he couldn’t help himself.

He quietly stripped out of his clothes, save for his boxers, shut the door behind him and slid into bed beside you. He surrounded you with his warmth - arms around your middle and his face pressed between your shoulder blades. He tugged you backwards until your bodies were flush together, chest to back, and sponged a wet kiss into your shoulder.

You did rouse a little, giving out a soft, sleep-filled squeak. “Hi.”

He smiled, leaving another kiss closer to your neck. “Hi.”

“Wondered when you’d be back.” You said around a content sigh.

“And me.”

You giggled. You took a hand that clasped around your chest and brought it up to your lips. “Tried to stay awake for you but failed.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to.”

He littered more kisses against your skin, because he could just never get enough of you. “Thank you.”

“Pleasure.”

“Now go back to sleep.”

“Yes sir.”

“You look different.”

You frowned, meeting your sister’s scrutinous eyes between washing a saucepan clean. You were washing, she was drying, like you always did. You didn’t trust her enough to actually clean the dirty tableware. Sometimes she didn’t properly dry things either, but you’d make the most of what you could.

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno.” She shrugged. “You’ve got a kind of… air about you.”

“Right…”

“Hey,” your dad appeared, nudging your sister’s arm, “maybe she’s got a boyfriend.”

Embarrassed heat filled your body.

“No, that’s not it.” Your sister shook her head. “Anyway, whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”

“I don’t…” you didn’t know how to finish that.

Perhaps your many nights sharing a bed with Harry had been what she was talking about, but the label of boyfriend/girlfriend definitely hadn’t come up yet. You just liked each other. A lot. Add that to the fact that any night you shared a bed with him you didn’t wake up in cold sweats or choked screaming fits, it wasn’t exactly something you planned to stop doing any time soon.

“Oh my God, don’t overthink it like you do everything else. It’s a compliment. Take it.” She rolled her eyes.

“Aye, don’t be snotty.” Dad swatted your sister’s arm.

“I’m not!”

Your sister was younger than you, and for all eternity most definitely cooler. She was in school and that hadn’t changed into adulthood. It didn’t particularly bother you. Generally you got on very well, she just didn’t have a problem opening her mouth when she had an opinion.

“Anyway, don’t forget family dinner night. Next Friday?” Dad reminded you.

Ah yes. Family dinner night was not here at Dad’s house with just you and your sister. It was at the house with Dad, your sister, and all the housemates. George proclaimed it his favourite time of the month, because Dad, an ex-chef, always cooked. Harry, because of his often awkward shift work, was almost always absent.

“Okay.” You nodded.

After finishing your last dirty dish, you pulled your phone out.

Blackpool Tower

👑 ❌😃

Sometimes a text simply couldn’t be written exclusively in emojis, so you’d come up with a rule whereby if you needed to write one, you’d send a ❌😃 to alert them.

👑 Family dinner night next Friday. Be there or be square 💘

👰🏼 🤯🤩🤯🤩🤯

🌚 🎉🎉🎉

“You’re still doing the emoji thing?” Your sister asked with a narrowed gaze.

“We have another bet running to see who’ll crack first.”

“Right… will everyone come?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“That’s me asking if Harry will be there, by the way.” She said with a smirk, nudging your arm.

If you didn’t know any better you’d be hot under the collar thinking she was onto you. The mention of his name got you flustered anyway, but you did know better. As any sensible woman would, your sister had a little thing for Harry that she’d never shied away from.

“I don’t know.” You repeated, somewhat irritated.

“Well, find out! Do I need to make an effort or not, you know?”

“I mean… he doesn’t usually come. So probably not.”

“Double check. To be safe. Or give me his number.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Bore.” She scoffed, and swished away.

Sundays were laundry day. Harry knew this, which is why he’d never do his on the same day. Everyone in the house knew that first thing on a Sunday morning you would head down to the basement with a book and a basket full and sit there until everything had been through the tumble dryer (unless it was delicate in which case you’d air it in your window for the day).

Today, though, Harry travelled from the top of the house to the very bottom and slipped inside the utility room, closing the door behind him before any of the other housemates could hear him.

“What are you doing?” You asked, voice light with laughter.

Harry’s gaze rested on you, full of some kind of infatuation. You were sitting atop the industrial-size tumble dryer in the far corner of the room, back against the wall and knees up, book held against your thighs.

He shrugged. “Wanted to come irritate you a bit.”

“You never irritate me.”

He grinned and put himself in your personal space. He found your bookmark and placed it between the pages, and then took it away, abandoning it. “Are you sure?”

You let him manoeuvre you; pulled you forward a little and spread your knees apart. Your legs fell over the side, resting either side of his hips, and your breathing quickened. He placed one hand on your thigh and the other stroked over your cheek.

“Feel free to interrupt laundry day any time you want.”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

You laughed at his mock genuine tone and brushed your fingertips against his lips. “You know, my sister has a massive thing for you.”

He stood quietly for a fraction of time, gaze assessing. “I would tease you about it but I just can’t. I kind of already guessed.”

“Did you?”

“Mhm. She’s not exactly subtle.”

“No, she’s not. She asked me for your number.”

“Did you give it to her?”

“What do you think?” You rolled your eyes.

He smirked. “You getting possessive of me?”

“Maybe. But she’s too self-absorbed to realise. She thinks I’m doing it because giving out your number willy nilly is morally wrong. Which it is. But yeah, I also just don’t want her to have it.”

His lips tightened, nose flared, eyes light - batting away a smile. “I think I like this side of you.”

You gave an uncharacteristic grunt, but your eyes never left him. “You look like a frog when you make that face.”

His face neutralised and he sucked in a breath. “You’re not the first person to tell me that.”

This visibly delighted you. “Maybe I’ll start calling you Froggy.”

“Too far.” He pinched your waist

You giggled, hands pressed against his chest. Your palms felt warm over his t-shirt and he never wanted you to take them away.

“How long left on your cycle?”

“Er…” your gaze dipped downwards to the screen on the washing machine. “Like, 20 minutes probably.”

“And then it’s going in the tumble dryer?”

“Yes… why?”

“Because,” he pecked your lips once, “I think I know,” he kissed your left cheek, “something we can do,” then your right cheek, “while we wait.”

Your gaze was curious and intense as he started sponging his lips down your front, from neck to chest to stomach. You reclined some, breathing heavy, and he pulled your legs up by the ankle and planted your feet back on top of the dryer.

“Oh,” you spoke, voice caught.

“You okay with this?” He asked hesitantly.

Even though you’d been sleeping side by side something close to 5 nights a week, your little dry humping session last weekend was as far as you’d gone in the sexual intimacy department.

You made a strangled noise. “Christ, yes.”

Grin fully spread across his face, he smoothed his palms up your thighs to your hips and tucked his fingers into the silky waistband of your pyjama bottoms.

“Can we take these off?”

You hummed an affirmed noise, and lifted your arse off the surface. In one smooth pull he had the garment off your legs and over his shoulder, probably in the same vicinity of the book he’d taken off you.

He met your gaze with a lifted brow. “Not a fan of knickers?”

“Not in my jim-jams, no.”

His smile blossomed like daffodils in spring. “That’s either the cutest or sexiest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Can we go with sexy considering what I hope you’re about to do?”

“Sure thing, cutie.”

You squealed a little at the name, but he couldn’t tell if you loved it or hated it. Regardless, he kept a firm grip on your legs and lowered his lips to your knee. In a slow, measured movement, he kissed his way up the inside of your legs with his hot, wet mouth.

Your breath was laboured as you watched him, eyes wide when he met your gaze again but so incredibly keen. To prove it, you pushed a hand through his curls and massaged his scalp, coaxing him forward.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for so fucking long.” He admitted, mouth dragging over the softest part of your thigh.

His hot breath fanned against your waiting lips and you visibly clenched.

“I’ve wanted you to, believe me.” Your voice was but a rasp.

“Yeah?” He sighed happily, left hand moving closer to your centre. He extended his thumb out, “Are you wet for me?” He pulled your lips apart, and the noise he made at the sight of you was practically carnal.

“Harry,” you whimpered, tugging on his hair.

He hummed again, face inching closer to your dripping lips. He licked between you, wetness collecting on his tongue. The taste of you was something better than he could’ve ever imagined and he growled because of it. He gripped your legs tighter, hesitant no more, and buried his face right between your soft thighs.

“Oh, God,” you whined. Your head lolled backwards and both fists found purchase in his beautiful hair, twisting and tugging.

He grunted in response to you, spurred on. He collected as much of your juice as he could, firm stroke after firm stroke of his perfectly capable tongue.

He played with your clit in a way that made you squirm and squeal, eliciting the most delectable little noises out of your hoarse throat. Harry didn’t hold back - he never had in that department. He went for it completely and utterly.

The washing machine launched into rapid spinning, filling the room with wheezing, screaming noises.

“Harry, don’t stop.” You begged, body rigid with desperate tension.

He obeyed your every word. He spread your legs further and further with his digging grip. He burrowed his face into your cunt, tongue plunging inside of you and spading inside your heat like a desperate gardener.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you panted as you lifted your head again to watch him.

His eyes were already on you, dark and hooded and filled with keen lust. His head moved with an eager precision like his mouth did. He wanted you this way. He’d wanted it for so long he couldn’t quite believe he was getting it. You were a goddess, ethereal and perfect.

The washing machine’s cycle reached its peak, vibrating harshly beside the two of you. It was deafening yet the least bit distracting.

Harry pursued his advances on your cunt relentlessly and without breath until your body went rigid and then shuddered. You screamed his name, withholding nothing, any cries drowned out by the washing machine. Your body visibly vibrated like the machine beside you, and eventually your limbs weakened to jelly.

Harry stood straight and helped you sit up again, wrapping his arms around your middle. He tucked your head into his neck and twisted his face into your hair.

“You’re right, that was incredibly sexy.” He mumbled.

He revelled in your returning laughter, the sound light and airy. You showed no shame in clinging onto him, fingers raking through the curls at the back of his neck.

“Maybe you can do it again later.” You suggested, lips sponging against the skin on his neck.

“Any time you like.”

After another minute or so you pulled away, eyes scouring his face. “You’re a mess, sir.” You commented as you wiped your thumb around his shiny mouth.

He made a wordless noise, held your wrist, and took your thumb in his mouth. “I’ll be a mess for you.”

“Perhaps I’ll be a mess for you, too.”

His brows shot up and it made you laugh. “It’s cruel to joke about that.”

“I’m not joking.”

He gave you a challenging look.

“Want me to prove it?” You offered.

Was it even worth the question? “Always.”

You grinned. “Let me put my washing in the dryer and I will.”

He took a step back and bent at the waist, arms extending like he was bowing. “M’lady.”

You hopped down from where you’d been sitting and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Sir.”

The kitchen was a hive. And a mess. There was shit everywhere and your anxiety was through the roof just looking at it. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight because any kitchen your dad found himself in nowadays ended up looking like a pig sty but it didn’t settle the tightness in your chest.

He moved around the room with chaotic precision while you trailed after him tidying up any unnecessary mess, and your sister sat at the dining table Rhys and George had brought up from the basement an hour ago, scrolling through her phone.

“What about him?” Your sister flashed her screen to the two of you, the next Tinder profile filling it.

Your dad leaned over and squinted. “His eyes are too far apart.”

“Ugh. Knew you were gonna say that.” She grumbled.

This was a game you played regularly. Your sister would showcase potential Tinder matches either for her or for you (which you always declined to comment on), and your dad would garner his unfiltered opinion. It was probably a big part of the reason you were both still (technically) single. No one was ever good enough. That, and you didn’t have a Tinder account. Or any dating app account, actually.

“Him?” She flashed the next profile to you both.

Cute. But…

Not Harry.

Your inner tormentor smirked.

“What’s his anthem?” Dad knew all the terminologies now for the dating app world. He liked to call Hinge ‘UnHinged’, because that’s what the suitors on there usually were.

“Um… Wonderwall.”

You gagged, and Dad scoffed. “Next.”

You carried on for a little while, joining in when you felt like it but mostly just trying to keep the kitchen at an acceptable level of clean.

Rhys, Abbie and George were upstairs getting themselves ready for dinner as if it was some kind of gala they were about to attend. They did it everytime; dinner with Dad felt like an occasion. Harry wasn’t home and you hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask if he was going to be. He left at such a weird time this morning you couldn’t figure out what shift he was on and how that would affect his ‘home time’.

“Lay the table please, poppet?” Your dad asked of your sister, because he knew it was the only task she’d willingly do.

She leapt to her feet in a dramatic flurry and made for the cutlery draw. “Have we got enough for matching sets?”

“Very unlikely.” You muttered. You hadn’t eaten dinner with matching cutlery since you moved in.

The front door opened, cold air blustering in and mixing with the heat of the kitchen. Harry stepped in, bundled up in a big coat and rucksack slung over one shoulder.

“Hope I’m not late.” He said in a gravelly voice, smile sheepish.

“Harry!” Dad greeted him with complete joy. “Wasn’t expecting you, what a nice surprise.”

Your sister looked flustered all of a sudden. She’d convinced herself he wasn’t coming. Part of you had, too.

“I’ll just change and be back down.”

“Sure, we’ve got a bit of time yet.” Dad waved him away.

You’d pretended to busy yourself, but you watched as he headed for the stairs and caught the subtle wink he gave you.

Ah shit.

“What am I going to do?” Your sister panicked. “I'm a disaster - I look hideous.”

“No you don’t.” You grumbled. She’d never looked hideous in her life.

“Can I borrow some makeup?”

It was easier to just give her what she wanted rather than fighting her on it. “Sure - what do you need?”

She listed off a bunch of makeup items, most of which sounded completely foreign so you were sure you didn’t have them. You’d just give her your entire makeup bag and let her do what she wanted.

You knocked on Harry’s door before you went back down, makeup bag in hand. He opened in just his jeans, a light straight-leg pair with gaping holes at the knees.

“Hey,” he smiled, and rested an arm against the doorframe.

“Hi… I thought you’d be working late?”

He shook his head. “I was supposed to be. Swapped my shift ‘cause I always miss family dinner.”

“I see… well, you’ve successfully panicked my sister.”

“That was my plan all along, actually.”

“Mhm, sure.” You bit away a smirk. You liked this playful side of him a lot. “If you need half an hour to mentally prepare… I’d take it.”

“Noted, thank you.”

You left him to change and made your way back downstairs. Your sister eagerly took your makeup from you and dashed to the bathroom on the first floor.

Neither she nor Harry, or anyone else for that matter, came down until it was time to sit down.

Your dad sat at the head of the table as he always did, spread laid out in front of you in the middle. You sat to your dad’s right on the corner, and your sister to the left. You knew she was going to try and save the seat on her other side for Harry, but George ended up taking it instead, which visibly irritated her. She did have a particular ‘gay man’s best friend’ vibe about her - they flocked to her like sheep. Abbie sat at the other head, Rhys on her left, and then Harry sandwiched between Rhys and you.

He squeezed your thigh under the table, and you tried to pretend like it didn’t have some obscene effect on your intimate places. You lightly kicked his shin and started piling food onto your plate.

Like some kind of mafia father, your dad went around the table and asked all of the housemates for an update on their lives. He liked to do this, and fortunately your housemates liked pleasing him. He was a good landlord, and that showed by the way they gravitated towards him. He probably wouldn’t do this sort of thing if you weren’t living there, but he had a responsibility to them as tenants as well as you, his eldest daughter.

When you were done eating you sat back in your chair and put your hands in your lap. Harry didn’t hesitate to take one in his own and link your fingers. You peeked up at him as subtly as possible, unable to fight the giddy warmth that spread through you. He didn’t meet your gaze for the sake of keeping everyone else out of your business, but he did squeeze your hand, which only made the airy, slightly delirious feeling inside of you that much stronger.

Your sister spent 20 minutes talking about herself without breath, and as self-absorbed as she was, she was harmless, really. Not to mention entertaining. You never laughed as much as you did when she had her mouth open.

“Harry, you should come to these more often.” She said to him, batting her eyelashes.

You were about to walk her and your dad to the car and send them on their way. Harry was trying his absolute hardest to escape.

He cleared his throat. “I probably should, yeah.”

“It was good having an extra nice body.”

You gave her a look, brow raised. She shrugged. “I think it’s home time, no?” You prompted, gripping her arms and nudging her away.

“Fine.” She huffed, and began walking towards the street. “Bye team!”

Most people had already disappeared to their rooms but you had to admire her spirit. Dad was already gone, eager to go to bed.

You were halfway to the car when your sister asked, “So are you gonna tell me or what?”

You met her gaze with another raised brow. “Tell you what, exactly?”

“Mate,” she swatted my arm, “I am not an idiot. I know when I’m not wanted, because it’s not often.” She could not get any more vain if she tried. “I always did wonder what I had to do to get Harry’s attention better, and today I finally figured it out. I need to be you.”

Ah. Not as ignorant as she appears, then.

You pressed your mouth closed, looking away. “Er,”

“Don’t ‘er’ me. I saw that wink he gave you when he got home, but I thought he was just trying to wind me up. And then he sat next to you, not by choice it seemed, but there was barely an inch of space between you and practically a metre between him and Rhys. Then he just didn’t stop looking at you, even though he pretended he wasn’t. Let me tell you, that boy has not learned the art of subtlety.”

She turned to you then, a searing gaze heavy. “Look, I don’t know if you’re aware of it, or if you’re already shaggin’ him and lying to me about it-,”

“-We’re not having sex.” Yet.

“Okay, fine. Whatever. Just do something about it, please. If I can’t have him you should. Don’t let a man that beautiful go to waste. You hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Good.” She huffed, and then pulled you in for a tight hug. “Fed up of seeing you alone and underselling yourself. You’re hot shit! I know it, and Harry clearly knows it.” She suddenly takes your face in her grasp. “So do something about it.”

You appeared in the doorway of Harry’s room around 20 minutes later, fresh-faced and in your PJs. He was reading in bed, having stolen a book out of your cupboard.

“Is he secretly in love with her?” He asked without taking his eyes off the pages, his long finger brushing the spine.

You squinted at the title as you moved closer to him. “Yes. What made you pick that one?”

“Because it’s obviously your favourite.”

“How’d you work that one out?”

“The spine is cracked beyond belief. It’s nearly falling apart.”

“I might’ve bought it from a charity shop.”

He lifted a brow. “Did you?”

“No.”

He put the book aside, focussing all of his attention on you. You’d sat down cross-legged on top of the covers, and you wore a calm yet unreadable expression. There was a hint of something in your eyes. Infatuation, maybe?

“What’s going on?”

You shook your head, smiling. “Nothing. I’m just… happy.”

“Me too.”

You remained quiet for a moment, gazing at one another in a comfortable silence. Eventually, Harry opened his arms in request of your embrace, and you gave it to him without hesitation. You settled against him, head tucked under his chin.

“I like this, Harry. Us.”

“So do I.” He nodded, pressing his lips into your hair. “A lot.”

“You make it easier.”

“Make what easier?” He asked, and then held his breath.

A beat passed. “Life. Sleeping. Consciousness. Cooking. Just… being.”

“That’s a very big compliment.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

When you peered up at him, he lowered his mouth to yours for a slow and tender kiss. It wasn’t abrasive or demanding; it was perfect. Full of an understanding that neither of you expected to find in another person.

“Tell me about your nightmares.”

“I don’t have them when I’m with you.” You admitted, as if he hadn’t already worked it out. When he didn’t respond to you, you reluctantly continued. “They’re about my mum. She died in a car accident a few years ago and I dream about it sometimes.”

Harry’s heart found its way into his mouth. “You were there?”

“No. My sister was. I was with dad - it was a weekend. Me and dad at his work cooking, mum and my sister shopping in town. Were on their way back and someone just ploughed into the side of the car, driver’s side. She died on impact and my sister was in hospital for a week.”

Harry held onto you tighter, his lips against your temple. “I’m sorry.” He whispered.

“It’s okay…” you swallowed, body tensed in stillness. “I dream about that day a lot. Mostly the part where Dad broke the news to me. Seeing my sister in the hospital plugged in and drugged up. The funeral; the look on Dad’s face. I wake up crying more than screaming, usually.”

He took a deep breath, and he clung to you like you might disappear. “I’m really sorry. Sorry that happened to you and your family, and that you have to relive it most nights. That’s not fair.”

You met his gaze, cupping his cheek. “Ever since we started doing… this, I haven’t had a single one. Not even on the nights we don’t share a bed. I don’t know why, I guess my conscience has decided it’s safe with you. And I do feel safe with you.”

“Then I will stay with you every night to make sure you never have a bad dream again.” He vowed, turning his head enough to kiss your palm. “I like knowing that you feel safe with me. S’a pretty big compliment.”

“I’m full of those when it comes to you.”

His chest swelled, a helpless smile on his face. “Even when you tell me I look like a frog.”

You snorted and hid your face in his chest. “You do, though.”

“Okay, thank you.” He huffed, feigning offence, but he didn’t let you go; didn’t loosen his hold on you.

You talked late into the night until you fell asleep, wrapped around one another and bundled under his bedclothes. Having you so close and being so open gave Harry a sense of clarity. He’d had an attraction to you since the day he met you, but this was turning into something more. Feelings were now coming up to bat, and he had a pretty solid idea of where they were heading.

“You are filthy.”

You wiped your brow, meeting Abbie’s gaze with indifference. “I am not letting this garden turn into a jungle again like it did last year.”

“I know, but I’ve never seen you so dirty. You’re the cleanest person I know.”

“Believe me, I’ll be jumping straight in the shower once I’m done.”

It was the warmest day of spring so far, and for once it wasn’t raining, so you’d taken the opportunity the second you had it to get outside and sort the garden out. The winter had turned it into a tangled overgrown mass of green mess, and you’d been desperate to get it sorted.

Abbie had offered to help but had realised very quickly that she was out of her depth, and eventually offered moral support in lieu of the physical kind. You didn’t mind the company - it beat waiting inside for Harry to come home, alone all day.

You chopped away at the forest that had grown, turned the soil over when you found it, and potted some new plants to give it some life. By the time Harry came home your legs were covered in dirt, cuts and fresh bruises, nail beds black, hair full of dead foliage, and just downright sweaty.

Abbie had surrendered to the house to be entertained by Rhys, and George wasn’t home. He was never home much anymore, you were all under the impression he had a boyfriend.

Harry helped you to your feet where you were kneeling in the soil, eyes giving you a thorough once over. “You look…”

“Filthy. Yes, I know.”

He grinned. “Yeah, but I like it.”

“Really?”

He followed you as you collected your gardening tools and hid them in the shed tucked against the side of the house. “Absolutely. You’re so clean and put together all the time, it’s kinda nice seeing you a bit roughed up.”

You hummed out a laugh. “Interesting.”

Harry boxed you up against the wall, out of sight of any of your nosey housemates. His hips trapped yours, hands holding your sides at the ribs. Without a hint of hesitation, he pressed his mouth to yours, eagerness overpowering tenderness.

You simply let him, never one to deny the most handsome man you knew a hot and heavy kiss. You enjoyed being wanted by him. Who the fuck wouldn’t?

“I’ll let you go shower.”

“Okay.” You murmured, delirious.

He pulled away, giving your hip one last squeeze before he vanished into the house. You spent five more minutes in the garden making sure you’d tidied up after yourself, and took some pictures to send to your dad.

Your shower was longer than you’d have liked thanks to the state of you, and in turn it took you longer to clean the bathroom down than usual. You were starving by the time you got back to the top floor.

Harry was at his desk when you slipped inside his room, browsing something on his laptop.

His room and yours were polar opposites of one another. Where you hid all your belongings, made your bed and kept things as minimal as possible, Harry had more shit than necessary. A bulging wardrobe, unmade bed, things everywhere. He was a man with stuff, and lots of it. Sometimes it made you itch. But he wasn’t dirty in any capacity. It smelled of fresh linen and clean air all the time.

“Do you feel better?” He asked, closing the lid on his laptop again.

“Mm. Loads better.” You gave him a warm smile as you perched on the edge of his bed.

He rolled over to you but abandoned the chair halfway to stand up. Then he crawled over you, forcing you to lie backwards and caged you against the bed.

“You smell amazing.” He said with a voice like gravel.

You ran a hand down his front and slipped it under his t-shirt, trailing your fingertips over his chest. “Thank you,”

He lowered onto his forearm, face an inch from yours and groin against your pelvis. You inhaled sharply, noticing the very obvious stiffness coming from Harry’s midsection. His hand smoothed the length of your side, down your thigh to your knee and then back up again to your arse.

He met your mouth with a kiss, deep and hungry. Dizzying. He led and he was all over you, tongue devouring yours.

“It was a lot harder than it should’ve been to not follow you into the shower.” He admitted.

You let out a soft whine and fisted his t-shirt, pulling him flush against your chest. You wanted to feel the weight of him on you. “You should’ve.”

He returned that with a growl, and his hand on your arse gripped tighter. Your name tumbled off his lips in a husky plea, “I want you so fuckin’ bad.”

Hooking your legs around his hips and pushing his centre against yours, you gave him the silent go-ahead. You looped your arms around his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair.

“I’m right here, and you can have me.”

Something inside Harry snapped. Any reservations about your desire for him vanished. His kisses became punishing and carnal. His hands on you a little rougher than before, than ever. Possessive.

You helped him out of his top and in turn he helped you out of yours. You scooched backwards up the bed as he drank you in. It wasn’t lost on you that this was the first time he’d seen your top half naked. Somehow, amongst all the nights of bed-sharing, you’d never been fully naked.

His eyes were dark, hooded. He looked at you like you were his last meal, and honestly you lived for it. You wanted to die under that gaze.

“You’re so sexy.”

You bit away a timid, flustered smile. Bashfulness wasn’t sexy.

He stalked you like a wild cat as you lay back. His mouth and hands descended on you again, searching and exploring every inch of you, searing hot and wet kisses into your skin.

His hands slipped into your pyjama bottoms, feeling around your arse again before he tugged them down your legs, leaving you completely stark under his burning gaze. A strangled moan fell out of him while he regarded your naked form, hands smoothing and squeezing your hips, your waist, your boobs.

“You’re so fucking soft.” He said the words like praise.

You laid your hands on his as they travelled over you, and he pushed his mouth back to yours in that same eager dance as before. He ground himself against you, hard as a rock underneath his joggers, and it was doing all sorts to your core. Your heartbeat fell down and down again to your middle, slick heat flourishing between your legs.

“Please, Harry,” you begged him, pushing his hand down.

“What do you need?” He asked, a little cruelly, as if he didn’t know exactly what you needed.

“Touch me.”

The man gargled at you. He was fucking strangled. He traced between your thighs delicately to the point it tickled, and swiped a finger easily in a stripe up your folds, wetness collecting.

“Like that?”

“Yes.” You wriggled under him, desperate for more. “More.”

He played with your clit teasingly, enjoying the way you squirmed. “More?” He asked as he slid a finger into your waiting heat.

A small cry left you. It wasn’t enough and he knew it. “More.”

“Bossy, aren’t you?”

You whined. Now you were the one being carnal. You gripped his head tightly and kept your mouth to his, tongue abrasive and lashing.

While he wound you up in the most irritating way, you found your own ways to move him on. Your feet dug into the backs of his thighs and pushed downwards at an attempt to budge his joggers off. You didn’t want to wait anymore. You wanted him in all his solid glory, right now.

“Are you trying to take my bottoms off with your feet?”

“Yes.” You grunted.

“Oh,” he gave you a dark laugh as his kisses trailed back down your front, “that’s gonna cost you.”

He licked around your belly button, the warmth of his hands vanishing from your body to push his joggers down. He gave your cunt the shortest, most mind-blowing piece of attention with his mouth, dragging noises out of you that you weren’t even aware you could make. Then he turned you over without warning, on your front, and tugged your arse up to rest against his crotch.

You gasped, excited by the somewhat aggressive nature he’d taken on. Your Harry - soft and gentle as they got - man-handling you. You peered at him over your shoulder as he produced a square foil wrapper from somewhere and ripped it open with his teeth. He watched you watching him as he rolled it down his shaft, drawing your attention to it - visually, anyway - for the first time. You had to swallow the lump in your throat.

“This what you wanted, darlin’?” He asked as he smoothed his hand over your arse, but his gaze never left you. “You want me to fill you up with my cock?”

“God yes.” You said without a hint of a waver.

“You want it like this?” He lined himself up, fisting himself at the base, and glided the head of him through your wet, parted, waiting folds.

“Yes.” You whimpered. “Please. Please please please.”

He made that noise again, his large fist grabbing your hip as he hovered at your entrance, and then he thrust himself inside you.

A ripping, searing pain had you wanting to scream so loudly you had to shove your face into the mattress to muffle it. An ache blossomed in place of the initial pain, one that was all too familiar and yet quite unfamiliar. It had been absent, like a friend who lived too far away. Now it homed itself inside of you like it belonged there. Perhaps it did, and the only way to quell it was to entertain it.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you feel good.” He hissed, his hands squeezing your hips and your bum in turn.

Harry pulled out, enough that only his head remained inside you, and then he gave another powerful thrust until he completely filled you. “So fucking good, my God.”

He started moving, in steady, sharp movements. He didn’t want slow. Hell, you didn’t want slow. You wanted fast and hot and sweaty, and that’s exactly what he gave you.

Harry started fucking into you so viciously you could feel it in every part of your body, from the jiggle of your tits to the shake of your arse to the rock of your hips. Oh, and the stretch of his cock as he buried deeper and deeper inside you. Every part of your body was aflame with need, a desire, a craving to be fucked into oblivion.

His hands were on your hips again, fingertips digging into your skin. He rocked you back and forth in time with his thrusts, not that you needed him to. You were doing that all on your own.

He grunted and hissed through every single powerful drive of his cock into your cunt, your name tumbling out of his mouth over and over again.

“Harry,” you whimpered, “harder.”

He growled and obeyed, pistoning inside of you.

“Yes, oh fuck yes.” You cried, head burrowing again.

You felt him on you, all over you then, his chest against your back, lips kissing your shoulders and his arms with a vice grip around your middle. His skin was tacky, as was yours. You were surrounded by a cloud of packed heat, like a humid summer day.

“You are…” Harry began to say, panting in your ear, and his head shook against you, “fuck, I can’t even think straight.”

You moaned, lifting up and twisting your head in search of him. He caught your chin and brought your lips to his in another deep, claiming kiss. You wanted every kiss to be like that from then on - owning, possessing, asserting. You were his and you wanted him to know it.

He gave another round of punishing thrusts before he made a winded noise, “Turn over,” he pleaded, “I want to see your face.”

A whimper fell out of your mouth when his thickness disappeared from inside you, and he helped you onto your back before he got straight back in there. He was low over you, chest on your chest, hand on the back of your thigh, and his eyes roamed your face while it contorted with pleasure.

He hooked your leg over his hip and went harder. Harder, faster, harder, faster. Your head lolled back and a string of curse words fell out of your mouth. His lips danced across your chest and you tangled your fingers in his hair to keep him there. There was nothing better than being worshipped by a mouth. Especially Harry’s mouth.

He licked and sucked over your skin until your boobs and sternum were littered with little purple spots of lust, and honestly you didn’t care. You wanted them all over you. You wanted yours all over him.

His hips never stopped moving - pushing, pushing, pushing you towards a beautiful, glorious high like a high-speed train ploughing towards a dangerous cliff edge. God, you wanted that edge and you wanted it now. You wanted to be flung off it whilst securely attached to the man currently pushing you there.

You pulled Harry’s mouth back to yours, holding your body to him as you clenched, milking him towards his end and yours. You needed it. Your head was about to explode with rampant thoughts and you needed to wash them away.

“Fuck, Harry,” you whispered, neck and shoulders spiked with heat. It radiated off you.

“I know.” He groused and bit your lower lip. “I’m fucking close. So fucking close, and I’m gonna blow if you keep doing that.”

“Please do it,” you begged, clenching again to feel his growl in your mouth, “come, Harry.”

And boy did he fucking come.

His body wracked with a shudder, movements ceasing as you wrapped yourself tightly around him. His muscles rippled beneath your fingertips while he came, oblivious to your own masterful undoing.

You calmed together, lips moving in tender kisses until your breath was caught again and your limbs were sore. You deflated when Harry abandoned you to clean himself up, and you dipped into your bedroom to do the same when you found the strength.

When he came back you snuggled up to him in his bed, between his legs with your head on his chest. His lips grazed through your hair, breathing light and content.

“I am… fucking obsessed with you.” He mumbled.

You traced your fingers over the hair and the swallows on his chest, a warmth filling you, like an acceptance. Being wanted hadn’t mattered to you until now. Until Harry.

“I… am also quite infatuated with you. And I have been for some time. Just… quietly.”

“You been sniffin’ my bed sheets while I’m at work?”

You giggled and nuzzled closer to him. “No. Not recently, anyway.”

“Not recently?”

“I’ve never sniffed your bed sheets, Harry.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“I’m weird, but I’m not that weird.”

“But you’ve been infatuated with me for ages.”

“Not enough to go into your room and sniff your bed sheets.”

“Did you do anything a bit weird?”

“No.”

“Really? Not even… a little… you know?”

You gave him a bewildered look, and he waggled his eyebrows at you.

Haha. You totally did that, you creep.

“Maybe.” You murmured, hiding your face again.

He chuckled and held onto you tightly. “I did, too. Feeling’s always been mutual, darlin’.”

You heaved a content sigh. “I’m glad it was. I really do like this. Us.”

“Me too.”

Harry had been living life with a permanent spring in his step. He had you, living in the same house and sharing a bed, cooking at dinner time, shagging at night time, and just generally being wonderful, fantastic, gorgeous, brilliant you.

Tonight you were at your dad’s house with your sister so he was cooking alone, but George was in the living room watching one of those daft culinary competition programs on Channel 4, the commentary filtering out with an occasional expletive. Abbie and Rhys were out but would likely be home soon. You’d be back eventually, too, and he liked knowing that nowadays you came home to him.

Rhys and Abbie came back first. Harry had decided to join George in the living room, too intrigued by the shouty drama on Come Dine With Me to ignore it.

Abbie gasped at the TV. “This is the one!” She squealed.

“What one?” Rhys demanded. “Oh, yes!”

“What am I missing?” Harry asked, a little bewildered.

George shushed everyone with a finger to his lips. “I’ve been talking him through it but I want him to see.” He flailed a hand in the couple’s direction.

All four pairs of eyes glued to the TV, a vetted interest in the argument unfolding. The contestants from that week’s episodes were gathering in the final host's living room, bank notes spread in a circle atop a silver tray and holding up a scroll wrapped in red ribbon.

The front door of the house opened again, and in you waltzed, a baffled look on your face. Very rarely did you come home to find everyone in the living room.

Abbie squeaked your name, begging you to join before it kicked off on the telly. “Come on, quick.” She patted the space between her and Harry, conveniently.

His eyes were no longer interested in the TV drama, only in you.

“In fourth place is… me.”

“Ah,” you said in recognition of the scene on the telly as you sat down. Your arm brushed against Harry’s as you tucked your right foot under your left thigh, and caught yourself before you settled into his side like you normally would.

A chorus of patronising oohs filled the room from the contestants on the screen. The host was shaking his head.

“Wait, is this the-,”

“You won, Jane.”

Barking laughter filled the room from the housemates, including Harry, but the host didn’t stop there.

“Dear Lord, what a sad little life, Jane.”

“You’ve got that on a T-shirt!” Harry swatted George’s arm.

“Damn right I do.” He grinned. “Cultural icon.”

“You, or the bloke having an aneurysm?”

“Both.”

“... grace of a reversing dump truck.”

More squeals filled the room, as if the entire scene hadn’t been a meme for years now.

Abbie patted your shoulder. “Did you see the video of Penn Badgley doing this?”

“Obviously.”

“Wait, I wanna see.” Rhys frowned.

Episode forgotten, Abbie found the clip on her phone and showed it to everyone.

“Oh my God, I think I’m going to hear it in that voice forever now.” George muttered, a wistful look in his eyes.

“Shall we watch a movie or something?” Abbie suggested, a hopeful look in her eye. “We never do anything all together… it would be nice.”

“I’m up for that.” Rhys grinned, because why would he ever turn down one of his girlfriend’s ideas?

“Yeah, me too.” George nodded.

All eyes turned to you and Harry. You couldn’t very well say no now, it would look odd. Especially if you both did, which is what you both wanted to do. There were two perfectly good beds upstairs, one of which needed to be destroyed. That wasn’t very well going to happen if you both sat on the couch and watched a film with your housemates.

“Yeah, sure.” You finally said, because you hated the way everyone was looking at you.

“Go for it.” Harry managed, much worse at hiding his disapproval than you were.

“How are we going to decide, then? ‘Cause I don’t really watch the horror films you two are into,” George pointed between Abbie and Rhys, “and Harry probably only watches underground indie movies or something.”

Harry had no idea what gave him that impression, but the laugh that came out of your mouth - hearty, loud and delighted - was worth the assumption.

“Why don’t we all write a movie name down on a piece of paper that we’ll all like - a comedy or something - and do a raffle.”

“Okay, but who’s choosing?”

Harry rolled his eyes and waited for the inevitable to happen. George and Abbie fought for five minutes, both arguing that one of them should choose, and then the decision was given to you as the honorary house mediator. Everyone wrote their choices down on a scrap of paper and dropped them all into one of Rhys’s beanies. Then you closed your eyes, body screaming reluctance at having to be the decision-maker, and plucked a folded square out.

Your mouth lifted at the corners. “Shrek 2.”

Snacks were brought in, beers were shared out, and someone pressed play on the film where it had been queued up.

“Wait!” George screamed.

You all looked at him, bewildered by his dramatics. He’d even stood up.

“What?” Rhys gave him a baffled look.

“I wanna sit in the armchair.” George pointed to the very one Rhys sat in. “I don’t wanna sit in a couple sandwich. A third wheel is bad enough, but a fifth wheel is a disaster.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked, laughter nervous and the ultimate giveaway.

“Oh fuck off if you two think we don’t all know you’re a thing.”

Your body tensed. Harry could feel it, the way you went from soft to rigid in a split second. “What?”

“We’ve known for ages.” Abbie said with a sweet smile.

“Yeah, like, the second Harry moved in.” George rolled his eyes.

“But we haven’t been-,”

“-Maybe not the whole time, but definitely recently. I can hear the floorboards creak, you know.” George gave you an accusatory glance. Curse him living directly beneath you. “Amongst other things.”

Harry wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or whether he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. His cheeks and the tips of his ears had turned pink, and you looked like you were in shock. “Right…”

“I am slightly offended that you didn’t want us to know.” Rhys folded his arms. “What did you think was gonna happen?”

He had a point. What did you think was going to happen? Mild ribbing and inappropriate jokes? It wasn’t exactly any of their business what the two of you were doing on the top floor, but that didn’t mean you’d needed to hide everything from them. Why had you stopped yourselves from being affectionate when around them? They were your friends. You all had inside jokes and a group chat and emoji code names. They were like a second family in a way. Even though you all enjoyed your own company, you liked each other too.

“I think… for a while we didn’t really know what was happening.” Harry finally spoke, twisting in his place. “We just started hanging out and it kinda grew from there.”

“I called this on day one, by the way.” George said smugly.

“It’s true, he did.” Abbie nodded, still smiling. “Two good-looking people at the top of the house? Recipe for heaven.”

“We’re happy it finally happened. Just… don’t hide shit like that from us. We’re all friends.” George was back to scowling.

“Friends.” Rhys cooed, like Jay from The Inbetweeners.

“Anyway, now that’s all out there, can we start the film please? Or it’s gonna be my bedtime.” Abbie flailed her hand around.

The movie started, everyone settled into their places, and you managed to find a comfortable position against Harry’s side.

Even though you chatted along with conversations and laughed at the telly, Harry knew something was off. You were still tense, and you didn’t touch him like you normally would. He wanted you in his arms, not pushed awkwardly against his side. He wasn’t sure if it was because you were uncomfortable displaying affection in front of other people, but whatever it was he wanted to make it go away.

He shifted at one point in an attempt to wrap an arm around your middle, but instead you moved further away. That utterly terrified him.

As the movie credits rolled, everyone started to move, ready to get to bed for the night. Except you.

“Guys,” You said, quiet as a mouse, but everyone heard you. Because you never stopped anyone for anything, “can we all have a chat?”

Dread nestled itself into Harry’s stomach. A chat? About what? Everyone? Why did everyone have to be present? What was going on?

The housemates sat back down, if a little tentatively, gazes wary. You finally gave Harry your attention, if only fleetingly with a worried smile.

“Are you alright?” Abbie asked and pulled your hand into hers.

Harry leaned forwards.

“You’ll all be getting an email tomorrow, but I wanted to tell you in person.” You licked your lips, stare heavy on the stone floor of the living room. “Dad is selling the house.”

A little piece of your heart broke that evening when your dad told you his plans to sell. It was a place that you had such an odd relationship with, because while it cost a lot of money and caused a lot of financial problems, it also brought you a family you never asked for and a man you never dreamed of having.

You knew your dad would try and hold onto it as long as he possibly could because it had become your home, and he’d been in bits over dinner as he broke the news. He cried, so you cried, and then your sister cried, too. Everyone had been a mess.

“What?” George said, dumbfounded. Hell, everyone was dumbfounded.

“It’s the last thing he wanted to do, but it’s kind of burning a hole in his pocket and we can’t afford it anymore. Between the leaking second floor and dodgy plumbing there’s also woodworm and stone repairs and all sorts of other crap I don’t want to bore you with.”

“You found this out today?” Abbie asked, bottom lip trembling.

“Yeah, an hour or so ago. I’m really sorry, guys.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Rhys frowned.

Abbie crawled across the small gap between her and you and wrapped her arms around you. “We get it. It’s old, it’s a bit rickety and it needs a lot of TLC. We all know your dad gave it all the care he could afford and it’s okay that he can’t afford it anymore.”

“How long do we have to find new places?” George asked, biting his lip.

“As long as it takes to sell. Given the condition of the place it could be fuckin’ ages.” You managed a laugh.

“If your dad needs us to do anything, he just needs to let us know. And we’ll make sure it’s tidy as fuck for viewings and shit.”

“Thanks, Rhys.”

The housemates starting shifting again, collecting up their bits and leaving with softly spoken good nights. You still didn’t move, and neither did Harry. After a quiet minute or so, he slipped his hand into yours and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“What are you thinking?” He asked in a gravelly whisper.

You took a deep breath, nibbling away at your lower lip. “That I’m scared.”

“Scared?”

“Mhm.”

“Scared about what?”

You turned to face him, cataloguing every crease of worry on his handsome face. “Us. What this means for us.”

He gently cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone. “What do you think it means for us?”

“Well, I don’t know. I’m scared it means the end, when I don’t want it to. I’m scared that what we’ve been doing is just… convenient? And now that we have to leave it won’t be so convenient anymore and it will be over.”

“You don’t want it to be over.” It wasn’t a question.

“No. Not even a little bit. I… I don’t want a night without you ever again. I can sleep with you around. I can breathe. I need to breathe, and I can’t do that without you. And part of me hates that I need you, but I do, and the rest of me that doesn’t hate it tells me to fuck everything to the wind. Because it’s not just need, it’s also a want. I just want you around, like you have been. Presence is such a funny thing when it comes from different people, but yours… I like yours. A lot.”

Harry spoke your name in a low voice, gaze on your mouth as he smoothed his thumb across your lower lip, “I don’t want it to be over, either.” He meets your gaze again, cool, calm and collected. “I really hoped it wouldn’t be at any stage ever, least not because we have to leave the house and find another one. I’ve been living with you for three fucking years and I also don’t want to have to spend a night where you don’t live with me. Hell, it’s not even a fucking option. I know you love this place because it’s your family’s, but I don’t care where we live as long as we do it together. I’ve been looking at other places since the day I moved in, and the only reason I haven’t bothered to leave is because you kept me here, whether you meant to or not. And now we have to leave, and I’m sure as shit gonna take you with me, because I can’t live without you.”

You stared at him for a moment, and then launched into his arms, tackling him into the sofa. You peppered his face with kisses until he caught your lips and held you there, happy in the knowledge that you needed each other and that was absolutely fucking okay.

“You’re special to a lot of people, but especially to me.” Harry mumbled into your lips. “I’m selfish enough to not let you go.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“Good.”

You remained in the lounge for a little while longer, wrapped up in one another, until movement began upstairs and you decided it was probably time to head upstairs to bed. Before you made it to the stairs, Rhys and George appeared in front of you. Rhys looked apprehensive and George looked irritated he’d been dragged out of his room again.

“What’s going on?” You asked, cocking your head.

“Abbie’s in the loo so I’m gonna make this real quick before she comes back.” Rhys threw a wary glance over his shoulder. “I need your help.”

Every morning was the same.

This week it had been, anyway. You woke up with the sunrise, wrapped in Harry’s arms, and you listened to his heartbeat and his unconscious breathing for a blissful twenty minutes before his alarm went off. Then he’d fall out of bed with a reluctant yawn, mooch his way around the room and disappear into the bathroom to get ready for work.

Upon reappearing he’d head to the kitchen to make a coffee and leave a cup of tea on your bedside table, then a kiss on your lips, and then you’d watch the man who defined ‘sex on legs’ leave your apartment from the comfiest spot in the bedroom.

Today was the same, but different. He wasn’t going to work today, and neither were you. It meant longer in bed, with enough time for sexy shenanigans, then he’d make for the bathroom, bring you tea afterwards and breakfast.

You spent the day in bed, right up until 5 o’clock when you had to get up and go out to give your keys back.

Yes, your dad had managed to sell the house. It had taken a while, but it got there. The new owners were moving in tomorrow, and you’d all arranged to meet your dad and your sister there to do a final ‘handover’.

George had moved into a studio flat in the centre of town but spent most of his nights at his boyfriend’s place. Rhys and Abbie had finally bought that house they always wanted, out of town but easy to travel into. And you and Harry also had your own place, still renting and in the city, but it was yours together, and that was all you wanted.

“Are you nervous?” Harry asked as you walked up to the front of old Blackpool Tower.

“I’m not the one that needs to be nervous.” You shrugged, even if you had been the one to help Rhys with most of the planning.

He’d been a lot of work over the past few weeks. After he initially asked for your help he spent so long searching for the damn jewellery he forgot about the rest of it. You had reminded him on many occasions that it didn’t need a big song and dance, but he insisted, because he wanted it in the house you’d all shared with her favourite people to witness it.

The garden was lit up in the early evening with fairy lights and candles. George, your sister and your dad were already at the far end waiting for Rhys and Abbie to arrive. You gave over your keys - dad had the house professionally cleaned even though you had offered, because it was too big a task for one person.

Blackpool Illuminations

Rhys We’re nearly there…

Yes, Rhys had really named the group chat for the planning committee ‘Blackpool Illuminations’.

You stood next to your sister who wrapped herself around your middle, and Harry kept hold of your free hand.

“I hope she says no.” Your sister said, and Harry snorted. “Just for a laugh.”

“I don’t think Abbie has it in her to say no to Rhys.” You mused.

Five minutes later the couple in question turned up. Abbie had no idea what was going on, obviously. She’d been told they were going for dinner and then for a walk. The walk was always supposed to end here, at the old house.

Abbie gasped at the sight before her, hands on her mouth as she moved through the garden. “What’s going on?”

Behind her, Rhys swiftly dropped to one knee and presented the ring he’d spent months agonising over. “Abbie,”

You all watched and listened as Rhys spent five minutes talking about how perfect his girl was for him. It was very typical Rhys - overboard and unnecessarily long. Most things maybe could’ve been kept for his wedding vows.

Just as your sister was about to explode from restlessness, Rhys finally asked, “Will you marry me?”

“I would’ve said yes five minutes ago.” Abbie giggled, nodding, and held her left hand out.

George and your sister started hollering, your dad was pretending not to cry, and you fell into Harry’s hold again, watching the happy couple with a warm smile.

“I hope to God they don’t ask me to help plan the actual wedding.”

Harry chuckled and pressed his lips into your temple. “I’ll make sure they don’t.”

Your sister presented herself in front of you with an assured look on her face. “When are you two getting engaged, then?”

Harry choked behind you, and you gave your sister a bewildered look. “Reel it in, please.”

“What?” She shrugged. “Being in love suits you. A wedding would really suit you.”

“A wedding isn’t something you arrange for an aesthetic, sis.” You reminded her.

“Speak for yourself, but I do recommend heavily considering it.”

After she turned away, Harry lowered his mouth to the shell of your ear. “I wouldn’t mind marrying you.”

You tightened his arms around you. “One day.” You said with a kiss to his palm.

His smile imprinted on your cheek. “One day.”

~.~.~.~.~

Thank you so v much for reading if you make it this far. It’s a long one, I know. The longest one shot I’ve actually ever done. Much love to you <3

#harry styles smut #harry styles smut imagine #harry styles smut imagines #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst

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seeingivy · 9 days

Text

sweet nothing

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting fic

previous part linked here

songs mentioned: minor mentions of slut by taylor swift, new year's day by taylor swift, end of beginning by djo, turning page by sleeping at last, sweet nothing by taylor swift, and must be love by laufey

It feels like every new piece of information that comes your way is overwhelming as the weeks fly by. And really, that sinking feeling that things are coming to an end only feels deeper, more final as the days dwindle down to the end.

Jean and Mikasa are getting married in two days. Your last day of filming together as a cast is in three. Lana and Sukuna are having another kid and you’re almost positive that Eren is in love with you.

You have two weeks together before you part ways.

Every second that the group of you spent together felt like the moments were only slipping out of your fingers, like you were hopelessly trying to hold onto a needle in a stack of hay. It was almost impulsive the way you were trying to linger around everyone – to memorize every last detail of the memories so that you can’t forget them when they leave.

Falco and Gabi eat cereal in the morning before they go to set, Levi has a mole near his left eye, Eren loses all of his guitar picks.

You shuffle through the stack of polaroids in your hand – an endless stack of pictures of Miaksa and Jean – and get more frustrated looking down at the empty page on your notebook. Eren’s handwriting is perfectly lined up at the top, light scribbles of lyrics and words he’s changed for the song you were gifting Jean.

I spy with my little tired eye Tiny as a firefly A pebble that we picked up last July Down deep inside your pocket We almost forgot it Does it ever miss Wicklow sometimes?

Eren explained that Jean and Mikasa, after getting engaged (for the second time), took a two month trip where they just traveled together. Most of the pictures are from that time period actually – of Jean and Mikasa drunk in random bars, cheesing in front of billowing green hills, or napping on picnic blankets.

You look up at the two of them, clearly relieving some wedding stress by getting tipsy, and dancing with Falco and Gabi a few feet away. You can’t help but smile as Mikasa teaches Falco how to dance – and how he profusely apologizes every time he steps on her feet. It’s almost as sweet as Gabi and Jean who are trying to do the most aggressive slow dance known to man and that neither of them seem to be taking seriously in the slightest.

“Who’s getting injured first?”

You look to your right to find Eren hovering over your shoulder, his hair damp from the shower and the sweet smell of his soap still emanating off of his skin. He gives you a boyish grin before taking the seat next to you on the couch, leaning his chin on your shoulder as you watch the group of them.

“I’m sure Mikasa needs a bandaid already. Falco has stepped on her feet ten times already.”

“Poor guy. I’ve never seen him stress out over something so bad.” Eren states.

“What do you mean?”

Eren laughs.

“He’s freaking out about the wedding. He’s really worried that Gabi won’t enjoy it with him as her date – because he can’t dance and that sometimes he can’t think of things to talk about when he gets nervous.”

You frown.

“Baby.”

“Tell me about it. Last night he was in my room asking my opinions on pick up lines and how you even initiate dancing with someone.” Eren states.

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him that he should suggest getting matching tattoos. I know girls love that type of thing.”

You turn your head to glare at him.

“I know you didn’t encourage my sixteen year old brother to get a tattoo.”

Eren shrugs.

“What’s the difference between sixteen and eighteen? He’s a big kid.”

“He would get a tattoo of a cat jumping on a trampoline if he could. And that’s horrible advice.”

Eren grins.

“Worked on you, didn’t it?”

You shove him in the side, earning you a laugh from him, as he takes the opportunity to peek down at the page – mainly at the fact that you haven't been able to write anything. You sink back into the couch as he offers you a smile, before flipping through the rest of the pages.

“I have a question.”

“What is it?”

“Are you ever going to release any of these songs? I really think some of them are great.”

You lean over his shoulder to follow his line of vision, to all of the songs that you had produced out of the requests that you had been given. You eye the song he’s fixated on – called Slut, that you wrote for Sasha – as you shrug.

“I do really like some of them.” you offer.

“I really love this one. I think it’s perfect. And a lot of them are.” Eren adds.

You lean back on the couch.

“I know that…things are ending. And I have to think seriously about what I want to do after I leave here but sometimes it gets complicated when I think about it. But I am sure that...that I'll do something. In some capacity.” you state.

Eren leans back to join you, leaning his damp locks against your shoulder. You mimic his motions, leaning your cheek against his hair and welcoming the cold touch.

“I like being here and…and being here makes the songs and the acting really easy. I feel like I have that support system, of people who care about me, who can kind of help me push through it. The thought of having to figure out things without people helping me when I leave here and…and not having that makes it seem impossible.” you state.

“You don’t need other people to –”

“I know I don’t need other people to do this, that I can write songs and act if I need to. But, I need them for me. I’ve spent a lot of time alone and I realized I don’t want to do that anymore. I want to be here forever, I’ve…I feel like I barely appreciated the time I had here and now it’s almost over and I can’t do anything about it.”

It’s horrible timing. That the song in Connie’s playlist switches.

There's glitter on the floor after the party Girls carrying their shoes down in the lobby Candle wax and Polaroids on the hardwood floor You and me from the night before, but

You both sink deeper into the couch, cheeks pink as the song stops the conversation in full. You can feel that the group of them are all averting their eyes to where you and Eren are sitting, though none of them seem to comment on the fact that your love ballad is booming from the speakers. You turn to Eren and offer him a smile, one that he returns before nervously fiddling with his hair.

“You still have time left here. You can make the most of it. And even after we leave here, we’re all still backing you up. It might not be all of us all in the same place but…but we’re here when you need us.” Eren states.

“Yeah. I know that. But it’s just different.”

You pause, unable to put the garbled mess of feelings that’s rumbling in your chest into words.

Three days ago Levi told you that they were going to put the house up for sale when you were leaving – and the thought of never being able to come back here, that someone else would be sleeping in your room and you’d never be able to return to it made you sick to your stomach.

You had read the last bits of the script and it was perfect – except for the blank portions that Levi left in one of the sections. He had mentioned that he wanted you and Eren to do something similar to what you were going to do for the “what am I to you scene?” where he was going to ask you to improv whatever he had planned.

There was a sense of urgency when he mentioned it, because that was actually going to end up being the last scene that you ever filmed. Because Mikasa and Jean were going to get married on Friday, the last day of filming with the entire ensemble was Saturday, and they were all out of there by Sunday night.

And for the entire week that followed, you, Levi, Hange, and Eren were going to be in the house alone. Hange mentioned it as a sort of gift that Levi wanted to give you – that he wanted to grant the two of you time alone before you parted your separate ways.

(Apparently he was just sentimental. Or projecting, according to Hange. And part of it was just that he understood because when he had his last weekend of filming La La Land with Hange, he just wanted them all to himself before he had to let them go. That he wanted that for you and Eren or just for himself instead.)

The thought of being alone with Eren in the house, the way you were when you started filming all those years ago, made your stomach churn with anticipation. Only because you knew – that if something was going to blossom between you and Eren, if you were able to let go of whatever it was that was holding either of you back – it was going to be then.

Or at the wedding.

You had visited the venue with Eren a few days prior and the outdoor, woodsy venue that Jean and Mikasa had picked out was eerily similar to where Levi and Hange had their vow renewal. They were leaning into the same energy – of a backyard wedding, with all of their closest friends – and you were half convinced that the setting alone would have you word vomiting everything to Eren.

Don't read the last page But I stay when it's hard, or it's wrong, or we're making mistakes I want your midnights But I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day

Eren reaches forward, placing his hand on top of your head, before he slightly rattles your head.

“Okay, that’s enough being emo for today. Quit being sad and focus on writing the song. Jean is expecting something really great, you know?”

You groan.

“Don’t tell me that. I hyped it up so much to him just because he was being annoying but I’m really scared that he won’t like it. Every lyric I write is so ridiculously idiotic that I end up wanting to throw my entire book away.”

“You’re trying too hard. Just do what feels natural.”

You’re not sure why the thought crosses your mind, but right after it does it fills you with a bout of embarrassment. Because if you did what was natural, you’d lean forward and close the space between the two of you, only because you couldn’t help but feel like you were getting intoxicated by how much you wanted him every time you were alone like this.

But that was just the thing. You weren’t alone. There were at least seven different people in the room. And the fact that it felt so intimate, so bare every time you talked to him like you were the only two people in the room made it impossible to be around him.

Levi walks into the room with Hange, the two of them juggling cardboard boxes in their hands. Levi nearly drops all of them when Gabi and Jean almost salsa dance straight into him, but luckily enough, Niccolo is able to steer them in a different direction before they can.

Hange and Levi set the boxes down at the center table, before gesturing for all of you to join them around the table. Eren holds a hand out to you – and it makes your stomach churn when he doesn’t let go as you both walk all the way to the table.

You can’t help but focus on it. That you’re all circled around the table, that Niccolo is handing Sasha his water bottle, that Falco and Gabi are out of breath, and that Eren has his hand tucked into yours as he intently waits for Levi and Hange to explain.

“As you guys all know, we’re going to be giving up the house in around a week. I know it feels a little early, but we need to start making preparations since things are going to start wrapping up really fast.” Levi states.

“And this part is only logical. You guys were the ones who put the polaroids up. It’s only fair that you’re the ones who are going to take them down.” Hange adds.

You feel your throat dry.

“What?” Armin asks.

“We can’t exactly leave them all up. Imagine how horrifying that would be for whoever moved in here after – just thousands of pictures of strangers that they didn’t know.” Levi states.

“They would be so lucky. We’re literally famous.” Connie huffs.

“Okay, Connie. Relax. Even then, I figured that you guys would want to keep some as you guys got ready to leave here. We can toss whatever it is you don’t want to keep.” Hange resopnds.

It just keeps getting worse. You can’t even stomach the fact that they would even consider throwing any of the pictures away, let alone being so ready to pull them all off of their respective spots on the wall.

“Are you insane? You can’t just throw our childhood away.” Reiner states.

“Well, you can keep all of the stragglers. Drown in the polaroids in your penthouse apartment, Reiner.” Levi deadpans.

“Oh, I plan on it.” Reiner responds, glaring at the two of them.

You can tell that Levi and Hange were well prepared for the pushback. And you understand the frustrations, or at least the panic, everyone seems to be expressing. Armin’s trying to delay whatever this is to the best of his abilities – saying that the wedding pictures would be perfect with all of the polaroids in the background. Reiner said that taking everything down was only fair when Eren got to be a part of the death wall, and Sasha and Mikasa are already fighting over how they’re supposed to divvy up polaroids that we’re all in.

And you get it, but all it does is fill you with the sinking pit of despair.

This was the start. Taking all of the pictures down, wrapping your childhood into a little cardboard box and never returning to it again – at least not in the same way.

The song from the playlist switches, finally mellowing out the ends of your voice, before changing to a different song.

Levi’s ears immediately perk up at the sound of his own voice, booming through the speakers.

Just one more tear to cry One teardrop from my eye You better save it for The middle of the night

When things aren't black and white Enter, Troubadour Remember twenty-four?

And when I'm back in Chicago, I feel it Another version of me, I was in it I wave goodbye to the end of beginning

“Who is playing this?” Levi asks.

“Connie.” Eren offers.

Levi shakes his head, almost like it’s thrown him a distraction, before he hands each of you the boxes and a marker. You all start begrudgingly inking your name into the cardboard, before halfheartedly clutching it to your chests. A few of them make the first move, until it’s just you and Armin left lingering in the kitchen, unable to move.

“Jesus fuck, Hange. Why would he play this song?” Levi whispers, stuck in a conversation under his breath with Hange.

“The timing is uncanny. Don’t go crying on them now.” Hange states.

The two of them shuffle out of the room as you turn to Armin, noting the warm tears that are filling his eyes, as you offer him one of your hands. He opts to link his hand through yours, as you both task yourself with walking over to the fridge first, as you stare at all six of the polaroids stuck under the magnet.

“I really don’t want to do this.” Armin whispers.

“Me neither.”

He snags the first polaroid off of the fridge, of Erwin wearing a sparkly pink apron with Kiss the Chef embroidered into the front pocket. You distinctly remember when Eren had gifted it to Erwin for his birthday – and how he refused to stand in the kitchen without wearing it, even if he wasn’t cooking anything.

“This picture doesn’t belong anywhere but here.” Armin states.

You snort. You can see that Armin hesitates, but he settles for putting it in the box.

“We’ll make a pile on the main table, of who is in each picture. Then…then people can fight it out for who gets to keep which one.”

“Good idea.”

It’s quiet, leave for Levi’s voice booming through the speakers, as you and Armin start yanking the pictures off of the wall. The wallpaper has been fading for years, but it’s only more obvious when you start ripping the pictures out to see the brighter color that was covered underneath.

Armin stops you every few seconds, only to pull on your arm to show you a picture. It’s quiet smiles that you give each other, when you find one of him and Annie, or he gives you one of Hange, and it makes it the slightest bit easier.

But some of the memories hit you like a bullet train, only because you can’t fathom how much of them you’ve actually forgotten. You only remembered that Falco and Colt had actually been to set before, years before they were even on the show, when Eren flew them out to surprise you for your birthday. Or that on that same day, Mikasa and Armin were the ones to gift you the first notebook that you had ever scribbled your lyrics in.

They were so deeply intertwined in the memories – every single one. You suppose that’s probably why it was the hardest to let go, to walk away from all of them and limit them to just being pictures in a box.

And when I'm back in Chicago, I feel it Another version of me, I was in it I wave goodbye to the end of beginning (Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye)

“Armin.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever think about that night? In Seattle?” you ask.

He pauses, abandoning the polaroid fixed in his fingers – of you and Historia cheek to cheek – as he sinks against the wall and sits on the floor. You join him on the ground, looping in your arm through his, as you lean your head against his shoulder.

“Sometimes.”

“Me too.”

“I try to pinpoint moments where it feels like things changed. And there are lots of them, but I do find myself always going back to that one. Things felt so weird and out of line in the months before that, I felt like we were all moving in different directions, and that really solidified it.” Armin states.

You pause.

“Yeah, yeah I agree. Sometimes I wish I could go back and change things. But I also don’t.”

“What do you mean?” Armin asks.

“My first instinct when Eren and I started fighting was to ask him to tell the truth, to come with us and that we’d fix everything. Knowing what I know now, I wish that I had fought harder – that I trusted my gut more because I could clearly feel that something was wrong. But I also don’t, because sometimes I think the way things played out is how it needed to be, for me to feel how I am right now.” you state.

“How do you feel now?”

You pause.

“I remember when we took Connie home with us and…and he started screaming at us. I felt really hopeless. I feel like watching him act like that, to be struggling so much, really sank me into that pit I was in. But I guess, I don’t know. Maybe I needed to see that and how he is now, to see how Sukuna was and how he is now, and Lana too to know that maybe there’s some way out of it for me too after I leave here.” you state.

Armin smiles.

“I’m really happy for Lana and Sukuna.”

You grin.

“I’m really happy for Connie too. And Eren and…and us too. So much has happened that I really can't even wrap my mind around everything that has happened, but sometimes all I’m left with is that I feel really grateful that we’re all here right now. Especially you and me. Sometimes I forget that you and I faced the worst of it together and…and that we’re here right now, the way that we are, just kind of…fixes it all in my mind.”

“I agree. I feel like we saw the worst of it together, maybe acted at our worst together too, but it makes me feel better that we both came out of it the way that we did. I feel like we never learn and even though we burn bridges, we still ended up doing what was right at the end of the day.” Armin adds.

Armin smiles, as he pushes up off the ground and holds out his hand to you. He pulls you up, averting his eyes to behind you, before you turn to find Annie and Eren standing behind. He gives you a knowing look before he switches places with Eren – and the two of them stalk off together.

Eren gives you a smile, before aggressively sticking a polaroid in your face. You’re caught off guard by the suddenness, before you focus on the picture. It’s of you and Eren on the last day of filming Season Three – your arms wrapped around his neck as you both smile in the camera.

“Yours or mine?” he asks.

“Mine.”

“Well, you should get a move on. I’ve already stolen whatever pictures there were on the wall near the bay window.”

“No debate? No negotiating?” you ask.

“Absolutely not. You snooze, you lose.”

You and Eren fall into a quiet pace, the same way you were with Armin. It seems like it’s something everyone was adapting, because the house felt quieter as usual as you all pulled the memories off of the walls.

He’d stop here and there and place a polaroid into the palm of your hand. It was getting almost overwhelmingly nostalgic, making that melancholy that seemed to reside in your chest almost impossible to breathe through.

It was like watching yourself fall in love with Eren all over again.

Because all you can think about is the fact that you had really liked Eren at that award’s show, that you went on a date before that press event, that filming that scene was really fun because you had spent the entire day together.

That you used to sleep in the same bed every night, that you made breakfast together every morning, that the safe confines of this little wooden house was the place that you and Eren got to be yourselves, where your love was saved from being touched and garbled by other people.

“Eren.”

“Yeah?”

“What are you going to do with the pictures?” you ask.

Eren pauses, eyeing the messy mess of pictures in his box, before he looks back up at you.

“I’m staying at this place by the sea, in Ireland, for a few months after the show ends. It’s my parent’s cabin, but I just want to go there and take a break before I jump into anything again. I’ll put some of the pictures up there.” he states.

You nod.

You’re not sure why you ask the question, and it’s almost instant embarrassment when it comes out, but you have to stick with it after you do.

“Will you tell other girls about who I am?”

“What?”

You bite your tongue.

“I just mean. If people point to the pictures and stuff, you’ll tell them about us, right? All the pretty girls you’re going to take to your fancy cabin?” you joke.

Eren seems to visibly relax when he figures that this has to be some weird idea of a joke that you’re making.

“Oh. Yeah, of course. Trust me, when I take my children to that cabin, I’ll make sure they know the entire story before they leave.”

You smile.

“And what’s that?”

“Oh, you know. That it was a moment in time, what you and I had. That people went crazy for it, that…that you and I did too.” Eren states.

“Who said I went crazy for it?”

Eren rolls his eyes.

“You have not one, but two matching tattoos with me. We’ve written so many songs about each other, that people still listen to.”

“I was just teasing. Relax.”

Eren hands you a polaroid – a solo picture that he had taken of you at Hange and Levi’s vow renewal – that you tuck into your box. The walls are bare and empty as you peek your head through the other rooms. And you all group back together in the main room, boxes filled on the ground as you find too many of them locking their limbs together and swaying together in the air.

You and Eren smile at each other as Reiner catches sight of you and makes a dramatic display of wrapping both of his arms around you. Jean and Mikasa follow next – somehow producing shots for everyone out of thin air.

The only notable thing that stands out is that Connie’s standing by the far wall, stuck staring at the wallpaper. Normally, you’d expect him to be at the center of this, making some extreme, dramatic speech on top of the table about how we were all going down in history.

You tangle out of Mikasa’s embrace to walk up next to him, only to feel your stomach churn when you find exactly what it is that Connie’s staring at. Because it’s not a blank patch of wallpaper – but instead, his shitty spelling marked into the wall, accompanied by the one polaroid you had seemingly forgotten all about.

Of Marco, his tub of ice cream, and his bright smile when you had all inducted him as the start of the death wall. You look to your left to find Connie crying, as you lean your head against his shoulder, unable to stop your own.

“I can’t take it down. He…he’s going to miss the wedding.” he whispers.

It makes your stomach ache. That Marco won’t be there to see Jean and Mikasa get married, that he won't be at the wrap party, and that someone will have to come over here and rip him off of the wall for good.

“I can’t do it either.”

Eren’s the next to join the two of you, his arms warm around your shoulders, before you feel him physically tense at your side when he realizes. The crowd only seems to get bigger, until the entire group of you are standing there, limbs tangled in together as you all stare at the picture of him.

Levi and Hange, who are the last to join, are the first to break the silence.

“No one can do it, can they?” Hange asks.

You all shake your heads. Levi makes his way to the front – and you can’t help but study him as you watch him observe the picture.

It was no secret to you that Levi had a soft spot for Marco, that it only intensified after he died, and that it was something that Levi was going to beat himself over forever.

You think about it often – that one time that Levi insinuated that what happened could be traced back to him, because Marco’s fame could be traced back to when Levi had cast him in the show. That if Levi didn't make Marco famous, the paparazzi would have called the ambulance instead of prioritizing the photo.

When he reaches for the picture, you realize that you can’t let him do it alone.

You walk up to his side and pull on his arm.

“Together.” you state.

Levi gives you wide eyes, heaving a deep sign out, before he nods. You turn back to the crowd of them standing, as you gesture for them to join.

You all place your hands on each other, making it literally impossible for you to all stand there as you try to jump and duck under each other to secure your hands on the picture. It’s all giggles because Connie asks Reiner not to touch his butt and they start bickering before you all pull.

But on the count of three, you all pull it off of the wallpaper, before letting go. It’s left in Levi’s hands at the end of it.

You all let him keep it. He shoots you a grateful smile for the assistance.

The air is palpable the morning of the wedding. You can feel it thrumming under your skin – the anticipation – the second you spring your eyes open. It reminded you of how you used to sleep the night before a field trip, unable to contain your excitement to the point where you were unable to quiet your mind before sleeping.

You nearly shoot up because of it, unable to stop staring at Mikasa at your side. Her hair is tousled around the pillow, the sleep mask that she put on last night sticking to the side of her face, and she’s snoring horrendously loud.

In your excitement, you lean forward and press a kiss to her forehead.

“Jean?”

You snort.

“No. Don’t insult me in the early hours of the morning.” you state.

Your voice is enough to wake Mikasa up, and similarly enough to you, she shoots up the second she’s regained consciousness. The green mask is falling off the right side of her face and her eyes are so horrendously wide that she almost looks like an alien.

“Holy shit. “

“What?”

“I’m getting married today.”

You can’t help but smile from ear to ear as you wrap your arms around her neck and squeeze hard. It’s a mix of giggles, of the two of you squealing like you were fifteen again, and of you and Mikasa tickling each other in your hug.

The morning goes by relatively slowly.

Whatever that feeling is, the warm, sweetness in the air – it’s hanging in the air. The group of you are all holed up in Mikasa’s room – Gabi, Falco, Connie, Historia, Armin, and Sasha. The rest of them were all stuck with Jean. You can already anticipate that there’s more panic and high energy in that room just from the sheer fact of Ymir being stuck with Reiner, Eren, and Jean in there alone.

You were all in charge of getting Mikasa ready, of getting dressed yourselves, and getting her to the venue. They had to do the same with Jean – but you and Eren had to be there before to pass out the corsages and pin the boutonnieres.

There was a slight panic in the background, but the calmness was making it taper into almost nothing. And really, the entire ordeal felt so homey, so ordinary that you couldn’t help but find yourself smiling as you all went about it, because you had been thinking – planning for it – for so long.

Connie and Sasha tasked themselves with making iced coffee, Falco and Gabi had spent twenty minutes tracking down the Doordash order with the breakfast, and you were left alone to do Mikasa’s hair.

It was just the two of you, humming in the bathroom to the quiet little playlist Jean had sent Mikasa as a gift this morning, as you quietly tasked yourself with doing her hair. It was relatively simple, just two braids at the front to tuck behind her ears, with little flowers intertwined in between. The veil was going to take up most of the space in the back, so you were just curling the ends for her.

It’s quiet until you can hear her sniffling, only to look up in the mirror to her trying to blot her tears away from her eyes. You try to focus on the song that’s playing – only to find that Jean had put invisible string in the playlist – and you can’t help but smile. You pause, placing your hands on her shoulders as you squeeze hard.

“Oh god. Are you getting cold feet because he’s ugly?” you joke.

She glares at you.

“Fuck off.”

You laugh before tucking wrapping your arms around her waist and leaning your chin on her shoulder. She gives you a smile in the mirror – one that you return – as she finishes wiping her tears away.

“Now really. What is it? You can’t be sad on your wedding day or else I’ve failed as a maid of honor.”

She shakes her head.

“Not sad. Just…I don’t know. I was reflecting. Feeling really introspective about a lot of things and I realized that there was a point that I thought this would never happen for me. And god, I’m so fucking happy it is.” Mikasa states.

“This meaning…?”

“You. Braiding my hair for my wedding. Jean. Actually marrying me after everything that happened. Getting to leave here with him.”

You swallow hard. She turns around, placing her hands on your shoulder. You distract yourself by messing with how the ends of her bangs were falling, brushing them into place before you give her a smile.

“Thanks for coming back. I would never want to do this without you.” she states.

“Thanks for letting me. It would be agonizing to watch this from the sidelines.”

She leans forward and hugs you, so hard that she’s leaning her entire weight on you. And every inclination that you made of letting go gets ignored, because Mikasa holds on to you for a long time.

“You’re my best friend.” she mumbles.

You can feel the tears accumulating in your own eyes, the sniffling coming from your nose this time, as you hear Mikasa spare a quiet laugh.

“Seriously?”

“I just started getting all fucking…introspective like you were. I’ve spent my entire life here, my entire childhood sleeping next to you and when I wasn’t, it was because Jean was in here. And now you’re getting married to him and I’m going to be right next to you when it happens, and I just…”

You pause.

“I don’t remember when we grew up. I’m glad I got to do it with the both of you.” you finish.

You try to etch it into your memory – this moment – so you can remember it forever. The two of you in your pajamas, barefoot on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, breathing in tandem as you held each other while crying.

She was hours away from being a wife. You were about to watch Jean and Mikasa get the perfect ending, that the nights that they spent together in your room all led to the two of them standing on that altar, exchanging vows. You would be two feet away from Eren, who was going to smile at you with his perfect green eyes and make your stomach do a somersault.

You were going to hold hands, he was going to dance with you, and that might be the end of it. Or the start, if you’re both able to muster and get over that block that was always stuck in your throats.

Connie and Sasha return with the coffee soon enough and Falco and Gabi with the food. You all sit in a circle, sharing bites and switching drinks, until Sasha locks herself and Mikasa in the bathroom to do her makeup and fit her into her dress.

You take the free second to sit at the vanity, using the sweet free time to style Falco’s hair for him before you do your own makeup. You can see Connie brushing Gabi’s hair through the mirror, intently focused as he holds the bobbi pins in between his lips, and gathers her hair together at the back of her neck. You can’t help but smile as you focus back on Falco, trying to tame the unruliness of his hair with the mousse.

“Be careful with Eren’s cufflinks today, Falco. He’s expecting those back.” you state.

“No, he isn’t. He gave them to me earlier and he actually said that he wants me to keep them.”

It makes your heart sink a little – only because you don’t know what it means. If he was giving it up to Falco out of good will because he was your little brother and he loved him or because he wanted to get them straight off of his hands since you two were going to be leaving and parting ways soon.

“Well, be careful. They’re very nice. And they’re special too, so just. Take care.” you state.

Falco frowns at you through the mirror, before turning back to look at you.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You seem sad.”

“No. I just feel really sentimental. My best friend is getting married and we…we’re all going to be leaving soon. I’m watching two people who have been in love forever seal the deal before I won’t ever live with them ever again.”

Falco frowns, before he reaches forward and wraps his arms around you. You can’t help but smile as you bury your nose into his shirt, breathing in the scent of his shampoo and laundry detergent mixed together.

“You’ll have a lot of fun today. You’ll have Eren with you. And you’re performing your song, which will be amazing. Levi also told me that you have to save a dance from him and Connie said he’s going to mix drinks after the reception, so you have a lot to look forward to.”

You glare at him.

“The only thing you’re mixing is soda, Falco.”

He gives you a grin.

“Right!”

“I’m going to tell mom.”

He glares.

“Don’t be a narc. I was trying to be nice to you.”

“You’re going to get liver disease, Falco.”

“Gabi and I have never tried it. We just wanted to do it together.”

You pinch your lips together, before shaking your head.

“I’ll just pretend like I didn’t hear that.”

You watch as Falco’s eyes light up, before he presses a wet kiss to your cheek. You push him off, as you finish the last touches on his hair, and lean down to press a kiss to the top of his head.

Falco runs off, mainly to Gabi’s side as he starts admiring her hair and she does the same to him. And as you quietly start smearing the makeup on your face, Connie takes the seat at your side at the vanity.

It’s quiet. Mainly because he’s messing with the ends of his own hair and you’re focused on smearing the glitter on your eyelids that you don’t really acknowledge each other. You only break the concentration – and start the conversation – as Connie watches you struggle with your necklace.

“Yikes. Want help?”

You smile.

“Yeah. Yeah, thanks.” you state.

You hand the necklace over to him – and watch the smile spread across his face as he eyes the little Saturn charm – before he signals for you to turn around. The necklace falls perfectly into place before you turn back to him and silently thank him.

“Eren’s wearing his pin too.” Connie states.

“He is?”

“Well, planning on it. I saw him walking around with it downstairs when we were making the coffee.”

You hum in response, as you place the blush on your cheeks.

“How did he seem? Is he stressed out?”

“No. He’s pretty zen, considering how batshit he was acting last night when you were running through the checklist.”

You smile.

“I just think he’s excited for the wedding. You know how much he loves Jean and Mikasa.” you state.

Connie smiles at you through the mirror, before leaning his cheek in the palm of his hand. It’s a weirdly antagonistic look that he gives you, that you ignore as you rummage through the colors of your lip glosses and lipsticks to find the perfect one.

“I know how much he loves you.”

You give him a weary look.

“You kissed three times. He smiled into the kiss. You used your tongue. We’re not about to play this shitty game.” Connie states.

“I didn’t say anything.” you state.

Connie smiles and really, the fact that he was rooting for the two of you so hard, that he approved, only made your excitement to see him later grow tenfold.

“So you know that he loves you?” Connie asks.

You swallow hard, before shaking the thought away.

“Well, of course he does. We’re good friends.”

Connie gives you a glare and it makes you fold.

“Just…don’t tell him, okay?”

“I won’t. But you…you do know, right?”

You sigh.

“Yeah. I’m just stuck on how to tell him, when the right time is, if…if he really wants to. I know that he loves me but that…that doesn’t necessarily mean that he wants to give our relationship another try.”

Connie frowns.

“He doesn’t know that’s on the table.” Connie states.

“What do you mean?”

“You know he loves you. He has no idea that you love him too.”

“There’s no way. It’s…it’s obvious. I’ve given him so many signs.”

Connie shrugs.

“Yeah. But he’s insecure. His mind plays tricks on him…and he won’t believe it unless you tell him, explicitly. Some days he says that he thinks you reciprocate and in the next hour, he’s moping in my room about how he’s lost you forever.”

You deflate and give him a nod, as you secure your hands around one of your tubes of lipstick. Connie shakes his head, before taking it from you and digging through the little pouch himself.

“No, you can’t wear that.” Connie states.

“I didn’t realize you were so opinionated about the makeup I wore.”

“No. Well, yes. But no, no Eren likes it when you wear glossy stuff on your lips.”

“Why do you know that?”

“He’s down horrendous.” Connie affirms.

“I’m not picking my makeup look based off of Eren.”

Connie pauses and gives you a look. You sigh.

“Okay, fine. Give it.”

He gives you a bright smile, before handing it over to you. And you smear it over your lips, before taking the open room on the left so slip in your dress and meet Eren downstairs.

You slip into your dress before you meet Eren downstairs, to make sure that everyone gets tucked into the correct cars, with flowers pinned to their jackets and secured around their wrists. You carry the pair of shoes you had chosen – black kitten heels to save your feet from the walking – as you make your way down the stairs.

You can already see Eren standing in the kitchen, placing the boxes in a line, as you feel the nervousness prickle all over your skin. His hair is pushed back, tucked behind his ears. He’s not wearing his jacket yet, the sleeves of his white collared shirt pulled up to his forearms, and he looks perfect.

You nervously knock on the frame of the door, as you drop your heels to the ground and join him at his side.

“Hey. Want my help?” you mumble, feeling the shake in your voice.

Eren’s fumbling with the plastic box in his hands, his throat bobbing, as he doesn’t respond, until it’s awkwardly been too long. And it’s almost like he’s realized it – that he was staring full on, that he had ignored what you had said – as he shakes his head before looking up at you.

“Did-did you say something to me?”

You can’t help but laugh, as you nervously rub at the sides of your biceps.

“Yeah. I was asking if you wanted help.”

“Right. Yeah, yeah. I was just making sure that the boxes had everyone’s names on it.” Eren adds.

You hum in response, as you join him at his side, and eye the little list that he had set in the middle of the counter. You start to eye the little labels, leaving little star marks next to each one you found on the paper, as you try to distract yourself and the burning in the pit of your stomach.

“You look beautiful.”

You feel your eyes widen.

“Huh?”

“I mean, you’re beautiful. You’re always beautiful, but you…”

Eren lifts his gaze from the plastic boxes, as he looks over at you, eyes striking and piercing. It sends a shiver down your spine. He places both of his hands on your elbows and you mimic the motion by resting yours against your forearms as you look up at him.

You watch as his eyes waver – first to your lips, before they drop down to your necklace. He reaches up, twisting the little Saturn charm in between his fingers, before he smiles up at you.

“Mine is on my jacket.”

You smile.

“He has to be there some way, right?”

He sighs.

“Yeah.”

“Speaking of…”

He looks around the little plastic boxes, before he reaches for one that has your name scribbled over the top. You reach for it, before he pulls back, giving you an offended look.

“Are you insane?” he asks.

“What? That’s literally mine.”

“What kind of guy do you think I am? You’re my date, I obviously have to put it on for you.” Eren states.

“Oh.”

Eren smiles.

“Yeah. Oh.”

Eren opens up the little plastic box, pulling out the little corsage, before fidgeting with the little flowers until they fall perfectly. You hold out your left hand to him and he slides the little ribbon across your wrist, until it’s set in place.

He lifts your hand and presses your knuckles against his lips, leaving a quiet kiss on your ring finger. It makes your chest burn.

“Perfect.” he whispers.

You swallow hard, trying to swallow the dryness in your throat, as you look up at him.

“Can I do yours?”

“I don’t have a corsage, sweetheart. Such a shame.”

You shove him.

“You know what I meant.”

He smiles, as he reaches for his coat hanging from the chair. You find the box with his name on it as he pulls his jacket on, adjusting it. You take the little silver pins and the boutonniere as you press it to the lapel. And it’s going well until you poke a little too hard, in the wrong direction.

“Ow.”

“Fuck. I’m so sorry, Eren.”

You can feel your hands shaking as you try to pin it properly this time, which only gets worse when you can feel that Eren’s watching you – and that he’s amused by how hard you’re trying not to stab him with the pins.

“That didn’t actually hurt, Y/N.”

You place the last pin before you unclench and look back up at him. You take the second to admire the little purple flowers on his coat, before smiling up at him.

“Perfect!”

Eren smirks, before he leans forward. He’s so close that you can feel the breath tickling your nose when he talks and the mint in his breath.

“No kiss for me?”

“Huh? Did…did you want one?”

“It’s hardly satisfying when you have to ask for it. You have to offer it to me.” Eren states.

And you were about to, but that’s right when Jean and Niccolo come tumbling down the stairs, readjusting their collars. You can hear the cars pulling up against the gravel outdoors, as Eren hands both of them their boutonnieres, and they run out the door.

Everyone tumbles through like a stampede – as you get stuck handing all of them the boxes and get too distracted to hand them all out. You feel your heart burst when Historia realizes that she gets two corsages – since Reiner and Connie are both her dates – and the dramatic display that they both make of kissing her hand and her cheeks when they put them on her has you giggling.

Levi and Hange are the last ones to leave, until it’s just you and Eren standing in the kitchen, facing each other.

“Ready?”

“Yeah. Just have to put my shoes on.”

Eren gives you a nod, before grabbing them from the side and getting on his knees. His arms move around your leg, exposed from the slit in the side of your dress as he secures the buckles around your ankles.

“Too tight?”

You clear your throat.

He has to know what he’s doing to you. That he can’t just place his head in between your legs like that.

“No. That’s good.”

He mimics the motion with the other shoe, fingers featherlike around your ankle, before he looks back up at you. And he holds his hand out to you, circling it around yours as the two of you walk out onto the gravel towards the car.

The four of you are lined up inside, peeking out the window, at Jean standing alone at the altar. You can see groups of people running around the little makeshift aisles – Hange and Levi sharing a drink, Lana with a little baby bump and Teddy tangled around her knees, and Sofia and Ymir admiring the flowers around the aisle.

“Lana and Sukuna are here. I can’t believe she’s showing already.” you whisper to Eren.

You watch as Eren’s eyes scan the room, before he catches the sight of the three of them on the left and smiles.

“Look at Teddy’s suit. He’s fucking adorable.”

“Sofia and Ymir look fucking amazing.” Connie adds.

“And Niccolo!” Sasha adds.

The three of you turn your gaze to her, giving her a side eye, before you all burst out laughing. In the time that you have to wait for Mikasa, Connie somehow produces two popsicles from the little truck outside, one that he hands to you and Eren and the other that he shares with Sasha.

You consider yourself lucky that Connie chose the blue one for himself and gave you and Eren the lemon, which had a translucent color. Connie later realizes his mistake when his tongue turns blue.

You look up at Eren, whose eyes are still transfixed at the people lingering around outside.

“You don’t want any, Eren?”

He looks over at you, and down at the popsicle, before he wraps his arm around your wrists and uses it to lift the popsicle to his mouth. He takes one bite and gives you a smile, before dropping his featherlike touch from your hand and looking back outside.

You can’t help but use your other hand to rub the inside of your forearm, where his fingers had just touched yours.

And you watch everyone with him, the two of you silently standing at the window. Levi keeps getting Hange refills and Reiner and Historia go in the photo booth. Sukuna basically guards Lana like a dog – refusing to leave her side, leaning down every few minutes to whisper in her ear, with what you know is constant questioning of if she’s comfortable or not.

Connie and Sasha yank on your elbows. The two of you turn your heads only to fall silent at the sight of Mikasa, excitedly smiling at you in her pristine and perfect white dress.

“Ready to get me married, guys?” she whispers.

You feel your heart squelch in your chest as you reach forward at the same time as Sasha, the two of you stuck in each of her arms and the fresh scent of her bouquet filling your nose. You can’t help but admire her – the shimmering glitter on her skin, the sparkling accents on her dress, and the veil flowing behind her.

It’s perfect.

She lets the two of you go before she gives Connie and Eren a shy smile, and they both rise to the occasion. They make a dramatic display of clutching their chests and it makes your heart sing as you watch Mikasa smile at the praise, at the two of them making it evidently clear that she’s one of the most beautiful things she’s ever seen. Connie and Eren both lean down to press a kiss to Mikasa’s cheeks, before you all line up, standing side by side.

Connie and Sasha stand in front, followed by you and Eren, and then Mikasa alone. You turn to Eren and he offers you a wink, as you feel your nerves bubble as the entrance song stars.

You can see it from the window – Levi seated at the piano with the microphone in front of him. And on his cue, Sasha and Connie walk out first together.

I've waited a hundred years But I'd wait a million more for you Nothing prepared me for What the privilege of being yours would do

Eren extends his hand out to you and you wrap yours in with his, as you both walk out into the courtyard. The air is fresh, the sun is dipping into the sunset and making a perfect mix of purple and pink hues, as the little lights hanging from the trees start twinkling.

You can’t help but squeeze hard on the bouquet as you walk down, nerves tingling. It’s warm in the little courtyard, but only because of how the blood rushes to your cheeks – it nearly hurts to smile this hard.

You offer Sukuna a wink as you walk past, before you and Eren let each other go at the end of the aisle. You and Eren stop before Jean, before leaning forward to give him a hug. You press a kiss to his cheek, which he smiles brightly at, before you and Eren take your spots opposite to each other at his side.

If I had only felt the warmth within your touch If I had only seen how you smile when you blush Or how you curl your lip when you concentrate enough

I would have known what I was living for all along What I've been living for

Levi’s voice is piercing, so warm and full that it makes the tears spark to your eyes. And when everyone rises out of their chairs and Mikasa steps out into the light, you instantly turn your head to the left to look at Jean.

And surely enough, Jean’s hands are shaking at his sides as the tears start to sprout out of his eyes – as he looks at her glide down and doesn’t break his eye contact once. It’s full blown tears, from both of them, and Mikasa’s basically rushing down the aisle just to get there faster.

You look past Jean to find Eren watching the two of them, with the brightest smile on his face.

Your love is my turning page Where only the sweetest words remain Every kiss is a cursive line Every touch is a redefining phrase

When Mikasa makes it to the end, Jean reaches for her hand and pulls her up. You take the little bouquet from her hands, and she gives you a wink in response, before turning back to Jean and locking her hands in with his.

I surrender who I've been for who you are For nothing makes me stronger than your fragile heart If I had only felt how it feels to be yours Well, I would have known what I've been living for all along What I've been living for

Levi finishes the end of his song with a dancing melody on the piano, before everyone takes a seat and they start the ceremony.

You and Eren stare at each other the entire time.

The reception afterwards is cast in silver moonlight. There’s a live jazz band, a little dance floor, and obviously an open bar. It’s a rush to make sure that Mikasa and Jean aren’t entirely shit faced by the time you’re able to perform your song and keeping them away from the bar before that happens turns out to be a horrendous task.

But surely enough, you and Eren are standing by the piano as you wait for Levi to announce the first dance. You turn to Eren, looking up at him, as you watch Levi make his way over to the microphone.

“Nervous?”

Eren shakes his head.

“Have you with me. We’ll be fine.”

You give him a nod as you absentmindedly tangle your hand in with his at your sides, that he welcomes. And when Levi announces that it’s time for the first dance, Mikasa and Jean make their way to the center of the dance floor, the two of them blowing you a kiss as you take your seat at the piano.

The second they look away, too entranced with looking at each other, Eren slides into the bench at your side and the two of you start playing the piano together. It’s only when Eren starts singing the first verse that they look back, at the two of you sitting there together.

Eren: I spy with my little tired eye Tiny as a firefly A pebble that we picked up last July Down deep inside your pocket We almost forgot it Does it ever miss Wicklow sometimes?

You look up from the piano keys to find Jean looking at you – smiling so brightly as the tears stream from his eyes – with Mikasa in his hands. You give him a wink, as you watch him turn his head away, his tears only increasing when he looks down at Mikasa.

Eren and Y/N: They said the end is coming Everyone's up to something I find myself running home to your sweet nothings Outside, they're push and shoving You're in the kitchen humming All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

Y/N: On the way home I wrote a poem You say, "What a mind" This happens all the time

You can’t help but turn to your left to look at Eren, only to find that he’s already looking at you first. He tangles his foot in with yours under the piano as your fingers brush against each other and you can feel it – the softness enveloping you and Eren, that the feeling of being around him makes your skin tickle whenever he looks at you.

Y/N: Industry disruptors and soul deconstructors And smooth-talking hucksters out glad-handing each other And the voices that implore, "You should be doing more" To you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it

You and Eren turn your heads back to the dance floor to watch as everyone joins Jean and Mikasa on the dance floor, hands locked together as they all smile at each other. Connie, Reiner, and Historia are trying some weird three way version of slow dance that has all of them laughing, and Hange and Levi are stuck in some deep conversation that they are whispering in each other’s ears.

Falco and Gabi are so tense that it almost looks painful, but the smiles on their faces don’t indicate that they’re aware of how rigid they’re both being. And Ymir presses a kiss to Sofia’s cheek, which makes her laugh.

Eren and Y/N: They said the end is coming (they said the end is coming) Everyone's up to something (everyone's up to something) I find myself running home to your sweet nothings Outside, they're push and shoving (outside, they're push and shoving) You're in the kitchen humming (you're in the kitchen humming) All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

You and Eren turn to your left to give the jazz band a thumbs up, as they take over on the music and start playing soft violin music so everyone can keep going. And you turn back to your right towards Eren and lean forward to wrap your arms around his neck.

And when you pull back, you secure one of his hands around his cheek and absentmindedly rub your thumb against his bottom lip.

“Think it went well?” Eren whispers.

You shrug. Eren smiles back, before mimicking your shrug in response.

You can feel the breath leave your lungs as you feel a pair of two arms around you, only to find Jean and Mikasa strangling you and Eren from behind the piano. The two of you stand up, to hug the two of them openly, as they smile down at you. Mikasa seems to break off to talk to Eren, because Jean pulls you to the side.

“Y/N.”

“Just to be clear, that was your gift. And if you hate it, that’s too bad because I –”

You’re cut off by Jean pressing a kiss to your cheek, before he envelopes you in a hug so hard that you can barely breathe. Jean lets go after a few minutes, his hand warm on your face as he smiles down at you.

“I loved it. That was the song of my dreams.”

You can’t help but grin at him.

“You deserve nothing less, Jean. I…I’m really happy for you. Just take care of my girl, okay?”

“That’s a promise.” he affirms.

You’re joined by Eren and Mikasa at your sides and you can tell from the pink mark on Eren’s cheek that Mikasa was feeling just as sappy as Jean was. You reach forward and wipe the mark away from his cheek, as you look at the two of them.

“I owe Mika a dance and then Gabi. I’m all yours after that, Y/N.” Eren says.

You smile, before you wave him off.

“Go ahead.”

You take your seat back at the piano bench, as you collect the sheet music and the lyrics and tuck them into the little cabinet of the piano. You sit there for some time – watching Eren and Mikasa giggle on the dance floor before he switches with Gabi who can’t stop blushing.

That’s until you’re joined by Levi at your side, who offers you a flute of champagne. You take it from him, as you tuck your arm into his, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“Your song was beautiful, Levi.” you murmur.

“Yours was too.” he responds.

You both watch the room in silence for some time, at how animated and lively it all was. Teddy was falling asleep against Sukuna’s shoulder, but him and Lana were caught in a deep conversation – soft smiles on both of their faces as they talked under their breaths at their table.

“I want to talk to you about something.” Levi states.

“Go ahead.”

Levi clears his throat.

“I…I hear that my vow renewal all those years ago meant a lot to you. Eren and I were talking about it.”

“Oh. Yeah, what about it?”

“I want to know what it meant.” Levi clarifies.

You lean back as you think about it – about the love in the room – and turn back to him.

“That night was the first time that Eren and I said we loved each other. That…that was the last time before things went so horribly wrong. Because we sat on the bench and talked about the love in the room, about how it was between us.”

You can feel your throat drying.

“After that, I got so busy. I started working too hard. He got stuck on Satellite Port, he…he was around people we hated and there were just so many things that came between us. I let go but then he did too. I had him for a second and then he was gone for good.”

You look back out at him, posing for a picture with Gabi encased in his arms.

“I saw you and Hange that day and all I could think about was how in love you guys were. About how I knew love was real, because you guys had it. That…that was what I was going to strive for, what I still do strive for at the end of the day. You guys are perfect, you’re THE love story for me and…you always have been.”

Levi sighs.

“Can I say one thing to you?” Levi asks.

“Yeah.”

“You have a tendency to not see things as they are sometimes. Like Danny and Sareen taking advantage, like Eren saying it was okay when you let him go, and believing him when he said what he did.”

You tilt your head to the side, in confusion.

“Hange and I are far from perfect. I’ll tell you now, very clearly. Hange and I did a vow renewal because we needed one. Not because it was romantic and we wanted to do it again.”

“What?”

“We wouldn’t be together if we didn’t do it. And our relationship reached that point, where…where we needed to affirm it again. That we loved each other, that we were committed, that we were what was most important.”

You sit back, dumbfounded.

Levi and Hange were in love. They had always been in love.

“I don’t get it.”

Levi smiles.

“What I mean by this is that…these things are normal in love. The initial attraction doesn’t keep you going. You have to pick each other, you have to be on the same side. It’s far more intentional, less cosmic as you think.” Levi states.

You follow his gaze to Jean and Mikasa, clearly obscenely drunk out of their minds, eating their wedding cake.

“They’re just as perfect as me and Hange are. It’s a fucking testament to them that they’re sitting here married after what happened with them. And it should be proof to you that what happened with you and Eren won’t hold you back, that…that it’ll really benefit you when it comes to it. You’ve already gotten past the hard part, you just need to leap now.”

You swallow hard.

“Are you shattering my entire worldview by telling me the truth about your vow renewal so I’ll date Eren?”

“Yeah.”

“Figures.”

Levi looks over at you, hands warm on your shoulders.

“Your mistake wasn’t picking him. His was not picking you when it came to it later, not in the way that mattered anyway. Now, fix it. Pick him now.”

Levi abruptly stops when Eren’s standing at your side, tie loosened around his neck as he gives you a cheesy smile.

“Ready for me?” Eren asks.

Levi gives you a narrowed look, which you ignore as you nod and stand up at his side. Eren leads you to the center of the dance floor, securing his hands around your waist as you tangle your own around his neck.

You and Eren sway to the violin in the background, the two of you quietly observing each other as you walk in step.

“I’m sorry I took so long. I danced with Mikasa and then Gabi. Lana and Sukuna stopped to talk to me and I just got side tracked.”

You shake your head.

“No, no. I…it’s okay. I was with Levi.”

Eren smiles.

“I…I’m glad you’re here with me now.” he whispers.

“Me too.” you whisper back.

The live singer, a small gift that Levi and Hange had planned for Mikasa and Jean, arrives right at the start of your little dance, and her voice so soft and melodic that you can’t help but pull yourself closer to Eren as she sings, until your ear is muffled against his coat, barely catching the ends of his heartbeat.

Time's moving so much slower lately It's like the world's playin' a joke Laughing at me for falling foolishly again But something's different with you

Traffic on Sunset doesn't phase me I'm just unusually composed That is until I touch you and I can't pretend I lose myself again, I do

I'm all in, I'm fallin' Can't get back up Can't think right, too tongue-tied It must be love

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“What are you thinking about?”

He pulls you apart a little, until you’re standing properly and looking up at him. The violin’s are sending goosebumps down your arms as he looks down at you, pointer finger hooked under your chin as he guides you to look up at him.

“That someone heard my prayers.”

You smile.

“Really?”

He nods.

“Armin and I used a whoopie cushion on Connie earlier. Gabi gave me a sweet kiss on the cheek and Teddy fell asleep in my lap earlier. Jean and Mikasa are getting married and I’m here with you. There was a point where thinking I’d ever end up here seemed unfathomable to me.”

“You and Armin are so immature.” you state.

Eren shrugs.

“It keeps me young,” he jokes.

Friends asking me where I've been hiding I'm losin' hours in your eyes Lost in your wonderland, I hope I'm never found There's no one else around, tonight

I'm not so used to being happy Now I just float down every street You made a sappy, stupid something out of me The kind I swore I'd never be I'm awake inside a dream

“I have…I have a lot I want to talk to you about, Eren. So…so much I want to say.”

Eren’s eyes widen.

“My time is always yours. What did you want to say?”

“It’s so many things. And I want to say it right. There’s…there’s so much going on and I don’t want you to take it the wrong way and I don’t want to scare you off because you and I are just doing good again and I don’t think that –”

Eren narrows his eyes.

“Why are you so tense? There’s nothing you could say that would hurt my feelings. It’s just me.”

You frown.

“That’s the problem. It’s just you.”

You feel a tapping on your shoulder, only to find Jean and Mikasa standing by your side, with two glasses in their hands.

“Are we interrupting something?” Jean asks.

You groan.

“No. What’s up?”

“We have one last request.” Mikasa states.

“What is it?” Eren asks.

The two of them give each other an excited smile – cheeks glazed pink – before they turn back to you.

“You have to let loose and drink.” they state, pushing the glasses into your hands.

You both give each other a pinched look, before turning back to them.

“We don’t drink. It makes me sleepy. And he doesn’t like the taste.” you state.

“We’re not going to force you. But really, you put so much time into the wedding. We just want you guys to have fun…loosen up a little bit.” Mikasa states.

The two of them giggle as they walk away, leaving the two of you in the center of the dance floor, nursing the glasses in your hands. You look up at him, entirely lost from your train of thought, as he eyes the liquid.

“Do you want to?” Eren asks.

“I don’t know. Do you want to?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve drank. And really, I only choose not to drink because I always seem to be around people that I’d feel uncomfortable losing my inhibitions around. But it’s just you and me and you’re basically one of the only people I could drink around. I don’t think a little wouldn’t hurt, I guess.”

You nod, following his lead. Your moment to say your piece had passed already.

“Okay. Okay, yeah.”

You both lift the glasses to your lips and sip.

Eren has to carry you back into the house. Because true to your previous statement, wine did make you really sleepy – and two bottles of it has you curled up into his lap in the back of the car.

Eren can feel his heart beating fast, the sensation blooming in his chest as he tries to steady his breaths. He absentmindedly runs his hands through your hair, running his finger over the sole braid tucked behind your ear.

He doesn’t think about it very well, but he leans forward and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. Eren figures that he must have leaned too close because it has you rousing from your sleep, only nuzzling into his chest even more.

“Are we home yet, Eren?”

He can feel his chest tightening.

“No, sweetheart. Almost, okay?”

“Okay. Okay, just take me in with you, alright?” you mumble.

Eren saves his retort about how he’d never leave you behind for when you’re awake, just so he could make sure that you’d actually remember it. And five minutes later, he’s left standing on the gravel with you, as you lean almost all of your weight into his side.

Every move he makes has you losing your balance, almost toppling to the ground.

“Hey. Can you lock your arms around my neck?”

You give him a halfhearted mumble before following his instructions, only to feel him hook his arms underneath your legs and shakily walk you towards the door. You can tell that he’s stumbling a little bit – not walking straight as he almost backs up into the wall as he walks in.

The two of you must have had too much to drink. Because as Eren walks straight up the stairs, he aims so horribly that he smacks your head straight into the wall and curses after the fact.

“Eren.” you hiss.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see the wall.”

You groan in response.

“Look out for it next time.”

Eren scathes his way to the hallway to his room, which he kicks open before leading you in. You all but collapse on his bed face first as he leans against the wall – groaning from how dizzy he was getting. Luckily for him, he had thought ahead to lay out clothes for himself – and that he overthought so much that there was a second pair too.

Eren walks over to the bed, placing one of his hands on your shoulder as he shakes.

“Y/N.”

No response.

“Y/N. You can’t sleep in your pretty dress.” he whispers.

“Tired.” you respond, voice mumbled.

“Here. I’ll help you change, just work with me.”

Eren holds one of his hands out to you, which you take. He uses it to pull you up until you’re leaning against him, head lolled against his shoulder and his hands on your waist stabilizing you. Eren secures his hand around your face and you lean into the touch as he looks down at you, eyes side.

“Work with me here.” Eren whispers.

“Okay.”

“I’m going to help you with the zipper on your dress. Just slide the shirt that I left on the side, I-I’ll close my eyes.”

You shrug.

“No, it’s okay. You don’t have to close your eyes.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Is that weird? It…it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. And…and I’m not…I don’t know what I’m saying.”

Eren gives you a nod before he guides you to turn around, fixing his shaking hands on the zipper as he starts pulling it down. Eren can feel his breath hitch in his throat as he turns his head away, trying to banish the thought of the fabric pooling at your legs on the floor, at the small dip in your back that he always seemed to think about.

He can feel you tugging at his arm and he turns back to find you drowning in one of his old t-shirts, as you look up at him.

“Are you cold? I have pants you can wear or…or an extra blanket and I –”

“No. No, it’s okay.”

Eren didn’t really ask for the help, maybe because he was a little bit more awake than you, but he doesn’t stop you when you reach forward and start unbuttoning his shirt. Eren can tell that it’s more difficult for you than it would have been for him, but he doesn’t have it in his heart to stop you.

Eren pulls the shirt off and discards it to the side, before turning around to unbutton his pants and switch into his boxers.

“You…you don’t have to wear a shirt. If you still don’t.” you state.

Eren can feel his cheeks burning.

“You sure?”

“I actually don't want you to. That’s why I mentioned that.”

You’re definitely drunk, Eren thinks.

“And why’s that?”

“I like feeling close to you. There’s nothing between my ear and your heart when I lean against you.” you mumble.

Eren can feel his heart constrict – even more than it was before – when you look up at him now, the glitter smeared around your eyes. And he’s not sure what it is, but there’s tears accumulating in your eyes, replacing the sweetness in his chest with concern.

“Eren.” you whimper.

“What? What is it?”

You swallow hard. You lean your hands against his chest, before pressing your cheek to his chest.

“I love you so much.”

Eren frowns, before leaning his chin against the top of your head.

“That’s nothing to cry about, princess. I love you too.”

You shake your head, bringing your hands up to your cheeks as you squeeze hard on the skin.

“No. No, I love you, Eren.” you whisper.

“Y/N. You…you’re drunk.”

You frown.

“You don’t believe me?”

“I do. But I…I don’t know if it’s because you’re drunk. You might change your mind in the morning.” Eren states.

You shake your head.

“Eren. Eren, you’re everything to me.”

You look up at him, reaching to tuck the ends of his hair behind his ear, as you feel your voice shake.

“I saw Mikasa and Jean and I just…I just knew more than I already did before that I want it to be me and you. I want us to write songs together, I want to wake up next to you, I want to give you haircuts in our bathtub.”

Eren smiles.

“Haircuts?”

“I love your hair short. Just a little bit shorter than it is now, because…because it looks like your hair when I fell in love with you. I’ve been falling since then and I just need you to crawl down into this hole and be here with me, Eren.” you mumble.

Eren sighs.

“I’d do anything you asked me to. But, but I need you to say it to me tomorrow, when…when you’re being serious.”

“I am serious. Eren, there’s no love in the room if you aren’t in it with me.”

Eren has no words. He has to stumble something out – something because you’re looking at him so expectantly with your doe eyes like you’re waiting for him to give in.

“Still.”

You nod, as you stand on the tips of your toes to tuck yourself into the neck.

“Can you give me one thing, Eren?”

“What?”

“Will you kiss me? Just once?” you ask.

Eren pulls back, eyes weary as he looks down at you.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you. You, you’re…”

“I want to kiss you. I messed up our second kiss while we were filming because I wanted to kiss you so bad I forgot we were working. I think about it all the time. I want it so bad and I just –”

Eren leans forward, pressing his lips to yours. You can still taste the remnants of the wine on his lips and he’s breathing shakily into your mouth as he cradles your face in his hands.

You can feel your heart somersault when he smiles into the kiss, when he presses two, three, and four more to the side of your face. You drop your hands from his neck to his back, the raised skin of the scars on his back underneath your fingers as he presses kisses down your neck.

“Eren.”

“Sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry. Too much. We have to go to bed because you’re drunk and I…I can’t do this if you’re drunk and I am too and it…”

You nod.

“You’re right. Just…just let me sleep here with you?” you ask.

“Come on.”

Eren walks around to the other side of the bed, not without walking straight into the wall first, before he climbs under the sheets with you. And it’s the last thing he remembers before he goes to sleep – you wrapping your leg around him and pressing a kiss right on top of his heart before he goes to bed.

When you wake up in the morning, Eren’s spot in the bed is empty. And you only see him an hour later, when you’re able to reel from what happened last night and see him in the kitchen.

There’s ten different people milling around the kitchen. Erwin and Historia, Connie and Falco throwing a football, and Sasha taste testing Niccolo’s coffee. But all you see when you walk in is Eren, who just gives you a small wave.

You feel the rejection sting as you offer it back and take the spot next to him.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Happy last day of filming. Well, not for us, but…you..you know what I meant.” he states.

You feel your heart drop. He doesn’t remember last night.

“You too, Eren.”

an: oh ladies and gentleman are we ready. ARE WE READY BC CONFESSION NEXT CHAPTER AND IM SO FRRRR. not proofread maybe ill do it tomorrow if I feel strongly enough about it.

also taylor as gojo, bsfs older brother sukuna, and method acting in three days. aka. I CRY A LOT BUT I AM SO PRODUCTIVEEEE ITS AN ART (no I don't I just though this joke was funny)

alsOOOO as I wrap things up I remember someone mentioned wanting some MA chapters from eren's perspective but I can't for the life of me think about which one's would be good for that. the main one that comes to mind is when y/n gets stranded and eren comes to her rescue with ricky LOL. anyways im open to ideas.

taglist: @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @cutiejg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @princess-ackerman @jaegerfiles @cacapeepee @rui-0836 @moonmalice @invisible-mori @sofiasber @bbybeeb @timetobegone @tee4str @ttokki2 @leave-rae-alone @ec3lipsy @officialsimpp @gojojang @yookayyo @lordbugs @multiplefandomthings @iobeyfandoms @camilo-uwu @justanotherkpopstanlol l @mel-star636 @fvckingeetar @ttalgi @najaemism @ilovekimchi123 @youraggedybitch @xoyumiqls @leafguitar @spiidergirlsworld @luvs4kim @levin4nami i @florichun @hoonmyluv

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bimobuddy · 3 months

Text

Cut the Cat-itude

sfw Hazbin TK fic

Lee!Husk, Ler!Alastor

CW: feet, kinda? It's more 'bean' related since they're paws

Summary: Husk is grumpy and doesn't think Alastor's jokes are funny, but the Radio Demon is determined to get a chuckle out of him.

Husk groaned and let his head thump against the bar counter. Alastor must have been in some sort of mood that day, he hadn't stopped telling awful jokes all morning. First most people were laughing with him, then it was just Charlie and Nifty, and now even Charlie was trying to excuse herself because "Oh you know, Hotel Stuff, ahaha.."

Husk looked over at Nifty who was still giggling away at everything the boss said, but then again he didn't know what went on her feral little head. He reached for his drink again only to have it yoinked away by a familiar looking shadow.

"Hey!" He sat up, reaching for it back, but Alastor's shadow just grinned and stretched upward, holding it out of reach. Husk grumbled. He knew this game. "I ain't flyin' for you, give it back." The shadow wiggled it over his head, taunting.

"Alastor, put this damn thing on a leash. Only you would somehow manage to lose control over your own shadow." He muttered the last part.

"Oh Husker, I didn't 'lose control' over him, he's free range." The host grinned, looking at Husk a bit longer than usual. Husk didn't know why he was staring at him until it suddenly clicked and he sighed. "Was that supposed to be another joke? Al, that wasn't even a real joke."

"Oh you're right, that was a total cat-astrophe!" A laugh track played off his cane, followed by Nifty who enjoyed the joke a little too much, "Ahahahahaha! Becahause he's a cahat!" She laughed. Husk folded his ears back and groaned.

"Oh relax, old friend, I'm just kitten around!" He grinned at Husk, who frowned in response. Alastor strutted up to the bar and leaned against it. The Shadow disappeared, taking the bottle with him, only making Husk grumpier.

"Clearly those weren't funny enough for you.. maybe I ought to put my thinking-cat on and come up with some more!" He let out a laugh, followed by the classic laugh track again. "Or maybe you just don't have a sense of humor. I mean just look at darling little Nifty, she's hiss-terical!" Of course this was followed up by Nifty losing her absolute mind.

Husk only sighed and rolled his eyes. "You done yet?"

"Not yet. What's a cat's favorite book? The Great Cats-by! Oh, why did the cats ask for a piano? To make mew-sic, of course!" He laughed and looked back at Husk, who somehow looked even grumpier than he did five minutes ago.

Well this wouldnt do.

"Why don't you cut the cat-itude, dear friend?" He snapped his fingers and two shadowy tentacles rose up from the floor behind Husk. Before he could react, the wrapped around his upper arms, hoisting him up about a foot off the floor, and proceeded to wiggle the tips into his underarms.

Husk had started to kick, biting his lip, cheeks puffed out, as he didn't want to give Alastor the reaction he wanted. The Radio Demon didn't seem to mind though.

"What's a cat's favorite cereal? Mice Crispies!" The tentacles wiggled down his ribcage, starting to get little huffs and muffled noises.

"If cats taught schools, what do you think they'd be called? Purr-fessors!" The tentacles traced and wiggled down his sides, causing him to hold his breath, his face and ears going red from how hard he was fighting back his laughter.

"What do you call a cat that likes to bowl? An alley cat!" Finally the tentacles found their way to his tummy and he couldn't take it anymore. Husk tossed his head back and laughed, reflexively flapping his wings to try an get away, much to the delight of the Shadow, which had been trying to make him fly earlier.

"Ahahahahahaha! Ahahalast- Alastohor!" He tried to growl to cancel out the laughter but it came out as more of a panicked, choked giggle.

"See, I knew you'd come around!" Alastor said cheerfully. "Now, why dont cats shop online? They prefer cat-alogues!" Husk's laughter kicked up a notch when one of the tentacles started to wiggle into his lower belly, where there was a bit more pudge. His tail whipped around trying to smack it away but it was no use.

Husk suddenly made the mistake of trying to kick out at Alastor, across the counter. A third tendril rose up and caught his ankle before he made contact, as Alastor leaned back just a bit. He stepped to the side a little to make eye contact. "Now, Husker, is that any way to thank someone who's only trying to make you smile?" He chuckled.

The third tendril started to wiggle into the heart shaped pad at the bottom of his paw. Husk, a little startled, let out a high pitched, squeaky giggle that did not sound like himself at all.

Even Alastor was caught off guard enough for the tendrils to disappear and let him go, letting him drop with a soft thud. Husk groaned as he hit the floor and panted. "Damn you, Alastor.." He grumbled, sitting up.

"Too late, we're already in Hell!" Alastor laughed. Husk chuckled a little then quickly stopped himself. But of course the radio host heard it. "Oh? Did I finally get a genuine laugh out of you?" He asked, leaning on his can to be eye level with the bartender.

Husk sighed, folding his ears down. "Shut up... I gotta get back to work." He muttered, starting to wipe down the counter.

As Alastor turned to walk away, Husk called out again. "Slapstick Comedy. Just for future reference, so you don't have to tickle me next time, I tend to like Slapstick Comedy."

------

Author Note

Aahhhhh I couldn't figure out how to end this naturally I'm sorrryyyy!!!

Though I do already have another idea for a Lee!Husk fic that I'm gonna start writing immediately after posting this one, so I MIGHT post it tonight, but it might wait until tomorrow, we'll see :)

#sfw tickling community #tickle community #tickle fic #hazbin hotel tickle #hazbin tickles #lee!husk #ler!alastor

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laurfilijames · 11 months

Text

Breathe

Pairing: Will "Ironhead" Miller x female reader

Rating: M but will be E as smut is definitely coming (I surprised myself and didn't write smut in the first chapter)

Words: 1,815

Warnings: PTSD. Anger issues. Almost passing out. Sexual tension. Mentions of previous assault (choking).

Summary: You've seen Will at the gym many times before, and he you, and today you finally share a moment, discovering your assumptions about him are right.

A/N: Here I was thinking my first character fic for Charlie Hunnam would no doubt be Jax Teller, and then this guy swooped in and floored me. (I also haven't finished SOA yet and feel like waiting to write for Jax until I do, and also my feelings about him are soooo conflicted) Will is an absolute MAN and I'm in love.

This will be a series and it will be smutty and indulgent.

---

It had almost been a year, but he would always be known as the man who nearly choked a stranger to death in the cereal aisle of the local grocery store.

Will - as you overheard him be called by the man he usually came to the gym with who looked just like him and assumed was his younger brother - often cleared anyone away from any machine out of fear; the other patrons sacrificing their workouts in favour of not wanting to provoke someone who may snap if he didn't get his way.

He was solo today, grunting and groaning to the left of you as he worked through his second set of bench presses; your eyes often drifting over to him in the mirror in the event he needed a spot.

You blinked as he slammed the heavy barbell back on its rack, shifting your gaze back to yourself performing deadlifts as he sat up and rubbed a towel over his face to catch the drips of sweat running down his tanned cheeks and into his blond beard.

Distracted, you lost count of your reps, cursing to yourself internally as you suffered through two more than was necessary, your hamstrings on fire and barely able to complete the last one with proper form before dropping the weights to the floor with a huff.

You glanced in Will's direction, catching him staring at you where he nodded before you quickly averted your gaze. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him lay back on the bench and continue another set, his noises of effort making your heart rate increase possibly more than your workout was.

Passing him to go to the squat rack, you couldn't help but notice the way his muscles flexed as he worked, the way his cheeks flinched as he clenched his teeth together tightly, similarly to the way he did even when he was 'relaxed' and not straining through an exercise.

Happy to be facing away from him, you started through your first set, thinking you were keeping track of your reps, only to find your mind wandering back to thoughts of him.

You sympathized for him, hearing his fiancee had left him after the event at the supermarket, knowing he had likely seen and done so many things people could never fathom experiencing in his many years in the Special Forces, and on top of all of it, not even being able to go to the gym without every person giving him a wide berth and downcast stares when they passed by.

"Damnit," you breathed, realizing you yet again lost track, only to be startled when a deep voice sounded behind you.

"You're at 8," Will spoke, making you glance over your shoulder to see him as much as you could as you squatted through another repetition.

"Thanks," you puffed, trying to sound as genuine as you could, thankful for his attentiveness while you did your best to look effortless in completing four more squats at the heaviest weight you had ever done so far.

"No problem," he smiled, assisting the bar back onto the rack when you were done. "I notice you lose count a lot."

He stated it so matter-of-factly, making you knit your eyebrows together quizzically as you turned to face him.

"Sorry!" he raised his hands in defense, "I'm a numbers guy, I tend to notice shit like that, I'm not trying to be an ass."

"No, it's fine," you returned with your own smile, "I guess I just never thought anyone would pay close enough attention to something like that, especially to someone they don't know."

Will tilted his head to the side and shrugged, like he wasn't quite sure what else to say to explain his behaviour.

"I appreciate it, though," you added, seeing a sort of discomfort crease in his features. "Saved me from doing an extra one. I thought I was only at 7."

Your laugh seemed to relax him, bringing out a light in his blue eyes and his smile that you instantly knew you could become addicted to seeing.

"Well, I'm happy to have helped, then. I'm Will, by the way."

He held his hand out, and taking note of the size of it as well as the length of his fingers, you swallowed and extended your own, meeting his eyes as he shook it with a firm grip.

"I know," you answered, seeing your response immediately wash a shameful look over his face.

He quickly withdrew his hand and moved it up to scratch his head, coming to terms that everyone knew who he was and the reputation he had.

"I've heard your brother," you accentuated as a question, "say your name a few times here."

"Oh, uh, yeah, that's Benny, my younger brother," he confirmed, placing his hands on his hips with a sigh of relief that your recognition of him wasn't only due to his infamous incident.

"Was he in the Service, too?"

"Yeah," he nodded, biting his lower lip.

"Your family must be proud of you both," you stated, positioning yourself under the bar to begin another set.

"Some days more than others," he said quietly, watching without shame as you lowered yourself into a squat and powered back up again with an enticing thrust.

Will cleared his throat, "You've got great form."

The tone in his voice made you steel yourself before continuing with another rep, feeling adrenaline rush through you that wasn't on account of the weight-lifting.

"That's it, breathe through it," he purred, that voice of his making you lose focus.

You closed your eyes and exhaled deeply, trying to match your breaths properly with your execution but failing, your mind going to a place you couldn't deny it hadn't been before in all the times you worked out at the same time as him.

It was good to work until failure, you reminded yourself, but as Will counted you to your twelfth and final rep, you struggled to reach the top of your squat let alone get the bar back on the rack.

Will effortlessly took the weight of it in one hand, lifting it easily for you to set it back in place.

"You okay?" he asked, assessing you with concern as you wiped moisture from your brow while his other hand rested along the small of your back.

"Yeah, thanks."

He stood close to you, enough for you to smell the intoxicating scent of his sweat mixed with lingering shower gel or cologne, and when you turned, his hand fell away from you just as yours felt the intense need to touch the dampened cotton shirt that clung to his warm body.

Suddenly feeling dizzy, you shifted on your feet and reached out to grip his forearm for support, shaking your head and apologizing.

"Sorry, that's the heaviest I've lifted and I guess I didn't eat enough for breakfast before I came," you stammered, looking up at him to see his face screwed up with worry.

"Hey, it's fine," he soothed, his hands holding your shoulders in a strong, reassuring grip. "Just breathe."

You did as he suggested, closing your eyes and inhaling deeply and slowly, your hand loosening on his forearm only slightly while he remained unmoving.

"Good, that's good," he whispered, his face leaning closer to yours, and you didn't dare open your eyes again in fear you really would pass out.

"Keep breathing," he repeated, prompting you to continue what he was quickly causing you to forget.

Another slow, calming breath filled your lungs, and when you blew it out gradually through your parted lips, Will spoke again, his fingers pressing into your shoulders.

"Good girl."

Your eyes flashed open, his words making you feel like you were in a haze, his crooked smile and glint in his alluring blue irises creating the opposite effect this whole exchange was meant to have.

"It always helps me," he admitted, his eyes not shifting from yours. "Whenever I'm stressed or angry…to breathe through it."

"Does that happen often?" you asked, your curiosity getting the better of you.

"Hmm, sometimes," he began, not seeming offended at your question. "Less than it used to."

"You must have been through a lot," you spoke, letting your thoughts come out freely, your hand giving a reassuring squeeze over one of the tattoos covering his forearm.

Will licked his lips, leaning slightly closer to you, holding in a breath despite knowing he shouldn't in a moment like this.

"Hey, are you done with this?" a man asked, pointing to the squat rack that was left abandoned beside you, his unexpected voice startling you both.

"Yeah, man, go ahead," Will answered, nodding at the man once and giving him a curt smile.

You watched Will size him up as the man switched out the plates on the bar, like he was waiting to see if anything impolite would come from his mouth next or turn into a threat somehow. The veins in his neck bulged as he increased his breaths, his cheeks flexing again due to his teeth clamping down on each other forcefully. When the other man continued about his business, Will seemed to blink back to reality, his chest still heaving sharply as he struggled to find calm.

Not thinking twice, you reached up and placed your open palm on his chest, directly over his furiously beating heart, bringing his attention over to you along with a sense of surprise.

He blinked quickly and sighed, his eyes searching yours for something to help him until you spoke.

"Breathe, Will," you coaxed, reminding him of what he needed to do, seeing him close his eyes and begin to slow it down until his breaths eventually matched yours.

"Thank you," he muttered, reaching his hand up to cover yours that remained on his warm chest, giving it a gentle squeeze as he flashed you a weak smile.

"Hey, I was gonna grab a protein shake from that smoothie bar down the road after, why don't you join me?"

"I'd love to," you beamed, feeling more than okay with ditching what was left of your workout to go with him, the look on his face making it even more worth it as he grinned brightly and took your hand to lead you toward the change rooms.

"Grab your things and I'll meet you outside," he ordered gently, revealing his effortless ability to delegate, and your willingness to want to comply.

Will leaned against the side of his truck as he waited, sighing to himself while he attempted to sort out everything he was feeling; the mix of wanting to lean in and trust you overpowering his usual go-to of staying distant and playing it safe, all of which was confirmed when you walked out the doors and instantly brought an easy smile to his face.

---

Part 2

Taglist: none!! Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in this series or any other Charlie Hunnam roles I may write for 💗

#triple frontier #will miller #will 'ironhead' miller #charlie hunnam #will miller x female reader #will miller x reader #triple frontier fic #will miller fic

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mistressreaper · 5 months

Text

Love on the Brain

Singer!Bakugo x reader

A/n: okay so first fic I’ve done in years😅 I’m gonna make this a series so let’s all hope it goes well! Thank you to @spark2flame for chatting with me and making this come to life in my head!

Summary: Being Katsuki Bakugo’s, Dynamight, manager is not easy. Especially since you two have been friends for years and what do you know, you’ve got a major school girl crush on him too! With the stress of being in the limelight on his shoulders you decide to keep your feelings to yourself, you don’t want to complicate things between you two. That is until you find out something shocking.

⚠️: this part contains adult themes at the VERY beginning and the rest of the series will too, swearing, descriptions of the body (I believe that’s all this chapter)

So without further to do and I sincerely hope this format looks better than it did when I first posted….Part 1!!

“Just like that princess, fuck, there you go.” Katsuki moaned and threw his head back, his body full of pleasure. His hand had a fistful of your hair guiding your head along his cock while you took him as far as you could, tears falling from your eyes. Your nails dug into his thighs and Katsuki groaned. “Fuck baby, your mouth feels so good. Gonna cum down your throat then I’m gonna-I’m gonna fuck that pretty pussy of yours til you’re dumb.” He began stumbling over his words and pushing your head down on him harder. His tip hit the back of your throat over and over again and your moans sent a shiver up his body. “So close Princess, so fucking-

You shot up straight in bed gasping for air. Fuck, you thought, that’s the fifth time this month you’ve had that dream about Bakugo. You could feel the wetness in your shorts that had built up from your dream, “god damn it”. You looked at your clock and groaned, it was time for you to wake up anyway. You got out of bed and changed bottoms before deciding to just change your sheets later. You grabbed your phone and made your way to the kitchen for breakfast. You sat down at the table with your bowl of cereal while scrolling on your phone. “Fuck. Damn it Bakugo.” There was a video posted online of him punching the shit out of some guy at a bar. Why did he have to make the job of being his manager harder than it needs to be? Searching your contacts you dialed up Hizashi Yamada. “Hey Mic, I need to cash in that favor.”

“I am not bringing that asshole on my station.”

“Hizashi, please? I know he can be a dickhead but I promise he will be on his best behavior.” There was a silence for a minute or two.

“Bring me some of those cookies you make and I’ll consider it. You have to stay here with him though.”

You sighed, “Thank you Mic, I appreciate it.” He gave a hum in response and ended the call. Your phone pinged notifying you of a text.

Mic- 9 Am. And DON’T forget the cookies

You chuckled and took a bite of your cereal just as the door across from the dining table opened. Out walked Bakugo in his shirtless glory scratching his head and yawning, “What’s so fuckin funny?” You looked away because you could feel your cheeks heating up. He grabbed the box of cereal from the counter and the milk from the fridge before sitting down with you at the table.

“Was talking to Hizashi, you have an interview tomorrow at 9 AM.” You took another bite of cereal and almost choked when you saw the death glare Bakugo was giving you. Instantly killing the residual feelings from your dream this morning.

“What the fuck! Why so early?” He growled. “I specifically told you no more early interviews.” He shoveled a handful of Frosted Flakes in his mouth then took a giant gulp from the milk carton.

“Don’t piss me off and do shit I tell you not to. I told you not to fight that guy in the bar last week and what did you do? You broke his damn nose! You need to apologize and since we have no clue who that guy was right now a public apology is as best as we can do.”

“He had a big mouth! He fucking deserved it.”

“Deserved it or not Katsuki you can’t be getting into bar fights, especially now that your new songs are topping the charts and everyone’s eyes are on you.” Sighing you got up and grabbed a bowl and spoon and gave it to him. You never knew what was going on in his head, but you do know that stress has been weighing on him the last few months. Deadlines for new music, performances every other night, keeping up with the press. It’s a lot for you just to schedule it, much less for Bakugo to accomplish it all and still have that smug ass look on his face at the end of the day. “Don’t eat like a fucking animal.” Bakugo rolled his eyes as he poured milk in the bowl. “What the hell? The cereal goes first!”

A grunt is what you got in response. You just shook your head and made your way to your room, sometimes sharing an apartment with your best friend irritated you with the dumb things he did. Opening your closet you grabbed a big t-shirt, probably one of your older brothers, some shorts, and some undergarments. Thankfully today was a free day, no interviews, concerts, signings, just relaxing. You snatched a towel from the cabinet and headed to the bathroom to shower. As you get closer to the door you hear running water. “Seriously! You know I shower every morning!”

“I needed to this morning.” Bakugo’s voice was still rough from performing the night before.

“Why’s that?”

You didn’t get a response right away but eventually all you got was, “Reasons.” Huffing you sank down to the floor in front of the bathroom door. You’d just wait until he was done to chew his ass out. A few more minutes passed until the water shut off and you heard the rings of the shower curtain slide back. “Finally, now give me the real reason you didn’t shower last-“ you were cut off by the door opening and Bakugo standing there with only a towel sitting loosely on his hips. Part of you hated him right now for taking up your designated shower time, but the other part of you that enjoyed seeing him like this was beginning to take over.

His damp blonde hair sticking to the sides of his face, water droplets running down his bare chest over the jet black tattoos, down his stomach and past his tattoo on his v-line before soaking into the towel that obstructed the rest of your view. “Oi, you listening? Hey!” You snapped out of your trace, cheeks pink from embarrassment. “I said I was too tired to shower last night. Sorry I didn’t tell you.” He held his hand out to help you up.

You took it but your left leg had fallen asleep and you stumbled forward, fuck fuck fuck fuck Is all you could think as you went face first into Bakugo’s chest. Your whole face burned red now, no doubt about it. “Watch it. You okay?”

“I’m fine! Just really need to shower!” You pulled away and scurried around him into the bathroom before slamming the door.

——————

Calmed down and now clean, you stepped out of the shower and dried off, you looked through your clothes for your underwear but couldn’t find them. “Hm, maybe I forgot to grab them.” After getting dressed and just deciding to go without underwear you made your way to the kitchen to get something to drink. Bakugo was sitting on the couch watching tv in grey sweats and a black tank top, thankfully paying no mind to you. You grabbed the orange juice from the fridge and poured you a glass and sat down at the table again, this time your back to Bakugo. You sighed and took back your thoughts from this morning, you’re glad you share an apartment with him.

#aizawa smut #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #dabi x reader #imagine #kiribaku #kirishima eijirou #my hero academia #shota aizawa x reader #mha smut #smut #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki smut #best friends to lovers #hopefully this goes well #first fic

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punkshort · 9 months

Text

Chapter warnings: language, violence, m masturbation, smut

Chapter Eight

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak

AU (the only thing I kept was the outbreak, Joel, and Tommy's characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. I may include Ellie one day, I just haven't planned that far)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. The outbreak happens, and you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

Back in your apartment, the two of you set to work quietly organizing everything spread out on the living room floor that you could think of to pack. The biggest section was food. Luckily you were still used to a dorm room diet, so you had tons of useful items to take on the go. You had focused on the cans with protein like tuna, chicken and beans, then moved on to granola and protein bars, nuts, dried fruit, ramen noodles, cereal, instant rice and easy mac. Joel packed each of you a flashlight with extra batteries, and handfuls of matches and lighters he had found rummaging through your floor. Justin's camping equipment came with a canteen, plate, bowl, and foldable silverware for each, and a small first aid kit, which Joel significantly bolstered after raiding all the bathrooms on the floor.

He told you to only pack one or two extra sets of clothes, that you would have to break into houses or stores along the way if you needed more. He didn't want to waste the space in your packs that could be used for food and medicine.

You both set to work filling your bags with as much stuff as you could. Joel slipped a map into his pack that he had picked up from a kitchen drawer down the hall, and you had snuck in an unopened box of tampons and a folded up picture of your parents in yours when he wasn't looking.

It was around midday when you were all set to go, making sure to eat something left behind in your cupboards one last time.

You closed the door behind you, but you didn't lock it in case someone came along and needed something. Then sadly, you turned and gripped your baseball bat, following Joel down the long hallway, down the stairs and to the lobby.

Before Joel pushed the lobby door open to the outside, he turned to you.

"Which way's the subway?"

You pointed down the street to the right.

"It's about 3 blocks that way, not far. It's mostly all apartment buildings and a few stores on the corners."

Joel nodded, cracking the door open to listen for any sign of trouble. It sounded clear, so he ventured out to confirm before pulling you out behind him.

"We gotta be quick, but not too quick. Don't want to accidentally sneak up on somethin' out here," Joel explained in a hushed tone. "If you hear anythin', stop and don't make a sound. And you tell me if you see anythin' at all, understand?" You walked closely next to him as he was speaking, the whole time looking all around you frantically, your senses in overdrive, and your heart hammering in your chest. All you did was nod, not wanting to risk making too much noise.

The streets were quiet. Joel peeked around the corner and made sure no soldiers or infected were nearby before ushering you across the open street and back behind the safety of a building. One block down.

The two of you trotted down the sidewalk, swiveling your head around every few feet to see if there was anyone behind you. You almost made it to the next corner when Joel swung out his arm to stop you. You held your breath, heart racing as you focused on the noise he heard. It was the slow rumbling of an engine that reminded you of the FEDRA truck you heard patrolling outside your apartment last night. Joel must have figured that out, too, because he grabbed your arm and pulled you over to hide behind a dumpster that was sticking out of a narrow alley. You both crouched down and waited for the truck to pass. Fortunately, it didn't turn down the street you were on, where you would have been exposed.

Once the noise faded, Joel stood up slowly before motioning for you to follow. Again, he poked his head around the corner and took extra time to make sure no one was around before dragging you across the street once more. One more block to go.

You were halfway down the block as you passed a pawn shop, windows smashed in and the place ransacked. You grabbed Joel's arm and his head whipped around in a panic. You shook your head to tell him nothing was wrong and pointed into the pawn shop.

"Weapons?" you mouthed.

He hesitated a moment, trying to decide if you should press on or see if there was something useful in there before ultimately deciding to check it out. If the subway had infected in it, it would be better if there was more than just one knife between you. Joel stepped through the broken glass door carefully, glancing around at the small shop before holding his hand out to guide you through the opening. You both took a quick look around, noticing anything valuable was long gone, and most of the knives were picked over, but you did find a decent sized switchblade for yourself. You tucked it into your jeans pocket, and you carried on down the street towards the subway entrance.

You had a long way to go down the dark tunnel, but so far it had been quiet and uneventful. Your flashlight beams bounced off the brick walls as you walked in silence, trying to stay focused on your surroundings. Your anxiety spiked with every new subway station you passed, reminding you of just how much deeper into the city you were getting. From what the soldiers had said, more densely populated areas were worse off, and so far in your limited experience that had proven to be true.

You were two stations away from the one you stopped at for work when you first saw people. It was just two families, huddled together on the platform. They had seen your flashlights long before you saw them, so trying to sneak by was useless. They seemed like they were just innocent survivors, so Joel kept walking, holding his head up. He made eye contact with two of the men in the group and gave them each a firm nod, hoping to convey you were just passing through and not looking for trouble. They nodded back wordlessly, and you carried on your way.

The next station had more people who had sleeping bags, blankets, pillows, and lanterns. It looked like they were trying to wait it out underground long-term. A few of the men approached the end of the platform to address Joel.

"You soldiers?" one of them asked.

"No, just passin' through, tryin' to stay off the streets, sorry to disturb you all," Joel replied. He paused for a moment, and looked back at the men who were still watching you carefully. "Any of you see any infected down here?"

One of the men shook his head. "Nah, man, that's why we're sitting tight down here. Soldiers must be keeping them busy up top."

Joel nodded. "Thanks... good luck to you."

Finally, you approached your stop for work and found the platform to be filled with people, just like the previous one. They were kind and immediately helped you both up off the tracks. You introduced yourselves and explained you were headed to Joel's apartment not too far from there. One of the women, Josie, warned you the closer you got to the heart of the city, the worse it was.

"We heard, thank you. Once we get up top it won't be a long walk," you said, swiping the back of your hand across your forehead to clear the sweat collecting there. "We've been walking for hours. Joel?" You turned to him, interrupting a conversation he was having with Josie's husband, Peter. "Can we rest here for a bit?" Joel turned back to Peter.

"That ok with you folks?" he asked. Peter and Josie nodded, seemingly the leaders of the small group of strangers huddled on the platform.

The two of you slunk down against the tiled wall, pulling out protein bars and your canteens after sitting down. You shut your eyes for a few minutes, leaning the back of your head against the wall, chewing and grateful to be taking a break.

"You holdin' up alright?" Joel asked softly beside you. You nodded, keeping your eyes closed.

"I'm just tired," you replied, taking another bite of your protein bar without looking.

"It ain't much further, once we get on the street it's another few blocks. We should be able to get there before - "

Joel's sentence was cut short by screaming, and your eyes flew open in surprise as you dropped your protein bar and grabbed your bat while fumbling around in your pocket for the switchblade. Joel was already standing, gripping his bat and trying to locate the source of the scream in the group. One of the men, who looked asleep when you arrived, was snarling and had his teeth clamped down into the shoulder of an older man, blood pouring down his arm and soaking both of their shirts. Peter and another man jumped into action to pull the infected off the poor man screaming in agony, struggling to pin it to the ground.

Joel charged forward before you could stop him, your hands desperately clawing at his t-shirt, but he was already throwing himself into the group to help. You watched in horror as the three men struggled to hold it down, and just as Joel was getting ready to bash its skull in with the baseball bat, it lunged forward, knocking Peter and the other man off to the side and pushing Joel onto his back.

Joel held the infected up by its shoulders as it pinned him down, snapping and growling inches from his face. Joel's jaw was clenched tight, his eyes flashed with rage as he summoned all the strength he could manage and pushed it off him, making it stumble backwards. It was just enough time for Joel to reach to his side for his hunting knife and plunged it into the infected’s skull with a guttural yell.

The infected went limp immediately and fell to the floor. Joel stood over the body, tense, covered in blood, and panting heavily with the knife still clutched in his hand. Peter and the other man rushed to join the rest of the group helping the one who was bit in the shoulder, but you raced straight to Joel, wrapping your arms around him tightly. Surprised, he lifted one arm to place it reassuringly on your back, the other still clutching his knife.

You let him go, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks as you frowned at him angrily. He looked down at you, the adrenaline wearing off, and saw the anguish on your face. He reached his hand out to you, but you slapped it away and instead shoved his chest heatedly, making him stumble just a bit in surprise.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" you seethed, narrowing your eyes at him and fighting to keep the tears from falling. "You could have gotten killed!"

Joel stared at you, still panting slightly, then put the knife back in its holder. He couldn't gauge your reaction. Were you upset he would be killed because then you would be alone, or upset because of something else? He sighed and reached out to you again. This time, you didn't shove him, but you didn't go to him, either.

Josie approached you, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Thank you, Joel, for saving my husband," she said, clutching his outstretched hand in her own, then turned to you. "Don't be mad at your boyfriend, dear, he just saved us all."

Your mouth fell open, and before you could correct her, she went back to Peter and hugged him tightly. Joel cleared his throat beside you, seemingly pleased with himself.

"You heard her," he winked at you. "Can't stay mad at me." You scowled back at him, and with a more serious tone, he added, "us or them, remember?"

You sighed, relaxing your brow. You knew he was right, but you were still pissed off. You turned on your heel and headed back to your abandoned protein bar, effectively ending the conversation.

Joel joined you and watched as the group deliberated quietly on how to deal with the man who was bit. You had learned he likely only had a few hours before he turned, based on the location of his bite. Ultimately, Peter volunteered, and he quickly and privately put the man out of his misery with a kitchen knife. You winced when you heard the squelch of blood from across the platform, burying your face in your shoulder.

You didn't stay much longer after that. Once Joel had gotten his strength back, you picked up your belongings and gave your farewells. Josie and Peter thanked Joel again, and you headed up to the familiar street corner, dusk fast approaching.

It took you both an hour to walk to Joel's apartment, which normally would have taken ten minutes, but he insisted on going slow and being careful at every turn. When you approached his building, you had to crane your neck all the way back to take in the full height. His building definitely used to have a doorman: it was fancy. You walked into the ornate lobby and turned around in a slow circle, taking in everything from the detailed crown molding to the beautiful, tiled floor that looked more like a piece of art. You almost felt bad for stepping on it. Even the ceiling was vaulted and decorated in tiny, intricate squares with gilded chandeliers hanging from it. Finally, you looked straight ahead and saw an arched window that overlooked a private garden.

"Shit," you whispered, "I almost got an apartment in this building."

Joel turned back to you, surprised, then realized you were being sarcastic when he saw your grin. He smiled to himself and shook his head, leading you down the hallway towards the stairwell door.

"I take it you're not on the second floor?" you asked him quietly as you began to climb the stairs.

"No, little higher than that," he replied. "30th floor."

You stopped dead in your tracks, which made him stop and turn back to you questioningly. He could tell what the problem was when he saw the pained expression on your face without you even having to speak.

"I know, it's gonna take us a while, but we can stop and rest whenever you need to." You sighed and hung your head, continuing your journey up the stairs.

You made it to the halfway point before you had to take a break, sitting on a step, panting and chugging water from your canteen while Joel leaned against the wall across from you, sipping his own water. The sun was going down, so you each dug your flashlights out of your packs before continuing.

"Not much further," Joel panted, turning the corner of another staircase, "then we can rest. No point in diggin' around in the dark, it's been a long day." You nodded, choosing not to speak to conserve your energy, and focused on the flashlight beam ahead of you.

You weren't sure how long it took, but finally you climbed the last step to face the door marked with a big, red "30". That's when you looked up and noticed you were on the top floor. Of course he lives on the top floor.

Joel pushed the door open a crack and peeked down the hall, which was very short and only had two doors and an elevator at the other end. He held the door open for you to walk through, then gently closed it. You frowned, looking back and forth at the two doors, puzzled.

Joel looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight when he saw your confusion, before mumbling, "It's a penthouse," and brushed past you to unlock his door.

You had never seen a penthouse before, but you knew they were for people who were really rich, especially in New York City. He opened the door, locking it behind you. You couldn't really see much other than what your flashlight exposed, but you could tell the room you were standing in was massive. You briefly flicked your light around, taking in some couches, bookcases, a fireplace and some other furniture. You stopped when you noticed the entire wall was top to bottom windows with a balcony attached, and covered your flashlight quickly. Joel kicked off his sneakers, and noticing the dimmer light, turned his flashlight to shine on you questioningly.

"Can't people see in? Like, the lights moving?" you asked. He shook his head.

"Privacy windows," he explained, then turned and headed towards another room. You quickly kicked your own shoes off, skittering after him, sticking close. The place was so huge you were afraid you'd get lost, and the darkness mixed with the eerie silence from lack of power and road noise made the hairs on your arm stand up. As you walked, you shined your flashlight on everything around you, baffled by how far the apartment seemed to stretch. You were so engrossed in your surroundings that you bumped into him when he had stopped walking.

"Oops, sorry," you whispered.

"Why are you whispering? We're safe here," he replied at full volume. You shrugged.

"I don't know, this place is huge, Joel, give me a minute - oh my god, is this your kitchen?!" you exclaimed as your jaw dropped, noticing the kitchen island in front of you that must have seated ten people. On one side. Easily. The island, made of marble or quartz, was white with silver and black specks. You noticed the counter was the same all over the kitchen, even on the built in bar in the corner. The cupboards were a light oak that was soft against your fingertips as you gently trailed them against the wood, wandering around his kitchen in amazement.

Joel watched you as you walked around his kitchen, gently touching the handles of the knives in the block and running your fingers along the countertop. You looked like you had never seen anything like this before, and his chest ached when he wondered what would have happened that night if you agreed to come home with him. You could have seen this place in a whole different light. He could have made you a drink from the bar and played you some music over the sound system. If he was lucky, he could have laid you down on the kitchen island you were so currently fascinated with, your fingers gripping the edges as he slipped his fingers inside your underwear to explore your soaking wet folds, pushing one finger inside you, and then another, slowly teasing you until you begged him for more.

Having you in his place was clouding his mind, he needed to focus. He cleared his throat before heading towards the pantry door. You eagerly followed closely behind and when you realized the pantry was a room as big as your own kitchen, you moaned with envy, causing his eyes to flutter shut momentarily.

"This place is amazing," you told him, sifting through the food on his shelves. You grabbed some peanut butter and crackers, turned and headed back to the kitchen.

"Where's the silverware?" you asked over your shoulder.

"Drawer next to the sink," he replied, and watched as you grabbed a butter knife. He picked up a can of Beefaroni off the shelf and opened the drawer in the kitchen with the can opener after picking a fork out from the silverware drawer you left open in your haste to eat.

He sat across from you at the island, eating his cold Beefaroni out of the can while you slathered crackers with peanut butter and popped them in your mouth. You smirked at his choice of food.

"Chef Boyardee?" you asked curiously, eyebrows raised. "I'm sure your private chef could have made you the real thing from scratch." Joel chuckled.

"Alright, I ain't got a private chef. Besides, this is the real thing. Nothin' beats it."

You smiled, fascinated that a man who lived in such a lavish apartment would have Beefaroni as his guilty pleasure. Feeling full and sleepy, you twisted the top of the peanut butter jar closed, and out of habit ran your tongue along the butter knife to clean it. You didn't even realize how that looked until you heard Joel's breath hitch and he looked down to study the empty can in front of him. Your cheeks felt warm from embarrassment, but luckily, he couldn't see it under the cover of darkness. You cleaned the knife (with a sponge, this time) and Joel's fork, putting them back in the drawer.

"Alright, let's get some shut eye. We should try to get an early start tomorrow, I want to get out of this city as soon as we can," Joel said, grabbing his pack he had set down when you walked in, and headed further down the hallway.

You followed him nervously, looking at the expensive-looking art on the walls and even a few statues on pedestals before reaching his bedroom. He pushed the door open, and your flashlights bounced around the room to illuminate the corners the moonlight hid from view. As expected, his bedroom was spacious with a bathroom and two walk-in closets attached. You noticed one of the closets was void of any clothes, and the other was packed to the brim. You poked your head in his bathroom, sighing enviously when you saw the huge, glass walk-in shower and built in vanity. You turned around to find Joel had dug out a couple lanterns from his closet and placed one on each end table so you could conserve your flashlight batteries. You clicked it off and walked over awkwardly, not sure what the sleeping arrangements should be. Unlike you, he has couches more than big enough to accommodate a grown adult, but the thought of being alone in the living room of this huge apartment made you nervous.

It hadn't even been a question in Joel's mind.

"Hop in and make yourself comfortable, I'll be right back," and he left the bedroom, back down the hallway to double check the locks. You rummaged in your pack for some more comfortable clothes to sleep in, and quickly changed before he returned, nestled under the covers on the most comfortable mattress you had ever been on in your life.

When Joel reentered the bedroom, his thoughts didn't even have time to catch up with how fast he felt the blood rushing to his cock. He squeezed his eyes shut as he blindly walked right to his closet and shut the door so he could change into his pajamas, willing his erection away. He groaned quietly, leaning his head against the wall of the closet, frustrated with how distracted he's been. If he doesn't stop, it could get you or him killed. He would have to do something about it before heading out tomorrow. He was lucky so far, you've had relatively safe places to hole up in, but that was going to end.

When he finally got himself under control, he exited the closet and got into the other side of the bed. You already had your lantern off and you were laying on your side with your eyes closed, exhausted from all the walking and events of the day. His bed was much larger than yours, and he hoped the extra space would help him get his mind out of the gutter. He turned his lantern off, and leaned back into the familiar pillow and sheets, closing his eyes. It was silent for a few minutes before you spoke.

"Joel?" you squeaked.

"Hm?" he replied, keeping his eyes closed.

"This is the nicest apartment I've ever seen, how long have you lived here?"

"About six years or so," he said, shifting a little under the covers. "But I like your place more," he admitted.

"My place?!" you said, outraged. "You could fit my entire apartment into this bedroom, you're crazy."

"Yeah, well, your place felt more..." he trailed off, trying to find the right word. "Like a home. This place feels like a museum."

"I'm sure you could make this place feel just as cozy," you yawned before adding, "this bed, for instance, is the most comfortable thing I've ever laid on." Joel smiled.

"Glad you like it." Sweetheart.

He waited until he was sure you were sleeping deeply enough before he locked himself into his bathroom and pulled his sweatpants down just far enough to free his throbbing cock, stroking it steadily with one hand while the other propped him up against the wall, eyes screwed shut. His thoughts picked up where he left off in the kitchen, his fingers deep in your pussy, but then he would add his thumb to your swollen clit, making your back arch off the cold counter and gasp his name. His thumb would pick up the pace, keeping up with your moans, rubbing tight circles and flexing and thrusting his fingers inside of you until your body finally stilled under him, whimpering his name as you came.

He imagined you gazing up at him hazily, the same way you looked at him last week outside the bar, but now you would reach out and grab the waist of his jeans, pulling him closer and whisper hoarsely to him, "Please, Joel, I need you, I need more..."

He imagined what it would feel like to slide inside you, your cunt soft and warm, so welcoming and taking him inch by inch. He would grasp your hips, his feet firmly on the ground and your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, one of your hands lost in your own hair and the other firmly holding onto his wrist, eyes rolled towards the back of your head, moaning, as he stretched you out. When he would start moving, he would go slow at first and enjoy the way your tits bounced gently along with his movements. He would do his best to take his time, but he imagined you asking him - begging him - to fuck you harder. Of course, he would give you what you wanted. He would slam into you, over and over, groaning as he would feel your cunt squeezing around him, warning him you were close. His thumb would travel down to your clit once again, pressing firmly from side to side until you were screaming his name and he felt your warm release spill over his cock.

"Fuck!" Joel grunted out into the darkness, as he shot thick ropes of cum over his hand and onto the tile floor, completely losing himself and forgetting to grab a tissue. He stood there a few minutes, catching his breath, his forehead pressed against the bathroom wall. Finally, he pushed himself away and cleaned up his mess carefully, using his flashlight to make sure he didn't miss anything. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He hoped that would help keep him sharp and focused for tomorrow.

He opened the bathroom door quietly, relieved to see you hadn't moved a muscle since he left. You were still sleeping peacefully, facing his side of the bed with your lips slightly parted. He smiled at the sight, setting his flashlight down and about to slide back into bed when he heard a noise coming from down the hall. He froze, listening intently, trying to figure out the source. He glanced down at you once more to confirm you were still asleep and headed quietly out the bedroom door, carefully closing it behind him.

He walked down the hallway, now on high alert, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He walked by a statue, grabbing it and turning it upside down so the square base was upright in his hand. He gripped it tightly as he neared the kitchen, now hearing rustling and seeing a beam of light coming from the pantry. He glanced around the room before peering around the open pantry door, seeing someone crouched on the floor and rifling through his food, but all Joel could focus on was the revolver on the floor next to him, shining in the moonlight. Shooting one more glance over his shoulder, Joel stepped inside, silently placing the statue down on the floor, and then lunged forward, quickly wrapping his arm around the intruder’s neck, and using his other hand to lock his arm in place. Joel yanked them both up to a standing position, putting his foot over the revolver and shoving it under the shelves in the pantry, out of arms reach. The intruder slapped wildly at Joel's arms, then tried clawing at his face, desperate to loosen his grip so he could breathe, but Joel didn't budge, his grip strong and unmoving, his face contorted in a fury and a heat he never felt before. It didn't take long before the man passed out, but Joel held on a few minutes longer to make sure the air didn't revive him.

Once he was satisfied he was dead, Joel laid him gently on the pantry floor, frantically trying to catch his breath. He slowly picked the statue back up, temporarily forgetting about the gun, and then closed his eyes a moment as his breathing began to stabilize. He reopened them, nostrils flared, and jaw clenched. He needed to make sure the man was alone, and you were safe.

He left the pantry, glancing around the room once again before stepping forward. He was about to enter the hallway to head back towards the living room when something hard hit him across the chest, sending him crashing loudly back into the kitchen, dropping the statue. Joel gasped for air in the darkness, scrambling backwards and reaching around blindly to try to find his statue, but the other intruder kicked it away and pinned Joel down with his own baseball bat. The bat was being pressed to his throat, and Joel struggled to push against the man's weight.

"Who else is here with you?" the intruder sneered. Joel was barely able to make out his face in the darkness.

"No one," he gasped and shook his head, pushing back harder now that he was reminded of you sleeping sweetly in his bed, hoping and praying you stayed in there.

"Bullshit," the man spit. "I saw the shoes by the door. Maybe I'll have a little fun with her after I kill - "

Suddenly, the pressure was gone, and Joel coughed, holding his throat. He whipped around frantically, trying to find anything to use as a weapon, when he heard wet thumping over and over. He stood up, desperately trying to make his eyes adjust to the shadows. Remembering the flashlight, he scrambled back in the pantry and snatched it up, casting the beam of light over the scuffle.

You were bent over and brutally caving in the skull of the man who almost killed him.

Over and over, you aimed the corner of the statue at the man's disfigured face, beating him to a bloody pulp, the squishing sound of blood echoing in your ears. Joel calling your name and grabbing you around the waist was the only thing that stopped you. You dropped the statue and looked him in the eye, like a wild animal cornered and ready to strike. He grabbed your face, repeating your name until your eyes focused back on him. The enormity of what you did hit you in an instant: you just killed a man.

Tears welled up in your eyes and your lips trembled as you continued to stare into Joel’s eyes. He shook his head when he saw the emotion on your face.

“No. No, no, no, no. C’mere,” he said, pulling you into his embrace, and it was then you let the tears flow as you sobbed uncontrollably into his chest, gripping his t-shirt in your fist like a lifeline. He snaked his arm up your back, so his hand rested at the crown of your head, and his other arm tightly squeezed you around the ribs. You both slunk to the floor of his kitchen, holding onto each other for dear life, the horror of the world around you finally making its mark on you both.

Chapter Nine

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller series #joel x reader #joel x reader smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us game #the way we were joel miller fic

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justagalwhowrites · 5 months

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Halcyon - Ch. 2: Just Didn’t Think You’d Remember

You and Joel reconnect. A continuation of Halcyon from the prologue through ch. 1, a modern no outbreak AU TLOU fic found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Modern No Outbreak AU, No use of Y/N, Slow burn, 18+ only, Minors DNI

Length: 4.7K

AO3 | Main Master List | Prologue | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

There was a child staring at you.

It took you half a second to process that fact, the alcohol from the night before making your head pound and stomach turn. It also didn’t help that you didn’t really know any children so you weren’t sure you’d ever woken up by one sitting just inches from your face, watching you intently. At least, not recently. It wasn’t exactly something you were expecting.

“Hi!” she said brightly.

“What the hell…”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to say that in front of me,” she cut you off, still watching you intently, her curls bouncing as she cocked her head. “At least my dad tells my uncle that all the time when he says that. Why are you on my couch?”

You lifted your head a little bit and dropped back on the pillow when it made your stomach turn. You were under a vaguely familiar crocheted blanket in a room you absolutely did not recognize and you had no idea where to even begin.

“Well, kid…”

“Sarah,” she cut you off, still smiling. There was a gap in her smile and her front teeth were still a bit too big for her face.

“Sarah,” you repeated. “I don’t even know where I am so you might know better than me…”

“My dad’s friends who sleep over usually stay in his room,” she said, sitting back from you a bit. She was perched on the edge of a dated coffee table, her skinny legs sticking out straight in front of her from a pair of bright blue shorts, a matching jersey with a soccer ball on the front of it on top. “He tries to act like I don’t know about them though. So it’s weird you’re out here, I don’t usually get to meet his friends.”

“Right,” you said, propping yourself up on your elbow. Your head spun. You felt fully clothed under the blanket so you didn’t think you’d had sex with anyone. Which, since you didn’t remember fucking anyone, was a good thing. But that meant you’d wound up at some guy’s house - a guy who had a kid - and didn’t know how. Or why. Or who. “And… Who’s your dad?”

“Hey, Baby Girl,” Joel rushed over, bending over to get on Sarah’s level. “Pretty sure told you to eat breakfast, not bother my friend…”

“I’m not bothering her!” She protested, turning her big brown eyes to you. “Am I?”

You were about to agree with her but Joel didn’t give you the chance.

“Do you or do you not want braids for the tournament?” He asked. “Because I’m not gonna have time to braid all that hair of yours if you’re sittin’ in here, goofing off, instead of eating your cereal. So. Gotta pick. Goof off or braids. Which is it?”

She sighed heavily.

“Braids.”

“OK then,” he said, straightening up to his full height. He somehow looked even more massive from your position on the couch as he stood next to a little girl. “That means you gotta get movin’.”

She got up with a huff and tilted her head back to look at the ceiling as she stomped away.

“Never let me do anything cool,” she muttered. Joel just shook his head and smiled a little, watching her for a moment before he turned his attention back to you.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he said. “Told her to let you sleep…”

“No,” you shook your head a little and sat up, your stomach churning. You blinked for a second, the light from the windows still holding that soft, hazy quality the early morning sun had. “S’fine…”

You started piecing together the night before, at the bar. Joel coming up to you, the two of you having drinks that devolved into doing shots and, at some point, you forgot your address. You didn’t remember ending up at his house, though.

And you certainly didn’t remember him saying anything about a kid.

“How you feeling?” He asked, his hands in the pockets of his cotton sleep pants and an amused smile on his face. “You seemed to be having a hell of a time last night.”

“Been better,” you replied. “Jesus, I am not 17 anymore…”

Joel laughed.

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“Hey Dad!” Sarah called from another room. You winced a little at the sound, your head pounding.

Joel looked up, toward where her voice was coming from.

“What’s up, Kiddo?”

“Do I have to eat the apple, too?”

“Is it on your placemat?” He called back to her.

She sighed, so loudly you could hear it.

“Yes.”

Joel shrugged, even though you were the only one who could see it.

“Well, there’s your answer,” he said. “C’mon, you’re about to go run for hours, you need fuel. Eat at least half the apple, then I’ll braid your hair.”

He looked back at you.

“Coffee?”

“Probably good,” you said, trying to find the will to get to your feet and looking down at the blanket that was now half on your lap and half on the couch. You realized why it was familiar now. You’d passed out under it many times, it had been the blanket that Mrs. Miller kept draped over the back of the furniture in the living room. It had just been a while.

Joel held out a hand and you considered it for a moment. Joel was offering you a hand. To touch you. Though, you realized, you’d probably touched him at least some the night before. You were a cuddly drunk. But still. It was Joel. The guy you hadn’t even spoken to in more than a decade, the guy you’d spent just about all of high school in love with, the guy you lost your virginity to on prom night like some kind of inane cliche you’d tell one of your students to rethink if they turned it in as a piece of writing. Touching him felt monumental.

You took his hand.

He tugged you to your feet and you draped the blanket on the end of the couch before trailing behind him to the kitchen.

Sarah sat on one side of the table, intently reading the back of a cereal box, 2/3rds of an apple sitting on a paper towel next to her bowl. You sat across from her, hoping you didn’t look too haggard and ridiculous, and Joel went to the coffee pot on the counter, pouring two cups before adding milk and sugar to one. He stirred it and set it in front of you before sitting at the head of the table with a mug of his own. You just looked at him for a moment. He frowned.

“What?” He asked. “Take it different now?”

“No,” you said, picking it up and taking a sip of it. “Just didn’t think you’d remember.”

He shrugged, taking a sip from his own cup before leaning over to look at Sarah’s bowl.

“Need two more bites of apple and four more shredded wheat,” he said, checking his watch. “And we’ve got 20 minutes before Emily’s here to pick you up.”

“She’s always late…”

“Not countin’ on that,” he said. “Come on, kiddo.”

She rolled her eyes but made a show of taking another bite of apple before going back to the cereal box.

“What do they put on the back of cereal boxes now, anyway?” You asked. “When I was a kid there were puzzles and things.”

“Stuff like that,” Sarah said. “But they’re stupid and easy. I’m trying to figure out if they just took a picture of one shredded wheat and used it over and over or if there are different ones.”

You stifled a laugh and raised your eyebrows at Joel who just shrugged. Sarah took another bite of apple - an almost laughably small one - and looked away from the box to look at you.

“So what’s your name, anyway? And why are you at my house? And…”

“Eat your cereal,” Joel cut her off. She sighed but obeyed. “And this is Goldie. She’s a friend of mine from when I was a kid. We hung out last night but it was too late for her to drive home and be safe so she stayed here.”

Sarah frowned and swallowed.

“Goldie is a weird name.”

“Sarah,” Joel scolded.

“What!” She looked at him. “It is!”

“That’s because it’s not actually my name,” you said. “It’s just what your dad and his family call me, like a nickname.”

“Oh,” she said. “OK. How come I haven’t met you before?”

You glanced at Joel who looked back at you, seemingly at as much of a loss as you were.

“I’ll tell you if you eat two more shredded wheat,” you said. She scrunched her freckled nose for a second before obeying. You resisted the urge to laugh again. “I lived pretty far away until recently. I just moved back, so I haven’t seen your dad in a very long time.”

She nodded slowly and swallowed before dropping her spoon in her bowl and tilting it toward Joel.

“Have I met the dad requirement?” She asked, sass and sarcasm evident.

“We’ll accept it because of the time crunch,” he said. “Run and brush your teeth - actually brush ‘em don’t just run the water - and grab me two hair ties, your brush, and the gel.”

She shoved her chair back from the table and ran off, pounding up some unseen stairs and slamming a door behind her.

“Jesus, need to bottle her energy…” Joel groaned, rubbing his eyes before taking a sip of coffee. You just stared at him. He frowned. “What?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Joel,” you said, incredulous. “Maybe the entire child you have that you didn’t think to fucking mention?”

He winced a little at that.

“Yeah, sorry,” he said. “Kinda thought you’d sleep through gettin’ her out the door. You were pretty damn out of it…”

“You said you weren’t married!” You hissed, going back over the conversation from the night before that you could remember.

“I’m not,” he shrugged. “Don’t need to be married to have a kid.”

“OK but where’s her mom?” You asked, keeping your voice low.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he shrugged again. “She left years ago. Been just me and Sarah since she was about four months old.”

“Joel,” you gaped at him. ��You’re a dad. To a kid.”

“Yeah,” he laughed a little. “Tends to happen when you have one…”

Sarah came storming down the stairs and ran over to Joel, hairbrush and gel in hand.

“Alright,” he said, standing up with a groan and taking the supplies from Sarah. “Couch, let’s go. We got maybe ten minutes, ain’t doin’ that zig-zag part you like…”

“But Dad, they’re always late!” She groaned, heading for the living room. You picked up your coffee and followed, watching as she flopped on the couch where you’d spent the night. “There’s so much time!”

“You are not making anybody any later,” he said, balancing the bottle of gel on the back of the couch before starting to separate her hair into two parts with the brush. “Hair tie.”

He held out his hand and she slid one off her wrist and dropped it into his open palm. He took it and tied half of her curls off to one side before focusing on the other side.

“You excited for your games?” He asked as he started near her forehead with a chunk of hair, his large, thick fingers moving with almost surprising deftness through her curls, adding more to each strand as he went.

“I think so,” she said. “Coach keeps acting like we’re going to win but I dunno. We’re playing the Lightning for round two and they kicked our butt last time.”

“That was a few months ago, right?” He asked, working his way down her head. “Y’all have gotten better.”

“I guess,” she said. “But so have they, right?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Hair tie.”

He held his hand out again, half of her hair now gathered in a French braid that reached the top of her shoulder. She pulled another hair tie off her wrist and handed it to him. He tied off the braid and moved on to the other side.

“Gonna behave yourself today?” He asked. “Listen to your coach and Emily’s mom?”

“Yes,” you could hear her eye roll from across the room.

“Good,” he said. “Expect you to be on your best behavior…”

“But I like my worst behavior.”

“Yeah, I bet you do,” he said, finishing the matching braid on the other side of her head. He squeezed gel into his hand and smoothed it over her hair. “Mean it, Kiddo. Be good. Watch that mouth of yours.”

As if on cue, the doorbell rang and Sarah jumped up, running to answer it. There was a little blonde girl waiting on the other side of it and a woman who looked like a harried, older clone of her was standing at her back.

“Hi Joel,” she smiled. “Hope we haven’t kept you waiting!”

“Not at all,” he said. “Right on time. Sarah, got your stuff? Grabbed your lunch?”

“Oh crap,” she darted past you, back toward the kitchen, and came running back with a lunch bag. Joel picked up her duffle bag from the entryway floor and put it over her shoulder. “OK, got it!” She smiled.

“Good,” he kissed the crown of her head. “Alright, have fun, Baby Girl. Kick ass, play nice.”

“Kick ass, play nice,” she repeated before leaning around him. “Bye, Goldie!” She looked back to Joel. “Bye, Dad!”

The woman - Emily’s mom, apparently - looked you up and down and you smiled tightly at her. You just heard her turning to Sarah when Joel closed the door as the group headed to the car.

“So who’s your dad’s friend?”

You flinched as the door closed and Joel turned to look at you.

“Breakfast?” He asked. “I do got shit besides shredded wheat. Looks like you might need some grease to soak up that liquor.”

“I seem to recall that you’re the one who wanted to do shots,” you replied. “But yeah, I won’t argue with food.” Your stomach churned. “Or I think I won’t, anyway.”

Joel jerked his head toward the kitchen and headed that way, you trailing behind him. He just nodded at the table and you sat down, holding your coffee cup in both hands. You watched as Joel got eggs and bacon out of the fridge and started cooking. It took effort to not look surprised. You weren’t sure Joel had even knew how to boil water when you knew him. Of course, that had been a while ago. And he apparently had a kid to look after so he had to have picked up a few things.

“So,” you said after a few awkward minutes. “Last night…”

He nodded and took a swig of coffee.

“What about it?”

“I don’t remember all of it,” you said slowly. “And I’m pretty sure we didn’t but… did… did we…”

“You askin’ if we fucked?” He looked at you brows raised. Your face got hot and you nodded, resisting the urge just run away now and pretend you’d never met Joel Miller to begin with. He laughed once. “No, Goldie. We didn’t fuck. I tend to prefer my women aware enough to actually know what’s goin’ on, thank you very much. You weren’t exactly clearin’ that bar.”

You relaxed a little.

“Thank fuck for that much,” you took another sip of coffee and Joel put bagels in the toaster. “So… You’re a dad.”

He laughed a little and cracked some eggs in a pan.

“I’m a dad.”

“How’d that happen?”

He looked at you for a moment.

“You telling me a fancy college professor doesn’t know about the birds and the bees?” He teased. “When two grown ups love each other very much…”

“I will come dump coffee down your shirt.”

He laughed and shook his head.

“Just happened,” he said after a moment. “One of those things, I guess. Not like it was on purpose but…”

“How old is she?” You asked.

“Turned 11 in July,” he replied.

You did a little math in your head and you laughed once, loud, before clamping your hand over your mouth.

“What?” He frowned at you.

“Oh that’s rich,” you shook your head, sitting back fully in your chair.

“What?” He asked again, looking genuinely confused.

“If she turned 11 in July, that means the last time I saw you, you had a knocked up girlfriend at home,” you tried to stifle your laughter and failed. “Oh man and you were on MY ass about my life choices…”

“Hey, I was right though,” he pointed the spatula at you. “Fuck that guy.”

The toaster popped and he pulled the bagels out, smearing cream cheese on them before putting an egg on each one, followed by some bacon and a slice of cheese. He finished it with salt and pepper and put a plate in front of you before sitting next to you. You just stared at the sandwich for a moment and he frowned.

“What?”

“How do you remember this shit?” You asked, looking back up at him. You remembered trying to convince him to even try a bagel sandwich with cream cheese when you were hung over teenagers on a Saturday morning and Joel reluctantly agreeing that it was delicious.

He shrugged.

“You had good taste in breakfast sandwiches.”

You took a bite and moaned a little in spite of yourself. Joel looked at you, brows raised and mouth full and you felt your cheeks get hot again.

“Sorry,” you said. “Just been a while since I had one of these.”

“What, fuckin’ Brad not much of a cook?” He asked.

You laughed a little.

“Not of things like this,” you said. “No.”

He nodded slowly before setting his sandwich down.

“Alright,” he said. “Two options. One, we get you an Uber so you can get on with whatever you famous fuckin’ authors do on random Saturdays.”

You rolled your eyes and Joel ignored you.

“Two, you wait until I can get my truck runnin’ and then I drive you home.”

You frowned a little.

“What’s wrong with your truck?”

“Needs a new radiator,” he said. “S’why I’m not going to Sarah’s tournament today, just got the part delivered yesterday, haven’t had the chance to fix it. Can help, if you want.”

You smiled a little.

“Like old times.”

He smiled back.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, as it happens, famous authors don’t do much on Saturdays,” you said. “We pretty much sit at home and procrastinate on writing.”

“Sounds like bullshit.”

“It is. But it means I am free to hand you wrenches.”

He smiled.

“Then let’s go, grease monkey.”

***

Well that hadn’t been how Joel thought the morning was going to go.

You’d been dead to the world when he got Sarah up. You’d always been a heavy sleeper and he doubted that had changed much in the past 15 years. When you passed out on his couch in the afternoons as a kid, an atom bomb couldn’t wake you up. When the two of you would sneak out to go get drunk and star gaze at the park, you’d fall asleep curled against his side and he’d have to be the one to set alarms on his shitty flip phone to get you both up. You slept right through them.

So when he’d found you talking with Sarah on the couch, he hadn’t been sure what to do.

But you’d solved that problem for him, taking the fact that he had a child he hadn’t told you about in stride. At least until Sarah was out of earshot, anyway.

And Joel wasn’t about to tell you that you’d done the math about her conception wrong. That, when it came down to it, you were the reason he had a daughter in the first place.

It was surprising, how easy it was to fall into your friendship again. Like no time had passed, like the last time you’d spoken to him it hadn’t devolved into screaming and tears.

“Gimme the 3/4 inch wrench,” he held his hand out below the front of the truck and watched what little of you he could see as you rifled through the tool box on the ground and dropped the wrench into his waiting palm. “Thanks.”

This felt like old times, too. His truck in high school had been a beater on a good day. The damn thing needed some kind of work every other day, it seemed. But you were always happy to be there for it, handing him tools on demand and reading him questions from his upcoming history exam in between. He got so good with cars that he worked on yours, too, when you finally got one. Your shitty sedan needed just as much work as his shitty pickup but he liked feeling like he was doing something that was keeping you safe. Like he was doing his job, making sure your car wasn’t going to break down on you.

“So,” he said as he waited for the coolant to drain. “Divorced, huh?”

You sighed.

“Yup.”

“What’s the appropriate thing to say?” He asked. “I’m sorry or congratulations?”

You laughed dryly.

“That’s a great question. I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

“Flathead.”

You took the wrench from him. There was a clattering sound as you dug through the toolbox again and then you put the screwdriver in his waiting hand.

“Can I ask what happened?”

You sighed again.

“I’m still not sure I really know,” you said. “Things seemed fine. Great, actually. I’d just sold my book and was promoted to a tenure track role at the university and things just kind of… I don’t know, devolved? I almost wish it imploded so I could figure out what the breaking point was. It more just faded.”

He wasn’t sure if he could say he was sorry without lying. He pulled the air intake duct and held the screwdriver out.

“Pliers.”

You traded out the tools and he went to work on the coolant hose.

“I’m sorry you were hurt,” he said after a minute. “How are you doin’ now?”

You were silent for a bit.

“Divorce is a strange thing,” you said eventually. “I was married for 10 years. I know that he started Lipitor last year to keep his cholesterol under control and that he likes his french fries just this side of burnt and that he gets up like clockwork at 3:45 a.m. to pee. But I have no idea what state he’s even in right now. I know all these things about him but I don’t know him at all any more. It’s like he’s all that’s ever happened to me and like he was nothing to me at all. I’m not sure what to do with that.”

Joel held out the pliers.

“10 millimeter wrench.”

You traded him tools again.

“He why you’re in Austin?” He asked eventually.

“Something like that,” you said. “I couldn’t stay teaching at the same school, not when… He’s getting married again. We haven’t even finalized the paperwork but he’s already replaced me and I couldn’t just sit there and watch it…”

Joel slid out from below the truck to look at you for a moment.

“He’s a fucking jackass,” he said bluntly.

“Thanks,” you smiled a little. “Anyway, Anna’s here. She’s been needing some help for a while so I figured why not now, you know?”

Joel slid back beneath the truck.

“Sure,” he said, removing the fuse box.

“Can I ask what happened with Sarah’s mom?” You asked after a moment.

He held out the wrench.

“Flathead again.” You traded the tools out, your fingers brushing his skin. He worked on the fan assembly. “And you can, just not that interestin’. We were seeing each other, pretty casually. Shit happened, she got pregnant, I panicked but she didn’t want an abortion so I tried to get my shit together. Then Sarah was born and… fuck, it’s like everything made sense, you know? She was perfect from the first damn second. Like everything I ever fucked up was supposed to get fucked up in just that way so she could be here. Her mom didn’t really feel that way, though. Think she thought it was gonna be easy for some reason and it wasn’t easy, not at all.

“Scared the shit out of me when she left,” he continued. “Didn’t tell me where the fuck she was goin’ or what she was doin’, just vanished. Took me a few days to figure out she wasn’t dead but she basically told me she’d sign all her parental rights away. She didn’t want to be a mom and even if she did, she didn’t want to be a mom with me. So me n’Sarah moved on.”

You were quiet for a moment. He held out the screwdriver.

“Keep that close,” he said. “Need the 11 millimeter socket.”

You took the screwdriver and gave him the socket.

“I’m sorry you went through that, Joel,” you said after a moment. “That must have been really hard…”

“It took us a while to figure each other out,” he said. “But… I dunno. Worked out in the end. Think it was supposed to be just me and her. Works best that way. Now if I could get the rest of my life to go that damn smooth I’d be set. Flathead again.”

You gave him the screwdriver and the two of you were quiet for a bit, the only sounds the sounds of Joel working on the truck.

“What’d you think of Curtis & Viper 8?” You asked after a minute of not quite awkward silence.

“Oh lord,” he laughed. “That training montage?”

“Such bullshit, right?” You laughed back. “I know they weren’t really going for realism but there’s a limit, even for those…”

“Should get drunk sometime when we’re not hung over,” he said. “Watch it again, I’d kill for your commentary on that shit…”

“Oh you have to be drunk to watch that again,” you were still laughing. “But I’m in.”

Joel smiled, even though you couldn’t see him.

“Cool.”

The time it took to replace the damn radiator flew by and, before too long, he had a working car again. But you were still at his house hours later, the two of you talking about nothing and everything at all. Eventually, you checked the time and sighed.

“I should really get home,” you said. “Actually get changed, I probably smell.”

“Nah,” Joel replied. “You forget that I played football with Josh Samuels, talk about smell…”

You laughed at that and Joel relished the sound, the seemingly unbridled joy you had when you laughed like that, how he wanted to give you whatever you wanted just to make you laugh like that again.

“I’ll drive you,” Joel said. “Assuming you can remember your damn address this time.”

Joel drove you to a tree-filled area not far from the school, the neighborhood full of old builds and lots of reasons to keep the trees, your house a little bungalow in dark brick and ivy. He had the strange urge to go inside and check and make sure your electrical was run properly, that you had working heat for the coming winter, that you had some food on hand.

“Thanks, for everything,” you smiled a little. “I had fun. A lot of fun.”

“Me too,” he smiled back. “I’m glad I ran into you, Goldie.”

You opened the door part way but froze with your hand on the handle.

“Can…” you looked nervous. “Would it be OK if we did this again sometime? Maybe not the truck care part but the other parts. But I’d be fine with truck care, too.”

“Sure, Goldie,” he smiled. “I’d like that.”

You smiled.

“Good,” you said. “It’s really good to see you, Joel.”

“You too, Goldie.”

He watched you walk up to your front door and let yourself in, staying outside until he knew that you were safely back at home.

Next Chapter

A/N: Y'all, I love having Joel dad. Him and Sarah are just two peas in their little pod and I'm in love with them.

I hope you liked this chapter! I'm really enjoying these characters and I'm so looking forward to exploring everything they mean to each other and everything they've been through both together and apart.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy the ride. Love you!

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #halcyon

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