#fucking friends can you please shut the fuck up. nothing fictional means more to me than them stop fucking reading them wrong

[chimaerra]

something excruciating about having so many things that are so mine and only mine and my best friend keeps well meaningly taking them

#they are watching elementary. my favorite show in the whole world that literally built me. #and i have to hear all their fucking bad opinions about it #fucking. dr who is a sherlock holmes narrative? NO?? #i am literally writing a thesis on holmes narratives not every goddamn episodic mystery is a holmes get away if u dont understand #the importance of a holmes and of a watson. #fucking. joan dresses so much like clara oswald! she dresses like a damn woman in the mid 2010s who is a grown adult #please dear god not everything needs to be a fucking dr who reference please leave elementary free of it #christ and. fucking. 'oh there's needles i dont like this' #it is a show about addiction if you do not shut the fuck up #and of course. the most important one. how i keep having to hear that they r 'the bestest of friends' #he named a bee after her. they are two people who love each other. that is the thesis of the relationship they are more important than #fucking friends can you please shut the fuck up. nothing fictional means more to me than them stop fucking reading them wrong #also like. now they're getting into coffee but like. the super sugary frappes and trying to propose drinking coffee every morning #and i have to be like. no dipshit dont develop a caffeine addiction for shits and giggles this is fucking serious #and they go. well i get headaches already #shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the fuck up #like with literally zero respect (which is all due) i drink my coffee every morning as a coping mechanism. #one that is a primary reason i am capable of talking to people every day #you say you are mentally healthy and get upset when the mentally ill ppl joke u r mentally ill bcos the music u listen to is a little funny #stop #also just like. general stupid people shit! is my shit! and they are on my ass and i cannot take it #two of my friends recently got butterfly knives and i know a few tricks and we've been playing w them and talking abt stupid shit like that #generally having. the time of our lives w sharp objects. and i obviously mention that i have axe throwing and they need to come over #some time for it and we'll have to figure it out whatever. he comes up to me the other day and says hey how about on saturday #everyone comes over to axe throw! and before i can say anything they go '[redacted] u cant just invite urself over to host something' #even if we hadnt literally discussed it. i would not care. this is something we both clearly r very interested in and want to fuck around w #just. jesus christ i want to exist in the context of myself againnnnnn #ntxt #gonna go dye my hair and cope #actually just remembered another thing. it was my bit to bully my friend as a joke. and i got that right by being in close quarters w him

[streamafterlaughter]

Fundamental Differing

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Chapter XVIII: I Gave My Life Away

pre warning: tags contain some non specific spoilers

warnings: 18+ MDNI mentions of a suicide attempt, alcoholism, narcotics addiction, depression. Adult content not meant for people under the age of 18. (spoiler for next tag!) Grinding/heavy petting, an inkling of smut. Angst, hurt feelings, heavy subject matter. reminder that this is fiction and i do not condone the actions of my characters! afab!gn!reader, they/them pronouns, rockstar!eddie, use of y/n lol i did not use y/n once!, pet names

a/n: i am… so sorry. that’s all i’ll say for now.

Disclaimer: I do not give permission to have my work reposted on other sites. Reblogs are more than welcome, but please inform me if you find my work elsewhere unless otherwise stated.

—

January 1991

Eddie’s POV

“Eddie? Eddie!” The voice is familiar, but too far away. He can’t see anything beyond a spinning figure, but he feels the harsh slapping on his face before someone drags him by his armpits into the bathtub. “Cmon, man, please.”

Then there’s water, and it’s cold, and Eddie’s trying to move but he can’t, he can only cough and choke as the shower spray gets into his nose and mouth.

“Oh fuck, thank fucking God.” Then there are footsteps, and Eddie’s hauled out of the bathroom on a stretcher, the frantic voice following closely behind.

-

Present Day

Eddie’s POV

“Ed, they’re looking for you. Two minutes.”

Eddie nods, waving the security off and turning back to her. “You’re still in Ohio, then?”

“Yeah, seems it. Nothing really goin’ on here, though.”

“Isn’t that kind of a good thing?”

She shrugs, her lips pursed. “Guess so, if it means you’re here.”

Eddie chuckles shyly. “Well, I should get moving, or Steve will have my head.

She nods eagerly, wrapping herself tightly around Eddie’s torso, causing him to shift uncomfortably. He hasn’t seen her since before, and he realizes now he’s not that person anymore. It causes his heart to skip with anxious energy.

“See ya.” She sends him a wink, and he waves as she turns on her heel to venture back into the crowd.

The security guard is still there, humming the chorus to Under The Bridge as it plays out of the house speakers, leaning against the wall as he waits for Eddie to finish with the pretty, dainty girl he’s with, and Eddie returns to him like a scolded child. “Alright, let’s go.”

“That your girl?” He asks, making small talk with the rockstar he has likely no interest in.

Eddie shakes his head. “God, no. A friend, maybe. Not even that much, not anymore.”

“Guy like you doesn’t need to dwell on that, man. Sure you got plenty of ladies lined up for a chance with you.”

He snorts, amused by this guy’s casualty. “You’d be surprised.”

The guard escorts Eddie all the way to the stage, where Steve is seething and huffing about, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Sorry, sorry. Ran into someone.”

Steve’s expression softens slightly at the mention. “Was it-“

“Yeah. But it’s fine, really. Civil, even.”

“Right. In that case, I’m still mad at you,”

“Sure, of course. Can we hold off on my discipline until after the show?”

Steve runs a hand through his hair, breathing deeply as if to prevent himself from taking a swing at Eddie. “Fine. Go.”

Eddie bows his head to thank him, and takes his place next to his bandmates, who’d been left waiting restlessly for their frontman, again. “Hey-“

“Shut up.” Jeff silences him. “Don’t wanna hear it.” And it’s fair. They shouldn’t have to listen to his excuses. He’s supposed to be working on himself, and all he’s managed to do is piss off the people that matter to him most. The house lights dim, and Eddie watches as the crowd grow feral, shoving toward the stage, shaking the metal barricades standing between them and the stage. His heart thumps in his ears, in time with the crowd’s eager chants of “COFFIN, COFFIN,” a command he’s inclined to obey. It drags him forward, led by his band onto the stage to present themselves to a mass of people that want to tear them apart.

The stage lights up with the first chord, and Eddie hears the audience beyond his monitor. He looks back to Gareth, who’s awestruck at the noise, then to Jeff who holds his hand over his chest, genuinely thanking these people for coming. Eddie wants to feel it, too. The warmth these people seem to offer his friends, but he’s somewhere else. He can’t get used to it, like he’s wearing shoes half a size too small. It makes him shift uncomfortably inside his skin, constantly feeling the eyes of thousands on him, relying on him, there for him. It’s then that he realizes he’s sober on stage, for the first time in five years.

He’d stuck to his word, now twenty four hours without consuming a drop of alcohol. He feels his chest tighten, like a hand made of knives has broken open his ribcage to squeeze his heart until it pops. His lungs will fill with his own blood and he’ll choke, he watches as it flashes before him, a panic stricken fantasy but Eddie wouldn’t say unrealistic.

His friends are looking at him. The crowd is calming with their increased confusion; a late start and now a strange, empty pause. He has to fill it. He can’t find you, and he’s taking too long, and it’s starting to confuse his band, so he shouts into the blackness “HELLO, COLUMBUS!” and the room combusts with the release of tension. “I am so sorry we’re late. Thank you for waiting. Let’s burn this fucking place down.” Gareth hits his sticks together, both a warning and a courtesy that there’s no stopping now, and Eddie rides the momentum. He nails every incoming note without thought, and he can feel the vibrations through the building, both of the music and the crowd. He gets the same rush he used to, when he was wide eyed and bushy tailed, younger and in love with the life of a rockstar. For a second, he feels it again, in the same place he’d felt the least alive at this time two years ago.

-

Your POV

“What the hell!” You stomp up to Steve, screaming over the noise of the stage into his face. “Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Steve only smirks. “How does it feel, huh? To not have a fucking clue what’s going on? He’ll tell you. I can’t-“

“Blah!” You throw your hands into the air, “I get it, you can’t tell me. Just… who’s the girl?”

Steve’s smile only grows. “Are you jealous?”

You groan, more from exhaustion than embarrassment. “Of course I’m fucking jealous, Steve! Don’t play dumb! Please, don’t make me feel stupid.”

His face falls, and he grabs you by the shoulders, jolting you into focus. “You have nothing to worry about. That I do know.”

It’s not enough, but it’s all you’re gonna get. You can’t help but respect it, the commitment to keeping Eddie’s business to himself. Truth be told, Steve is probably dying to tell you. “It’s that big, huh?” He nods sadly, and you mirror him in understanding. “But he’s going to tell you. He’s gonna tell you everything, and it’s gonna be a lot to digest. So I’ll be here when he tells you.”

“Steve, you’re scaring me.”

He nods. “That’s my intention. You might not get the answers you want, but you’ll get answers.”

-

You watch the tail end of their set with your brain going in circles. What could Steve possibly mean, the answers you don't want? What answers do you want? Who’s the girl, for starters. But mostly, what happened, in the two years without contact? What made you so angry? You can’t imagine an answer heavy enough to break you, not off the top of your head. Whatever it is, you want it. Even if it’s just to understand Eddie a little more. Even if it means he can’t be with you. Even if it means you have to let him go.

“Thank you!” Eddie shouts after the final note of a song you couldn’t name. “Thanks for comin’ out, Columbus!” The crowd shrieks, ratting your brain inside your head. “And give it up again for DEATH DANCE APPROXIMATELY!” The crowd politely continues cheering, and a small girl next to you sends you a bright smile. “So, so grateful to have them on this whole tour with us, you have no idea.” Eddie laughs bashfully, out of character for him to do while on stage. It’s a small thing, something you shouldn’t have noticed, but of course you did. He’s nervous. You squint, as if it will help you read him better, and it doesn’t. “This is our last song, I wanna hear you all. Loud as you can, alright?” The crowd whoops, and Corroded Coffin start in on Sweetheart, and you almost choke on your tears immediately.

Eddie has always said the closing song is the most important. It’s the one freshest in their mind, the one that will stick with them the most. It has to be perfect. He’d never used Sweetheart as the closer, and it’s obvious Gareth and Jeff weren’t ready for it, probably assuming Eddie skipped it reading the setlist. Eddie’s voice shakes slightly as he sings, but it’s perfect. His eyes stay closed the whole time, and you desperately wish he’d open them, find you in the wings, and sing the words to you again. Like he had, any time you’d asked him to just because you could. You sing along, lose yourself in the lyrics for the first time in years, actually hearing the words meant for you.

And then it’s over, and they’re thanking the crowd and bowing, and walking off stage, and even though you know you’re gonna see it all again night after night, even though you have seen it tens of times already, you miss it. The feeling of a shrieking crowd feeling all of their feelings while you feel yours. The feelings you hope you can give to your own audience. You feel like a teenager seeing their favorite band for the first time, and you’d forgotten how good that felt.

Robin seems to appear from thin air next to you. “Hey!” She semi-shouts over the bustling crowd. “Are you crying?” It’s a question you should absolutely be used to by now. You hadn’t noticed this time, though. “Oh!” You sniff, wiping a tear from your cheek. “Yeah, guess I was. Not sad, though.” Not necessarily true, but for now a nonissue.

“We’re all goin’ out tonight.”

You shake your head. “I’ll catch up.” She frowns at you. “It’s okay! I’ll tell you everything I can after.”

The possibility of a gossip session soothes her curiosity, and she squeezes your arm before continuing to wiggle through the crowd. You follow her backstage, into the massive dressing area backstage, where Eddie sits with his bandmates in a circle of metal fold out chairs, each of them holding a beer. Besides Eddie, who fiddles with the label of his water bottle.

“Right!” Jeff pats Eddie’s knee as he speaks, “We’re goin’ out. celebrating our biggest show to date.”

It’s then that Eddie lifts his eyes and catches you staring. You don’t bother averting yours to the floor, already having been caught red handed. “Do you guys mind if I sit this one out? I uh, have a prior engagement.” The girl, you’re sure. The girl you have nothing to worry about, the girl Eddie knows in the nowhere state of Ohio. You chew on the inside of your lip until you draw blood, anxious and suddenly unsure of everything Steve had tried to warn you about.

“Yeah, man, of course. Come out if you change your mind, though.” With that, Gareth and Jeff exit the room, and your friends follow suit soon after, leaving you and Eddie alone.

-

Eddie’s POV

Now, I have to do it right now. “Hey,”

You face him, eyes wide with questions he so desperately wants to answer for you. Your hands are clasped tightly together, your knuckles white and arms flexed, jaw clenched. “You wanna get some coffee?”

Your nod is vigorous, and he holds his elbow out for you. You quickly latch onto him, and Eddie feels just how anxious you must be. He can’t imagine where your head’s at, with your nightmares and your constant, irritating habit of caring about him so much. He’s exhausting you, and all he wants now is to let you rest.

Eddie asks a remaining staff member to escort the two of you out the back way, and into the warmth of the summer night. “Is there even somewhere that sells coffee around here? Let alone somewhere that’s open?” You joke, and he chuckles.

“I guess I didn’t think that far ahead. Ah!” He points down the road, to the glowing 7-Eleven sign. “Onward!” You laugh, and it floods through Eddie, like it’s drenching his head in ice water, refreshing him. He’s since dropped his arm, but yours stays locked around him, like if you let go he’d run away. As if he’d ever think to do such a thing.

He breaks the thick silence finally, after several minutes of walking through it. “You uh, said you wanted to talk?”

You look up at him. “I did?”

“Yeah, uh, this morning? We didn’t really get the chance.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah I guess so. I just,” You shake your head, frustrated, “I have questions.”

“Okay,” Eddie shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant. He wants to give you the answers. Finally, he wants to be completely open with you.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, shoot. I’ll answer your questions.”

“Any of them?”

“All of ‘em, sweetheart.” He can’t help it, he loves watching you shy away at the nickname, cute and soft, under all that armor.

-

Your POV

“Okay…” You have to be careful. One wrong move, and he’s shutting you out again. “Where’d you go tonight?” A subtle way to ask it, you think. Not accusatory, just curious, bordering on nosey.

“I ran into an old friend. From group.” You snap your neck, catching the words he says so casually.

“Group?”

Eddie nods, “NA-slash-AA.”

This is nowhere near where you thought this conversation would go. Every question you’d had crumbles at his answer. “What?”

“I’m more of a casual attendee, lately.” You feel your head fill up with more questions, and you’re drowning. “When did you-“ You’re expecting him to cut you off, but he waits. “When did you start going to meetings?”

Eddie looks to the sky as if to find the answer in the blackness above. “Early into 1991. There was still snow on the ground.”

“What um,” You’re walking the tightrope here, and you heed Steve’s warning. “What made you decide to go?”

Eddie looks at you again, his expression sad. “Had a really, really bad night.”

“What happened?” You ask, too quickly. It’s not fair, and you don’t have any right to know the answer, but Eddie snorts a laugh, like this news isn’t breaking your heart to learn. “Steve saved my life. I’m surprised he hasn’t divulged this story to you, even with the fact that I begged him not to tell anyone. Took me years to even tell the guys. I had gotten so bad, I didn’t care what happened to me. I was drinking myself to sleep every night, wallowing in self pity, barely able to function. I was worse than any time before. Worse than I was when you’d called me that night.”

“What night?”

“You were drunk, you probably don’t remember. Sometime in September of the year before, I’d been up all night trying, and you called me at home.” The memory comes back in a tidal wave. You’d just finished recording your EP, your first cohesive body of work, and with it had been signed to Sub Pop. Things had been looking up for you after cutting things off with him in July, but somewhere far away, Eddie had been drowning.

Before you can say anything, he continues, “Anyway, we were on a kind of hiatus as a band, had been for about a year at this point. I had nothing to get me out of bed before three in the afternoon, nothing to distract me from my pity party. I went out every night, drank until I couldn’t see, and did lines in the bathroom with people I didn’t care to know. I probably slept with six or seven different people a week, sometimes more. I couldn’t stop, because then I’d have to feel my feelings, and I was so afraid of them. One time,” He has the gall to chuckle, “after I got kicked out of a bar in New York for trying to fight the bouncer, I was so wasted and beaten that I fell asleep in my front yard with my pants around my ankles. Really glad I don’t have neighbors.”

It all pours out so easily now, like he’s telling you about his trip to the grocery store. “I uh, only got worse after that.” He stops, and you look up at him, waiting with wide, stinging eyes. “You sure you want me to keep going?” You nod. You don’t want to know, but you have to. As much as you suspect it’s gonna hurt, it means something that he’s finally willing to tell you.

He pushes forward. “On New Year's Eve of ‘91, I mixed whiskey and Steve’s Xanax. Way too much of it. Harrington found me passed out in the bathroom of my hotel room at around 1AM and called an ambulance. I'd written a note and everything.”

He pauses again to let you digest it all, and the silence sends a piercing ring through your ears. The words coming out of his mouth feel so far away, disconnected from the mouth they’re coming from. You’d never known Eddie to give up. Nothing had stopped him before; from finishing high school, from getting out of Hawkins, from being a rockstar. Regardless of how angry, or frustrated, or beaten he'd gotten, Eddie had always bounced back.

He finally pulls you from your thoughts. “That was the worst of it, but it had been a long time coming. When we were,” He gestured lamely to the air, “seeing each other, I was usually either on a run or coming down. I didn’t hide it well, I was almost sure you’d known, or at least suspected something. I was so angry and twitchy all the time. As much as I wanted to, I knew I couldn’t bring you into it, though. I never wanted you to know, and in a lot of ways I still don’t. Actually, please tell me you don’t wanna know. I’ll shut right the fuck up.”

“Nice try, but you underestimate how nosey I am.” He laughs, and you smile despite it all. “When did you start, I guess doing coke?” He doesn’t think about it for long. “Ironically, New Year’s Eve 1990 was the first time. I was a pro at it by May. I'd been drinking heavily for years by then, guess I wanted to jazz it up to ring in the new decade.” He stops walking and pivots to look at you, suddenly eager, and in no way aware of how jarring what he’d just said was. “Do you remember when I would get nosebleeds all the time, or when I’d sneeze and there’d be a giant snot bubble?” You nod, your face contorting with disgust at the memories. You remember a specific time, when you’d been making out with him in his hotel room in Boston, and his nose had just started dripping blood onto your bare chest. He’d gotten so pissed off at himself he’s left without putting his shirt or shoes back on. “Yeah, that had nothing to do with the humidity. Deep down, I think you knew that.”

He’s right, but you can still feel the crack in your heart spiderweb and spread as you hear these suspicions about Eddie confirmed.

“When was the last time?”

“The first or second night of the tour, I think.”

“Are you still drinking?” Dustin’s question makes more sense to you now. You wonder how he’d found out.

Eddie hesitates, as if fighting himself on whether to answer truthfully. “I didn’t today. It’s the first full day I’ve gone in a while. Touring is always difficult, and I’m sure you understand why this time is uh, particularly stressful.”

“Because of me.” Obviously.

“Because I know how badly I’ve hurt you, and because I know I haven’t made it up to you yet. I haven't earned your trust or even your time by any means, and I hate that you’re seeing me like this when you should be enjoying your first full US tour.” He chokes the last words out. You’ve stopped walking again, waiting at a deserted intersection, not yet ready to cross. “I’ve been fucking up recently, which is why I haven’t said anything. It’s not because I don’t want you. I want you so, so much. I just can’t do it yet.”

“Eddie,” You reach for him, and he lets you. You hold his face in your hands, feeling his flushed cheeks warm your palms as you look at him under the streetlights. “You don’t earn things like help and support, Eddie, not from people that-“ You pause. Not now, it’s not fair. “People that care about you. Thank you for telling me, I can’t imagine what you must be feeling; surrounded by triggers at all times, having to see me so much. I never would have agreed to the tour if I’d known—,“

He cuts you off, shaking his head, wafting the scent of his shampoo at you. “Don’t do that, please. This is not your fault, this is my own undoing. You are exempt from blame here.”

“I wish I’d known you were struggling. I wish I could have helped.”

Eddie traps your hands with his own on his face. “I know. I do, too.”

A sob shoves its way through your lips, and you can’t rebuild the dam fast enough. You’re crying, ugly sobbing with snot and mascara painting your face into a sad clown. It may be a cry of relief, having finally understood where your love had gone, so to speak, and seeing a glimpse of him right now. A version of Eddie happy, warm. He smiles at you, a big, beautiful smile, but his eyes are so sad. “I wish I had known to ask. Would have saved us both so much trouble.” Eddie drops his hands to your waist and pulls you closer to him, your coffee quest long forgotten. “I am so sorry.”

“Thank you.” You do not fight it, because there’s so much for him to be sorry for, regardless of if you want the apology. You trust that he means it. “I won’t push you for anything else. But I need you to ask for help, when you need it. I'm not gonna turn you away.” You wrap your arms around his torso, as physical proof of your words. You feel his arms as they surround your head, and he pulls you further into his chest. His breathing deep and even, heart beating soundly, you let yourself inhale him, indulge in his closeness even for a second. You eventually start to pull away, but he catches you, and you crane your head up to look at him, your nose inches away from his. Eddie’s eyes flick to your lips. It’s a fraction of a second, but you notice because you always do. You mimic him, flicking your eyes over his soft, pink lips and back to his deep, sweet brown eyes.

He moves first, but you’re quick to follow, and Eddie catches your lips with his, and you fight the urge to once again burst into tears. The kiss is one you haven’t felt in so long, like sleeping in your own bed after months being crammed inside a van or a two star motel. It’s a deep, yearning type of kiss you hadn’t known you were missing. Eddie moves a hand to cradle your head, like he’s holding the most valuable thing in the world. He’s gentle, almost timid, like the wrong move will ruin everything, break you both into pieces you won’t be able to fit back together. His lips are so soft, with no aggression or anxiety behind them, no nervous, frantic energy like he needs to consume you before you disappear. He takes his time, and you swim in the calm of it all. You rest your hand on his jaw, your finger lightly brushing his ear, the other stuck with your palm against his chest, squished between your bodies.

The last time Eddie kissed you like this was the day before he almost died. Before he cut that stupid sheet rope and tried to be a hero, he’d held you like you were the only thing on earth worth dying for. This time, though, there’s no rush, no impending doom to cut it short. You wonder if you’re pushing it, if this is too much for him, because it’s almost too much for you.

You pull away for a second. “Is this allowed?”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I think I know what you’re asking, but what do you mean?”

“Like, while you’re recovering. Shouldn’t you be more focused on that?”

Eddie shrugs. “Probably. And I will be. But I’m sober right now, at least, and all I can think about is you. And now you know everything, and you still kiss me like I’ve always been worthy of it. Even when I’m still not.”

“Do I really know everything now?” You lace your fingers through his and resume your walk.

He looks at you. “Do you have more questions?”

You have so many, but you’re so tired, so emotionally drained. “What do you think about, when you think about me?”

Eddie snorts a laugh at your question and you hide your face in your free hand. “Nothing good. You’re under my skin, doll. Always have been. Hey, look at that,” you look to where he’s pointing, the bright lights of the 7-Eleven store. “I’m kinda over coffee. You wanna watch a movie? For old time’s sake?” You nod wordlessly as your heart skips about, and he opens the door for you so you can grab some snacks instead.

-

Another hotel room, with boring white walls and bright white bed sheets. Eddie’s suitcases already sit in the corner, placed there by the hotel staff, complimentary mints on the pillows. Eddie flicks the bedside lamps on before fiddling with the remote, and you immediately realize, you’re once again without your own clothes. “Could I borrow-“ Eddie throws a shirt that lands perfectly draped over your face and you’re overwhelmed with his scent. “Thanks.” You deadpan, removing the fabric. He’s tossed a pair of his shorts onto the bed in front of you as well, and you’re silently grateful, because you wouldn’t have asked for them. He quickly flings his shirt off his head, and you watch as he swaps his jeans for a pair of worn flannel pajama pants.

Eddie then clicks the TV on, searching the channels aimlessly for something to watch before quickly giving up, muting it on a late night talk show. “How are you doing?” He’s already sprawled on the bed, resting his head in his hand to look at you, still in your clothes.

“I’m just digesting, I guess.” You face away from him to pull your sweat soaked shirt over your head and toss it on the floor, feeling his eyes on your bare back. You never wear a bra onstage, but you’re regretting it now. You yank Eddie’s shirt over your head to hide your butt as you yank your tights down, suddenly very aware of the color of your panties: red, and far too lacy for these circumstances. You yank Eddie’s boxers up your legs, and feel decent enough to face him again.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” He blurts as you slide into the space next to him, on top of the covers still.

“What do you mean?”

“After dark, sharing a bed, sharing my clothes,” He gestures to you, dressed head to toe in Eddie Couture. “Someone might see us. People are gonna start getting suspicious.”

“You think they’re not already?” You shift to lay on your side, now looking at him straight on. “We aren’t exactly being discrete as of late.”

He gives you a half shrug. “Does it bother you?”

“Does what bother me?”

“The fans, making assumptions.”

You think about your choice of words. “I thought it would. I think it bothered me more that they weren’t right.”

Eddie cracks a goofy smile, and you swat at him uselessly. “You want to be having a steamy secret affair with the douchebag frontman of Corroded Coffin?” He teases, poking at you.

“Oh, shut up.” There’s no malice in your voice. “You know what I mean. They have it all figured out. We’re together, in love, not ready to share it with the world or whatever. Much less complicated than whatever it is we’re actually doing.”

Eddie considers this for a moment. “Guess that’s true. I don’t think I could explain any of what we’re doing to Steve, let alone the public.”

You sigh. Poor, ignorant Steve. There’s only so much you’d be able to tell him for sure. “He’d have a heart attack.”

“I’ve already spooked him enough for a whole lifetime, I can’t drop this bomb on him too.”

“Let’s not worry about that. We don’t even know what we’re doing.”

“I just know I wanna keep doing it.” The way he says it sends you reeling instantly, drawing you into him, closing the distance between his lips and yours. You melt into him, wrapping your leg around his waist as he grips the flesh of your hip. Your hand slides effortlessly into his hair, tangling around your fingers, pulling a moan from Eddie’s throat as you tug him further into you. You can feel his gentry twitch in his pants, only a few thin layers of fabric separating him from your core. You roll your hips against him, sighing as his tip bumps against your clit, desperate for friction.

Eddie moves, latching his lips onto your throat causing your brain to fog. Your chest heaves as he nips at your skin, marking you, making your head swim with pleasure. You feel his fingers toying with the hem of his t-shirt, his calloused fingers sliding under the fabric to caress your skin, sending chills up and down your whole body. You shiver, and he pulls away. “Wanna stop?”

“Shouldn’t we?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

So you kiss him again, hungrier now. You help him yank his shirt over your head, abandoning it on the floor next to yours. Eddie shifts again, pressing your bare chest against his before breaking the kiss suddenly. “May I, uh,” He stutters like he’s a nervous teenager again, as if he’s seeing his first pair of boobs ever.

“Please.” You sigh, and it propels Eddie on, shifting down the bed until he’s eye level with your chest.

“God, I missed you.” He rasps, and you don’t have time to ask if he’s talking to you or your tits before he runs his tongue over your nipple, pulling a whine from your throat. You feel his other hand slide down your torso, freezing when it reaches the waistband of his boxers. “Sweetheart?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you let me take care of you?”

—

chapter XIX

haha hehe hahahahah ha ha. ha

tag list: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @wiildflower-xxx @beebeerockknot @champagne-glamour @xxgothwhorexx @therensistance @chonkzombie @brxkenartt @sidthedollface2 @bibieddiesgf @gaysludge @eddiesguitarskills @littlepotatobeansworld @poisonedluv @kellsck @m-chmcl-rmnc

#eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #rockstar!eddie #angst #smut #fluff #more angst #st4 #stranger things fanfiction #strangerthingscentral #90s au #au where eddie lives #fd #new kid fic #munson #afab!reader #gn!reader #they/them!reader #fics #y/n

[ecoamerica]

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[ch1llyic3y]

See no one talks abt it so I keep it to myself but I have to tell y’all about this.

Once upon a time has been my favorite shown since I was five years old and that’s something that’s never changed. And there’s so many things they’ve missed in the show or they had and did badly with (season 7) and some of it is talked about and some isn’t.

So firstly. Can we please talk about how Regina didn’t love Robin at all. I feel like (as much as I love that show) they’re so based on one thing. “You can only have one truly” and I think that’s utter bullshit. Now listen I know it’s a fictional show. But Regina barely knew shit about him. She just yearned to be loved SOOOO much. She settled for the first person to except her. And it’s the same person, that ignored her dark side. And I’m 100% the kind of person who thinks. You can’t love someone without loving them wholly. And I don’t think he did that. He literally left her the minute his wife got back talking abt some fucking “I made a pack” oh shut up you shit head.

Secondly. I think they had so much potential with Zelena and Emma. And you’re probably like… bitch what? IM TALKING ABOUT FRIENDSHIP! I feel like zelena would definitely make a group chat and name it “coven sisters” with Emma and Regina. I think Emma and Zelena has sooo much in common. They would be really quick friends. And see each other as sisters. And maybe even best friends eventually.

Wtf was that aging shit. The seventh season was so confusing. I mean we got so many characters we DESERVED. But it was so fucking confusing. There’s so many doppelgängers and everyone is DEFINITELY related to everyone. And this is suppose to be a whole other universe but y’all saying when Regina was the evil queen she was with dr.faciler. Idk how to spell homeboy name. All I know. Is they wanted money. And that wasn’t the way to get it.

And lastly Emma is the fucking savior. STOP MAKING HER SUFFER. Im so tired of Regina this regina that. Who’s the main character? WHO IS IT? Also. She wasn’t in the last season. What were you trying to accomplish by NOT putting her in there?! Also the truama she has. The pain she has. Emma has had red in her eye-line from season four to season SEVEN. That girl is in pain. Unspeakable pain. And no one talks about. They say she got her happily ever after but home girl still suffering. Also that girl ain’t love hook. This is not some swanqueen agenda. This is me giving it to you straight. Hook said he HATED her. Even as dark ones. Emma still loved him. And Henry. Rumple still loved Neal. SO MUCH HE CASTED A CURSE FOR HIM. Even as a dark one they still were able to love the ones they love most. And shit LOVE THEM EVEN MORE. That’s how the dagger did it. Show you what you desire and STRIP IT FROM YOU. Hook ain’t love shit. NOTHING. NOT A DAMN THING. I think it was something they fed to themselves. They both desired to be loved. Him not wanting to me alone. And her simply because she’s the product of true love. She thinks she NEEDS it. She HAS to have it. And honestly I think she’s better alone.

Anyways… rant over. It’s 7:24 am. I haven’t been sleep. Goodbye children.

#emma swan #regina mills #zelena mills #ouat #Captain Hook #captain swan #once upon a time #oncers #Regina deserved better #Emma zelena and Regina was a trio we deserved #hook wasn’t a bad guy he was just bad for her #zelena deserved a happy ending what she got was ass #fuck Robin Hood #outlaw queen #<<< is not an agenda I fuck with. but the fans gotta see this #swanqueen lowkey eats #like I ship it #kinda… #emma swan is a freaking orphan. forced to save the lives of people who abandoned her. and I’m returns continues to get abandoned #and is constantly forced to smile and act okay. she is not okay! #Regina was a bad person yes. but she’s not the other woman. I’m sick of her being the other woman! who they call when Emma fails? GINA. #king Leopold was obsessed with Snow White and his DEAD wife eva. but who was he married to? GINA #Robin hood wife came back and instead of putting on his big boy pants he left the best person ever. who’s that person? GINA. #zelena mills redemption arc was always downplayed. and she just kept going bad or doing shit. she just wanted to be love. #THEY ALL WANT TO BE LOVE #okay I’m done with my tags rant. I hate rewatching stuff. I get mad for no reason💀💀

[miekasa]

NICE.

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

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

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

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

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

+ word count: 19k. i’m sorry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, baby. I love you.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Get off my line.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no—of course not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was almost three thou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It wasn’t mine, I was—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what’s it matter to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not avoiding him,” you frown.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sound like you speak from personal experience.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“His parents?” Jean cuts you off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you… told Eren yet?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is… is that why you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles. “I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You—you, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah? What, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t taste any almonds.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I mean—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eren—”

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

“Eren—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you took it, anyway?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eren loves you, more than you could ever know.

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

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

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

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

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

“Mitchell, I have to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And if I asked you now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#attack on titan #aot x reader #snk x reader #eren x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines #eren smut #eren fluff #levi x reader #I DONT WANNA TALK ABOUT IT

[kpop-dungeon-dark]

REQUEST # 12 (Bully!Jungkook x Reader)

•TRIGGER WARNING•

Disclaimer: This piece is purely a work of fiction and does not represent Jeon Jungkook in any way nor do I condone or encourage these actions in real life. This is nothing but mere fiction and fantasy. Browse at your own risk, you've been warned.

Request: "youre taking requests right? can you pls write bully!jungkook who's mean as fuck and has a dacryphilia kink pls make it hard noncon"

Warning(s): Noncon, dacryphilia, choking, slapping, virgin!reader, infidelity(?), humiliation, degradation, angst.

Y/n whimpered as she bit her lip, eyes shutting in frustration and terror of what was to come when her lunch tray went flying against the cafeteria floor when she tripped over something that she couldn't locate on the ground.

"Tsk… pathetic" the girl's legs trembled upon hearing the voice of the culprit, Jeon Jungkook, sitting at his usual table with all the popular kids on her left side, the male in the perfect spot to have stuck his leg out just enough to make her trip.

"S- Sorry…" Y/n crouched as she hurriedly started to gather the spilled contents in the tray, not looking up at everyone snickering.

Jungkook torturing her on a daily basis was their favorite show.

"Do you know how many people around the world are starving every minute of everyday, Y/n?" His voice was sickeningly sweet as he leaned away from his cheerleader girlfriend towards Y/n, one tattooed arm wrapped around the other girl's waist. "And then there you are… just wasting it like it's nothing, tch tch."

"P- Please… sorry… it was a mistake" the girl struggled to find her voice. "I- I'll c- clean it up" her trembling hands were forced to halt all movement when one of his boots planted themselves on one of them.

"Now that's no way to go about this" tears pooled in her eyes. "Aren't you hungry? Tsk… we don't have a lot of time or extra food to spare here~" checking his wrist watch, the male glanced back at her as the corners of his lips turned upwards into a smirk.

"Please-" her plead was cut short.

"Eat it as is." The soft sob that escaped Y/n just earned her chuckles from all around her.

They were vile and relentless.

"Oh, come on, Y/n! Why the hesitation? We are all friends here~" Jungkook's girlfriend bitchily added, pecking him on his lips before looking down at her. The girl lowered her head even more, face flushing in embarrasment as she wished for the ground to swallow her.

"All that better be gone in the next ten minutes or you know better than to defy me" Jungkook threateningly whispered in Y/n's ear, giving her head a harsh nudge from behind. "Now get to it!"

The girl knew better than to say no to him. She had learnt it the hard way. And so Y/n lowered herself closer to the floor, shaking as she started picking the bits of food up and shoving them down her throat, depserate for the humiliation to just end.

"Come on now, get your fluids in, you need the hydration!" Jungkook bellowed, nodding towards the juice carton that laid on its side against the tiles, it's contents pooling around it. "Come on, Y/n! Clock's tickinnngg~" the male warned, biting his lip when she sobbed again, the helplessness of it sending a shiver down his spine as he felt himself getting hard.

Y/n could take her tears in the juice as she slurped at it, some of it getting on her nose and face which stained them since it was pomegranate. She felt Jungkook shift closer towards her from her peripheral vision, sending another wave of anxiety down her chest.

"Hurry up~" his tone was much quieter than his usual. Much darker. "You think we have all day long to watch you slurp and pig your lunch from the cafe floor in these floral patterned underwear of yours?" Y/n's eyes widened when he pointed them out before teasingly pinching them out from under the waistband of her pants, bringing them to everyone's view and attention.

"Please!" The girl pleaded as she shot back up, trying to cover his hand as she stared up at him, shivering from how close their faces were. "Please~" Jungkook bit his lip at the sight.

The bottom half of Y/n's mouth was stained with th juice, eyes bloodshot and full of tears as her spectacles hung low on her nose, one of the trils slightly dripping while the crumbs of the food clung to one corner of the mouth, all the kneeling having caused the front part of her shirt to lower, resulting in exposure of her cleavage.

"Go clean yourself up. You look like a disgraced pig." Usually he would have loved to humiliate and degrade her more. But today… was different. Today Jungkook had noticed her cleavage which he never really had before. Today, there was something different about the way she was covered in her lunch. The way she had kneeled. How he'd noticed the outline of her ass. The curve of her bottom lip as it trembled, a droplet of the juice desperately trying to hold on to it. And her flushed cheeks. Fuck. How they were so perfectly stained with her tears.

.

It was 5 minutes after break had ended and pretty much everyone had settled into their classes. Y/n could tell as the chatter in the hallways had died down, making her sigh in relief as she slowly rose from the closed toilet seat.

Now would be the perfect time to fix herself without anyone ridiculing or humiliating her further as teachers seldom gave any sorts of passes in classes scheduled right after the break.

Unlocking the latch of the cubicle she was in, Y/n fixed her clothes up as she pushed the door open, walking to the sinks without looking up only to gasp when she walked into a hard chest.

A very familiar hard chest…

"Thought you'd get rid of me that easy?" The girl's eyes widened to the shape of saucers as she looked up to find Jungkook grinning down at her, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Tsk." His eyebrows furrowed at the sight. "Didn't know you are into the whole pig look thing" he referred to her state, chuckling when she sobbed again.

"Pl-"

"Oh, shut up" before Y/n could comprehend what even happened, she found herself pushed against a cubicle wall with Jungkook's fingers firmly holding her throat in place, free hand flicking the lock close. "Fuck…" Rubbing his hard wood against the girl's crotch, the male bit back a moan. "Don't you just look like the most fuckable little thing all messed up?"

All colour left the girl's face followed by the oxygen in her lungs as she caught on to what he was saying. "N- No!" She pushed past her throat with all her might, pressing her palms flat against his built chest and shaking her head. He couldn't do this to her. It was one step too far. "No! Y- You cannot do this, not this!" And that made him even more hard. "No!"

"Aww… have yourself all saved up for someone?" Jungkook cooed in a taunting manner, raising an eyebrow as he brushed a piece of hair away from her face, amused expression morphing into a cold one. "That's too bad, then" ignoring the girl's struggles and pleads, the male gagged her with the half used toilet paper roll, it being the perfect size to plug her mouth the right way.

"Fuck- when did you grow up this much, Y/n?" Her weak claws and punches didn't faze him one bit as he pushed her shirt up and kneaded her breasts, feeling them up through Y/n's bra before simply ripping it open in two parts from the middle, cursing when he felt knots form in the base of his stomach.

They were just the right size with the sexiest nipples ever.

"How dare you keep this body of yours all tucked away and hidden from me?" Jungkook growled, feeling betrayed as he slapped her with the back of his hand, pushing her body to the side and against the flush tank before pulling her shirt halfway off, stopping when her arms were folded above her head in the fabric and leaving it there to restrict her arms from shuffling around so much.

"You really think every time that you'll be able to get away, huh?" The force with which he undid her pants almost ripped the buttons off, nails scratching her skin when he pulled them down and through her feet to get full access, squeezing and force spreading her thighs as he stood back up.

"Oh, I am gonna fucking ruin you good." Y/n sobbed as she struggled, tears streaming down her cheeks as they made it impossible for her to see through her spectacles, the outlines she could make out through them giving her the idea that Jungkook was undressing his own south region before her ass was pushed flat against the tank, legs picked off the floor as a hard and wet tip poked one of her thighs.

"Look at me and look at me well" Jungkook growled as he snatched the tear filled spectacles off, staring right into her eyes as he aligned himself against her virgin entrance, already knowing it was gonna take a good few shoves before he would be welcomed inside. "You are not getting rid of me; you cannot." A pained expression occupied his features for a moment as he sucked in a sharp breath while his fingers tried to push his tip inside her entrance.

"Look at my fsce as I fuck you because this is the only face that'll ever fuck you." One of his hands harshly gripped her throat when he was finally somewhat inside after some struggle. "Memorize it." Jungkook's hips pushed themselves forward as he shuddered at how good her virgin pussy hugged him. "Because you'll have to present yourself before it any time I need it."

Jungkook chuckled as the girl's body went limp, defeatedly resting against the wall behind it. The boy's ears turned red as he started thrusting now, "I mean, it's not like anyone else will ever want to fuck you anyways- fuck-" throwing his head back, he sighed out loud in pleasure, grinning. "You're lucky I am into filthy pigs. Or you'd have gone to the grave a virgin."

.

Wow I almost cried writing this.

#dark fic #dark kpop #kpop smut #non con #bts #bts smut #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #new requests #request 12 #bts x you #bts x reader #bts scenarios #bts imagines #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n

[glilboy]

ATEEZ Reactions to finding you reading smut about them: Maknae Line

i tried so hard to finish this afterworo and before bed lol. the first part did, so well? im genuinely shocked ill be honest. hope this one is just as good.

requests are open btw!!

tws below the cut

Warning! This work of fiction contains mentions of quirofilia, strength kink, dom/sub dynamics implications and general explicit topics

San:

"Baby just let me play it I just want to get us to the same level," San whined at you about a game you both played. He practically coaxed you into playing but now you genuinely enjoyed it, being hesitent to let him get you farther.

"I want to experience it myself though Sannie," you pouted back at him leaning your head on his shoulder.

"I just want to do the things you've been avoiding! It'll give you enough experience to be the same level, please," his voice became higher pitched which was your call to just let him do it.

"Whatever," you said in a fake angry voice, instantly giggling, "you do that, I'm gonna go grab a snack." You hopped up and off the bed, leaving your phone for him to mess with.

Picking up your phone, happy he got his way, he went to open the app but one was already open.

Humming he read a bit and when he read his name he twitched a little. So this was what you liked. San made you extremely nervous which caused you to be a bit hesitant to share what you liked in bed. You planned to tell him one day but he hurried that process up.

Hearing you coming back he quickly opened the right app even though he now had no actual intention to progress you.

"I am back!" you smiled plopping down with some cut fruit.

"No shit," he mused causing you to roll your eyes with a smile. His brain itching to do something now, an idea popped in seeing you eat the fruit.

Taking a piece of strawberry he held it up to your lips, you unknowingly smiled and took the fruit into your mouth. His breathing accelerated. Waiting a few minutes before he took another piece, he at first popped a piece into his mouth then grabbing another to hold it up again. You took the piece but a muffled sound of surprise came out with it when san shoved his fingers inside a bit.

Looking at him wide eyed and confused you met his which looked at you intensely. You didn't even have a chance to stop yourself before you started to suck his fingers.

"Fuck," he mumbled his gaze going a bit hazy at seeing you like this.

After sucking on his fingers for a moment you let go with a pop.

"You should really let me read more of those stories Y/N," him saying that is what made it all hit.

"Wait- oh shit," you mumbled before he took your jaw in one of his hands squishing your mouth open. The other holding another piece and pressing it to your tongue.

"I would've known sooner just how pretty you think my hands are dear."

Mingi:

Mingi could feel his face turn red, not suspecting is seemingly soft tasted girlfriend to read stuff like this. He was just trying to help! You were busy cooking dinner and asked him to send a text back to your friend, forgetting what you were last doing.

He gulped and set down your phone once sending the message. He wanted to talk about it but he had no clue how to bring it up. Once seated eating dinner you could feel the energy was off since earlier he was in such a great mood. You chose to ask about it after the meal not wanting to have an awkward dinner.

Washing the dishes you didn't feel Mingi approach from behind until he wrapped his hands around your waist.

"Hm? What's up baby?" You hummed softly with a smile.

"Can you do the dishes later...I need to talk to you about something," He set his chin on your shoulder and you could just hear a slight pout in his voice.

Drying off your hands you turned around to look at him, "what's up Mingi?"

He leaned up and took a deep breathe making you a bit worried.

"I- um fuck- Y/N I saw whats on your phone," he hesitated before just ripping off the bandaid.

Your face instantly dropped mumbling a small "ah fuck"

You stayed silent with his hands sitting on your waist. You looked at him before speaking, "Gi, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Do you want to talk about how you feel about seeing it? I'm sure you're pissed."

He tilted his head questioningly at the end, "What no- I mean, like yeah it could be weird but you're reading about me so I don't see an issue, at least as of now."

You we're now pretty puzzled, a bit tongue tied. If you remembered right, the work you had been reading was well pretty aggressive so you were sure Mingi would be weirded out. He was a soft guy and you guys experimented occasionally but nothing that far.

Being able to tell you got in your head he spoke again, "I liked it. I...liked it Y/N."

Looking back at him, his hands tightened on your waist and he moved closer so your lips brushed each others.

"Please- Fuck, can we try it?"

wooyoung:

"Y/N! Can I use your phone for a second?" Wooyoung whined laying on the bed while you we're folding laundry. He wanted attention but you had chores to do.

"Why?" You looked at him weird, knowing he was up to something.

"You'll see," he smiled, just wanting to take selfies on your phone but opened it to a book of sorts.

Curiosity got the best of him as he skimmed the page, a faint blush creeping up his neck. You guys had done a lot but something in him was set off, a smile creeping up his lips.

"Pervert," He spoke deadpanned up at you making you frown before it clicked.

"Wooyoung."

"Y/N."

A moment passed before suddenly he popped up, grabbing your hair and forcing your face into the bed. A giggle sounded from behind you as he leaned down to talk into your ear, "You read stuff like that? You're that horny for just me that you read that kind of shit? Lord your fucking head over heels for me."

"Shut the fuck up-" Your voice got cut off as he lifted you up by your hair, a hand wrapping around your throat making your mind flutter.

"Say that one more time and I'll fuck your face until you pass out like that little book dear."

Jongho:

It was supposed to be a night filled with movies, snacks, giggles and cuddles but your bladder decided to change the trajectory of the night. Excusing yourself to the bathroom you left your phone on the table faced up, not remembering that you left your tumblr notifications on around someone. The phone pinged three times in a row, making Jongho curious to which he glanced over at it.

'c. j 10:15

strength kink'

"What," he said outloud.

Clicking on the notification he began to read the work, blushing at it and embarrassed that he..liked it. Licking his lips he looked around a bit flustered.

When he heard the bathroom door shut he quickly set your phone back down, trying to not awkwardly sit there. You came back like nothing was wrong, cuddling into his side continuing to watch the film.

This is where a few days passed, each day driving Jongho more and more up the wall. Hiding in the bathroom at the studio just to get off without the chance of being caught, at least by you. Scenarios spinning in his head constantly making him want to do anything and everything at once.

When he got home that day you weren't there, his need skyrocketing to the moon. He quickly made it to your bed room and moved to the bed taking off his shirt in the process. He searched around frantically for anything of yours, spotting a t-shirt a few feet away. He pulled down his sweats letting his member spring free, bringing the shirt up to his face to inhale your scent and began to jerk off.

You on the other hand just had your friend drop you off, you jumping up the stairs excited to bring home some pastries to your boyfriend. Coming inside you quickly slipped off your shoes and looked around for him. Seeing he wasn't in the living room you headed towards your bedroom asumming he was there. Opening the door to a sight to see, Jongho jerking himself off while smelling your shirt.

You stood there silent until he opened his eyes, him now being in such a deep mindspace he didn't even seem phased. Slipping his pants back up he waltzed over to you and stood there staring at you.

"I've been going fucking insane, Y/N," he spoke getting closer, shutting the door behind you.

"What do you mean baby?" You asked softly at him. He smiled a bit and lifted a hand to your shoulder making you inhale.

"Your little fucking stories Y/N."

You looked at him wide eyed, thinking you might know which one he saw. "Jo- Fuck I'm sorry, oh god," you began to frantically apologize.

That was when he picked you up and held you up against the wall with one arm, the other hand sitting lazily around your neck.

"No. No. You've been driving me crazy in a good way. Now let me fuck you against this wall unless you want me cumming in your t-shirt."

#ateez reactions #ateez scenarios #ateez smut #choi san smut #san smut #song mingi smut #mingi smut #jung wooyoung smut #wooyoung smut #choi jongho smut #jongho smut

[angeli-marco-writes]

Sherlock Holmes - Kiss Me, Mr Detective

A/N - Season 1!Sherlock, the cutie. And friends to lovers. Two of my favourite things. I do not own Sherlock Holmes, the character, the universe, the adaptations or anything: this is a work of fiction set on the BBC adaptation of Sherlock. Did I still write 8.2k words (exactly) for it? Yes. I also don’t own the song or the lyrics used within, and if you fancy it, listen to ‘Kiss Me’ by Ed Sheeran while reading.

Warnings - Bad language. Mentions of murder and drug usage. Mild angst. Smut, loss of virginity, masturbation, oral m receiving, penetration, unprotected sex, so 18+.

Summary - After a fight with John leaves Sherlock feeling particularly down, he calls on the one person who is always there to support him. Only tonight, it’s different. Feelings come to a head, exploration ensues, but is this just a one time thing? That depends on whether she stays the night...

TO SHERLOCK, it’s just another normal day, whereas to John? He’d rather not admit how regularly these awful days roll around. Sure, the case didn’t go as well as it could’ve, and Sherlock admittedly could’ve made much more of an effort to comfort John after the apparent ‘heartbreak’ he endured. He just could not understand it. Why the hell was John so emotionally responsive to a case they’d been on for less than twenty four hours which turned out to be a bust anyway? 

“You are absolutely unbelievable!” 

“People die every day, John. You’ve killed people, as have I. It isn’t that great a surprise.” Sherlock deadpans, picking up his teacup, raising it to his lips, drawing a long sip from the warm liquid. 

“Oh, yeah, of course. The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.” John mocks. “Do you not even care that people are still dead despite the fact you solved the case?”

“They’d be dead either way,” he reiterates, “at least we got to them before they completely decomposed. Will me caring about them stop them from being dead? No, Dr Watson, it will not.”

“Sherlock!”

“John!” He mimics. 

John slams his hands down on the desk, shaking the wood and everything resting on it, surely sending the vibrations through the floor and notifying Mrs Hudson of their ‘domestic’ as she so likes to call them. The buffalo even begins to swing. John’s tea is long forgotten, but Sherlock’s is keeping him grounded, calm, as John waggles his fist in Sherlock’s passive, blank face. 

“You-” he pauses, gulping down breath. “You are a fucking machine, I can’t even deal with you right now. How dare you be so cold hearted and untroubled by this. You’re a disgrace.”

As if he hasn’t heard that one before, Sherlock scoffs. 

Placing his teacup back down with a clink, he stands, the darkness of the night, of the room, closing in on them both. Nights like these really are danger nights, any night John leaves him. That’s what's coming next, but there isn’t a thing he knows to say or do to prevent the inevitable. He’ll simply just text Her instead, she’ll keep him grounded. 

“Why? Emotional context? Emotion, whether of ridicule, anger, or sorrow, whether raised at a puppet show, a funeral, or a battle, is your grandest of levellers. The man who would be always superior should be always apathetic.” 

With a huff like a bull, John viciously turns on his heel, blaspheming under his breath, cursing Sherlock out. He reaches for his coat and snatches it off the stand, slamming the door open. 

“MACHINE.” John screams before pulling the door shut with a great slam, seething, the coat stand still rocking in his wake. 

John’s footsteps thunder down the stairs, but before he’s even gone, Sherlock’s phone is withdrawn, and he’s tapping out a message.

Can you come over? Please? SH

It wouldn’t usually bother him as much. The case didn’t phase him, at all, but John’s opinion did. It always does. But today was a particularly long day of being brutish and rude, cold and distant, his usual and true self, but John’s more and more impatient with him now. 

Being called a ‘machine’ is, again, nothing unusual, but this time it stings a little more than usual, especially after his recent arrest, and a fallout with Molly. He only has one person left, right now, who doesn’t hate him. His longest friend, the one he keeps away from it all so as to not tarnish her life with his misdeeds; Y/N, the one he can always rely on.

He knows she’s arrived by the sound of his window crashing open. Crawling up the bricks, skimming the drainpipe, latching onto the ivy; it’s her usual manner of entry. She never uses the door. 

Putting his cups and saucers into the sink, he makes his way through the house, opening his bedroom door to find her already sitting there on the bed, her coat hung up on the hook, her work clothes clinging to her body. 

“Hey there Mr Detective, you okay?” she asks as jovially as she can muster.

The way he ambles across the room, his dressing gown floating behind him, and slumps down onto the bed, instantly tells her he’s not okay at all. She can’t help but to look upon him sympathetically, edging a smidge closer to him, until he’s prompted enough to wrap his arms around her torso, finding his rightful place tangled around her. She knows him well enough - his past, and his current life - to realise she’s the only person he’s ever felt comfortable enough around to do this with, and that brings her a certain swelling pride in her bosom, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Sherlock as he feels her skin heat up against his cheek. 

It doesn’t take long, either, for his head to follow suit, burying into her chest. He’s always, always had a thing for her boobs, ever since they were in uni together. 

That’s something so special about the two of them, he doesn’t have to say anything for her to know he’s not okay the way he does with everyone else. And naturally, he can read everything about her in a split second.

“I’m here, bud.”

Above all else, he just needs to know someone is there for him in moments like these. The world is cruel to him, and Y/N wishes more than anything that it wasn’t. Upon instinct, her hands stray, one to his back, pressing against the silk of his dressing gown, the other cradling his long neck, fingers knotting in the dark curls there. 

She isn’t sure how long she stays there, simply holding him, feeling every twitch of his muscles, every breath of his against her skin, but she likes it. Of course she does, every time she likes it. Sherlock brings her an inordinate amount of comfort at the best of times, today is no exception, especially with what the day has held. Even when she’s the one comforting him, he doesn’t realise how much he helps her too. 

His flat is so familiar, his bed as comfortable as her own. She knows his sock index, she’s studied his periodic table over his shoulder more times than she’d care to admit, and she even has her own toothbrush in the bathroom in case she has to pop over for an emergency freshen up. Sherlock has, and always will be, her first port of call, and that she remembers as she shifts further onto the quilted bedspread, her phone on his oak bedside locker. 

His head begins to stir against her chest, his curls tickling her collarbones, small hums escaping his lips as he pushes himself up, his elegant yet trembling hands still splayed on her waist.

“I could feel your heart beating weirdly, what’s wrong?” he asks, quirking his eyebrows. 

“Just the usual.” she vaguely replies.

Sherlock isn’t having it, though, and scans her a little more. “You’re still in your work clothes.”

“Great deduction. I was hoping you’d go a little deeper, though.”

“You hate wearing work clothes longer than necessary, which means you had plans straight after work, considering you finished… five hours ago? That’s your usual time for today. Counting overtime, forty five minutes, walk to your car, another ten, but your umbrella wasn’t working, round that up to an hour, leaving at 6. You arrived home, no, not home, at your boyfriend’s house for dinner. However, you’re not comfortable enough with one another yet for you to use his shower, or perhaps you are, but you elected not to, and stay in damp clothes that only had seventeen minutes to dry with the heater on in your car for the journey there. You ate dinner, Mexican, had a glass and a half of five percent wine, realised you couldn’t drive, but you didn’t particularly want to stay. Nonetheless you sat and watched the telly with him for hours, football, I can see the dreariness in your eyes. I know how much you hate it, and frankly, same. You stayed for almost all of the match, seeing as you’re now sober, but something else happened.” She lulls her head to the side, prompting him, her smile not meeting her eyes. “As soon as the match ended, he tried to make a move on you, he pressed his mouth to yours, he tried to push his hand up your skirt;” his throat bobs with a vicious gulp; despising the thought of anyone else laying a finger on her, “you swatted him away, rightfully so.” 

He pauses a minute, his harsh tone of voice and his sharp face softening. He can see the vulnerability in her eyes, her walls about to crumble. This woman he appreciates so much. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Smiling melancholically up at him, she brings her hand back to his hair, her fingers carding through the soft curls. His face buries back into her chest just as her voice offers a broken whisper, “I broke it off. I was the one who couldn’t commit this time.” 

And as she lays her head on top of his, her breathing more shallow, resounding in her chest, he dwells over those very words. The way she said them, not to mention the words themselves, hold a myriad of meaning. What could she possibly-

Oh.

The subtext, yes, impeccable. She’s always had a way with implications and subtext, always knowing that the likelihood of him actually picking up on it is little to none. But now, now he’s become trained to her, her way of life, her way of thinking, her way of speaking. This is too good an opportunity to miss. If she means what he thinks she means, ever hopeful, then this is completely unfamiliar territory. 

Gathering all of his courage in one deep breath, he begins to pepper kisses on her skin. The faintest brush of his lips on the tops of her breasts, all that’s available to him with her shirt the way it is. He feels her heart flutter, her breathing stutter, but despite the chemical flush of her chest, he still isn’t quite sure she likes it. Not until he feels her grip on his hair increase, and he glances up to see her head thrown back. Her spine delicately arches against his hand, thrusting her chest further into his face. 

His nimble fingers reach for her buttons, undoing the top two, giving him space enough to find the valley between her breasts. Lathering kisses there, licking the swells of her boobs, his tongue pulsates with the increased thrumming of her heart. The sensation is new, so unbridled, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with the stirring in his loins right about now. That unknowing is only further amplified by the sound that rips from her chest when he involuntarily bites down on the supple flesh. It couldn’t be… a moan?

Sure, he understands the chemistry of it, the reactions that occur in the synapses of the brain, the pheromones and hormones released when one is aroused, but this is all new to him. And, from his embarrassingly basic level of theory, surely that doesn’t start until some more stimulation on other parts of the body commence? Nipples, perhaps something lower down… then again, what does Sherlock know?

Of course it’s an intimate moment, the closest he’s been to a woman before, and maybe that’s why he freezes, stops, and she tugs his head up by his hair, her gentle, pleasured smile with her lips softly parted deepening the look of bewilderment painted onto his face. Her eyes are twinkling, alight with an excitement he hasn’t seen for far too long. 

“What are you doing?” she whispers. 

He shrugs his shoulders with a sudden force, his dressing gown falling off a little. “I don’t know. But now I feel like I read your pining words all wrong.” 

She gasps, a wheezing sound, sucking the air from the room. She smacks his arm gently, muffled by his button-down and dressing gown. “I wasn’t pining! I was saying.”

“Hmm, same difference.” 

Everyone must acquiesce when it comes to Sherlock Holmes. “But no, you didn’t read them wrong at all, but I know you don’t see me that way, you don’t feel things that way.” 

He pauses, his beautiful plump lips pursed, fidgeting on the bed. Brushing her hair off her face reveals the pain she expressed. However, her eyes glued on his, sadness is betrayed in every line of his young, clean-shaven face. His entire bone structure is taking a nosedive. 

“For you, I’ve been feeling everything from hate to love to lust, and I guess that’s how I know I want to hold you close.”

“Sherlock...” she whispers, her singular word an inflection of surprise. 

Never tearing his eyes from her, his hand comes up to her cheek, rubbing his thumb over the slightly blushing skin, searching her face, with his big blue eyes, for a shred of reluctance. But, all he sees is her, so he elects to do what his heart is yelling at him to do for once, and kisses her breathless. His full lips holding hers, his one hand on her face, the other still wrapped around her back. Hers fly around his neck, clinging to him for dear life.

It doesn’t take long, their movements steadily heating, for their previously slow, intimate kiss to grow into something more, Y/N pulling herself up from the bed and making herself comfortable on Sherlock’s lap. His breath hitches in his throat, a cute little hiccupping sound escaping his lips in between embraces. 

As much as he loves just this, soft caressing and gentle petting, he just knows she wants more. He does too, that much is evident from the length prodding at Y/N’s inner thigh as she moves gently on his lap. She won’t make a move, though, he’s too inexperienced, and she’s too much of a sweetheart to corrupt him, so she thinks. Ever since he first saw her, she’s been corrupting him slowly. He didn’t realise at first, but over the years, he began to understand, and now he’s in too deep. 

For Y/N? It’s always been him. Every breakup she’s had, she’ll come to Sherlock’s flat, full well knowing the real reason she broke up with them, because she couldn’t commit, because she was too caught up on him. 

Skimming his hands beneath her shirt, he savours the press of his hands on her bare skin, warmth seeping from her body into his, his fingers dancing along her spine. Electricity shocks her in bursts, unlike anything else, from his touch alone. 

“May I take your shirt off?” he asks. 

“Fuck, yes.” she groans. “May I do yours?”

“Be my guest.”

In a tangle of limbs, a few buttons pop off, and eventually, two shirts make it out the other side, tossed from the bed and into the laundry pile. Aka Sherlock’s floor. He’s like that: sock indexes, yet he won’t get a hamper. A walking contrast.

His thumbs press beneath the band of her bra, savouring the pressure of the flesh that falls into his hands, but that’s as far as he gets. 

“Never undone a bra before?”

He shakes his head sheepishly. “I know the theory. Just… you always wear peculiar ones.”

“I wear relatively normal bras, and this one is certainly bog standard. Had I known you’d be undressing me Mr Detective, I’d have worn something nicer.”

“Just do it for me.” He requests, chuckling. 

She unfastens her bra, and allows her breasts to spill from the cups, into Sherlock’s awaiting hands. The gasp that erupts from him sends Y/N’s brain into overdrive. He’s cupped her chest through her shirt before, buried his nose into her cleavage countless times, but never before have they had such skin on skin contact. Her lips press to his neck, shifting her closer to him. Sucking on his pressure point, she receives a similar gasp in response, only this one is more guttural, more a sound of pleasure than surprise. He’s wilting from a single kiss to his neck. 

“Has no one ever given you a hickey?” She husks in his ear, her voice alone sending tremors down his spine. 

“N- fuck, no.”

“I’ll make it worth it. All of this.”

“I know you will.”

She fuses her lips onto his again, savouring the faint hesitations as he grapples with his breath, eager to get some control on his mind with all that’s happening. Never did she ever think Sherlock would be here beneath her, his rough fingertips brushing over her peaked buds, and his palms dancing over her waist. Never did she think she’d hear him whisper his next words, either, not in a million years. 

“More.” he pleads. “Can we do… more? Whatever that entails?”

“That depends what you want to do.”

“Get me out of these damn trousers. They're rather uncomfortable.”

She snorts lightly, a piggy like sound, the one they bonded over all those years ago. “I can feel why.”

“I imagine you want out of your work trousers, too.”

“God, yes; they’re ghastly.”

“I don’t think so.” he hums. “You look nice.”

Her cheeks begin to burn, blood rushing to colour them, betraying her true feelings, but as he tweaks her nose playfully, the little snort escapes again. 

They were in the dining hall, second week of university, almost ten years ago, and Y/N was sitting with her friends, downing enough coffee to sink a ship, eating her hangover away, when her friends decided to make her laugh with tales of last night's drunken events. Unbeknownst to her, one of the greatest minds of the twenty-first century was sitting just a few seats down on the half-empty bench, watching her perceptively in his periphery. That’s when he first heard the sound. The cutest thing, and it startled him into action, beginning his deductions almost instantly. Admittedly, her student ID on the table aided him a little. 

He shocked her from her haze, too, as soon as he spoke her name. 

“Y/N, eighteen, jurisprudence first year, freshers week over with. You left a boyfriend back home, but you’re more sad about leaving your dog, as I would be. You don’t particularly care about law but know it’s a good undergraduate to receive anyway. Dyed hair, extrovert, killer hangover, and apparently there’s a little piggy living inside your nose. Sherlock Holmes, would you like some aspirin?”

“That’s weird; what are you, some kind of detective?” She asked, sans malice, a playful bounce to her words. 

“Chemistry, going for a masters. But I do like the mystery, yes.”

“So you’re… bright. Nice to meet you, Sherlock, and it seems you know almost everything you need to know about me. But yes, I will take that aspirin, if you don’t mind. How was your weekend?”

He smiled at her, the first true smile he’d given in a long time. “It was nice, thank you.”

And thus a friendship was born, all because he heard her little piggy snort. 

Her slender fingers work wonders with the fastener and zip of his suit trousers, and even manage hers too, all within the space of a few seconds, but Sherlock is reluctant to let her go, even just to get her trousers off. 

“I need to sit up, just for a minute.”

“No.” Sherlock commands, insistent. “We can make this work.”

“Sure we can, but it won’t be very comfortable. Come on.”

She’s barely peeled away from him and wrestled hers off before he’s drawing her back in for a kiss, his trousers settled just above his knees. 

“Sherlock,” she protests, mumbling against his lips, her hands on his heavenly, broad, muscular shoulders. “Sher!”

Her squeal at his sudden tug on her panties disappears, captured by his eager mouth. And in fact, her panties seem to disappear along with it, thanks to Sherlock’s swift movements and nimble hands. Maybe he’s had some experience to be so good at this…

“You sure you wanna go this far?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been. I need you.” 

He takes a deep inhale, dropping his forehead against hers, his breathing coming out in bursts as he tries to get a grasp on the situation. “Kiss me.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice, instantly getting to work on the waistband of his boxers as his tongue lavishes her own. His hips rise briefly, just long enough for her to tug the elasticated material from around him, slipping past her, and then he kicks it into their growing pile of clothes. His length falls into her awaiting palm, and-

“Wow.” She exhales in amazement. “If I’d known you were packing this much, I’d have jumped you long ago.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Absolutely not, until tonight I thought you’d just laugh at me.”

He pecks her lips affectionately, “Never. You’re bloody beautiful, I’ll let you do anything to me.”

“Hmm, anything, you say?”

Stifling a chuckle against her neck, he recommences, “Maybe not anything.”

Yeah, that's definitely the right call. Still, she finds herself all but clawing at him, her breath hovering teasingly just over his lips, their noses touching, her hands clamped to his cheeks, feeling the building heat there. She must be making such a mess of his bed right about now, but for one night? It can’t matter.

This is a one time thing, it has to be. Sherlock just needs to release some tension, she just so happens to be there. Still, she can’t prevent the little glimmer of hope shining through at the possibility of this being a more-than-one-time thing. The moral compunctions of their friendship after this don’t matter anymore, because he’s leaving a fire in his wake, his delicious fingertips digging bruisingly into her bum before trailing lightly up her spine, skimming her shoulder, brushing her neck - arched for him to reach where he wants, able to mark her as his own - and finally slipping over her lips, taken obediently by her awaiting mouth. Christ, if there’s one thing she hopes for tonight, it’s that his actions never relent.

Whether it’s what he intends to happen or not, his fingers in her mouth give her an idea, one she prays he goes along with at least a little, so she pulls away. The dirty, telling smile on her face hints at what she’s about to do, lending Sherlock to shift a little more up the bed, his eyes following her every move. Hands splayed on his thighs, her small fingers gripping onto the fine hairs there, she begins to take his tip into her mouth, never once breaking eye contact with him. Yeah, this is what’ll drive him insane. 

Inch by inch, she takes him into the welcoming heat of her mouth, pulling off slowly, only to go down again. She adds her tongue into the mix at some point, too, and her hand, on what she can’t reach, tickling his balls, but further than that, his mind is blank. Hot white, washed with pleasure. The sounds he emits are other worldly, so much that he has to muffle himself with his own hand; what would Mrs Hudson say? He’s always had such control over his mind and body, but this… he’s slowly losing all semblance of control, and he’s not even mad about it. What he does know is that there’s a building heat in his abdomen, a coil about to spring, and his cock is beginning to twitch. If she keeps going this incredible way, her teeth grazing him ever so gently, adding another new sensation into the mix, he’s inexorably going to finish before he can help it.

“As much as I adore your torturous ministrations, I think I need to be inside you…” He husks, his voice deep.

A smirk gracing her lips, she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, mischief glinting in her pretty little mesmerising eyes for a second, before she hollows her cheeks and takes him wholly, allowing his length to slip partially down her throat. Her moan reverberates around him, and Sherlock begins to thrash above her, scrunching the duvet in his hands, not caring if it creases. If there’s one thing Sherlock hates, it’s creases. And being called a machine by his best friend. Right now, though, it seems as though every misstep in his day has led him here, into the welcoming heat of Y/N’s mouth, taking him so eagerly, her tongue lapping at the vein on the underside of his dick, a string of saliva remaining as she pulls away. 

“I think you’ve got a couple of rounds in you, Mr Detective. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes.” He stammers, his head tossed back in pure ecstasy a moment later as she begins to work on the head with kitten licks. “But… can I s- fuck me, say something?”

“I plan on it.” she chuckles, “anything.”

She goes back to peppering kisses all over his member, tip to base, brushing his balls, working her way back up. 

“Touch yourself f- for me.”

“What? Why?” 

Her tone is more inquisitive than anything else, but upon that playfully rueful look in his lust-darkened baby blue eyes, she knows he’s going to get her back for this little display, and he’s just worked out how. It works both ways, she can prepare herself for what’s to come next while pleasuring him. And he gets to watch. It’s a win-win for him. Maybe he likes this sex thing a little more than he’s letting on. 

“Are you sure you want me to? I’ll just make a mess on your sheets, Sher.”

She swallows him again, bobbing her head up and down on his length a few times while he grapples with literal reality. He’s teetering on the edge. One more move, and he’s a goner. His head is already against the wall, lolled there. 

“I don’t care about the sheets, darling, I need you ready for me.”

She gulps, nods, and reaches one hand around her, skimming over her stomach, until it nestles between her thighs. She rubs her thumb over his tip, collecting the pre-come beading there, while she rubs over her throbbing pearl, pressing softly. Then, as she inches down on his cock, taking him in her mouth, she also collects the slick from between her thighs, and uses it as a lube to push a finger inside herself. Of all the times she’s touched herself, she never imagined, even in her wild Sherlock fantasies, that she’d be doing it with his dick down her throat. With every bob of her head, she scissors herself more, sinking back onto her fingers. 

“I think I’m-” Sherlock begins to say, his words cut off by an utterly obscene moan splitting the air. 

She hastily abandons her one post, and wraps both of her hands around his girth, working on what she can’t fit into her mouth with her increased speed, licking and suckling his head as he begins to fall apart, coming, with a scream, down her throat, his one hand clamped over his mouth, biting down harshly to silence his cries; the other buried in her hair. 

His whole body falls lax, completely spent, meanwhile, Y/N savours every drop she’s been able to draw from him. He softens in her mouth, allowing her change to slip away from him, grasping a tissue from the bedside to wipe away any excess. That’s certainly something she never thought would happen… 

He’s calm, though, smiling lazily through hooded eyes, his breathing regulated once more, making beckoning motions to her with his big hands. He’s placated, though, and sliding her hands into his, she’s allowed time enough to get into place, smiling softly at him, raking her fingers over his scalp in a comforting way. Even as she sits herself on his lap, she can feel him hardening beneath her ass, slowly but surely. She was right about him, he’s definitely got another round in him. 

“Do you have a condom?” he asks. 

“No, sweetheart, they’re in my other bag. I didn’t plan on getting any for a while… do you?”

“Not in here, that I’m aware of. John may have stashed some in my less favoured dressing gowns or socks, and he definitely has some upstairs, but I’m unawares.”

“I’m gonna sound crazy here, but do we need one?” She says hesitantly. His eyes widen, he cocks his head to the side. “I was tested after my last partner, I’m clean, and on birth control. You’re a virgin. There’s no point, is there?”

“You have a considerably good point.”

With that, energy rejuvenated a little, he wraps an arm around her body, flipping them over so he’s on top, shadowing her, looming over her, gazing down at every inch of her naked beauty.

“Take your time. I’ll be your safety.”

“I know.” he whispers, a tearful smile making its way onto her face. “Thank you.”

He needn’t say more, because she already knows why she’s being thanked. For her kindness, for making him so comfortable, for accepting the fact he’s still a virgin in his late twenties and, if he’s being honest, has no damn clue what the practicality and reality of sex is. Sure, he’s seen porn. He’s also looked at John’s laptop. But that doesn’t prepare one for when the moment comes. It’s like all of that goes out the window, and he simply remembers the first time he opened a biology textbook at secondary school, pictures of flushed organs staring back at him, desperately waiting to be relieved. That’s what his own coock is like right now, already hard again, virtually pulsating with hunger in his palm. He strokes himself a couple of times, glancing down at Y/N’s wide eyes.

“Are you okay? Can I…”

“Yes, Sherlock,” she chuckles, “whenever you’re ready.”

Now, he thinks. He rubs two digits through her folds, gathering her wetness, enamoured with the way it glistens on his fingertips. Tentatively, he brings his fingers up to his mouth, swirling his tongue around them to get a taste. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, he moans. She’s better than any cup of tea he’s ever had. 

His cock slaps against his lower stomach pleadingly, so he grasps it in his hand, and begins to enter her, pushing gently, feeling every flutter of her walls. Her arms fly out, hands grasping his shoulders, nails leaving crescent moons in their wake at the delicious stretch. It’s nothing like they’ve ever felt before. 

“Can I move?” He asks, balls deep inside her, their pelvises flush against one another. 

“Please.” She all but begs. 

Before doing anything else, Sherlock hooks one strong arm around her body, malleable in his hands, and holds her chest against his. Her breasts push into his skin, her nipples gaining friction from the dusting of hair there. Her one hand cups his slender neck, the other, his sharp cheek. Their eyes meet in a fierce gaze of burning intensity, and he begins to move. Slow, calculated, sharp thrusts punctuate her core. With every heavenly stroke, he can feel the ridges in her velvet walls, squeezing around him unwittingly.

“Jesus,” she cries, her clutch increasing. 

“Hmm, not quite.”

The smirk in his words is quite literally audible. He’s so cocky, so full of himself, and fuck if she can’t feel another gush of arousal coursing through her, drenching his cock. How does he manage to be so attractive when he’s so dishevelled?

“Is that good?” He asks, unsure.

“So good.”

She brings her legs up, skimming the clenched backs of his thighs, until they wrap around him, drawing his hips into her at a new and improved angle. Heels digging into the base of his spine, he begins to move with a new purpose, his thrusts more passionate as his breath is drained from him by her kisses, his eyes alight with a new flame. 

“Oh my God, Sherlock.” She pants, pulling him in for a kiss he greedily returns. 

He drives his hips deeper, squeezing his fingertips into her supple waist bruisingly. It’ll be a mark that she belonged to him once, even just for one night. That’s when he reaches that special spongy spot that makes her entire body buckle. She all but screams, pressing into him wholly. 

The coil is building, ready to break. He seems to be nearing the edge, too, his member twitching inside her when he buries himself particularly deep. She’s oh so fucking close… She licks into his mouth filthily, desperately clashing her teeth with his, eager for his kisses to tide her over. Silence her. Shifting his supporting hand, he trails one dextrous finger around to circle her clit, adding the faintest pressure for a moment. She mewls as he groans into her hot skin, clawing at him, entirely at his whim. Now he knows where to press, he settled his grip back around her, and draws her in close. This time around, he bends his knees a little more to measure his movements more carefully, ensuring that he ruts up and brushes her sensitive bud with his pelvis, helped by the extra friction of his neatly trimmed pubic hair on every thrust within her, his tip just scraping her g-spot.

“I- Sherlock, please tell me you’re- oh sweet mercy- close.”

He grunts softly in her ear. “So close.”

Their lips meet tenderly, passionately, in what they acknowledge to be a final kiss, moans mixing between them, savoured by the other. 

His thighs clench, her legs tighten around his waist, and finally, her sweet walls flutter, squeezing him as she reaches her climax, his not following long after, spilling inside her, painting her soft walls white, marking her. 

“Y/N,” he cries in ecstasy as his orgasm reaches him. “Sher…” she repeats, her saving grace as pleasure washes over her entirely. 

Their whole bodies wind up pressed together, bound together as one, skin on skin completely, becoming one another. 

He lets her down gently, unravelling his grip, unsurprised when their sweaty skin sticks together. Her long legs unfurl, splaying in a butterfly. Sherlock tumbles ungracefully away, somehow landing with a certain gangly elegance on the space of mattress beside her, his arm instinctively flying over to place on her stomach, the skin hot and flushed red. Her chest moves hastily up and down with the thrumming of her heart, while his barely shifts despite his shallow breaths, his white skin glistening in the moonlight. 

“Are you okay?” He huffs, turning on his side. “You look pretty fucked out.”

His baby blue eyes train instantly on her nipples, hard in the open air. This is the first notifier, the first inkling she has to feel self conscious, so she draws the sheet up around her as best as she can. Sherlock’s not having any of it, taking a stronghold on her arms, and pulling her until she’s lying on him, naught to separate them. 

“I’ve never been this close to anyone physically and y'know.” He hums tiredly. She’s never heard him sound tired before… 

She smiles up at him as best she can, “Are you glad?” 

He begins to hold her ever closer, squeezing her tighter, feeling every ridge of her body. 

“I’m so glad that you were my first, in so many ways.” 

Praise from Sherlock is a rarity, and she’ll take it as and when she can, savouring every moment, this time by holding him like a koala, her grip not wavering. 

“I’m glad too, Mr Detective.”

He brushes a kiss to her cheek, “As much as I like this, we need to get you cleaned up.” 

A supporting arm beneath her bum, he picks her up, and unsteadily ambles into the bathroom. 

“I don’t know much about this, but I know you should probably use the toilet, should you want to avoid a UTI, so if you’d like me to leave…”

He sets her down on the loo seat, cupping his hands over his nether regions, and he hurries to grasp for things, until she puts her hand on his arm, squeezing in a conciliatory manner. 

“You do remember the camping trip, don’t you? You really don’t have to leave just because I have to pee, you never did before. In fact, you frequently annoyed me with it if you had a particular point to make, steadfastly refusing to leave the bathroom after following me in there when I went to pee. Why does this change anything?”

He shrugs, dropping whatever was in his arms, “It just doesn’t feel the same now, though.”

“Ooo, and now Mr Detective feels things.” She jokes, poking at his ribs. 

He recoils, chuckling with her, “Only for you.”

As Y/N washes her hand, Sherlock begins to wrangle with a floorboard, clattering about until he eventually pulls out a small lock box, from which he withdraws a packet of brand new marks-and-spencer's ladies briefs. 

“Why the fuck do you have these? Anything you wanna tell me?” she asks, eyes wide.

“John’s idea. He has plenty of girls over here who frequently stay the night, simply a precautionary error.” He takes a beat, gargling with some mouthwash, “they’re clean, new, I just don’t like the idea of you in dirty underwear, and I know how reluctant you are to go without them whenever you’re not in your own bed. I stayed with you enough nights in university to know that.”

Those nights were awfully painful. She’d take the floor, he’d take the bed, and every time she’d have to wash the sheets. He’d sweat and vomit, shake and cry, plead for the pain to be over. He wouldn’t go to hospital, he wouldn’t call his brother, he’d just turn up on her doorstep, high as a kite, almost in tears, knowing he’d gone a little too far. And each time, it was a little farther. 

“Thank you, Sherlock.” 

She takes them from him, and begins to shimmy them up her legs, only prevented by Sherlock moving to grab a handful of her arse. 

“Hmm, I like this. Fancy another round?” He smirks. 

“I’m too tired, babe. Give me a bit.” 

He can see the lazy smile on her face, the tiredness in her pretty eyes, so he wets a flannel, and begins to clean her up with gentle movements between tender kisses.

“How do you know how to do all of this?” She asks, inquisitive more than anything. 

“Instinct, I suppose. I never read or learned about it, seeing as I never thought it would happen.” 

She snaps the waistband before moving her hands to his waist, leaning up onto her toes to reach him, kissing her softly. 

“Look at you now.”

After brushing their teeth in an amicable silence, their pinky fingers overlapping on the porcelain of the sink, he aids her back to the bedroom, settling her on the bed. She has things here: deodorant, toothbrush, moisturiser, and yet somehow she doesn’t have underwear, even after all these years. Perhaps that's one too many things to explain… 

With superfluous extravagance, he throws her his shirt, offering her a wry wink. She finds a blush clawing its way onto her cheeks, dumbfounded. It smells like him, just like a forest glade if it was rained on by tea and cigarettes. Maybe he’ll let her keep it as a memory.

In such a short amount of time, she’s learnt that he has a very sensitive neck. Very. A single kiss there has him biting back a moan. A low one at that, considering his deep voice also drops almost an octave when he’s aroused. His nipples are almost as sensitive as his neck, and he rather likes it when she tugs on them unwittingly. 

His first orgasm comes quickly, but his refractory period is astonishing, and it takes longer to achieve a second high, long enough to make her come more than once, she assumes, though her first orgasm was mind blowing enough for two. Perhaps that’s just because it’s his first time, but it’s impressive nonetheless.

What’s the point in learning all of this if, once he comes around from his post-orgasmic haze, he’ll pretend like it never happened, in typical Sherlock style?

The shirt, though a small gesture, means a lot, and her vision begins to cloud as she looks down at the black cotton. 

“You mean you want me to stay?” She croaks.

Sherlock turns to her from his set of drawers, his face full of apparent obviousness, brows furrowed in that cute bewildered way. 

“Of course I want you to stay.” He states, like it’s the plainest thing in the world, like it’s stupid for her to even ask. But she’s silent, and when she says nothing in response, he launches into a long winded explanation: don’t show sentiment. “I- I just mean, i-it’s midnight, I’m not having you out in London alone. You stay with me. Only if you want to as well...” 

She nods eagerly, “Yes. Yeah, course I want to stay.”

He all but leaps access the room, jumping onto the bed, before planting a proper smooch on her lips, grinning down at her. He slips into his usual side of the bed, and she takes hers, rolling to look at him.

“Don’t get cold.” He warns, tucking the duvet up around her shoulders. She giggles like a child, that small snort sounding again, prompting Sherlock to press his thumb to her nose like a button. “How are you… feeling?”

“I’m fine bub, really. That bloke doesn’t matter to me at all. Bit of a scumbag if I’m honest. You’re the one I’m with, the one I wanna talk about. How are you feeling? Must’ve been a pretty big blow up with John for you to call me and be so... teary.”

He sighs, crestfallen, “He called me a machine.”

Her gasp pierces the air, her hand flying to his hair, stroking in consolation, cooing senseless reassurances to him. She’s done this innumerable times, but now it feels different, like there’s no barrier. 

“He’s done it so many times that it needn’t bother me anymore, but the way he looked at me, like I was this abhorrent monster, especially after the day and the disappointing case we had, it got to me. I hate having feelings.”

“You don’t have to hide them with me, though.”

He hums gently, burying into her chest. “I know. That’s why I treasure you so dearly.”

“That means you also have to trust me, and you’re not going to like what I have to say.” His chest heaves, shifting her whole body. That’s his way of giving in. “Please just talk to John. You know that whenever he leaves, he’ll come back, and try to pretend it never happened. He needs to know you’re human and that he upset you, but also that the case upset you as well. No one’s superhuman, and once you let John in on the fact that you’re not a machine, things between you will be so much easier, because you might agree for once.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He grumbles. 

He pulls her into his warmth, hooking her leg around his as he snakes his arms around her back, breathing deeply from the crook of her shoulder. She begins to pepper kisses on his salty skin, savouring the taste with every small swipe of her tongue.

“Your heart’s against my chest, your lips pressed to my neck,” he breaks off with a faint whimper when she sucks a little harder, “I’m falling for your eyes, but they don’t know me yet.”

“Of course they do,” she whispers brokenly, hoarsely, “they’ve always known you.” She swallows thickly, “Does that mean it’s a feeling you’ll forget?”

“No, I don’t think I ever can.”

The silent words that pass between them both are so special, too special to be spoken aloud. ‘Think I’m in love now.’

“Kiss me like you wanna be loved.” He begs. 

And really, who is Y/N to deny him? They just stay that way a little while, revelling in their lazy kisses, until she begins to fall asleep. It isn’t the first time she’s fallen asleep in his bed, not by any means, but it’s the first time she’s fallen asleep in his arms. She isn’t mad about it.

“Settle down with me, cover me up, cuddle me in. You were made to keep my body warm.” She smiles into her words, and embeds herself into him, entirely covered by the duvet, spattered in his kisses, safe in his arms. Sherlock feels safe with her legs around him, her fingers in his curls, holding himself against her. Amicable silence is how they drift off, Peaceful.

John re-enters 221B at a respectable hour. He got a fair amount of sleep on Greg’s sofa, having no girlfriend in the picture right now, but not enough to deal with Sherlock just yet. Not before his coffee. He expects to see Sherlock sitting in the exact same spot as when he left, perhaps just with a refill of tea, his fingers still steepled beneath his chin, eyes closed yet wide awake. Instead, he arrives at a seemingly empty, considerably clean flat, with no Sherlock in sight. Perhaps the unsleeping man must actually be asleep, he thinks, so he quietens down, and toes off his shoes before wandering farther into the flat. Even if the man does piss him off extraordinary amounts, perhaps he should just check he’s okay…

He gives the bedroom door a quiet rap, listening in momentarily before pushing it open. Frankly, he’d rather have found Sherlock with a cigarette in hand and the whole flat torn to shreds for the level of surprise he gets upon reaching the bed. His first idea is to scream bloody murder, but that might annoy Mrs Hudson, and upon stepping closer, even in the sliver of daylight through the curtains, he sees the duvet riding down a little. The last thing in the world he ever thought he’d see: Sherlock in naught but boxers pressed against a half naked woman, his palm splayed on her bare thigh. Sherlock? Spooning? It seems so, his entire body pressed to this woman. John feels himself go rigid, his feet glued to the floor, his gaze unmoving from shock. 

It takes his phone to buzz in his pocket to get him moving, and when he does, all he tries to do is balance precariously on his tip toes in a wry attempt to get a birds-eye view of the whole thing. He’s not disappointed, or disturbed, once he does, though, his army agility proving useful. Sherlock’s hand is holding her, fingers entwined, just next to her chest. He wonders how comfortable it is, but if they’re staying this way, it can’t be too bad. Maybe all Sherlock needed to loosen up was a good shag. 

She’s wearing his shirt, too; Sherlock’s black dress shirt from the previous day. And Sherlock? He never seeps in anything less than a full set of pyjamas, he’s weird like that . 

This girl begins to stir, her lips parting gently, small hums escaping. Next, her eyelids flutter, and her hair shifts on the pillow. He didn’t make any noise, did he? John was specifically careful not to, just in case. He doesn’t fancy Sherlock’s wrath just yet. 

One eye opens, and she whispers, almost incoherently, “Hi John.”

How she knows his name and who he is, he’s not at all sure, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen this face in his life. The hair is familiar, and maybe, if she were more awake, he’d recognise her smile, but he’s never seen a woman in Sherlock’s company beside Molly Hooper. Speaking of… 

Before he can even say anything, though, before he can ask who she is or if she wants tea or if she date-raped his roommate, she’s mumbling, and detaching her hand from Sherlock’s, rolling over. Dumbfounded, John just stands there and watches her cuddle into Sherlock’s chest, her arms wrapping around his torso like second nature. Even in his sleep, not consciously thinking about his actions, he grips her back - one hand resting just above her bum, and buries his nose into her neck.

John can’t help but smile to himself. Maybe their fight was for the best if Sherlock now has a girlfriend, someone he turned to for solace. So, he grasps for the top of the duvet and pulls it up over both of their figures, reaching their shoulders, and leaves, staring wistfully for a brief moment at the seemingly happy couple. 

The weight of the duvet of what startles Sherlock, though, stirring him a little, inviting him to him against Y/N’s skin, smiling with eyes barely open. This is really nice, he thinks to himself, not waking up alone. 

She smiles back blearily, and in her morning voice, whispers to him, “Kiss me Mr Detective.”

#sherlock #sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #johnlock #sherlolly #mystrade #sherlock smut #sherlock fanfic #sherlock imagine #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes smut #william sherlock scott holmes #mycroft holmes #molly hooper #dr john watson #sherlock bbc #john watson #sherlock x oc #sherlock x reader #sherlock fluff #sherlock angst #sherlock fic

[christopher-bangnaldoskzz]

I CHOOSE YOU - 1

Minho / Seungmin x Reader Female

Genre:🌶️

Word count: 1.5k

Summary: You have just split up with your cheating EX-Boyfriend, how could you possible every fall in love again 

Trigger warning: please remember this is a fiction and the characters are just that fictional. If you are sensitive to swearing or sexual content please do not read my stories…… some of my story’s do hold scenes from kdarams Sorry in advance if you don’t like it but I though they were cute, other than that please enjoy.

You and Your best friend are producers and produce music for the kpop industry. Since high school, Alex, your best friend, has been with her boyfriend, Jake. On the other hand, you met Taehyung at an audition when you were 18 for bts. You happened to be filling in for an assistant, taehyung, and you hit it off right away. 

You met many people through taehyung like Jamie park and Lisa from black pink. You became close friends with Jamie. She was just like your soulmate. You and Alex had worked all day on a song for Got7. You were so tired that Jake dropped you home, Taehyung would usually be out, but his car was in the driveway for some reason. You got excited because that meant you got to eat dinner with your boyfriend for once.

So you walk in, WHO THE FUCK DO YOU SEE WITH HER SHIRT OFF ON TOP OF YOUR BOYFRIEND. 

You guessed it, MADDISON, the word that came out of your mouth.

Side note, Maddison was an old friend you had from high school. Maddison was, how should I put this, annoying, manipulative, and now a homewrecker.

Back to the story 

You look at him and go, "THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU…. WHY COULDNT YOU CHEAT ON ME WITH ONE OF YOUR BACKUP DANCERS… WHY MADDISON" you shook your head. It was more disgusted than angry, like really disappointed he chose her.

She was telling you how in love they were. You grabbed all her hair, twisted it, pulled her to the door, threw her out. "CUNT IF I HEAR ONE MORE WORD" you shut the door in her face.

You stormed into your shared room and just packed what you could before you started to cry. Taehyung was trying to put the stuff back

"Please, Y/N, it meant nothing." 

You fucken gave him the devil stare and said, "out of all the things you could have done… you cheated on me… I told you when we were young.. fuck me over once, and I'm done with you" you pushed past him and opened the door. Madison was still there "have him… he's a dick, and he just told me you mean nothing to him" you pushed past her and called Alex as You walked down the street. 

"Alex, how far are you?"

"Like 5minutes away." 

"Good, come back and get me." 

"Why"

 "you'll see when you get here."

"Okay, be there in 5, I guess" she hung up.

Taehyung had slammed the door in Madison's face, so she was upset. You just sat in the next-door neighbour's yard, watching her cry and screaming for Taehyung to open the door. You could see him sitting on the couch through the window with his shirt off and his hands over his face. 

Alex and Jake pulled up. You got in the car. 

"Uhhh, why is Madison topless on your lawn" Jake said 

"Oh, I court her fucking V," You said, putting on your seat belt. Alex turned around and looked at you, so confused.

"Why is she still on the lawn then," she said, trying to undo her seatbelt to lung at her. Jake held his hand over the belt. 

"I don't know fucken bitch thinks he loves her… he was begging me to stay with him 5 minutes ago," You said, shoving my bag over.

"Sheesh," Alex said, sitting forward. 

"It's sad when you think about it," Jake said, looking at her.

"Kinda funny also…..he just slammed that door in her face… god she is crazy" You laughed "okay can we go." 

"Are we taking you anywhere… to ours, or is there someone you want to stay with?" Jake said 

Alex slapped him "she's staying with us, you idiot… where else would she go?" 

"I don't know Jamie's," he said

……

You were texting Jamie on the way to Alex's, telling her what happened. 

"Are you kidding me!!! Who does this guy think he is, honestly… I never liked him. He's a dick….Did you need to stay with me" 

"I might… thank you," you replied 

"Jake can you drop us off at Jamie's," You said

"Uh, sure," he said, turning left into her suburb. 

We got out of the car and knocked on Jamie's door. She answered, "oh my god….. what the hell did you kill her," she said as you and Alex walked in. 

"Nothing I did fucking nothing" suddenly, this shirtless guy comes out of Jamie's toilet. 

"Jamie? Why is there a shirtless man in your house?" You said, confused.

"Oh, that's chan…ignore him honestly" she smiled.

"Anyway… V just stood there. I grabbed what I could, but I'm scared to go back alone," You said. 

"Don't worry about that… CHANNN!!!….. come here," she screams.

"Hey, what's up…. When did you get guest" he said, pointing at us. 

"Chan, at some point, can you help Y/N get her stuff out of her ex's house." 

"Uh, who's her ex? And can he kill me" he laughed 

"Uh, Kim Taehyung" You looked at him as his eyes widened.

"Like BTS V?" He said louder

"Yeah…. That's him" You nod.

"Uhhhh," he said. Then Jamie got her flirt on and convinced him to help you later in the week. 

"Okay…. But you have to promise he's not going to kick my ass," he said, pointing at you.  

"Promise…. He's like a teddy bear," You said, waving it off. You turned to Alex and whispered, "a possessive teddy bear… he's so little…. he's fucked” he looked over at you, whispering, and you all smiled. 

Jamie kissed him and was like, "oh, thanks, baby" Alex stood there and just tilted her head like a dog. 

"Cunts whipped," Alex whispered to you. 

…..

So it was Thursday, and You needed to get more clothes and my work stuff from Taehyung's house. So Chan was coming over, and you were nervous. Alex came over to help you as well in case Taehyung was there.

We heard a knock at the door and opened it. Chan was standing there with two other guys.

"Hi" You looked at chan walking through the door with two other guys.

"Hi, so this is changbin and Minho," he said, pointing and smiling.

"Wait, wait…. Minho?…… omg Minho is that you… you used to dance for the BTS, right" You were shocked if this were Minho had been this whole time.

"Holy shit Y/N…. It's you who we are helping?" He gave you a massive hug. 

"Wait, who's your ex?….is it V?" He said, pulling away. 

 "Uhhhhhh…. Yeah, it's um V" you looked down. 

"That's too bad you guys were super funny and cute….. do you guys remember those girls I used to talk about back in the day?" He said, laughing. 

"Uhhh yeah, I think so," chan and changbin said in sync.

"This is the" he laughed. 

I was a bit considered because if I brought Minho home, V might flip his shit. He was super possessive over me and my relationships with people associated with the band. 

"Minho, are you sure you want to help?…. You know how V gets…..I don't want him to flip out on you," I said.

"FUCK HIM….. he's a cheater…. If I was with you…" he said passionately. 

"Ummm, okay, so are we are going then," changbin said.

…..

So we get to V's house, and he's home. I open the door, and he gets up off the couch. He wrapped his arms around me and shoved his head into my neck started crying. "I am so sorry …. I am so sorry…. I love only you…..please don't leave me," he repeats it. I use my hand to shoo you guys into the bedroom to pack my stuff. 

"V…. I told you…. It's over…you can't cheat on me and think I'm going to come back" he slid down my body and started to hold my legs so I couldn't move.

"Please, I love you… we can get married as you wanted….. I'll even have kids with you…. I can change," he cried.

"You shouldn't have to do anything for me, V….you should have to change for someone to be with you," I said, unhooking his hands. When I did that, chan came out of the room with my bag. 

"Is that him?" he stood up. I stood in between them." IS THIS YOUR NEW BOYFRIEND" he got in chans face. Chan dropped the suitcase, out came minho. 

"Wow wow wow….. don't talk to him like that. He's not the cheater," Minho pushed V.

"IT THAT FUCKING MINHO…. YOU CALLED MINHO WOW," he said in shock.

"No, I didn't call Minho….. get over yourself, V…. I'm sick of your Sense of entitlement is pissing me off." 

"What!…. You're my girlfriend… I'm entitled to know who you are hanging out with" 

"Ex-girlfriend actually," chan corrected him. 

He went to charge at chan, but Minho and changbin got in front of him. I pushed V back, "are you kidding me….you were going to hit him." 

"Well yeah…. Smartass" 

I keep pushing, punching his chest, and screaming at him, calling him a cheater and a liar. 

Minho grabbed my waist and started to pull me out of the house. "Stop….Renae stop…. It's over. Your okay" 

Then you and the rest of the boys came out with my stuff. "Sorry, chan, I didn't think he would react like that," he smiled at me "it's okay… I should be worried if he's okay. You were hitting him pretty hard." 

#skz fluff #skz seungmin #skz lee know #skz lee minho #skz series #oddinary #lee minho smut #seungmin smut #lee know #lee know fluff #seungmin fluff #skz smut #skzfluff #jyp fanfic #kpop imagines #skz x reader #skz x y/n #straykids #3racha #bangchansmut #channie #skz fanfic #skzbangchan #bang chan fanfic #bangchan #bangchanedit #changbin #straykids fanfic #straykids imagines

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 "𝚘𝚑"

PART 8: CAT BOYS 

... it’s late into the night and y/n is streaming with one of her new friends, sykkuno. running on caffeine and redbull is apparently not enough because she falls asleep on his shoulder 45 minutes into their cyberpunk gameplay. at that exact moment, twitter goes up in flames.

─── corpse husband x reader, sykkuno x reader (because i was threatened by thirsty anons) ─── soc. media + written fiction!  ─── word count: 1.8k author’s note: here it is...what yall been asking for. literally had to add a new part for this but i loved this idea sm i couldnt just nOT NOT do it. i tried writing this with the same energy as the smau lmao so expect chaos as always. hope you enjoy it and as always lmk what u think! hopefully yall wont go too feral, but tbh thats prolly too much to ask for xx EDIT: srr for the fucky format tumbler dot com is being lame 

ultimate masterlist.  ҉  myso masterlist   ҉   previous.   ҉   next.

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Such a back and forth continues for the better part of the day as you get ready. Corpse only whines a bit when you forget to text him back - you are packing, and your prestigious cat ears you bought from Amazon for 10$ deserve exquisite care - which only fuels your seemingly bottomless hunger for mischief, leading to you sneakily ignoring him more. When your phone lights up with a message, you giggle, giddy with excitement. Your laughter only gets louder and more erratic, to the point where Rae had busted down your door and threw her Hello Kitty plush at you - one you’d gotten her, mind you! - and told you to just “Shut the fuck up!”

Ungrateful. You know not everyone can appreciate your sense of humor, or stand your hyena like cackle, but that was uncalled for and you told her as much. Noting the mess your room is in (more than usual, that’s for certain), she leans onto the door frame, crossing her arms over her chest, pretty brown eyes twinkling curiously, “Where you off to?”

“So I had this idea-” You start, but are promptly shut down with a raise of her palm.

“Already know it’s a bad one.”

Insulted, and hurt, you clutch your heart. As if she had not mocked you enough today, “Rae...The hell, that’s so mean...” You mutter, face scrunching into a soft frown, “I only wanted to tell you what me and Syk thought of.”

“Oh?” Intrigued, she raises a brow, “Continue.”

“Gee, thanks for letting me this time.” You mumble, rolling your eyes, “So. We thought we’d stream together. The catch? In the same room! We’ll be playing Cyberpunk. Gotta cash in while the hype is still up.” You add, making her snort, “And, ya know, the whole cat boy business...We’ll be wearing matching cat ears. Admit it, I’m a genius.”

She’s quiet for a moment, mulling over your words; you can practically see the gears in her head turning. She glances around the room, then briefly at you, strangely apprehensive. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

Well, that is definitely not what you expected her to say. You figured it’d be more along the lines of you’d be one ugly cat. “Huh?” Is all you manage to stutter, “What do you mean?”

She gives you a look, one all people give when something is so plainly obvious, “Y/n. You do know the stans will go wild, right? And you do remember our conversation involving Corp-”

“Nope!” You exclaim cheerily with a bright smile to match. You don’t want to think about that. The relationship between you and Corpse is strictly platonic, and besides, seeing Twitter loosing their shit is always funny, and you never miss an opportunity to mess with your fans. Sykkuno is also a good friend, albeit a new one. This supposed flirting from Corpse’s end Rae deduced was nothing more than her projecting her feelings onto the situation. She always liked shoujo anime and was probably thinking one was happening right in front of her. Not a chance. Corpse was just being a friendly crackhead. Your energies mesh beautifully.

Like, beautifully in a strictly friend way. Absolutely nothing more than that.

She gives up, naturally, arguing with a wall would be more productive than arguing with you. You’re such a (Zodiac sign).

“Well,” She mumbles, ticking her head to the side, leaning off of the door frame and turning to leave, “Don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

Your grin melts as soon as she leaves. Glancing at your bag, you shove your last necessities in with newfound hesitance. 

Nothing bad will happen, right?

...Right?

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It is well past the generally set “appropriate” time to hang out, but since quarantine, what is appropriate anymore anyway? You’ve never been in Sykkuno’s apartment, but now that you’re here it’s...strangely him. Every corner seems tailored to his specific requirements. It’s cozy, and pleasantly warm - it’s a bit chilly in LA, as surprising as that is.

He’s even shyer than you remember him being. And a whole lot more awkward, but in an endearing way, a way that makes you want to laugh and try to reassure him that it’s just you and he has nothing to worry about. While you hung out only once, the history you share is rich and tender. From him following you on Twitter and subsequently prematurely ending your stream, to kidnapping a stray cat affectionately named Juan. His long lost brother, Juan (no the Second, just Juan), lives in your Minecraft server. 

His stream room is sadly bare. There’s an appalling lack of merch or fairy lights. Not even led-lights. It’s a good thing you brought your own. As you try to decided which color would be best - his signature lime green, reminiscent of his adorable Among Us astronaut, or, perhaps, mischievous violet? - he boots the game and tweets out a quick “streaming with y/n in ten mins! come one come all!” 

“You should probably tell your fans, too.” He mumbles, looking somewhere above your shoulder. You settle with cherry blossom pink. Glancing at him, you shrug.

“Ah, do it for me, please?”

“Oh!” He hiccups, “Uhm, I wouldn’t want to pry and I don’t know your password and-”

“It doesn’t have a password.” You had removed it, knowing something like this would happen. Bless your foresight, you did not want him to know it was demonspiitinmymouth. Before he could protest further, you rush to the nearest mirror to put on your cat ears and make sure they aren’t crooked. You look absolutely adorable. The cat boys in your dms will go feral. Hell, you might just go feral looking at yourself! Sykkuno is not ready. No one is. This will be a stream to remember.

When you return (with flourish of course), he’s anxiously fidgeting by his computer, his own little cat ears, one’s he wore for the Halloween stream, peaking out from his silky brown hair. You have to suppress a squeal. When he catches you gaze he gives the kindest, sweetest little smile.

“They, uh--” He points at you, then decides it’s rude to point, bringing his hand back to his lap, then clutching his mouse, lastly releasing a sound stuck between a chuckle and a wheeze, “suit you, uhm, a lot!” He finishes with a resolute nod, quickly spinning in his chair and away from you.

This is the reaction you desired. All is going according to plan. Is this what God feels like? If not, then you pity her. She’s missing out.

Taking a seat next to him - he had been gracious enough to haul you a spare chair from the kitchen - you draw closer, and he, instinctively, shrinks away with another nervous chuckle. 

“You have, uhm... I-I didn’t look!” He quickly chimes. You raise a brow, “Uhm, unopened messages? From Corpse? He texted you when I was tweeting! I didn’t mean to look, I’m sorry-”

Instantly, you recall the famous vine with the scandalous “daddy chill” line, though refrain from saying it aloud. You love havoc, but you’re not evil (Rae would ardently disagree with you, though). Instead, you just shrug, “’S fine, don’t worry. I’ll text him back later. Let’s start?”

He nods, but doesn’t look at you. Granted, you don’t think he glanced at you even once since you returned, “...Okay. Ready?”

“Ready!”

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You’re much too immersed into the game and Sykkuno’s twitch chat to even check what’s happening on Twitter, but your estimated guess is that everyone’s going crazy. The stream chat is unruly as well, but missing the signature Twitter spark. Most of the chaos is bravely lead by your fans. Sykkuno’s, much like the man himself, are too nice to scream so unabashedly.

Perhaps you excitement had been a bit too taxing, perhaps drinking 5 coffees and 2 energy drinks today and not enough water are to blame for the sudden drowsiness you’re feeling, but you can’t focus on the swimming chat or the abundance of cut-scenes at the starting point of the game. You steadily draw nearer and he, more composed in front of his audience, doesn’t react. About ten more minutes of hoovering by his shoulder and muttering soft commentary, and you feel yourself slipping.

The last coherent thought you have is a few choice words directed at caffeine itself for having the opposite effect of you at the worst time possible.

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You float in oblivion for perhaps ten minutes at best. Once you awake with a startle, you shower Sykkuno in shy apologies and he quickly reassures you that it’s fine and that he didn’t mind at all!

“Though,” He adds after a thoughtful pause, “not sure if it was very, uh, comfortable?”

His stream chat spams uwu and variations of similar kind. The stream continues for a few more hours before the both of you wish everyone a good night. 

While you planned on wreaking absolute havoc, this sudden falling asleep was unexpected. You pondered the consequences of such an innocent, unplanned act whilst ubering home, fearing to check your phone which by now was blowing up with not only Twitter notifications but also Rae’s angry messages that vaguely read “what the fuck y/n”. Within the past two hours she had left 57 messages on all platforms collectively, including 7 calls. 

Corpse’s last text was over three hours ago.

Now that’s strange. Worry festers quickly. Briefly glancing at your surroundings - the pretty glimmer of passing street lights, neon signs, familiar buildings - you decide that it’s time to check what kind of nuclear explosion you’ve caused.

Your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach as you scroll past the hundreds of tweets and mentions. Scan through Rae’s messages. 

You had failed to prepare ahead. Every explosion of such kind is followed by nuclear winter. And Corpse’s lack of messages feels especially cold.

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Not you smiling like a fucking idiot reading his last message! You shrink into the backseat, afraid the driver will accidentally look into the rear-view mirror and see you a bit too happy before asking questions. Good news? Yeah, but it’s not like it’s his any beeswax! In the words of Rihanna, just shut up and drive. 

This argument had not yet happened, but you’re preparing, just in case. 

As you think up of potential scenarios, your eyes drill into Corpse’s goodnight text. You’ve looked at it enough. Time to turn the phone screen off. Leave the app, at the very least. When the screen dims you instantly press on it to wake it up. This is embarrassing. Maybe the deadly amount of caffeine really did mess you up, big time. Your heart races in your chest, painfully almost. You feel a bit sick. Worst of all, you can’t stop smiling.

A notification from Rae makes you snap out of it. Ah, one more demon to deal with. 

However, before you talk to her, you really need to tell Twitter that you’re not with Sykkuno. And apologize to Sykkuno as well. 

At least Corpse doesn’t hate you.

Fucking hell, just exit the chat you idiot!

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tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @slashersdream - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai - @truly-dionysus - @multi-fandom-central707

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband fic #corpse husband imagine #corpse x reader #corpse husband social media au #social media au #corpse social media au #corpse husband x y/n #corpse x y/n #corpse husband fanfic #sykkuno #sykkuno x reader #sykkuno x y/n #myso #make you say oh #reader #xreader #imagine #imagines

[snowbabys]

Gardening Club ⋆ part 9 (finale)

(Disclaimer: i do not condone this behavior, nor think the idol acts like this in any way. this is purely fiction and for entertainment purposes only. if you are or know anyone suffering from a relationship with any similarity with the things mentioned here, reach out for help.)

Series masterlist

Pairing: yandere!yang jungwon x gn!reader, niki x gn!reader (ft. jay? and heeseung)

TW/Trigger warning: mentions of food, toxic behavior, mentions and descriptions of dead bodies and killings (will be signalized), physical and psychological torture, food analogies during gore scenes, extreme violence.

Warning/notes: everyone’s the same age for plot sake, some cursing. think that's all, correct me if you find anything else.

Author's note: aaaand we're finished! woo!~ late again (for the last time hopefully), but there were so many things to do and i couldn't manage my time well. anyways, i won't say much here cause i wrote final considerations (it's linked in the end) but thank you for reading the series! it means a lot to me :D i hope everyone is slightly happy with the ending, and... yeah, i can stop talking now. for the last time, thank you for reading! see you around!~ ♡

Word count: 3,835

LAST WARNING! if you're not feeling well, do not read. there are some heavy scenes and words here, they're all signalized, but try to avoid them if you're not 100%.

“Do you know it is Niki’s fault Jay is dead?” His voice was no more than a whisper when he finished his sentence, smiling at you as if he wasn’t referring to the cold-blooded murder of a friend he was also close to.

You didn’t want to assume anything, but you couldn’t stop your mind from traveling a thousand places with the information. Was it true? Was Niki responsible for Jay’s death? Or was he linked to it in any way? No, that could never be true. Niki is not a murderer, as far as you know. He loved Jay, right? They were friends. It didn’t make any sense to you. What would the week you spent together mean if what Jungwon said was true?

“What do you mean?” You asked with a broken voice, murmuring with eminent confusion. “Niki?” Looking at your boyfriend, you only found a lost boy, eyes focused on the ground as he chewed on his bottom lip, his silence never so deafening. You stood in front of him, holding his shoulders as you rocked him softly, tears running down your cheeks to grace your anguished tone. “Niki, what is he talking about? Please tell me you had nothing to do with Jay’s death.”

He kept silent, his glossy eyes met yours, and a tired hum left his lips.

“No, it’s not true! I wouldn’t…” He stopped and rubbed his face with both hands with a heavy sigh, lowering his head to avoid showing you his tears.

“A healthy relationship is built on sincerity on both sides, which, from what I can see, Niki is lacking, y/n,” Jungwon’s amusement sparkled something in you, making you swallow hard and turn to him, ireful at his words.

“And how do you know that? What do you know about a healthy relationship?” The words trickled like poison from your mouth, sharp with your accumulated annoyance and, above all, irritation; with the situation, with the boys, with what they put you through. “I’ve known you don’t like each other for some time now, but blaming Niki for a fucking murder is way past the limits, Jungwon. Why did you stop being friends anyway? I’d like to ignore whatever is going on with you, but it’s affecting me, and I hate to see you glaring at each other around, teasing and testing your patience. What is wrong with you both?”

Jungwon’s smile was nowhere to be seen when you questioned him, his gaze hardening the more you spoke. He took a step closer to you and touched your face, tracing the way your tears went down with his index finger, stopping at your chin to lift it until you were looking him in the eyes.

“Let me explain.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Niki slapped Jungwon's hand away, quickly turning you towards him. “You wanna know the truth? I’ll tell you the truth. Yang Jungwon has had his eyes on you since we joined the club. He’s fucking sick and obsessed with the idea that you’re his. When Jay was friendly and touchy with you, he was pissed off. Jay wasn’t sick when he missed one day. He could barely walk because this son of a bitch beat him up. He didn’t want to be around you ‘cause Jungwon kept threatening him, but I made the mistake of asking Jay to check up on you that goddamn weekend, and he made an even bigger mistake by complying with it.”

“What?” Your confused state was being buried deeper and deeper into what Niki was saying, reminding you how terrible Jay looked after his absence and how fast he declined your invitation to hang out in the candy shop at first.

“You know how I hid my feelings for you during that time, but I did it because I thought Jungwon was a good choice for you. After Jay told me about everything Jungwon did to him, I just couldn’t stand it anymore. That’s why I’ve been trying to keep you away from him. Do you understand me now?” Niki’s hands cupped your face, trying and failing to rub your tears away as more of them came out every second.

“Why haven’t you told me before?” You closed your eyes in an attempt to stop the mountain of feelings from falling over your shoulders, but to no avail with how you left out a sob. “Niki, Jay is dead…”

“I thought I could protect you. You and Jay,” you felt Niki’s forehead touching yours but were too scared to open your eyes and face him. If what he said was true, and you believed it to be, it meant he did way too much for you. He put himself in danger for you by exposing himself by going against Jungwon and standing on Jay’s side. And Jungwon, when you thought about him again, was still right behind you, listening to every word. “I didn’t know Jungwon could be so dirty and low.”

“Thanks for the compliment, Nikitty,” when you heard Jungwon’s voice, instead of the butterflies, fluttering feelings crawling up your chest or little shocks going through your fingers that you used to feel whenever he was around, you felt disgusted. When you locked your eyes on him, his delighted grin was there again, welcoming you with his cute dimple that contradicted what Niki said about him, doing nothing to deny the other boy’s accusations.

“You… Is it true? What did you do?” You requested, a small part of you wanted him to stop his acting and tell you it was just a cruel joke on you, to apologize to you, and promise they would never do anything like it again. But that small part crashed, burned to ashes when all he did was chuckle and pat your head. If you ever doubted who to believe, that was the exact moment you made up your mind.

“I gave him clear orders and he disobeyed,” Niki pulled you closer to him to receive a glare from Jungwon. “No one disobeys me.”

“You killed him…” The way his lips curled up while all you could think of was Jay’s dead body made you want to throw up, wondering if he kept that loathsome smile while doing whatever he did to your friend. “You’re disgusting.”

“In your place, I’d choose my words carefully,” he tried to reach your face again but was stopped in his tracks by Niki’s hand.

“Don’t,” it happened too fast. In a second, Niki got between you and Jungwon, grabbing hold of his collar and causing him to jolt backward, pulling his face as far from Niki’s hands as possible, still with his annoying grin.

“Are you sure you want to do this? Wouldn’t the officers think it was suspicious? You’ve been grieving for a week for someone you were the first to find the body of, and when you come back, a friend has been beaten and another is missing. I wouldn’t hide my suspicions, I’m sure they’d love to ask you about how all your friends keep getting in danger’s way, one after the other,” Niki clenched his jaw, holding himself not to fall for Jungwon’s trick. “It’s a risky game for you, Niki. ”

“Missing friend?” You murmured to yourself, calling Niki’s attention to you. “Who you’re…”

“What are you guys fighting for there?” Your trail of thought was interrupted by a scream, from someone meters behind you. Looking back, there you found Heeseung, with his backpack hanging from one shoulder and a package of cookies in his hands, his head tilted in confusion while studying the scene.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Niki, who kept his eyes on Jungwon, hissed, tightening the grip on Jungwon’s collar, a step away from losing his control.

“Try me,” Jungwon arched an eyebrow and pushed Niki’s arms away from him aggressively, maintaining his gaze on the other boy as he bumped their shoulders. Turning to you, he smiled and got hold of your forearm, firmly gripping it and making you walk beside him, quick to lean down until his mouth was almost pressed to your ear, then whispered: “Open your mouth and Niki is dead.”

A few hours later, the plastic material of the restraints Jungwon used to tie your wrists together was nibbling on your skin, leaving it sore and itchy, all the while you tried to make out what Heeseung was murmuring in the other room where he got dragged to by Jungwon some time ago. You couldn’t measure how much time had passed since Jungwon put you in his guest room, kneeling in front of you while tying your wrists and instructing you to stay quiet and seated on the bed he had just put you in, not missing the chance to threaten Niki’s life in case you infringed on his command.

“What you're doing to him?” You requested, scared of what Heeseung was going to be put through after both of you were locked in Jungwon’s house. Heeseung made a naive decision, to accept Jungwon’s invitation to study and stay over at his place, not once suspecting the scene he saw in the school earlier. In Jungwon’s words to him, Niki and you were just being a bit sentimental. After all, you lost a friend and weren’t still quite good, not able to handle some jokes.

And then, there was Heeseung, on the way to Jungwon’s house, confused at your deplorable state, looking down and wiping your tears roughly with the hem of your school uniform, but never touching the subject, uncertain if he had the right words to talk to you at that moment. You recall how he tried to smile when you arrived at the murderer’s house, asking if you were going to join their studies, only to have his hopes shattered when you begged him to run away.

“Cutting some loose ends,” Jungwon caressed your arms briefly before standing up.

“He hasn’t done anything to you.”

“He’s way too involved in the investigation. Can’t risk being caught after all that hard work, love,” he retorted, resting each of his hands on either side of your body, hunching over you to plant a long-lasting peck on your forehead. “I’ll be right back to take care of you.”

(⚠️ warning ⚠️ gory and violent scenes ahead, descriptions of wounds)

You heard Heeseung’s voice volume rising, scared and trembling but strangled at some point, in which you heard footsteps getting closer to the room you were in, a horrid smell of spoiled ground beef and burnt skin invading your nostrils when they did. You weren’t to be curious for much longer, given that the door was cracked open by a fuming Jungwon hauling Heeseung by his hair, who got shoved to the ground. Rotten and burnt smell combined you previously wondered the origin made sense when you got access to the view of Heeseung’s undressed torso. Many open thin cuts bled through scorched skin graced the extension between his chest and back.

You couldn’t help but gasp at the sight, immediately standing up and reaching out for Jungwon.

“Jungwon, please don’t,” you pleaded, gripping his arm in a failed attempt to stop him.

“It’s too late to stop now, sweetie. Sit down and enjoy,” he squeezed your cheek with the arm you held, a smile growing on his lips when your tears started to fall. You didn’t realize the red fluid on his fingers until he caressed your skin with the stained back of his hand, quickly jerking your head back to avoid prolonging his touch.

“I’ll tell the investigators,” you sobbed, pushing his arm away from you.

“Do it,” his smile faded and his eyes hardened at you. “I’ll love to slit Niki’s throat as I did to Jay. Is that what you want?”

You looked down, weeping and shaking your head, not offering resistance when Jungwon’s hand pushed your belly until you were sitting in bed once again. You thought of Niki, feeling a pang in your heart as you remembered how Jungwon wouldn’t let you look back and say goodbye to Niki, shuddering at the idea that Niki was probably brooding over his actions while you were dragged away. If only he hadn’t kept things from you, maybe you would’ve found a solution together, maybe Jay would’ve been alive, maybe Jungwon wouldn’t have had the chance to grow his obsession for so long. And maybe you wouldn’t find yourself witnessing a torture session, shivering at every groan and grunt Heeseung let out.

The crimson liquid spewing from Heeseung’s cuts was dripping, running, and spreading across the floor, fast to reach your shoes. You didn’t bother to move your feet, having blood stuck on your shoes was the least of your problems. You observed the liquid glowing, getting lost in the deep red and only raising your head when Jungwon left the room with a bored sigh.

Looking back at Heeseung, you couldn’t recognize him anymore.

All the punches and kicks Jungwon had previously directed at him had presented him with purple marks all over his face and chest, with some red marks ornamenting his stomach. The uniform slung over his shoulders was stained, with several red pools all over the fabric. And his face, gosh, his face. You could no longer tell his dark eyes and eyebrows apart from the bruises around them, small cuts all over his face were dripping frighteningly fast.

You could get up and try to help him, but what good would that do if Jungwon had the whole situation planned out in the palm of his hand. You had no energy to fight him back.

“I’m sorry he’s doing that to you,” you sniffled, not entirely sure if he could hear you. You just needed a slight sense of relief. “It’s my fault it got to this point.”

“World is full of psychos, he’s just another one of those,” he mumbled after a minute, trying and failing to find support in his forearms, instead turning his head to you. His lips moved in what seemed like an effort to smile, showing you his bloodied teeth. “It’s okay, y/n. Don’t cry.”

“Y/n?” Jungwon’s voice echoed through the corridor, sending shivers down your spine with every step he took to the room. “Can you help me out real quick?”

After taking a deep breath, you took one last look into Heeseung and walked outside, thinking nothing else Jungwon had would scare you off. What an innocent mistake.

“Hold it for me, will you?” He dropped the cookie package on your hands, not caring if you couldn’t hold it properly with how your wrists were tied, then placed one arm around you, dragging you back inside the guest room. You only realized the hammer he carried on the other hand when he used it to point out a corner in the room. “Sit there.”

“No, no…” You fluctuated your attention between his face and the hammer, refusing to believe he would use it, getting down on your knees when his response was a smirk. “Please don’t make me watch, please!”

“I love to see you begging, but it’s not going to convince me,” he said, softly touching your cheek with the hammer’s claw, content with his superiority over you, the cold steel stinging your warm skin.

“Jungwon, please,” you mewled, too exhausted to try anything else. He shushed you and reminded you to sit where he instructed, only a few steps away from Heeseung.

“What were Jay's last words?” Heeseung agonized, panic filling him to the brim when his eyes fell on the hammer.

(⚠️ warning ⚠️ heavier gore starts now - descriptions of extreme violence, killing, and a dead body. proceed with caution or skip to the next signal)

“Hmm, let me see. I think he apologized for his stupid actions while I cut his fingers open,” Jungwon sat on top of Heeseung’s stomach, wrapping his free hand around the other’s throat to support his weight, smiling at Heeseung’s struggle to breathe. “And then… when I started to open his chest, he screamed like the pig he was.”

“You’re sick in the head, Jungwon,” was the last thing Heeseung said.

“Oh! I remember! He said just that,” Jungwon chuckled, delighted, and looked up at you once more, making sure you were watching him. “You better not close your eyes, sweetie.”

You were too scared to disobey him. You followed every single movement he made. When he raised the hammer in the air, not wasting much time to bring it down and hit Heeseung’s face, all you could hear was the sound of the steel stirring meat and broken bones, like someone stirring a plate of pasta filled with sauce. You felt like you were about to throw up at any minute, your tongue heavy and stomach churning, but the shock of seeing the combination of brains and dripping blood prevented you from making any move. You’ve lost count of how many times the hammer has found the rest of what used to be Heeseung’s head again, only to stop when the skull was nothing more than tiny fragments in whitish wet filth mixed with visceral blood.

(⚠️ end of descriptions)

“Look, babe,” you came to yourself when Jungwon touched your knees, leaving a few drops of blood in them. “I did this just for you. Isn’t it pretty?” He sat beside you, forgetting the hammer by his feet and resting his head on your shoulder with a tired sigh. He didn’t bother cleaning his hands before hugging and pulling you to him. “I love you so much.”

“This is not love. You’re sick,” you argued, voice low and trembling.

“I killed those two because of you, how can you say it’s not love?” Jungwon grabbed the cookie package you were still holding, and opened it, offering it to you first. Upon seeing your blank stare at the ground, he sighed and helped you out of the room, guiding you to his own. “You can rest in my room,” he said while cutting your restraints, using the opportunity to kiss your wrists. “I’ll be in the living room if you need me. Just scream.”

You were so confused at his sudden words, seemingly caring and the complete opposite of what he demonstrated an hour ago. You had so many questions, but the one that came out of your mouth was exactly what you’d been wondering about for days. “Where are your parents?”

“Out,” he said, leaving the cookies on his bed and heading for the door. “I asked them to give me some space. They were bothering me.”

That night, after being locked up in Jungwon’s room, you tried giving yourself some rest. No matter how hard you tried to sleep, everything came down on you like an avalanche. You couldn’t deny the weight that fell on you when you thought that part of the reason Jay was murdered was you and your insistence on having him around. And Heeseung’s death is also on you, thanks to your stupidity in not realizing the things happening right before your eyes. If you had gone a bit deeper, maybe things would have taken another turn. There were so many red flags, so many questionable quotes, and you let it all slip through.

Niki, especially, never left your mind. You wondered how he was going through that whole bunch of shit alone, sad about how things ended up for both of you, and worried about how things were going to work from now on. Was Jungwon going to allow you to see Niki? Damn, would he even allow you outside? If so, would anyone notice your disappearance?

When you finally had some minutes of sleep, rays of light were already peeking through the curtains. You had nightmares with the image of Heeseung drowning in his own blood and the constant distressing feeling of helplessness. You woke up crying and with uneven breathing, not having much time to think about your misery as Jungwon knocked on the door, giving you a bunch of orders. There wasn’t much you could do besides get up, hold his hand and comply with his wishes, pretending you weren’t under the sight of a psychopath.

That’s all that led you to what you’re witnessing now. You watched from Jungwon's room’s window how he and Niki walked together back from school, not talking or sparing each other any glances, but Niki’s eyes were fast to find you when close enough, biting his lips to stop his thoughts. It tortured you not to hear what Jungwon said before turning to Niki with a disgusted frown, even more so when all Niki did was nod and run inside his house.

Less than a minute later, you feel Jungwon’s cold hands on your arms and his chin on your shoulder.

“How was the day without me?”

“Great.” You keep looking outside, without an ounce of desire to see Jungwon’s face, only to stir his displeasure.

“I’ve changed your classroom, you’re studying with me from now on,” is what it takes for you to turn to him, incredulous and irritated.

“What? How?”

“You greatly underestimate me, sweetie,” he quickly pecks your lips and sits on his bed, taking your hands in his to caress your skin and gently pull you closer to him. “You’re going to school with me tomorrow, and I don’t wanna see you looking at anyone but me or the professors. You know what happens if you disobey, hm?”

You can only nod in agreement, both to what he said in his room and to what he said during the lunch break the next day when you got to the terrace. Niki was there, alone, staring at his untouched food on top of his backpack and the strawberry milk box resting on the ground.

“You know what to do,” Jungwon says, as Niki notices you there.

You take a step closer to him, tears staining your cheeks as you put your hands on his shoulders and lift your face until you’re close enough to kiss him. And that’s exactly what you do, hating how he encircled your waist with his arms and deepened the kiss by tilting his head to the side, lips moving against yours gently.

The only thing you hear is Niki’s tired sigh and the sound of his shoes shifting, making your heart drop to your stomach. You hated yourself for hurting him like that, and he hated himself for not being able to do anything about it. All he wanted was to rip Jungwon’s hand away from your body and run away with you, hold you close to him, and tell you his numerous stupid jokes just to see you smiling and slapping his shoulder once again. But he knew better than that, so all he does is watch with his heart aching.

You pull back and lower your head, biting your bottom lip to distract yourself from the tears forming in the back of your eyes.

“I love you, Jungwon,” you feel his smirk against your forehead, followed by a kiss from his lips. One of his hands goes up to your head and pats it, rewarding you for your good behavior.

“Good pet. I love you too.”

final considerations ⊹ part 9 deleted scene ⊹ next series snippet

#enhypen yandere #yang jungwon #yandere jungwon #yandere enha #yandere au #yandere series #enhypen series #yandere enhypen series #jungwon x reader #yandere!jungwon x reader #enhypen au #enhypen yandere au #enhypen school au #enhypen scenarios #kpop yandere #niki #nishimura riki #jay #park jay #park jongseong #heeseung #lee heeseung #enhypen

[lovetorn]

in chains for you [dream]

Dream x Fem!Reader Criminals!AU

Summary: The Dream Team is an underground crime group that works for Techno Industries. But what happens when one of their most valuable members is taken for ransom by their enemy, Schlatt?

Warnings: Swearing & mean insults :(, kidnapping, death, violence, uhhh nothing else? message me if you see anything else!

Word Count: 8.1k+

A/N: I’m so sorry for any mistakes/plot holes, my adhd said no❤️ when i was editing :(

Note: Please remember these are all characters! Since I do not know any of these people in real life, I have created all aspects of their lives, personalities etc. and apologise for any OOC moments. I portrayed Schlatt as the villain purely from his role play in the Dream SMP, obviously, I do not believe him to be like this irl in any way. He is also written as much older than the Dream Team to enhance the villain-like characteristics. Remember, this is just fiction! Thanks! 

Night had fallen over California, and the icy breeze from the South blew through the city of Beverly Hills. The lights from several luxury hotels and displays lit up the streets and exposed the city. It was more alive than half the people that resided there. Here, people only cared about their money and their assets; barely any room left for emotions towards others that didn’t benefit them. 

“Hurry the fuck up, Sapnap!” 

The gravelly sound of Dream shouting prompted Y/n to run faster. Tensions were high as three criminals rushed to the dark SUV that sat running outside of the tall building. They clutched black duffle bags in both hands when the sound of familiar sirens cried a few blocks away. 

Unlocking the car, George threw open the back car door and launched his duffle bags onto the car seats before hopping in. Dream rounded the car and opened the door to the driver’s seat, Y/n doing the same for the passenger’s side. And whilst they were shoving the bags in, Sapnap came running out of the building, another duffle bag in his hand and a briefcase in the other. The ends of his white bandana flew around in the wind behind him as he missed a dip in the floor.

“What the fuck has he got now? We’ve gotta go!” George exclaimed, hurrying the boy by waving his hand. Dream put the car in drive as Sapnap slammed the door, “Go, go, go!”

The car squealed while Dream pulled off of the curb, the wheels screeching against the tar as he pressed his foot heavily on the accelerator. 40, 50, 70, 100, 130mph. The speedometer jumped by 10s and then by 40s as the car barrelled down the long strip of road, the wailings of sirens fading behind them. 

George, Y/n and Sapnap were laughing as they took their masks off. The sound pissed Dream off as he gripped the steering wheel harder; why is nobody taking this seriously? 

Ripping his white mask off his face and throwing it into his lap, Dream looked at Sapnap through the rearview mirror, “Why did you take so long? That could’ve fucked our whole plan!” 

“Jeez, chill out.”

Dream shot him a glare through the mirror as Sapnap put his hand up, “Schlatt said he had a briefcase full of Chick-Fil-A gift cards, so I grabbed the first one I saw.” 

George lolled his head to the side, mouth agape as he stared at him in disbelief. “Are you shitting me?” 

Sapnap shook his head, resting the case on his thighs and popping open the clasps. 

“Fuck yeah!” He cheered, turning the case around to show the rest of the car the bundles of hundreds of red and white cards that laid on a sheet of red velvet. Sapnap’s eyes remained as wide as saucers the entire time he tilted the case at different angles to ensure everybody saw. 

Y/n turned around in her seat to face the boys in the back and giggled. 

“Can I have one?” She asked, holding her hands up in a praying gesture. Sapnap laughed and nodded, “I’ve got enough for a whole country! And anything for you, Y/n.” Y/n smiled at him, mouthing a quick ‘thank you’ before turning back around to face the road that was gone as quick as it came. 

The deep sigh that came from Dream in the driver��s seat caught the attention of everybody in the car. Sapnap rolled his eyes and shut the case. “Calm down, green boy. She’s all yours.” 

Arriving at the motel George had found, the four lugged the black duffle bags in the small room. Locking the room door, Dream spun around to see everybody sitting on one of the single beds. 

He eyed the black duffle bags in the corner with a frown, each one full to the brim with thousands of 100 dollar bills that they had to transfer back to base. George cleared his throat when he saw his friend looking at the bags and raised his eyebrows, “Dream?” The man turned at the sound of his name and nodded once. He had an odd feeling in his stomach but decided to ignore it and face the problem at hand first before anything else.

Dream sighed, “We did good tonight,” The three on the bed hollering softly, fist-bumping each other before Dream continued. 

“But...” Y/n, George and Sapnap all groaned, throwing their heads back at the oncoming disappointment that Dream was going to throw on them.

“Sapnap, what the fuck was that? You can’t go off on your own tangents during a plan this big! What would’ve happened if—”

Sapnap’s eyes widened when he realised Dream’s rage was aimed towards him. “Dream! It’s okay, bro. I’m right here, we’re all alive—”

“Don’t talk back to me.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Y/n avoided Dream’s gaze when it landed on her. She didn’t want him asking her to back him up; not tonight. 

“Anyway, I hope you all know what comes next.” The three nodded, heads down and eyes trained on the worn carpet. Sapnap and George stood up and went to different sides of the room, George to the bathroom and Sapnap to the desk where he pulled out his iPod and earphones. 

Dream watched as Y/n lifted her head back up, meeting his gaze. She gave him a soft smile and patted the space on the bed next to her. Dream ran a hand through his tangled blonde hair and walked over to her, sitting where her hand once was. 

“You okay?” She asked softly, placing her hand over his that sat in his lap. Dream nodded before huffing. “I just don’t know how successful this plan actually is. Something’s off.” He whispered, grabbing her hand. Y/n leaned forward to try and meet his green eyes; the ones that made her weak at the knees when he looked at her a certain way. But he didn’t need to know that considering they were just friends.  

“We did good today, look! We’re here, alive and well. And if something’s bothering you, just know that I’ll always be here to help you. Now, I need the bathroom.” She smiled, squeezing his hand before standing up. 

“George? When are you done?” She yelled at the bathroom door. Dream tilted his head to the side as he admired her, what would he do without her?

“Soon! Stop being annoying!” 

It had reached a point in the night where Dream couldn’t sleep. The single bed he laid in was uncomfortable, and the nagging feeling of doubt kept him awake. Something was wrong. 

He looked over a Y/n who laid in the other bed across from him. His top priority was to keep her safe; he had to. His eyes then travelled to his two other best friends—Sapnap in the desk chair and George on the brown couch. 

He smiled softly. Dream rarely got emotional, but seeing his friends and partners in crime—literally—so vulnerable, had his mind plagued with vicious scenarios that brought tears to his alarmingly vacant eyes. 

They weren’t always void, but seeing death as he did, had pushed the soul of nature out of his once striking eyes. He thought they looked dull now, matching the rest of his face, but Y/n always told him they were the prettiest she’d ever seen. He’d always flush when she said that which always elicited a poke in the ribs and a teasing comment from her. 

Dream forgot how long he’d been lying there, his mind drifting in and out of sleeping until a high-pitched squeak came from the main door. He reached for his knife that held a place under the pillow and sat up, holding his knife and facing the door. 

On the floor next to the door, sat an ominous black envelope. Dream chewed the inside of his lip, his heart beating rapidly with panic. How did they find them?

— 

“How the fuck did they find us?” George asked, his palms sweaty as he held the letter in his hands. The gold foiling around the letters was both alluring and terrifying. 

Palm Casino.  Wednesday Night. 12am.  Be there, or face death. 

Dream had rolled his eyes when he read the letter for the first time; Schlatt was so dramatic. And although fear and doubt had set in his stomach, he didn’t let his friends know. 

How did they find them? They had been careful with the robbery, getting everything they needed without leaving a trace, nothing out of place, except for—

Dream shoved his partners out of the way and leaned down to pick up the briefcase with the Chic-Fil-A gift cards. Sapnap went to interject, primarily to save his prized possession when Y/n grabbed his elbow and shook her head when he turned to her. 

Dream opened it then turned it upside down, emptying the cards onto the rotting carpet. 

“Dream—” 

“Shut up.” He then continued to rip the velvet from the inside of the case to reveal a small box with a red flashing light. Sapnap stopped his wriggling and stood staring at the device. 

“This is your fault, you dipshit.” 

Sapnap was silent. Y/n softened her grip to rub his elbow comfortingly instead, the action making Dream narrow his gaze. The girl rolled her eyes and spoke up, “How was he supposed to know it was in there, Dream? You can’t blame him for this at all.” 

Dream shook his head and dropped his gaze to the floor before huffing and scrunching his nose in a disgusted manner.

Midnight had arrived quickly, like a thief in the dark, and the crescent moon hung high in the sky. A light breeze swept into the city, making the palm trees sway in the delicate moonlight as a black SUV pulled up to the Palm Casino. 

“Okay, here we go. I want you all on your best behaviour,” Dream joked. And as his mask only hid half of his face, a lopsided grin graced his face as he popped the door open. Y/n knew that smile; it was one that was begging for chaos, but she knew it was just a deflection from his real emotions. 

Walking to the entrance, Y/n reached up and placed her hand on Dream’s shoulder. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Dream let out a laugh, “Wouldn’t dream of it, baby.”

The boys sported black on black suits with matching Rolex watches, the gold of the timepieces shining in the low light. The only differences between them being Dream’s smiley mask, Sapnap’s white bandana in his hair, and George’s white glasses upon the top of his head. Y/n, on the other hand, wore a fitting dress with gold jewellery. She would’ve worn anything else, but considering the situation, she complied. 

As the waitress walked them over to the poker table, Y/n caught Dream’s hand in her own, squeezing it once before letting go. She knew he was worried and the action in itself was enough to calm Dream’s nerves for the time being, but as soon as he made eye contact with Schlatt, it all went away. 

“Boys! How are we doing?” The man yelled, throwing his arms up with a smile on his face. Dream nodded once and sat down at the table, Sapnap and George following. Y/n went to sit beside Sapnap but was cut off by Schlatt who took it upon himself to police the members at said table. 

“I’m sorry, gorgeous. I’m afraid this game is only for the men.” He gave her a tight-lipped smile and clasped his hands on the table. Y/n narrowed her gaze at him before rolling her eyes and moving to stand behind Dream. 

Schlatt then stood and excused himself from the table, making George throw Dream a confused look before the man spoke up. He walked towards another room, guarded by velvet ropes, but not before shouting, “Let the games begin!” 

—  

Dream sat observing the last man in the game next to himself, ensuring he wouldn’t lose, not that he ever did. He had learnt from his father early on to read the expressions of the players around him and how to benefit from the folds and raises. People were shocked when they found out his age, bewildered that such a young man could earn numbers like that. 

Dream stared narrowly at the man; his eyebrows raised as he wore a sly smirk. The man in front of him was profusely sweating, his hand reaching to grasp a tissue from his pocket as the last community card was placed down. The surrounding men groaned; their expressions irritable as the Dream Team gained another win. Dream threw the cards onto the Poker table and stood up, offering his hand to the gentleman. He reluctantly accepted then hurried out of the room, four of his acquaintances following.  

Y/n watched as Dream swapped seats with Sapnap, allowing him his turn at the game. She then moved and leaned down to Dream’s ear, “This is bullshit, where’s Schlatt gone?”

Dream shook his head and shrugged quickly, ���Fuck knows.”

“Let’s go, Sapnap,” A man they recognised as Fletcher spoke, sitting down in front of the young man as his buddies filed around the table to take their seats. Sapnap didn’t talk, he only glanced back at Dream who tilted his head, holding his forefinger up to indicate this would be their last round.  

Once Sapnap had collected his two starting cards, the game began. Dream watched as each of the men were eliminated through folds and how they apologised to Fletcher for letting him down. The man brushed them off, telling them to “watch how it’s done”. Dream, Sapnap and George stifled a laugh as they watched the second last man fold. Behind them, Y/n grew impatient and began mumbling to herself about how ridiculous it was.

“Excuse me? Can’t you see we’re in the middle of a round? Get the fuck outta here.” Fletcher said, his voice harsh as Y/n’s eyebrows flew to her hairline. Dream went to interject before the man spoke again. 

“A scotch on the rocks.” He then said. 

“I’m not a waitress.” Y/n’s voice was monotone while the man waved her away. Y/n scoffed before she moved towards him. Dream’s hand flew out to catch her wrist, and Y/n rolled her eyes. As angry as Dream was, he wasn’t going to start something with Schlatt’s men before the meeting actually started. Sapnap didn’t pay any attention to the conversations around him, focusing only on winning.

Fletcher chuckled, holding his cards close to his chest, “you dumb kid”. Sapnap’s facial expression went from serious to amused, watching as the dealer placed down the final community card. Sapnap’s eyes flickered to Fletcher’s grey ones as he slammed his cards down on the table. Sapnap then reached to gather his winnings in chips, earning pats on the back from George and a gentle laugh and fist-bump from Dream. 

Fletcher sat in disbelief; he was sure he would win this one. Sapnap stood up and embraced George in a hug before moving to Dream as Fletcher circled around the table. 

“You cheating bastard!” Sapnap held his hands up in defence, clueless as to why this man was coming at him. 

“No cheating here, Fletch, just plain luck,” He grinned, clearly not fearful of him. 

“Dude just take the loss and move on, it’s not that deep,” Y/n said, catching the attention of Fletcher again. 

“Not now, you whore. The men are talking,” Fletcher glowered, looking intimidatingly down at the girl. 

Y/n, however, wasn’t fazed by his words, “Look, it’s not his fault that you lost. I guess you just suck at Poker.” Fletcher’s face went bright red, and Y/n swore she saw steam coming out of his ears. Her eyes widened as she took a step back slowly. George pushed her behind him despite her protests of being able to handle herself. 

“Come on Fletch, there’s no need to go after an innocent woman,” Dream asserted, placing his hand on the man’s shoulder. He soon realised that his actions were a mistake as Fletcher spun around and threw his fist towards Dream’s nose. Dream’s mask had cracked slightly on impact, his green eyes widening in panic as he stumbled back slightly. 

Sapnap scanned the other men around them and calculated their next moves before he ducked a punch from a redhead. George’s hands gripped under Dream’s armpits as he pulled him up, dodging fists from the older men. Dream’s eyes were watering from the unexpected hit to the nose, and he could barely see.  

But what he did see was Y/n raising the metal drinks tray she found on the poker table next to them and slamming it down on the back of Fletcher’s bald head. Her eyes were wide as she stood behind his figure that was now on the floor, groaning. Her eyes met his and Dream felt his breath catch in his throat, but he couldn’t acknowledge it at the present time because there were five other guys to deal with. 

Dream regained his posture and cocked his head to the right, stretching his neck before standing off to the others. The men stood with their fists raised in front of their faces and their feet apart, ready to engage. George, Sapnap and Dream were just as confused as Y/n was, who was making sure Fletcher stayed down. 

“I really fucking hate you guys. Let’s get a move on with the meeting, shall we?” Y/n said lazily, she just wanted to get home. 

—

Dream sat in a large black chair, the lower half of his face covered in blood, the top half covered by his stained, cracked mask. Y/n had her legs crossed, with a stern expression, glaring at Schlatt as he rounded the table to sit at his obnoxiously large desk. 

Schlatt had demanded it only be Dream and Y/n in the office with him, making George and Sapnap wait outside. The two boys had angrily complained about it, but Dream assured them it would be fine, leaving them to sulk next to the heavy wooden door that led to Schlatt’s office. 

“You two make a good pair, eh?” Schlatt smirked, bringing his hands to interlock in front of him on the desk. Dream glanced at Y/n, who gave him a bored look. 

He then turned back to the front, “Why are we here, Schlatt?” 

“Oh, not very friendly,” He laughed, earning no responses from anyone in the room except for his assistant, Quackity, who stood in the corner. “That’s Quackity by the way.” 

Dream shrugged, uninterested with the introduction of his assistant and remained still until Schlatt continued.

“Now, tell me where the money is, Dream.” There it was—the literal million-dollar question.

The masked blonde didn’t react. Y/n cast her eyes towards him, seeing nothing but the white mask that covered his face. The smile on the front was a harsh contrast to the anger Dream felt. And when Schlatt huffed and wiggled his fingers at Quackity, then Dream perked up. 

Suddenly, Y/n wrists were being grabbed by Quackity, who had crossed the room in seconds. Dream immediately stood, only to be pushed back by Schlatt who had moved in front of him. 

Y/n opened her mouth object when Quackity whacked his free hand over her mouth. She let out a whimper at the smack, tears welling in her eyes in shock. Nonetheless, she continued to struggle against his harsh grip on her wrists. Y/n’s breathing became heavier, her thoughts clouded with fear of the unknown; what would Schlatt want with her?  

Quackity dragged the girl from the large chair towards the other side of the room, where another door lay, but he didn’t take her in yet. Dream’s gaze was locked on Y/n, everything else slipping away as he watched her thrash against her captor. 

“Let’s call it leverage?” Schlatt’s haunting voice echoed through the room, and he had an evil gleam in his eye. “You tell me where you hid the money, and I’ll let her go.” 

Dream’s head was on a swivel when he turned back to face Schlatt. Panic blossomed in his stomach; if he gave up the money, they’d all be dead. And as hard of a decision as it was, Dream knew what to do—he had his full faith in Y/n. He remembered what she had told him when they first started working together and drew in a breath. He nodded at Y/n once, receiving a pleading look in reply, and sighed.  

“Give ‘em hell, baby.” 

—

“Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?” Sapnap spat as the three men got back into the SUV outside of the casino. George shook his head in the backseat, scoffing as Dream ignored their questions. 

Meanwhile, Dream drove in complete fury. He knew what he did was wrong and stupid, but Y/n once demanded he let her go if she was ever held for ransom. It was an odd request at the time. And this was an irrational move that could get her killed, but he had no choice—it was her or the whole operation, and Dream was loyal. 

“Hello? You fuckin’—” 

“Sapnap.” 

The youngest froze at Dream’s tone and sunk into his seat, choosing to look out of the window than at him. He flexed his hand against the steering wheel, refusing to meet their gazes.

“Y/n asked me before any of this started, that if she were to ever be held hostage, for ransom, whatever, to trust her and let them take her. I don’t know why I never asked her why, but we have to trust her, and you have to trust me for making this decision.”  

“Call Techno and tell him that Schlatt’s taken one of us for ransom.” Dream said to no one in particular. Sapnap scrambled to get his phone from his pocket and dial their boss’ number, but not before turning and facing Dream from the passenger’s seat. 

“I—we trust you, Dream. And we’ll be with you till the end, okay?” Sapnap mumbled, gesturing to George in the backseat.  

“She’ll be fine.” Dream had a hard time believing George, “We know Y/n, she’s a strong girl—a whole lot stronger than us—she’ll get through it.” 

The piercing sound of metal against metal made Y/n cringe, distracting her from the burning of the new rope bound around her wrists. Quackity’s heavy breathing almost made her laugh, they hadn’t even walked for that long.

He didn’t say anything to Y/n when he guided her inside a cell. She furrowed her eyebrows as she looked around the dirty space, scrunching her nose in disgust as she noticed the damp walls and the stray cockroach that scurried across the floor. 

“I’m sorry about the state of this, we don’t have visitors often,” Quackity said, exhaling a scoff he let go of her arms. Y/n’s face dropped when she felt the rope loosen and fall off her wrists. She remained still as Quackity rummaged around behind her. 

The screech of the cell door closing startled Y/n—she thought she’d have more time to fight back. She heard Quackity shuffle away from the cell, and shortly after, the sound of dress shoes tapping on the concrete floor caught her attention. 

Y/n slowly turned around when someone cleared their throat behind her. She rolled her eyes as she came face to face with Schlatt. He stood with his hands behind his back in his usual arrogant suit and his deep red tie.

“Do you know why my tie is this red?” He asked, his head tilted to the side with a patronising smirk. It was an odd question, but Y/n could already guess the answer, she just didn’t want to hear it when she was this vulnerable. 

Schlatt leaned down and closer to the cell, his face fitting perfectly between the bars as his eyes glared into Y/n’s.  

“It’s so you can’t see the bloodstains.” He winked before sanding to his full height, his mood shifting entirely, “Anyways, I’m gonna keep this short. Get comfortable, Princess, you’ll be here awhile knowing Dream and his goons.” 

With a clap of his hands and a small chuckle, Schlatt left, his shoes clacking down the hallway and into the elevator at the end of the hallway. The machine dinged and then it was gone, leaving Y/n in a deafening silence. 

She sank to her knees, crestfallen, onto the concrete beneath her, still in her tight dress. As strong-minded as Y/n was, she couldn’t bring herself to give a witty remark. She was absolutely defeated. She knew Dream would get her out, eventually, but at what cost? Would Dream let everything the Dream Team has worked for in the past 3 years go to waste? For her? 

She didn’t let herself cry as she picked herself up, and hesitantly sat on the cot in the corner of the cell. Her dress was uncomfortable, and the feeling of satin against her skin irritated her immensely. 

Y/n had no idea how far underground she was; she sat in complete darkness and utter silence, nothing but the ringing of her ears and her screaming thoughts to keep her company. 

—

Dream paced the small space, tearing at his hair roots with his fists, his face red with panic and anger. He was so in his head; he couldn’t hear his two friends calling his name from 3 feet away. The thought of Y/n alone with Schlatt made him so infuriated he could punch a hole through the brick wall next to him. The ringing in his ears was deafening, and the stinging of his nails digging into his palms was numbing. 

Sapnap threw George a concerned glance, his brown eyes pleading George to do something to stop Dream from falling further into an endless loop of guilt and despair. 

“Dream!” The sound of George calling him in that tone caused him to pause his pacing. He turned to look at his English friend with wide eyes, his eyebrows raised in surprise. 

“You need to stop! Y/n wouldn’t want you having an existential crisis over her, she’d want you to hurry up and figure out a plan to get her back.”

Dream stood frozen for a moment; what would Y/n want? It was like a switch flipped inside Dream when he stood up straight, sending him into autopilot. All emotion wiped was from his face, leaving his eyes vacant and face blank. And as much as George hated to admit it, this cold version of his best friend knew what to do and how to do it efficiently. The sudden change shocked Sapnap slightly, leaving him frightened as he grabbed onto George’s sleeve. 

“Ok boys, let’s get to work.”

Emotion is a weakness, and they sure did not need that right now. 

Y/n had been suffering in the same tight dress and uncomfortable heels for a week; Schlatt’s lack of humanity and human decency (as well as kidnapping her in the first place), had put him in Y/n’s bad books.  

The only human interaction she had was Quackity bringing her meals twice a day and the small conversations they would have as she ate. He didn’t talk about his work much, only hinting at his eventual betrayal and escape from Schlatt. Although, he continually spoke of his family to her, telling Y/n that he was there against his will and was threatened with death if he left. She felt sympathy for the boy, he was so young. 

When Alex, as she now calls him, left her, Y/n was back with her mind. She had remained seemingly sane despite being in solitary confinement but was going insane without Dream. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his emerald ones gleaming at her through the darkness, their vibrance giving her shivers. 

She missed his touch: his cold hands in her’s, their knees brushing slightly when sitting on the motel bed, his hand on her thigh in the car, despite complaints from the boys. She cared deeply for him, and she knew he did too, but they were both too scared of rejection to get together. Sapnap always teased them for being ‘pussies’, and George would roll his eyes whenever they would flush at their closeness—god, she missed them too.

Biting her lip, Y/n tried her best to prevent tears from falling down her cheeks. But she hadn’t let them fall since being held ransom, fearing she would be seen as weak by Schlatt, and even Alex. The burning at the back of her throat was fiery as she let them out. She struggled to breathe, clawing at her throat when she felt her lungs tighten. Y/n tried to sit upright to calm herself down, but her pained cries filled the cold, concrete basement and rattled the cell bars. She sobbed for hours, only falling asleep when the last ones dried. 

—

As Dream put the car in park, he turned to face George in the passenger’s seat.

“You ready?” He asked. George exhaled and nodded, “Let’s get her back.” 

Dream smirked. His attitude had flipped entirely from last week, leaving him cocky and ready to fight the world. However, George saw through his best friend’s act. He heard Dream’s choked and ragged cries in the bathroom at 4 am, and noticed his red, puffy eyes at 7 am when they woke up. He saw the way his hands shook every time he drove, and he caught onto Dream’s routine of not eating until Sapnap would force him away from the table with the plans spread across it. 

George was concerned for his best friend, and Dream was oblivious. But despite everything, George knew he was determined to get Y/n back, above all else. Her life came before his own, and that scared George to his core, how far would Dream go to save Y/n?

“Ok, Geor—” The piercing screams of fire alarms made Dream jump as they echoed down the street. The two boys shared a surprised look before they hopped out of the SUV. They jogged down the road towards the Palm Casino with black duffle bags on their shoulders.  

Flames rose as high as the sky and embers rained on Dream and George as they ran through the smoke to the entrance. Employees darted out of the main doors, crashing into the boys as they continued to the central control room of the casino. George heaved the heavy door open before closing it firmly behind them. They dropped the bags and began drinking in the clean air as they set their eyes on Sapnap who sat behind a desk with his feet up on the table. 

“Well, boys, how did I do?” He said, arms out as he cocked his eyebrow up. George laughed in disbelief, “I can’t believe that worked.”  

Sapnap shook his head quickly, “You had no faith in me, did you?” He threw his hand on his chest and stood up from his spot. 

“Sap, you did great!” Dream exclaimed, walking over to slap the boy on the back. Sapnap’s pained expression turned into a smile as he watched George do the same. 

“Ok then, where’s the security office?”

—

“I can’t fit my fat ass through there, Sapnap.” Dream’s jaw dropped as he measured the gap with his hands, “There’s just no way!” 

George rolled his eyes and pushed Dream towards the duct, “Just go! Do you want Y/n back or not?” Dream’s face scrunched up, much like a child when having a tantrum, and whined. 

“Why don’t you just go? I simply just cannot fit! Here, you wanna see?” George and Sapnap nodded, amused looks on their faces as they watched him dive headfirst into the air duct. 

His body slipped in in such an elegant way that it made them burst out laughing. Dream, who couldn’t see his friends, exhaled deeply before he began crawling along. His movements heightened their laughter, seeing him wiggle through, but it only made Dream more determined to pursue the journey. 

“Oh yeah, you have such a fat ass, Dream! Throw it back for me, baddie!” Sapnap yelled after him, his giggles interrupting the sentence a few times. 

George and Sapnap’s antics were long gone, and all Dream could hear was the squeaking of an elevator and the creaking of the metal beneath him. He had memorised the layout of the ducts in his head and decided that this was the spot to drop down into.  

The first basement looked usual,  with a boiler in the corner and some filing cabinets lining the walls. Dream dropped from the ceiling with no sound, moving silently towards the elevator in the opposing corner of the large room. The sound of shoes slapping the hard ground paused Dream’s movements before he moved quickly behind a cabinet. 

“—He said not to go down there, Tubbo. What do you think he’s hiding?” 

Dream furrowed his eyebrows, were those kids? He adjusted his mark slightly before he peeked around the corner of the filing cabinet. Sure enough, Dream saw two teenage boys, one significantly taller than the other. But nonetheless, they were definitely very young. Why did Schlatt hire two British kids to guard his secret underground prison? Dream shook his head, glancing down at the floor as he crept out of his hiding spot. 

“Oi!” He heard. Dream looked up, seeing the taller boy stalk towards him. The blonde boy stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening as he looked back at the other boy. 

“Tubbo, do you know who this is?” The blonde asked in disbelief. The shorter one nodded, his expression lifting at the sight of Dream. Their jaws dropped as Dream exhaled deeply. 

“Dream? As in the Dream Team? As in Techno Industries?” Dream rolled his eyes behind his mask. He didn’t respond as the two boys inched closer to him. 

“Listen, I’ll give you a few bucks if you don’t mention this to Schlatt, got it?” Dream growled, shoving his hand in his pocket and pulling out a few hundred-dollar bills. The boys’ eyes shone, the shorter one reaching forward to accept the bribe before the blonde pushed him back. 

“That’s all? I was expecting at least a grand each from THE Dream.” He smirked. Dream remained expressionless and went to decline before the blonde continued. “It’s a grand each or I tell Schlatt you were snooping around his casino.” 

Dream shook his head and pulled another $600 from his pocket and shoved it into their hands, “Now shut the fuck up, or I’ll do it myself.” 

The taller one went to reply, but the other one pulled on his sleeve and shook his head. He rolled his eyes and mumbled a string of curse words before turning and stomping away. The other boy muttered a quick ‘thank you’ with a small smile on his face and hurried off in the direction of the staircase that went up to the casino’s main floor. Dream guessed that the fire had been taken care of by the way they fled carelessly up the stairs. 

Dream sighed and trod over to the elevator. He pressed the arrow to go down and groaned when the scanner next to it blinked red. 

He scrunched up his face when he glanced back towards the air duct. The only other option was to try and get down the air duct and into the rafters in the basement below. 

Dream had the urge to throw a temper tantrum at Sapnap’s shitty planning. He pulled himself back up into the duct and crawled towards the wall where the elevator was. Reaching a sharp drop, Dream looked over the edge, his eyes widening at the height. He grunted as he positioned himself above the fall; all he had to do was slide down. 

He could hardly see the bottom, but he knew if he slid down as planned, he would go straight through. So, instead, Dream slowly moved his arms and legs into the small space and gradually let himself down, inching closer to the bottom with every move.  

Sweat dripped down his temple, and his muscles ached as he went, his palms becoming slippery against the smooth and thin metal. He held his breath as he reached the bottom, scared any sound he made would attract unwanted attention from whoever could be in the vicinity.  

He let out a quiet, steady breath, and he returned to his hands and knees in the horizontal air duct. His original plan was irrelevant, so he didn’t know the map of the air ducts in the second basement, leaving him guessing. 

Once he thought the spot was right, he harshly pushed on a panel of the duct below him, hearing it clatter on the concrete as it hit the ground. He cringed at the sound and slowly lowered himself onto the beams that were directly below him. How convenient. 

The sharp sound of the panel dropping had caught the attention of several guards. On this level, there were actual security guards with weapons and not lippy teenagers. Dream made eye contact with one of them, scolding himself when the man scrambled for his walkie talkie as he spotted Dream on the beams above. 

Dream rolled his eyes and dropped from the ceiling, crouching as he landed before standing up. He brought his pointer finger to his lips before bringing his fist to his neck and dragging his thumb across the skin. The action itself made the security guard’s eyes widen and freeze his movements. Dream’s sadistic smile and seemingly wild nature made the guard move backwards into the wall as he passed. 

He went around another corner and was met with an entirely different area he wasn’t expecting. But, Dream was sure he was going to succeed in finding Y/n and escaping as soon as possible. And of course, the echo of a sinister whistle made him freeze. Fuck.

“Dream! Hey, buddy, how’s it going?” As Schlatt rounded the corner, a smirk spread across his smug face, Dream squeezed his eyes shut. 

“A little friend of mine told me you were here! Just thought I’d come and say hi,” He chuckled as Dream cracked his knuckles. Damn kids.

“Schlatt, where’s Y/n?” Dream demanded, cracking his neck when he jerked his head to the side. 

“Now, that’s not a nice way to greet a friend, is it, Dream?” 

Dream’s eyes widened behind his mask. He stood stunned, no words coming from his mouth. 

“Dream, she’s not yours. She never has been. So why do you think you have to save her?” Dream’s expression remained the same as Schlatt continued, “You’re too pussy to even ask her out, let alone be her boyfriend.” It was a ridiculous argument, Schlatt knew that, but he was positive he was going to get a rise out of Dream this way. 

He sneered at Dream’s silence, the deep rumble of his cackle rattling Dream’s bones. Suddenly, a scream added to the ominous atmosphere that Schlatt had created, and Dream jumped into action, launching himself at the older man. 

“Where is she?” His voice became raspy as he threw a punch at Schlatt’s temple. Schlatt growled at the attempt and hurled his arm back at Dream. He dodged it, barely, but stepped back and rushed towards the cell Y/n was in. 

“Y/n?” He shouted, ducking and searching for the girl through the bars of the numerous cells that lined the basement. 

“Here.” 

The sound of her broken voice snapped Dream into action. Sprinting down the hallway, he was met with Y/n’s grubby and exhausted body. His heart broke at the sight of her, and he gripped the bars, pulling and pushing them in an attempt to break them. 

Dream was so caught up in getting Y/n out, he didn’t notice Schlatt coming from his left. 

The impact of a fist colliding with his temple sent Dream stumbling to the right, his mask cracking slightly in the corner at the force. He grunted in pain before spinning to meet Schlatt again, who had his arm raised in its previous position. Dream tried to shake his head from his dazed state, the unexpected hit stunning his consciousness. 

Schlatt aimed once again and swung his fist to hit Dream in the face. But, Dream saw it coming and swivelled to the left to dodge the incoming punch. Schlatt let out a guttural sound, growing frustrated with his miss. The hit to his temple left Dream seeing stars; however, he managed to duck and strike Schlatt in his stomach, earning a deep groan. The older man recovered quickly, picking himself back up to his full height as he mumbled, “bastard.” 

Dream was losing shamefully, lazily avoiding punches and swaying lightly as Schlatt grinned at his anticipated win. 

Whilst Dream stumbled slightly, Schlatt snickered, his fist coming across to hit him again. This time, the punch followed through and cracked his ceramic mask fully, the object dropping to the ground and shattering on impact. Schlatt barked out a laugh as he watched the pieces scatter.  

“And here we have, the real Dream! You know, you’re not what I expected. Definitely uglier.” He cackled, doubling over in laughter as Dream watched. He blinked and was void of any emotion as Schlatt stood back up. 

“What? Can’t take a joke?” Dream clenched his jaw, and he lunged forwards, his hands coming to grip onto Schlatt’s shoulders and bringing his knee up to jab him in his stomach. He groaned out in pain as he doubled over, yet again, but this time not in joy. 

The back of Dream’s belt that held his handgun was screaming at him. So, reaching behind him, Dream revealed his firearm. The weapon had wiped Schlatt’s smug look off of his face, replacing it with one of fear. His expression mocked Dream, although he didn’t catch onto Schlatt’s taunting. 

“Dream, listen, buddy—” 

“Shut the fuck up, Schlatt.”

But, Dream’s face contorted to something of confusion and horror when Schlatt started chuckling. He pulled the side of his suit jacket to the side to reveal a similar Glock, making Dream freeze his once confident motions. 

“You see, I’m always 3 steps ahead of you, Dream,” Schlatt tormented, pulling the gun from its secure place in his jacket.  

“You’re fucked now.” Dream went to lunge at him again, but Schlatt stepped to the side and pushed him down.

Dream’s gun went sliding across the polished concrete and out of his reach. The blonde swore as he saw Schlatt stumbling towards his fallen body. He lifted himself off of the ground, panting heavily as he ducked another punch from the older man. Dream stepped back, balancing his weight on his right foot, and threw his fist out towards Schlatt’s cheek. The punch landed, and Schlatt staggered backwards slightly, blood dripping from his lips as he grinned. 

“I see how it’s gonna be,” He lifted his arm and aimed the gun towards Y/n, who stood in the cell behind him. Dream leaned to the side to catch Y/n’s pained gaze. 

“Please,” Dream’s strained voice was barely audible through Schlatt’s booming psychotic laughter. Clenching his fists, Dream glared at him, “Don’t do this, Schlatt.” 

“Oh, Dream, I could do this all day!—” A flat crack bounced off the concrete room and was soon followed by a heavy thud. Dream swallowed in shock as he watched deep red blood spill across the floor, oozing out of the fresh wound. He was frozen in his spot as he watched the body twitch and then loll, unmoving. 

“Dream?” Dream’s eyes flickered from Schlatt’s body to Y/n, who stood with his gun loosely in her hand. 

“Y/n?” His voice was weak as he struggled to stand. The clatter of the gun dropping on the hard surface didn’t come close to silence the thoughts running through his head.  

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m okay, I’m here. Dream?” Y/n cried, wrapping her arms around Dream’s stiff body. His hand came up to feel the wetness on his cheeks, and he pulled it away, seeing red smeared on his fingers. 

“He’s gone?” He whispered, earning a nod from Y/n, “It’s okay.”

“No, I know. It just shocked me, that’s all. I thought he killed you.” 

Y/n sighed, tightening her grip on him, pressing her face into his shoulder, “I’m right here, see. I’m not hurt, I’m fine, with you.”  

Dream turned his head towards her, an unsure expression on his face as he threw his arms around her. 

“Fuck, I thought—” 

“Dream. Deep breaths.” He nodded, following Y/n’s motions in breathing evenly. 

“Jesus, usually you’re the one helping me calm down from something like this,” Y/n giggled, her hand coming to run her fingers through his hair, not minding the dampness of drying blood. A smile broke out on Dream’s face before he noticed Y/n’s eyes widen and her head fly to the side to search for something. 

“What’s wrong?” Dream asked, seeing Y/n’s eyebrows crease, “Your mask.” She whispered, spotting the shattered ceramic feet away from where they sat. 

Dream breathed out a laugh, bringing her face back towards his, “My mask is the least of my worries right now.” 

“I’ll buy you a new one tomorrow.” 

“Of course, you will.” 

“Y/n!” Sapnap yelled, running towards the girl as she pushed open the security office door. Y/n locked her arms around Sapnap’s shoulders as they embraced, the pair giggling in disbelief. 

“How have you guys not been kicked out yet? The fire’s out.” Dream said, closing the door behind them. George shrugged, “Paid ‘em off.” Dream snorted in response.

When Y/n pulled away from Spanap, she hugged George, who was eagerly waiting behind them. 

“Don’t do that ever again. You left me with two dumbasses for so long,” George mumbled. Y/n felt tears fill her eyes as she squeezed George tighter, “I missed you guys so much.”

And after a teary reunion, the group sat around the desk in the middle of the room. 

“Where’s the big man himself?” Sapnap nervously laughed, dread ate at his conscience at the thought of Schlatt coming after them again. 

“Schlatt’s dead.” The news had George raising his eyebrows and pushing his head forward, “Huh? Sorry? What?” 

“He’s dead, Y/n killed him.” Dream stated, earning a small smile from Sapnap that Y/n laughed at. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. Sapnap’s reaction made me giggle.” 

The group shared a collective rumble of laughter before Dream suggested they went back to the motel. 

“Hey,” Dream whispered at Y/n when she passed him, gently grasping her elbow. “You guys go ahead, I just need to speak with Y/n,” He continued, waving the boys in the direction of the car. George and Sapnap shared a knowing look and tried their best to conceal their cheeky smiles. 

“What’s up with them?” Y/n asked, throwing her thumb over her shoulder at the boys. Dream shook his head slightly, “No clue.” 

“Anyway, I just wanted to ask how you are. You know, after everything.”

Y/n nodded, “I’m okay, I think. I don’t think anything’s really hit me yet.” Dream sighed in response. 

Y/n sucked her lips between her teeth, throwing her arms around Dream’s neck in a hug. He smiled softly, wrapping his arms around her waist. 

“Thank you,” She whispered in his ear, her voice cracking with emotion. Dream’s heart clenched at the sound and tightened his grip around her. 

“You don’t have to thank me, baby. I’d go to the ends of the earth for you, you know that,” He murmured, hiding his reddening face in her neck. He flushed, even more, when he felt her lips against his neck, “I love you, so much, Dream.” 

Dream’s heart skipped a beat before he pulled his head from her neck. His green eyes looked into hers, the closeness of them making Y/n inhale sharply. 

“And I love you. Don’t forget that, okay?” He replied, his voice low. Y/n nodded shortly, inching her lips up to his. 

“Kiss me.” She muttered, nudging his nose with hers. Dream laughed breathy before leaning down and brushing his lips against hers. 

Their bodies had become flushed against one another, her hips against his as they shared a heated kiss. Dream pulled away first, his cheeks pink and his lips plump. Y/n whined silently, bouncing in her heels at the loss of his lips. 

Dream smiled widely at her, “I guess I want you more than I thought I did.” Y/n gasped, taking her hand from his neck to slap his chest, giggling like a schoolgirl at his teasing. 

“Shut up, you’ve wanted me since you met me,” She said to which Dream nodded. 

“You got that right, baby.” 

Feedback is greatly appreciated, always xoxo

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[ecoamerica]

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[sorryjustafangirl]

seattle worries

a/n: it was about time i wrote for the toothless love of our lives mr erik johnson. im still mad at him for waiving his nmc even though people saw it coming so i wrote this while at work and because im in a slump. enjoy. gender neutral reader

pairing: erik johnson x reader

word count: 1.5k+

warnings: mentions of pandemic, a few swears, expansion draft

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and real person fiction if you don’t like that, please don’t read! this lovely gif is not mine! credit to the wonderful gif-maker

You and Erik had been dating for about 2 years now and things could not have been better. The two of you had been set up by a mutual friend after the Avalanche were eliminated from playoff contention. EJ was a natural charmer and swept you off your feet, despite any nerves he felt that night.

Then a pandemic hit and Erik decided that you should move in. In case we have to repopulate the Earth, you know, he joked, but he was serious about his proposition. Your friends all gave you skepticism when you accepted; after all, you were moving in with a man, a professional athlete at that, after less than a year of dating. But you knew it was the right decision. Even when Erik went to the Edmonton bubble, you never felt lonely because you were in the space you shared with him, the space you knew he’d come back to.

Now, a year later and your relationship had been through injuries, an infectious disease, and hectic NHL life. You honestly thought nothing could break you.

Until now.

You were seething. How couldn’t he have told you? Sure, he could be a dumbass sometimes but he’d have to be a whole ‘nother kind of stupid to think you wouldn’t find out.

The thud of his hockey bag and the clang of his keys hitting the trinket dish on the hall table shook you from your thoughts. He walked into the kitchen, where you stood with your hands gripping the counter, with a smile on his face that quickly disappeared when he saw the scowl on your face.

“Hey baby…” His voice was hesitant, obviously testing the waters.

“How could you not tell me?” Your eyes were set, your jaw hard, and you could feel the tension in your shoulders. He sighed but didn’t say anything. “How could you not tell me you waived your no movement clause Erik? I found out from fucking SportsNet!”

“Look, I was going to tell you-”

“When?! You couldn’t find a good time to talk about how you might throw away your life here in the past two months?!”

“That’s not fair! No one ever said anything about throwing my life here away.” His voice raised but you didn’t back down, not with the way your cheeks were hot with anger.

“Oh, so you just expect me to drop my life here to go live in Seattle? Because your career is more important than mine?”

“I never said that! God, I hate it when you put words in my mouth!”

“Well, I hate it when my boyfriend doesn’t consult me on something that affects us both!”

“Why are you so angry about this? Nothing’s happened yet, they might not even take me!”

You scoffed at him, but it came out breathy because of the tears welling in your eyes. “I’m upset because it feels like you aren’t even considering us in your career. Like you don’t care how this affects me too. Like you don’t even notice you’re throwing us away.” Your voice cracked at the end, tears falling from your eyes. You turned away from Erik in an attempt to hide your emotions but he knew. He knew from the way you hunched your shoulders and the way you shut your eyes, you were crying.

Slowly, he came towards you, his step gentle. His arms around you were like glass until you clung to his shirt; then they became like a warm blanket- all encompassing and familiar. Sobs racked through your body and he traced his hand up and down your back. He placed a kiss on the top of your head lightly before smoothing your hair, trying to soothe you. When you finally calmed down, with only hiccups left, he took your face in his hands, wiping away the tear stains off your cheeks.

“Who said anything about me throwing us away? Hmm?” He spoke softly as if he was trying not to frighten a calf. When you didn’t answer him or meet his eyes, he bent down to your level, meeting your weary eyes and repeated his question. When you stayed silent, he kissed your forehead before placing his own against yours.

“I’m not throwing us away, okay? I’m not. Even if you think I am, I promise you I’m not. You’re stuck with me, okay? You got it? I’m not leaving you,”

“But what if Seattle-”

“If. If, baby. It’s not set in stone, it’s an if. A possibility. Joe doesn’t even think they’ll take me. Waiving my contract meant they could protect another D. I haven’t played in practically a season, Seattle probably won’t want me.”

“Probably. Meaning there’s a chance they do want you,”

“There’s also a chance I get hit with a car tomorrow, or that it starts snowing in July.” When that didn’t crack a smile from you, he sighed. “I don’t know what’s going to happen and I wish I did and I wish I could guarantee I stay here but I can’t. But I can guarantee that I’m not giving up on us, even if I go somewhere else,” He ended with a soft smile but furrowed his eyebrows when he saw your eyes go hard again.

“So you’d still expect me to go with you then?” You broke away from his embrace. “To pack up everything I’ve ever known just because you waived your contract?” You shook your head and started off towards your bedroom.

“What, no! No! Baby, c’mon,” He grabbed your hand and turned you to face him. “I don’t expect you to change your whole life for me. I know your job and your friends and your life here is important to you. But I do expect you to have a little bit more faith in me, in us, that we’d figure it out.” He sighed again and dropped your hand to run his hands through his hair.

“Look, hypothetically, hypothetically, if Seattle took me, I only have a year left on my contract. After that, I can decide where I want to go. So it’d be one year, not even, just one season where we’d have to do long distance if you don’t want to move. We could do that. I know we could. And… I’m not as young as I used to be. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to play. And so when that day comes, I can be wherever you are. I don’t care if it’s Milwaukee, Hawaii, Seattle, or here. I want to be wherever you are, even if it means we do 8 months apart. I’ll do 8 months apart if it means the rest of our lives together.”

The two of you stood there in the hallway, silent, contemplating what was said. Even though you had lived together for a year now, this was your first major fight. And your first real glimpse into your future. Sure, you’d mentioned in passing getting a dog or a house with an acreage for his horses, but it was all in passing. EJ was a joker and although he makes you laugh like no other, he isn’t the kind of guy to get serious too often.

“You want forever with me?”

“Fuck yeah, baby. You’re it for me. And you have for a while now.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me you were waiving your clause?” You were pleading with him at this point, your eyes searching his for any sort of answer.

“I didn’t want you to freak out, which based on tonight, was fair enough on my end. And seriously, Joe doesn’t think they’ll take me. I’m old and injury prone. But Sammy isn’t. And we need Sammy. It was for the good of the team. And if I told you, you would’ve tried to talk me out of it.” He shrugged. “But I’d already made up my mind.” He reached out to take your hands again, his thumbs rubbing your thumb knuckles. “It wasn’t against you. I didn’t tell anyone I was waiving it until it was done,” You were silent as he continued to caress your hands.

“I want forever with you too, you know?”

His eyes sifted and his signature goofy grin made its way into his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You looked up at him and squeezed his hands. “Even when you’re being stupid and leave me in the dark,”

“Well then I’m a very lucky man,” He pressed his lips to your cheek in a sloppy kiss which pulled a smile from you. His smile grew wider in triumph. “There’s the smile I know and love. C’mon, let’s go to bed, yeah?” You nodded and kept your hands intertwined as he led you to the bedroom. The two of you slowly got ready for bed, EJ slipping under the covers first. He opened the blanket for you, and you turned off the light before finding you spot cuddled into his side, your head resting on his chest. His hand ran over your hair, whether to soothe you or him, you weren’t sure.

“I love you. And nothing, not even Seattle, will ever change that.” He whispered into the dark room.

“I know.” You pressed a light kiss to his chest and laid your head back down. “I love you too.”

“Whatever happens, it’s me and you babe. I promise.” He kissed the top of your head and slowly you both fell asleep, his promise of the future lulling you into a peaceful slumber.

let me know what you think! thanks for reading!

join my taglist

#erik johnson #erik johnson imagine #nhl imagine #erik johnson fic #nhl fic #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl x reader #hockey imagine #hockey fic #abby writes

[timextoxhajima]

Nevertheless: Wishful Thinking [3]

[completed] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

synopsis: why would the college flirt want anything to do with the innocent heartbreaker? a [somewhat] nevertheless au featuring tbz's eric son young jae

genre [per chapter]: suggestive material, smut *this series is a smut series so* please don't read if you're uncomfy. if you're underaged and you still wanna read, i'm not stopping you. i don't care because that's your responsibility to know what's fiction and what's not.

word count: i genuinely don't fucking know i think it's at least 4k WHY THE FUCK IS IT GETTING LONG ERJSJSJSJDNAKD

taglist: @from-xero @taeyongandfree @ten-gift @louvyves @sweetutopia @yyyereum @jung-breadshop @sunwoowuvbot @mashedpotittiess

protip: links of BGM are linked~

{this is a work of fiction}

eric swipes his thumb across his bottom lip and drags his index finger over the tip of his nose, tongue still sucking on his teeth as if it hadn't already been a day.

he was sitting on the other side of the tutorial room and you just so happened sat in a spot where he was the first person in your view when you looked up.

stupid hexagonal tables.

the moisture in your mouth suddenly evaporates, leaving your tongue dry like sandpaper against the roof of your mouth.

the lustful blanket over his eyes threaten to rip your mentality apart, and even without him touching you, the heat in your abdomen starts to clench and throb.

the thought crosses your mind, just so you can convince yourself: if eric can associate himself with sex within your primal instincts then the brain that got you here can associate him with a big, fucking, red flag.

you suck in a deep breath and hold it for awhile, eyes plastered to the ipad under your palms. crossing your legs tightly, your jeans hug your hips and waist all too perfectly.

yujeong had smacked one of her baseball friends earlier that day for staring at your legs.

after the likes of wooseok's party and the incident yesterday, you made it an effort not to show up in dresses or skirts anymore. call it ptsd, call it trauma, call it not wanting to get into trouble.

whatever it was, you didn't want eric anywhere near you.

well, despite how good he mad-

"can you stop eye-fucking him from across the room?" yujeong harshly whispers at you, glaring at you from the corner of her eyes.

"what?" throwing your tied-up hair to your other shoulder, you tilt your face to her.

"what do you mean 'what'?" yujeong hisses, nodding to the boy across the room. "y'all are fucking in your heads!"

"yes, broadcast it to the entire class, would you, please?" the sarcasm drips off your tongue with a frown.

"I'm just saying if you want him so bad then just go get a room. fucks' sake, go find a practice room or something."

"i think I'll go with 'or something'."

and in that second, your iPad lights up with a notification from the school email account.

yujeong parts her lips with a retort, but you quickly shush her by pressing a finger to your lips when the professor seemed to glance over at the two of you.

she inhales a deep breath, spotting the notification pop up on her laptop screen too.

to: all students

from: the college union

title: dance union winter getaway

dear students,

every year, more than 200 students apply for the dance union but only 20 are accepted. thus, it is of high regard that the members of the dance union utilise the annual winter getaway to bond.

this year's event will be held at lake white. all students in the dance union with leadership positions are expected to be present and those with valid reasons of absence are required to fill up the form attached to this email.

if you're interested in joining the dance union, please apply in the first week of the new academic year. applications open first week of the semester.

regards,

the student union

staring wide-eyed at the email with your apple pencil trembling in your fingers, you gulp.

fuck.

yujeong's lowly snicker sounds from next to you, and you look to her, only to watch a bright smile stretch across her face.

"what?" she snorts, tears in her eyes. "don't look at me. look at your captain."

your neck snaps to the boy across the room, who's got his phone lifted with the screen displaying the email page. he waves it around a little, raising a brow with a menacing shimmer flashing across his eyes.

your blood begins to boil without reason.

why were you suddenly stuck to him? it's like the planets and stars aligned just so he glue himself to you; so he could ruin your title and rip you apart, inch by inch.

your fists clench around the apple pencil, and you're only snapped out of your inner rage when the professor calls on you.

yujeong leans into the lockers with her books against her chest, mindlessly scrolling through her phone as you go on incessantly about the student union's decision to make it mandatory.

you swing the locker door so hard that it bounces off its limit and nearly comes back down onto your hands, but you stop it before it does.

"how does the fucking winter getaway improve our bonds?" you hurl a textbook into the locker. "it's not like we're gonna sit in a circle and sing hallelujah, right?"

"you went for that getaway last year-"

"yeah, and we did nothing besides getting shitfaced! fuck this stupid winter getaway."

"sis, say that any louder and your 'innocent heartbreaker' image is gonna change into something more like 'brutal heartbreaker'."

"don't fucking call me that," you hurl another book into your locker. "and why does everybody talk like that nowadays? 'say that any louder'? where was that from? a movie? a tiktok?"

"why are you so on edge?" yujeong pushes herself off the metal doors and frowns. "you've been on edge ever since wooseok's party."

"i am always on edge."

"what?" yujeong pulls her lips up into a slight wince as her eyes half into squints. "bullshit. what happened to your little 'innocent heartbr-"

"don't," you lift a finger, shutting your eyes and stopping her. "say another word."

yujeong raises both her brows, smirk plastered to her face as she readjusts her bag. "don't worry."

you look up at her, placing the last item in your locker.

"i don't have to."

"what?"

"so," then that godforsaken voice rings from behind you, and all your physical senses start to shut down one by one.

yujeong sees right past it, smirk turning into something less devious as she puffs her cheeks.

"about the winter getaway."

"i'll leave the two of you at it."

"what? no-"

"bye!"

"yujeong-"

she turns and strides off, short hair lathered around her neck. she waves with a bright grin, leaving you to back face the vicious heartbreaker.

you remain rooted to the ground, locker door wide open and bag slung around your right shoulder. eric waits until yujeong disappears down the hall, leaving a few other students within the vicinity to turn and stare at the two infamous dance captains.

eric walks to your side, reaching out and resting his palm on the outer edge of your locker.

"we're in open space," he smiles, gradually pushing the locker door inwards and closing it for you. then he rests his palm against the metal door, sandwiching you again. "there's not much i can do to you."

a few students turn to stare.

"unless you want me to."

"stop it."

"stop what?" he smirks and buckles his arms, forcing you to lay your back flat against the metal surface. "I'm not doing anything."

"then what are you doing now?" you frown and look up at him, knuckles whitening around your bag straps.

"having a conversation."

someone fishes a phone out, and the flashlight flickers.

eric whirls around, keeping his arm anchored to the locker.

"stand down, kid."

"sorry," he fumbles with the phone, and now you'll never know if he actually took a picture.

"anyway-"

"look, i don't know what kind of game you're playing but this isn't healthy for us if we are supposed to work together. especially with the winter getaway coming up."

eric licks his lips and lowers his head, smiling at the sudden cast of professionalism.

"it flatters me that you don't care too much about having fucked outside of wooseok's garage-"

"eric-"

"nor getting fucked out in the practice room-"

"eric-"

"or even the fact that you tied up your hair today-"

"i tie up my hair whenever i fucking want to."

"ooh," eric winces at the snap, his pearly whites glimmering under the lighting. "the 'innocent heartbreaker' is angry!"

"will you shut the fuck up?"

"aw," he coos, leaning into you and breathing down your philtrum. "make me."

your fists finally clench, jaws locked and temples tightened.

"I'll rip off your dick if you touch me again. now, back off."

you press your palms flat into his chest and shove him away, breaking him into light chuckles as he stumbles back.

you pull your bag back onto your shoulder, turning sharply and stomping off.

"hey! we still need to meet up to discuss the plans for lake white!"

the scent of half-painted canvases with acrylic paint washes through your nose when you enter your room.

it's definitely bigger than what a normal room should look like, but it's not your fault that both your parents work under Lee Enterprises, the country's telemarketing company.

the studio corner of your room is in a mess, and you're just halfway done painting the edges of your mirror.

which for specific reasons, you can't really look at it anymore.

the peculiar object you chose to decorate the glass surface hang idly on the corner of the frame, reflecting the afternoon sun spilling into the room.

eric son: so when do we discuss the plans for lake white?

eric son: i don't like to procrastinate

"'discuss the plans for lake white'," mumbling under your breath, you dump your bag into the corner of your room, huffing and resting your hands on your hips. "he's the damn captain, isn't he? he can do it on his own."

notification: acrylic paint to be delivered today

your phone automatically links up with the bluetooth speaker in the room, and you mindlessly tap on the shuffle button before pulling off your shoes.

eric son: okay so I'm thinking groups of four

you pull off your jacket and let the ends of your ponytail brush across your back where the camisole doesn't cover, cool air rushing across the hairs on your skin.

eric son: we can play truth or dare

the bass rumbles through the flooring as you pull off your jeans, throwing on one of those open-holed shorts that no one was ever going to see you in - not even yujeong.

the doorbell rings, yanking you out of your mental rage session over eric son.

acrylic paint.

picking up a cardigan and tying it around your waist, you jog down the stairs and pull open the door without hesitation.

She's just that type of girl

"what. in the world. are you doing here?"

eric tilts his head to the side, his eyes running the length of your body - all the way down to your feet and back up.

"you weren't replying my texts so i thought-" then he raises both hands from his sides, taking a step back and gesturing to your front porch like he owned it. "what better way to have your presence than to go to you?"

"how do you know where i live?" a frown befalls your brows, and your grip tightens on the door handle.

"it's in the school records for student leaders," he offers you a smug shrug, taking a step back to where he was previously standing.

your lips part in an attempt to challenge his explanation, but then he waves it off with a cheeky snicker. "I'm joking. yujeong told me."

"now, why the fuck would she give you my address?"

"hey, captain to captain! plus she knows i won't hurt you."

a scoff runs off your tongue. "you want me to believe that you won't hurt me?"

eric's tongue darts across his lips as he leans on the door frame. "not in your house. oh, i wouldn't dare, princess."

with a huff, you blink away the eye contact first, taking a step back and tugging on the door. "don't fucking call me that."

but his hand flies out and thuds against the wood, keeping the door open. he slowly steps forward, letting himself in.

"then what should i call you?"

"names exist," you step back and grip onto the empty arms of your cardigan around your waist. he closes the door, pulling the chain to lock it.

"then do you prefer y/n or 'innocent heartbreaker'?"

you squint at him, cocking your face at an angle as you back up again.

the answer settles in your head, but you can't say it out loud.

because he's already debunked it.

She's just that type of girl

"fun playlist," eric nods up the stairs, arm stretching out to you and snaking around your waist.

"don't fucking touch me-"

then his other hand circles you as well, his arms around you as he holds you to him, lowering his face into yours. an arching back tries to keep his face off yours, but any more and your spine would've snapped into two.

his nose presses into your cheek as he slots his lips between yours, and the world goes into a muffled silence for a few seconds.

or maybe that was just your playlist moving on.

your nails dig the inside of your clenched palm, fists against his chest as he pulls you up to deepen the kiss, lips moving with yours in some intricate dance of dominance.

on beat with the distant bass coming from your room.

he lets out the first groan, his hands gradually sliding down your back and groping the flesh of your rear that's poking out from under your shorts.

the harsh grip squeezes a whimper out from you, your entire body cringing forward into him and closing the gap between you. with one palm still holding onto your ass, the other comes back up in between your shoulder blades, keeping your chest plastered to his.

eric turns you around, holding you against the wall that leads up to the stairs. your back is flat against the surface, hair stuck to the felt of the wall with your thigh being pulled up over his pelvis.

We should just calm down and fuck some time

then he pulls away and huffs, lips hung wide open and his eyes completely lost in yours. in a low growl, subtly shakes his head as if to disapprove your disobedience against the song lyrics.

"oh, we fucking should."

eric doesn't bother waiting for a response before dipping his nose into your jaw, lips latching onto the tender skin of your neck.

"you coming here-" a jolt of bliss rushes through you when he finds a tender spot, his arms tightening around your waist to keep you close and against the wall. "-was not an invitation-"

the cologne on his clothes starts to intoxicate you like alcohol does to any normal person, the scent of his hair and his clothes wafting and shuffling all around you.

"but you don't hate me being here, do you, princess?" he mumbles into your skin, nipping at the spot behind your lobe. your eyes flutter shut, fists clenching against his shoulder blades.

"come on," he whispers. "we've done it outside and in a practice room, surely you must feel more comfortable in your own bed?"

your eyes widen upon the suggestion, the thought of that cursed object hanging over the corner of your mirror in the room suddenly pulling your soul back into your body.

"no, we can't."

eric pulls away from you, lips reddened from the nipping. they are apart, and his breathing slows as he studies your face.

the panic in your eyes is far too grave for him to miss.

"why not?"

gulp.

"you don't happen to-"

"it's not a vibrator."

eric raises his brows, caging you between his arms as he corners you further, chest on yours and his lips right above your lashes.

"perhaps a-"

"it's not a dildo either."

he pouts in slight disappointment when he can hear the stark honesty in your voice.

his chest rises and lowers under his shirt, listening to your breathing that hitches in your throat every now and then; observing your discipline to keep your eyes away from him.

"you're not gonna tell me what it is?"

glaring at him through the corner of your eye, you shake your head with a resounding 'no'.

he pauses.

then he leans into your ear.

"you being scared is just making me a little more curious, princess."

"curiosity kills the cat."

eric pulls away and slides his arms off the wall. "cats have 9 lives."

the number of sirens that go off in your head spikes, and before you can process his words, he grabs your arm and pulls you onto his shoulder.

"oh my god!" his arm wraps around your lower back, knees against his chest and the world from your eyes upside down as he hoists you up the stairs. "put me down, jesus christ!"

"the more you yell, the more you're gonna regret it, princess," he warns while chuckling to himself. "what could it be, if it's not a dildo or a vibrator?"

then the warmth of his palm reaches up to your shorts, and his fingers dig under the cloth of your underwear.

"fuck, eric-"

all too easily, he pushes a finger into you, your entire body cringing from the sudden intrusion. your eyes blur out just as he makes it to the second floor, and he doesn't need to ask which door he should be heading to.

not when your door has a framed portrait of yourself from last year's concert.

the door creaks open when he pushes the two of you into your room, greeting the sunlight drawn across the floor and his finger still buried inside you.

you heave a sigh when he pulls his finger out and shoves it into his mouth, leaning over your bed to rest you into the cushion.

automatically, his eyes are on high alert, scanning your room. but by the time you've regained your senses and the blood's returned to the rest of your body from your head, he finds it.

resting on the back of your forearms, your breath turns shakey and your eyes twitching from the sight of it dangling off his fingers.

eric turns to look at the mirror, turning the item in his fingers to match the painting of it on the edges.

"so," he returns to you, raising a cocky brow and smirking. "you get high off painting handcuffs on your mirror?"

you tightly shut your eyes as the frown cements into your forehead.

"fuck."

eric scoffs, tongue dragging across his upper lip as he walks towards you and lifts a knee to your bed, the other following.

"this really makes me question how you even got your reputation," eric jingles it from his fingers, his free hand reaching down to draw circles on your right ankle.

"it's just acrylic paint. i paint something new every month-"

"and so your choice for november was... handcuffs?" he wraps his hot fingers around your ankle and yanks you downwards, your crotch nearly meeting his knees.

"it's not my fault you decided to play this game the month i decided to get something remotely inappropriate."

"'remotely inappropriate'," eric repeats, smiling as he lowers himself. the handcuff still within his right hand, his left draws trails up your right leg, playing with the rim of your shorts where they were already riled up enough to expose a bit of your underwear. "so, tell me princess. why did you choose this-"

he holds it up and jingles it over your nose. "to paint?"

"surely it's not because it's pretty."

"or maybe you think it'll look pretty around your wrists?"

eric reaches for your hands and you struggle upon instinct, he pins your dominant hand down first and clips the first cuff around your wrist.

"eric-"

he finds your free hand and connects both your wrists, clipping the other cuff despite your struggling.

eric sucks a deep breath, then parts his lips to exhale. pushing himself off you, he pulls your shorts off first, eyes trailing across every inch of your body with your wrists cuffed together.

the thoughts wash through you involuntarily.

the wooden planks. the dress. the torn underwear.

the mirror. the fogging. the skirt.

the tears collect in the corners of your eyes even before he can completely get it off your ankles.

then he pulls your legs apart for him to lock them in place with his own thighs, crouching over your body like a lion devouring his prey.

he pushes your arms up and above your head, making it difficult for you to bring them back down with your wrists bound together.

his breath is hot on your chest where he first dips his nose into, tongue swiping across the skin of your heaving ribs. hands coming up your waist and pushing them up your torso, it exposes your ribcage and bra.

inch by inch, he breaths down the length of your torso, from your chest and over to your stomach with your camisole rolled up messily over your bra.

upon reaching the rim of your underwear (and heaving stomach as you pant and huff in a bid to calm your nerves), he stops and looks up at you.

"thank god you rejected wooseok."

then both his hands come down to your chest to rip apart your camisole, pulling it out from under you before he unbuckles your bra.

you swallow the first whimper already on the tip of your tongue, but your stomach plunges and your back arches violently when he takes the tip of your breast between his lips.

left hand coming round to grip your other, his right travels down to play with your sensitivity, forcing your body into subtle jolts with the overwhelming sensation.

he tugs on your tip, grazing it between his teeth before releasing it and latching his lips onto the tender flesh in a bid to make his mark.

your brows finally furrow into a frown of bliss, jaw hung agape though struggling to contain the lewd noises prancing about in the back of your throat.

he rolls the other tip between his index finger and thumb, sucking and kissing the reddening flesh of your chest.

and down below, he's pushed your underwear aside, thumb abusing your sensitivity and buckling your hips upwards.

he provides you one sharp bite on your tip, earning a strained hiss from between your teeth. it feeds his pride, for he removes himself off you completely and stares down at you, admiring the painting he's made on your chest.

hickeys.

grip marks.

and the wet patch on your underwear between your legs.

he turns and shifts off the bed, leaving you to catch your breath and cross your legs over one another.

the clacking about in your studio corner drives the tears into your eyes, listening to the lid of the box where you keep your paint come off.

you shut your eyes, resigning to fate.

for your body is in burning need and the discipline to go against his word has betrayed you.

you hear his belt come undone, the weight of his clothes hitting the carpeted ground before the mattress around your legs sink again.

"oh... princess~" he sings, coaxing you out of your mental begging that this was just a nightmare.

a corner drags across your stomach, and your eyes fly open to see his fingers wrapped around a bottle of acrylic paint, completely oblivious to him pulling your underwear off your legs.

black.

the only color that was still relatively abundant.

then the sight of his nudity drives you up a wall inside your head; better yet, driving your resignation up against your own skull.

the lines of his pelvic bone leading down to his manhood all for your eyes to feast on, and even if you wanted to look away, you couldn't.

fuck.

"listen to me very carefully, princess..." he shakes the bottle, then proceeds to unscrew the cap. "I'm sure you don't want any of these on your bed, right?"

chills run through your body when he tilts the bottle over, squeezing the paint onto his palms.

"so," he blinks back to you, eyes wide and cautious. "my advice?"

and with that, he carefully caps the bottle, effortlessly tossing it over his shoulder and back into the box.

he presses his palms together, spreading the paint across his skin.

"don't move too much."

with a wide grin, he smudges the paint into your thighs and up your stomach, sliding the paint all the way to your breasts where he offers a harsh grip.

he doesn't give you a chance to respond to that before he slides himself into you, your neediness allowing him entrance far too easily.

by now, your body was somewhat conditioned to recognise his size, but the idea of him buried deep inside you and his groaning coating the room makes you a little more feral; a little more insane.

the whimper that runs off your tongue is mercilessly lapped up by him when he leans over to kiss you, tongue shoved into your mouth in a bid to shut you up.

he rolls his hips back and forth, unwilling to stop and definitely unwilling to give you any kind of mercy when it comes to making you lose your grip on reality.

he pulls away and resumes an upright position, abs flexed and his palms still gripping onto your chest like his life depended on it.

but eric seems to be a little on edge himself, for this was his first time seeing all of you under him, instead of your humility covered by a dress or a skirt and worrying about being caught in school.

no.

now, he can feast his eyes on you like the predator he is.

not only does he decide to leave his own marks, but marks that you gave him access to.

his handprints are black on your skin and the entire bed is jerking along with every thrust he's offering you.

you finally let out a strained cry, tears collecting in your eyes with the bliss rushing through you over and over again like a broken record. eric's breath turns shaky, and his grip on you begins to loosen when his thighs start to convulse.

by some miracle, the last thrust hits your climax and he pulls out almost immediately after to coat the paint on your stomach with himself.

cream on black.

eric huffs arrogantly, taking deep breaths to retain his breathing as he releases you, stepping back to take in the sight of you in your own bed, ruined by him.

"you definitely look pretty in cuffs."

#nevertheless: wishful thinking #eric smut #the boyz smut #tbz smut #eric sohn smut #eric scenarios #eric imagines #the boyz scenarios #the boyz imagines #tbz scenarios #tbz imagines #eric x reader #eric sohn x reader #the boyz x reader #this was too filthy

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 310: A Tale of Two Kacchans

Previously on BnHA: Flashback!Deku was all, “hey, you know what sounds like a good decision? Abandoning my studies at the safest place in the country so that the bad guy who wants to find me and kill me has literally nothing standing in his way of doing that.” All Might was all, “I fucking knew you were going to say some bullshit like that so whatever, but I’M COMING WITH YOU and I’m also going to invite the Hawksquad to come with us, mostly so that I can steal Jeanist’s car.” Jeanist was all, “okay fine you can borrow my car, All Might, but only if you wear jeans.” All Might was all, “okay sure” and he wore jeans and also sunglasses and a leather jacket and it was pretty rad. Anyway so now they’re out there fighting crime and hunting down the LoV and stuff, and absolutely none of it is going to end well, I’m just letting you know now. But I guess we’ll let them enjoy it while it lasts.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “happy belated Kacchan’s Birthday makeste, here’s the flashback you really wanted at long last,” and proceeds to pull the old vestige flashback out of the kitchen drawer and upend its contents all over my Friday afternoon without the slightest bit of warning. OFA III is all “WHAT’S UP I’M JUST SOME GUY, HELLO,” and okay?? Hello yourself. OFA II, on the other hand, is all, “okay yeah I have different hair and stuff, but I’m like 98% sure I’m either Bakugou or his goddamn twin, I mean look at me.” Which, yeah. I looked, and he really is though you guys. Anyway though, so he and OFA II basically just showed up in the First (who goes by Yoichi now)’s prison cell one day all “HEY THERE, WE’RE HERE TO SAVE YOU, APPARENTLY, ALTHOUGH WE SEEM REAL CONFUSED ABOUT IT TBH BUT HEY.” And so they saved him, and Yoichi was all “hey nice to meet you do you want to join my super-exclusive Saving The World Club”, and so they did, and then the chapter ended lol. I would have said yes too.

oh my sweet lord?? I didn’t realize we were getting a color page this week, but LOOK AT THIS

this could have been a fucking volume cover. I’m almost mad that it wasn’t, lol but I mean fkldjslklk just look at it??! Horikoshi out here spoiling us and making sure we’re well fed since next week the manga is on break for Golden Week. well this will certainly help to tide me over. hot damn look at those colors

so now it’s raining on some dumb building in the middle of somewhere

is this where the Hawksquad has set up camp for the night? or are we actually cutting back to the League? that’d be unexpected (but not unwelcome)

ffff nevermind dammit it’s just more random citizens under attack

feels like this is the third or fourth scene we’ve had of civilians being Under Attack since this arc started. I mean no offense, but I think we get it by this point. it’s the end times, etc. etc. we’re well aware that things have gone to shit

so apparently these two guys are facing off against a girl with a mutant quirk. and she’s telling them that she’s not a monster and she was just scared, oh shit. I believe her btw, you can see it in her face

but these assholes don’t believe her at all and they’re pointing what looks to be some type of support item gun at her

you know what’s interesting, is that this kind of random quirk discrimination is the exact kind of thing PLF and the like were swearing up and down they’d put a stop to with their glorious revolution. it’s almost like those guys were completely full of shit. huh

so yeah, fortunately for this woman someone is stepping in and intervening before she can be blasted to bits by this trigger-happy asshole for absolutely no fucking reason

looks like a hero actually stepped in and saved her?? but no that can’t be, heroes are the ones that ruin everything and make everything worse, or so I understand. lol where did all of this sarcasm come from out of nowhere dlkdsjlk I’m sorry guys I just suddenly got swept up in the hypocrisy of certain people’s philosophies out of the blue idek

anyway so it is of course Deku saving her, and now he’s trying to talk thess jerks down all diplomatically instead of just kicking their asses, which is certainly a choice

MOTHERFUCKER I’M

fucking impossible to miss the real world parallels here. shit. this woman nearly died for her crime of Walking While Having A Mutant Quirk huh. and meanwhile Deku is just letting this guy scurry away and even letting him keep that fucking bazooka of his, like, ????

fucking hell she’s crying!!

lmao this chapter is actively trying to make me mad now huh. that’s some genuine righteous anger I’m feeling on behalf of this fictional ferret lady whom I only met two minutes ago. girl you are not the one who needs to explain herself here!! you didn’t do anything wrong holy fuck. everything about this situation sucks so much

fkKJKLMMMHFGH

“I’m sorry I made you upset, please enjoy this panel of tiny!floating!Deku hefting this lady’s massive beach umbrella up for her like the fucking gentleman he is” well okay then thank you sir

and JUST LIKE THAT the tension is broken and I’m entirely incapable of taking the rest of this conversation seriously because Deku’s trying to be all calming and authoritative, but now the illusion has been broken because I know he only comes up to like her knees

“well thanks again for saving me young man. I’ll leave you to it, I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do like protecting your Lucky Charms cereal from all those greedy children”

oh hey All Might

you wouldn’t have just let that guy with the bazooka just walk away to commit more attempted murders would you?? man

OH MY GOD DEKU IS IMMEDIATELY DITCHING HIM AGAIN

I ~CANNOT STAY HERE~ oh, well, sorry to keep you detained I know you’re busy

dfslkjlk oh my god

fucking told you Deku didn’t pack any food lol. it’s literally all notebooks in that bag you guys. he couldn’t just leave them all in his dorm room when he left, because what if someone tried to read them and came across one of the pages where he absentmindedly doodled Kacchan’s name surrounded by little tiny hearts oh gosh

AWWWWW

I needed this Horikoshi. thank you for this wholesome soul-cleansing interaction after all of that bullshit earlier

so now Deku’s climbing up this tall building to eat his lunchbox more dramatically. Tokoyami would be proud

and Banjou is saying that society right now is just like in The Good Old Days (read: bad old days) when quirk society was even more of a mess than it is now

which is exactly how AFO likes it, no doubt

so now Deku’s having a whole conversation with Banjou seemingly out loud lol, weird. and he’s basically saying that they don’t have any clues as to where TomurAFO and the League are hiding right now, and none of the Tartarus escapees they’ve found knew anything either

mmmmmfmhm, marge simpson noises

but you think you can?? you, alone, by yourself?? you think you stand a chance?? I just need you to think this all through a bit more kid

Deku it is NOT JUST YOUR RESPONSIBILITY ALONE, PLEASE REALIZE THIS ALREADY. YOU MAY BE THE CHOSEN ONE, BUT EVEN THE CHOSEN ONE NEEDS HIS FRIENDS BY HIS SIDE GODDAMMIT

and of course my pleading is all in vain, because he’s a fictional character who can’t fucking hear me, and also because I’m pretty sure there’s only one character who is going to actually be able to get him to hear reason here. I’ve been saying it, and I’ll keep saying it lol. so until then I guess I’ll just have to be patient

anyway so it appears we’re segueing into another flashback??? HORIKOSHI PLEASE GIVE ME SOME BAKUCRUMBS BEFORE THE TWO WEEK BREAK, I BEG YOU

dlKSDJLFKWJELKGHSLGKLEKJLFKHLGK

YES, THANK YOU, I KNOW WHERE THIS FUCKING IS LOL, IT’S NOT LIKE I’VE BEEN OBSESSED WITH FINDING OUT WHAT HAPPENS IN THE REST OF THIS SCENE OR ANYTHING LMAO. BUT ANYWAYS DON’T MIND ME, YOU WERE SAYING??

oh my god oh my god I’m not readyyyyy, but also FUCK YEAH I AM SO FUCKING READY LOL LET’S DO THIS

YOU GUYS

I’M ABOUT TO STEP IN THAT ROOM AND YEET ONE OF THOSE FUCKING CHAIRS AT YOU ALL

NOOOOO

I’M ABOUT TO GRAB BANJOU’S GOGGLES AND STRETCH THEM OUT AND SNAP THEM BACK SO THEY SMACK THE SHIT OUT OF HIS FOREHEAD!!! IT’S WHAT HE DESERVES!!! I’M ABOUT TO MOVE TO JAPAN AND GET A JOB WITH DOORDASH AND FIND OUT WHAT HORIKOSHI LIKES TO ORDER FOR LUNCH SO I CAN BE THE ONE TO DELIVER IT SO THAT WHEN HE OPENS THE DOOR I CAN FINALLY ASK HIM “HEY WHAT THE FUCK” IN PERSON

AHHH NO EVERYBODY SHHHHH STOP TALKING!!!!

SOMEONE PLEASE TELL THAT PERSON SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF THEIR LUNGS IN THE BACKGROUND TO SHUT THE FUCK UP, OH WAIT, THAT’S ME

(」゜ロ゜)」 щ(゜ロ゜щ)

LOL THIS FUCKING ASSHOLE!!! LOOK AT YOU!!! YOU’RE NOT KIRISHIMA OR SHINSOU OR IIDA IN A WIG OR ANYBODY LOL. YOU’RE JUST A DUDE. BROOOOO ABOUT FUCKING TIME, WHAT’S GOOD

I CAN’T SCROLL DOWN AHHHH BUT I HAVE TO BUT IT’S TOO INTENSE AHHHHHHH

I CAN SEE THE TOP OF HIS SPIKY HEAD, IT’S FINALLY THAT TIME AHHHHHHHH OKAY I’M GONNA DO IT HERE GOES

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

IT’S HIM. IT FUCKING REALLY FUCKIGN IS HIM OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. WHY AM I SO SHOCKED LMAO I’M THE ONE WHO’S BEEN SAYING THIS THE WHOLE DAMN TIME LMAO. OH GOD. O H MY FUCKING GOD

well okay then sir. so are you an ~ancestor~ or a Kacchan from another timeline or so what’s your deal then

YOICHI WHO IS YOICHI

YOICHI ALWAYS KNOWS WHAT’S UP. LMAO WHO IS YOICHI

(ETA: I’m going to punch myself in the face lmao. he’s Yoichi. he, the First. that’s his name. name reveal at long last what what!!)

MORE IMPORTANTLY SHOULD I BE IMAGINING NOBU’S VOICE RIGHT NOW BECAUSE LMAO I AM ANYWAY BUT YEAH

(ETA: I actually think he’s going to end up being voiced by Nobuhiko whether he ends up being Kacchan or not, just because it fits right in with the general “identical in almost every way” aesthetic he’s got going on.)

TUMBLR HOW WE LIKING OUR ANGSTY ALTERNATE UNIVERSE KACCHAN?? EVERYONE HATED YOU SO MUCH BEFORE THEY EVEN MET YOU, BUT THEY FORGOT TO CONSIDER THE POSSIBILITY THAT YOU MIGHT BE HOT LMAO WHAT A TWIST

“some bright-eyed brat” oh come on. IT’S GOTTA BE HIM LOL

oh my god you all are probably TIRED AS FUCK of all my screaming but I’M SORRY IMMA HAVE TO DO IT ONE LAST TIME BECAUSE...

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

that face. that expression!! THE FACT THAT HE’S OUT HERE OPENING DOORS WITH HIS FEET, LIKE HOLY SHIT!! JUST ADMIT THE JIG IS UP ALREADY

and so they really are the ones who busted First out of his jail cell huh

so how did they know you were in the room?? why did they come and break you out?? and how, pray tell, did they know to get you to transfer OFA to them?? hmmmMMMMMMMM

oh MY GOD

you guys. oh my god. it’s too much. every last bit of it lines up exactly with the Bakuverse theory sdkjfj I’m short-circuiting. it’s really fucking happening oh my lord

HELLO SEXY ALTERNATE UNIVERSE KACCHAN WITH HIS SEXY FUCKING SCAR, FUCK YEAH WE REALLY ARE EATING GOOD THIS CHAPTER

HELL YEAH WE’RE GOING. WE’RE GOING FULL SPEED YOU GUYS. LMAO I’M SO FUCKING HYPED RIGHT NOW I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MYSELF WEFKJLDKFFFF

SO, EVERYONE, LET’S RECAP. -- ACTUALLY NO, I STARTED TO WRITE UP A LIST, BUT I IMMEDIATELY REALIZED IT REALLY JUST NEEDS TO GO IN ITS OWN THREAD. SO I MADE IT AND POSTED IT, AND NOW I’M FINISHING UP THIS HOT MESS OF A RECAP POST. SO NOW WE’RE BACK TO THIS ONE FINAL PANEL OF DEKU EATING HIS KATSU ALL SERIOUS

YES SIR. YES SIR, WE GOING, FULL SPEED AHEAD, WHATEVER, IDK WTF IS HAPPENING BUT YES!!

lol, anyways so as I said in my other post, mysterious sexy guys with tragic pasts are what bring us together as a fandom, so whatever your thoughts are on the rest of it, let’s just rejoice in that. it’s what we deserve

#bnha 310 #midoriya izuku #ofa prime #ofa ii #bakugou katsuki #MAYBE??? #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

[shorkbrian]

What's Deku like when he gets jealous?

Prelude - This is just an excuse for me to write subby(-ish), angry baby boy with a mommy kink, sorry. Want to put a little reminder here that this is fiction, and it’s depicting a bad relationship

Seriously you guys, I feel like I need to reiterate that a relationship like this isn’t healthy. Your partner should not cling to you 24/7, they should not try and manipulate your feelings. They can communicate their feelings in such a way (Baby, I’m feeling a little lonely right now, would you be up for some cuddling?) that doesn’t force you into rushing to assure them that you still love them because otherwise they’ll have a complete breakdown. I feel like this fic is an example of some unhealthy codependency stuff. I don’t condone this stuff, it’s not good, it’s very unhealthy. 

Pls, pls, if you feel like your relationship might be bordering into something where you feel pressured to cater to your partner in ways you’re uncomfortable with out of fear that they’ll have a breakdown, talk to someone. Anyone. A therapist, a friend, a trusted adult, anyone. This is fiction, and it isn’t healthy, nor good

Pairing - Izuku Midoriya X Reader

Warnings - NSFW, unhealthy relationship, dubcon, co-dependency. 

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/2hfoyc7ve6xM4ZEiNIiU1B?si=w7PXedqHQPqUFPQTDcEYuA

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Needy

When Izuku sees another man talking to his girlfriend (it could be anyone, a store clerk, your coworker, the guy delivering pizza, your brother for christsake) he gets so incredibly needy. 

Pulling at your clothes, whining when you have to leave for work in the morning, clinging to you like a child and refusing to let go.

He makes you late for work sometimes, working himself up when he wakes up in bed to find you getting ready in the bathroom, stumbling to your side and draping his arms around you before begging you not to leave. Acts like a petulant baby while you try to make coffee, grabbing your mug and putting it somewhere out of reach with a frown (if you can’t make coffee, you can’t leave. he knows that’s not how it works but he doesn’t want you to go, Izuku’s willing to try anything to get you to stay), his eyes so hurt and upset when all you do is huff and grab another mug from the cupboard.

Izuku holds you too close when he gets jealous, almost crushing you in his grip when he comes up and hugs you while you’re paying the delivery guy, glaring over your shoulder to make it clear that you’re his. When you’re talking to your brother, Izuku clings to your hand, pulls you into his lap, tries to touch (sometimes inappropriately) so much that you find yourself annoyed with him, batting him away so you can have a conversation with your brother.

And that hurts Izuku even more, feeds the flames of his jealousy until they’re an all-consuming fire of bitterness and insecurity.

The man is sure to swing by your office on his lunch breaks, bringing you your favorite foods to show you how good he is to you, even sitting and eating with you like a good boyfriend. He makes sure to be overly affectionate, holding up his chopsticks to your mouth, cooing at you to open so he can feed you, giving you a peck on this lips after you take a bite. If he finishes his own food before you do, Izuku spends the rest of lunch kissing at your neck, occasionally stopping to rest his head against your shoulder like a sleepy toddler. 

One time, your coworker had passed by the break room, and made eye contact with you while Izuku was trying to suck at your neck with his arms wrapped around your shoulders. It made you blush so hard, and you couldn’t talk to that coworker for at least a week. Obviously, that’s always Izuku’s goal with such overt PDA whenever he stops by your office.

It’s hard not to get short with him, shrug him off or let you irritation show in your voice when you tell him to give you some space. Izuku takes that personally, somehow wiggles himself even closer while pouting and trying to make excuses for why he needs to be in your space.

When you do snap, raising your voice a bit at your boyfriend and telling him you’d like to watch the movie alone, Izuku rears back from your body, eyes wide and breathing hard, as if you’d physically struck him. You don’t feel guilty though, he’s been hounding you all week, never giving you room to breathe, initiating sex every single night just so you can feed his craving for your touch.

He leaves the bedroom, sulks off to the living room with his tail between his legs, letting you finally take a breath.

You only finish an episode or two before his back, clutching at his sleeves, tears in his eyes, sniffling and looking so small. He’s past 6′, a full grown man, and yet he’s shrinking in on himself so much that he looks far shorter than you.

“Are you mad at me?” 

And of course you aren’t, not really. But you’re a full grown adult, and it’s not healthy for Izuku to be so dependent on you, so clingy and needy and possessive.

“I’m not mad Izuku, I just wanted some space.” You sigh.

“You’re ignoring me.” And his tears hit full force, bubbling over and running down his cheeks, and your heart drops.

He’s manipulating you, always does. You’re not stupid, you know this isn’t a good relationship - Izuku’s dependent and jealous of anyone who isn’t him, and you enable that behavior, don’t do enough to curb it. But he’s a full grown man, you aren’t his mom. 

Izuku doesn’t agree.

“’M sorry mommy, I just want to be close to you... please don’t make me leave.” And he looks so pathetic, so desolate standing there in the doorway, cheeks wet and red from crying.

A beat passes while you war with yourself.

But you can’t ever seem to uphold your own boundaries.

“C’mere, it’s okay.”

And he’s by your side in a flash, climbing onto the bed, face-planting into your chest, his hands desperately petting at your neck and hair as if he’s trying to soothe himself. It’s an awkward position, but it’s one that he’s comfortable with. you know trying to encourage him to put his face anywhere else would result in a giant fit.

He’s crying heavily, tears soaking your shirt, mumbling about how he’s sorry, how he needs you, how you’re making him sad and feel so unloved.

You feel a little bit guilty, even though you know you shouldn’t 

Stroking his hair, you making shushing sounds, trying to calm him. “Shhh shhh shh, it’s okay Izu. I love you, you’re okay.”

“But I’m not!” He cries, head lifting, fixing you with a pouty glare. His eyes are puffy and red, he’s biting his lip, and he looks like a man again, angry at you. “You’re getting tired of me and you don’t want to date me anymore.” Izuku’s lip wobbles, and then he’s burying his face back into your chest unhappily.

“Izu... no baby...” You start. “I love you so much, I’m not breaking up with you.”

Although, maybe you should. 

The man shakes his head, and you want to huff at his childish display, but you know he’s sensitive, know he’s a bit more emotional than most, always has been.

“You don’t love me. You keep talking to other guys, and you won’t spend time with me anymore. You don’t even want to have sex with me, I know you don’t, I can tell.” He accuses.

That’s not the truth at all, and part of you knows it. He’s good at fucking you, knows how to play your body like the most treasured instrument. Izuku’s so enthusiastic, so eager to please, going down on you with determination to make you writhe and scream on his tongue. When you pull him away, he’s blushing, panting, almost dizzy from the rush of making you cum.. 

“Tell me it feels good. Did I do it right? Did I make you cum?” and you’re nodding your head, pussy still pulsing lazily from the aftershocks.

He always grinds himself against the bed, and it must feel good because by the time he pushes inside, he’s barely able to stop himself from cumming at the oversensitive squeeze of your cunt.

But he always makes sure to make you cum one last time before he finds his own release.

And it’s not true that you won’t spend time with him, or that you’re always talking to other guys. You hardly talk to anyone anymore, Izuku even finding problems with your female friends (”They aren’t good for you, I bet they’re talking about you behind your back. I mean, look how easily they talk about that one girl when she's not hanging out with you all.”)

“Izuku, you’re being a dumb baby, get up here.” Sometimes the only way to shut up his insecurities is to take control, so you do. Tugging on his hair until he pushes upward, you find his mouth, kissing him deep.

When you pull away, eyes closed, lips warm from how intently Izuku kissed you back, you can feel your boyfriend hovering, mere inches away from your face.

“Show me you love me. I want.... I want you to show me mommy. Make me feel loved, please?”

Ah, so that’s how he wants you.

When he gets angry, upset with you, Izuku resorts to name calling. not the vicious, cruel, bullying kind. No, he calls you mommy, expects you to take care of him, make him feel good and shower him in love ‘til he cries, until he doesn’t have to doubt you.

You always do whenever he calls you mommy. There’s an underlying threat whenever he insists on the dynamic, a simmering malice that you can barely pick up on. A little bit of you is... almost afraid. But if you’re quick to adapt to the role he wants you to play, as you always are, nothing comes of that hint of hostility hiding beneath his cry-baby cover-up.

“Turn over then baby.” You tell him, pushing at his chest.

He does so easily, watching with wide eyes as you rise to your knees, beginning to strip seductively, starting with your shirt.

“Keep your eyes on mommy, want you to watch.”

“Okay.” He breathes, a hand falling to his crotch, squeezing at the quickly-developing bulge there.

You allow it for now, more focused on swinging your hips, bringing your shirt over your head sexily, letting it mess up your hair as you tug it off before throwing it off the bed. 

Shimmying your bottoms down, you leave your panties on, shifting to lean against one hip to pull your bottoms the rest of the way off, pointing your toes as you bring them past your feet.

Izuku’s eyes follow the garment, before flicking back to your panties.

They’re nothing special, just simple cotton underwear that keeps you covered, but Izuku thinks you look hot in everything, anything.

“Mommy... want you bad. ‘M hard, please-please fix it.” He whines, bucking his hips up into his hand.

You swat at his hand, and he yelps a little before looking at you with confusion.

“No touching, only mommy gets to do that.”

Izuku nods so quickly his neck pops, which makes you smile a bit. When he’s not being needy or clingy, he’s cute. It’s what drew you to him in the first place, what reeled you in.

You start by running a hand over his clothed chest, dragging fingertips over his nipples, watching as your boyfriend puts his hands above his head and lays back, eyes fixed on you.

Hands hook around the waistband of his sweatpants, beginning to slowly drag them off his body. You press them down hard over his bulge, and your boyfriend stutters out a breath.

His shirt gets pushed up to his face, where you hold it above his mouth.

“Open up baby boy.”

He opens his mouth, and you stuff the hem in, telling him to bite down. He does.

You duck down a bit to lick at his chest, laving over his nipples with the flat of your tongue just to feel the man jump a little, arching his back to press his chest further into your mouth.

But you were only here to tease, so you pulled away , running a hand down his abdomen so you could trace a finger up his hard cock.

It was easy to get him worked up, tapping two fingers against his shaft, lightly giving his balls a squeeze, scratching at his thighs with your nails.

Izuku was getting his shirt wet, whining around the fabric, bucking his hips into you touch, trying to entice you to stroke his entire shaft instead of teasing.

You quickly put a stop to that with a hand pressing down against his hipbone, pinching the skin there to make it clear that you didn’t want him to move.

Teasing a bit more, you leaned down, blowing cool air across the tip of his cock to watch the man jump, eyes flying open at the sensation. When you did it again, following the movement with attaching your mouth around the head and suckling, Izuku’s eyes rolled back in his head, toes curling.

He was moaning behind his shirt, trying to say something, but you were too preoccupied with digging your tongue into the slit, slurping at his cock like it was a piece of candy.

Your hand finally closed around his length, giving him a light, quick stroke before letting go, popping your mouth off his cock to lick at the sides, closing your mouth over the tender, barely-there veins and giving them a quick suck.

Izuku choked out a loud moan, and you looked up to find him staring at you, pupils dilated, breathing hard through his nose.

He was wanting you to hurry up.

Even though you were supposed to be in charge right now, Izuku still held the power.

You gripped his shaft again, rubbing the velvety skin between your fingers and palm, before slowly beginning to jerk him off. It was too dry, too rough though, and you know Izuku wasn't fond of that, so you stopped a moment to gather spit in your mouth.

“Izu, watch baby.” You told him, making sure he was looking down at you before you opened your mouth, letting your saliva slowly drool out and onto his cock.

The man looked like he was going to burst.

You did that a couple more times, telling your boyfriend to watch each time.

Now thoroughly wet, you gripped him tight again, resuming your leisurely pace.

“Izu baby, if you want to cum you gotta ask.” You say gently, hand speeding up around his length.

Izuku groans, throwing his head back onto the pillows, letting the wet hem of his shirt fall from his mouth. “Can I... can I cum mommy? Please? I-I need to cum.”

You stay quiet, wanting to push him a little more, hand barely moving around his cock, but your grip tight and slick.

His face is all red now, the tears from earlier dry on his cheeks. “Oh mommy, please let me cum, you feel so good. ‘M so clo-se! Please, please-”

Twisting your hand around the tip before letting go, you watch his cock bob, twitching, so red and hot. The veins on the underside are pulsing, Izuku’s balls drawing up, his stomach tensing as he struggle to hold back, struggles to be a good boy.

You know he loves this - loves when you make him wait, when you make him beg.

“You don’t sound like you really want it ‘Zuzu, I don’t know if I should let you.” You’d learned over time what he wanted when he got like this, what you were supposed to do to make him happy.

Izuku wanted you to be a bit mean, to tease and tease and not let him cum.

He let out a wail, squirming against the sheets, hands still obediently above his head, although they opened and closed shakily as if he wanted to grab onto something, probably you.

“No, ohhh, mommy I do, I want it s’bad!

Shaking your head makes Izuku whine, his hips thrusting into the air desperately before they stilled.

“Please... You make me feel so-so good mommy. I love you so much. just wanna cum...”

And his voice sounds so broken, all raspy and breathless, so you relent.

You strip his cock hard and fast, the wet sound of your hand around his length clicking around the room as Izuku almost screams at the sudden stimulation.

He jerks against the bed, thrusts up into your hand, you watch his abdomen ripple and his thighs tense and-

You let go of his cock right as he starts to cum, and Izuku lets out a wounded cry. His hands fly to his aching cock to rub himself through his orgasm, ease the tingling and the throbbing as his cock jerks, but you’re faster. His wrists are grabbed, and you pull them to your chest, ignoring the eyes looking at you pleadingly. Your own eyes are focused on his cock, globs of cum oozing out of the tip, running down the sides, his cock twitching and moving as if it had a life of it’s own.

“MOmmy no!” The man cries, but it’s useless now, his orgasm’s already been ruined.

“Shh ‘Zuzu, you’re okay. Mommy loves you.” You soothe, moving to his side so you can give him an awkward hug, his hands flying to clutch at you as soon as you let go of them/

“Mm, love you, love you mommy. Love you so much.” He sniffs, his hands pulling you to him so tight that you almost lose your balance.

You give him a pat on the shoulder, before trying to pull away, stopped by his firm grip. “Baby, let mommy go so I can take care of you.”

The man sniffs once more, pressing himself to you tightly with a wet kiss to your neck before relenting, letting you sit up.

A timid smile graced your lips as you shuffled down again, attention back on his cock. 

It was even wetter now, cum barely dribbling out the tip, some of it on your boyfriend’s lower tummy, some of it slipping to his balls. His legs were spread, and you’d be surprised if some of the whiteish liquid hadn’t dripped down his taint.

Gently, you started rubbing his thighs, soft little circles meant to soothe and calm. 

You spent a fair amount of time doing that, ten minutes, fifteen, then twenty, laying your head on Izuku’s knee as you lost yourself to the mechanical movement.

But then his leg jerked, shaking you to the present and out of your thoughts.

His cock was hard again.

He was looking down at you with big, expectant eyes, watching your every move like a cat watching a mouse. You were supposed to be in charge, but you never truly felt like it. 

“Pretty boy... you’re so pretty, know that?” You cooed, reaching up to start sliding your hand along his length, the texture slick and somewhat sticky.

Izuku moaned. “Not-not as pretty as mommy... You’re the prettiest. Love you...” He trailed off, obviously wanting you to say it back.

“I love you too Izuku.” And then it was back to teasing, rubbing at his cock before gripping him tightly, squeezing at the base, playing with his balls, fondling the soft skin.

He was getting impatient.

“Mommy, I wanna fuck you.” Izuku whined, his eyes tearing up, already shuffling so he could sit up.

You were tired, but you figured that he might as well. Telling him no might lead to a big fight, and you’d be back where you started, Izuku accusing you of the unforgivable offense of no longer loving him.

Nodding, you let go of his cock.

Within seconds, you were on your back, your boyfriend pushing and pulling at your limbs until they were where he wanted them.

“Oh, look at mommy, look at this.” the man sighed, pulling your panties to the side to reveal your slit, already glistening. “All for me, right? Just me?”

“Mm-hm.” You reassured him, jolting a bit as his fingers started to slide against your folds, before rushing to dip one inside.

He was often too eager with this stage, wanting to fuck you now. But you endured, wincing a bit at the slight sting as he began pushing in and out, dipping down to mouth at your neck.

Green curls tickled your skin, and you latched onto them, tugging a bit when he pushed another finger inside, impatient.

“Sorry, I just-just wanna feel-wanna fuck you, you’re.... I love you.”

He couldn’t stop himself from telling you every other second, adding a third finger, scissoring them inside you a bit too fast for it to be comfortable.

But then they were gone, and he was lining himself up.

“Be gentle-be gentle-!” You cautioned, words cut off with a small gasp as he pushed inside, only half listening.

He was average, definitely not the biggest you’d ever taken, but thick enough to have your eyes fluttering shut with each rock of his hips against your body. 

You still had your hands buried in his curls, Izuku lifting his head so he could kiss you on the mouth, wet and warm and hungry for every ounce of affection he could pull from you.

It didn’t take long for him to find his rhythm, thankfully not hammering into you, just thrusting quick and short, barely pulling out before seating himself balls deep again.

And it took even less time for him to start moaning about his impending release.

“Mommy, fuck, you feel amazing, I’m so close.”

You were on the pill, but Izuku knew how much you didn’t like him cumming inside. It felt weird, and you hated the cleanup, and it was just a general mess you’d rather avoid.

“Izu...oh pull-pull out baby, don’t cum inside mommy.”

His eyes fix you with a stern glare, as stern as he can manage after being teased and having his orgasm ruined and teased again until he cried. But then he softened, burying his face into your neck, whining quietly.

“No, no, nuh-uh mommy-y, wanna-wanna cum inside. I wanna cum inside mommy, I’m-I’m gonna cum inside mommy.”

His thrusts faltered, becoming jerky and quick and entirely focused on his own pleasure as little moans and gasps punched out of his throat. “Wanna cum, wanna cum, wanna cum-!” He cried, humping against you like an inexperienced virgin.

His load gushed into you like a flood, and you barely thought to wince before you were bumming yourself, limbs twitching erratically as you rode out the waves burning through your body.

It takes you a few minutes to come down, Izuku’s bigger body draped across your form as he tried to even out his breathing, gulping in air as if he’d just finished a marathon.

You felt irritated at him, that he had cum inside, at how he always bulldozed past what you wanted. 

A small part of you knew that this wasn’t.... it wasn’t okay. He was breaking your boundaries, and the unending reliance and worship made it hard for you to tell him no.

It felt good though, having someone tell you that you’re the reason that they woke up every morning. That they couldn’t live without you, how you were their everything, their one and only. He lifted you up, praised you and made you feel wanted and needed.

Your relationship was a pot of water being brought to a boil. You knew it was happening, you knew it wasn’t good, but the water felt warm. The sting of it’s heat was welcome for now, even though you knew that it would end in nothing good.

Even if you wanted to get out, how would you? Izuku kept such a tight grip on you, even now, his arms holding you close, his bodyweight crushing you.

He was just so needy.

And you were willing to give.

#izuku midoriya #yandere izuku #izuku midoria x reader #yandere izuku midoriya #izuku imagine #izuku smut #bnha midoriya #bnha #BNHA smut #my hero academia #bad relationship #bad dynamics #unhealthy relationships #dependency #co-dependence #tw dubcon #tw.dubcon

[wiypt-writes]

Sunny Side Up

Summary: Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, right? And for Mike, there’s no better way to start it than by eating his favourite thing, ever.

Pairing: Mike Weiss x Reader

Warnings: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Brief mentions of drug addiction- nothing graphic. Language!

A/N: So this was what popped into my head after seeing @imanuglywombat​ post that damned latest Sex Position as part of her downright filthy and wonderful “Is That Even A Sex Position” weekly challenge. This position is called “The Special Breakfast”. See here for more information. And you can totally blame @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ for this one. I wasn’t gonna write it but…yeah, I did. Sorry not sorry.  I’ve tried to make the reader as non-descript and as inclusive as I can but I don’t usually do reader x fics so I apologise if it hasn’t quite hit the mark.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar the reader.  By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Tagged my permanent tag list.

Main Masterlist

********

“No, that’s not the same, at all.” Mike’s voice drifted up the hallway of you house as you closed the door behind you, shutting out the bitter January wind that has descended over Dover. “Yeah, well they signed up to the terms so....”

You glanced at your watch, it wasn’t even seven-AM yet and he was already on to someone about the current case he was working. But then, that was Mike all over. An addict, only now you were glad to say the only thing flooding his system was adrenaline and passion for his work.

You hung your jacket up on the pegs by the door, unwrapped your woollen scarf from round your neck and placed that over the hook above your jacket and then reached down to unzip you boots, before toeing them off. Your sock clad feet padded down the wooden floor of the hall towards the kitchen and you walked in to see Mike was bent over a file on the island in the middle, already dressed for the office.

“Clause ninety-one, paragraph twenty, sub-bullet two. Yup. We’ll present that to them today, give them chance to respond.” He paused for a moment, his head turning to you, a warm smile spreading across his face as you leaned over for a quick peck before you headed to the fridge for a soda. “Yeah. Okay, no problem, see you about half eight.”

With that he placed the cordless phone down and turned to face you.

“Morning, Baby.” He grinned, before he nodded to the Diet Coke in your hand. “Interesting choice of drink for breakfast.”

“Technically it’s not my breakfast time.” You shrugged back. “More like dinner, I suppose.”

Mike chuckled as he crossed to space towards you, his hands falling to your hips before he bent down and brushed his lips against yours in a hardly there kiss. “Good shift?”

“A heart attack, car accident, two broken legs, couple of flu cases and a shit tonne of idiotic drunks, the finest Delaware has to offer.” You shrugged. “Usual shit.”

“I don’t know how you do it, Dr Y/L/N”

“Lucky for you I do, or we’d have never met.”

“And I’d be dead.”

“Don’t.” You shook your head, swallowing a little. The memory of that night almost eighteen months ago was still raw. If you hadn’t stopped by at Mike’s that evening following an argument the pair of you had earlier in the day, you’d never have found him almost dead from an overdose. It had been a long road to recovery, and whilst nothing was ever proven, Mike and Paul were convinced that it was something to do with the safety needle case they had been working. Despite the fact that there was enough heroin in his system to stop his heart, Mike swore blind to you he hadn’t taken anything but a few lines that night, and there was something about the way he said it that made you believe him. And so did Paul.

The authorities never managed to prove anything, but there was one good thing to come out of it. When you had broken down and told Mike how scared you’d been that he was going to die and that you couldn’t cope anymore with the constant fear that one day he would kill himself for real, it gave Mike the final kick he needed because he didn’t want to lose you.

So he got clean. And this time he did it for good.

It wasn’t easy, for either of you. Once he was medically fit enough, Mike had been placed on a programme at a Rehab Centre, whereby he saw no one bar trained medical specialists and councillors for six weeks. It felt like the longest six weeks of your life but he did it. And when you went to pick him up, you instantly burst into tears at how different he looked, how better he looked, how healthy he looked.

The road to recovery is a long one, paved with temptations, you knew that being a Doctor. And whilst Mike knew and understood his triggers thanks to his programme, those temptations met him everywhere, especially because he knew exactly where and how to get his fix. So the pair of you agreed to take a fresh start. You traded Texas for Delaware, the State you were originally from, and you were beyond proud to be able to honestly state that Mike Weiss had been clean now for eighteen months. Well, apart from alcohol that is. But even that was enjoyed in moderation, and to be honest, you’d rather him sit at home with a glass or two of bourbon each night that sticking fuck knows what into his veins.

You cocked your head to one side as his hands flexed on your hip and he gave you a little side smile. “Sorry. Oh, hey guess who I got a call from?”

“Who?” You asked as he stepped back, grinning.

“The Alligator Farm. Snappy’s got himself a lady friend. They’re gonna send me some photos and stuff.”

You smiled, giving up that beloved alligator had been a hard sell to Mike. “That’s great.”

“Yeah. Oh and Paul was thinking of coming over with the family in the spring. I said they could stay here, I know it’ll be a squeeze but is that okay?”

“Course it is.” You reached up to cup his cheek. “It’ll be lovely to see them again.”

Mike smiled and dropped another kiss to your lips, this one slightly stronger before you pat his chest as he rest his forehead against yours.

“I need to go shower.”

“Want me to come join you?” He asked, eyebrow raised and you smiled.

“As good as that sounds there’s something else I want more.”

“Oh yeah?” He grinned, his eyes flickering down to the buttons on your blouse and you laughed.

“Calm down, Stud. I want pancakes and bacon, I don’t give a shit what time it’s supposed to be for me.”

Mike groaned as you moved away from where you’d been stood with your back to the large, stainless steel fridge and headed out of the room. He watched you go, the gently sway of your hips in your well fitted black pants made his groin twitch. He was half tempted to fuck your demands and go and jump you in the shower whether you wanted him to or not, but he’d seen the flicker your face had given when you’d described how your twelve-hour shift had gone down. Despite your blasé tone, he knew you too well and understood exactly how tired and stressed you were feeling. So, instead, he turned his attention to making breakfast.

Something he prided himself on was his cooking ability. He’d picked it up pretty fast since you’d moved here, he found it was a welcome distraction, so much so you very rarely made meals now, bar when you insisted on doing a roast which he never argued against.  Within fifteen minutes he had a stack of pancakes, bacon, eggs- sunny side up, as you preferred- all laid out on the island and ready for you to help yourself to. He’d just poured you an orange juice when you walked back into the kitchen, hair piled on your head in a messy bun, wrapped in a dressing gown and he was pleased to see you looked relaxed.

“Oh, Mikey, this looks great!” You smiled as he wrapped an arm round you, kissing your head. He watched as you helped yourself to a huge plateful before making your way over to the table and sitting down with a sigh. Mike tucked his tie into his shirt to avoid it dropping into his food and plated himself a helping up before he sat down at the place next to you, cracking his neck slightly. The pair of you chatted about the day ahead, which for you consisted of sleeping until it was time to get up for your next shift, Mike’s contained a meeting with a company who he was currently in the process of negotiating a settlement with on behalf of a client. When you’d finished, Mike made to clear away the dishes but you gently placed your hand on his arm and stood up, insisting on doing it as he’d cooked.

When you returned to the table, Mike pushed his chair back slightly and patted his knee.

“Come ‘ere.” He smiled softly and you grinned, settling yourself on his lap sideways, your arm looping round his shoulder, fingers gently playing with his suspenders. He gave a contented sigh as he wrapped his arms around you and pressed a kiss to your head, happy to simply be close to you for a moment.

“You doing okay?” You asked and he smiled, your words carrying that hidden meaning- ‘Do you want a fix, today?’

“I’m good, Babes.” He pulled back to look at you. “I promise.”

Smiling you gently placed your lips on his in a soft kiss, which soon became heated as Mike’s hand slid up to the back of your neck, holding you in place as his tongue slid along your bottom lip. He was pleased when you reciprocated, opening your mouth slightly to allow him in. He could taste the sweetness of the syrup on you from your pancakes and, as your tongue gently swirled against his, he let out a little groan from the back of his throat and he felt you smile.

“How long till you have to be in the office?” Your voice was lower than you’d intended, betraying exactly what you had in mind and Mike grinned at you, pulling back a little, as he glanced up at the clock.

“Just over forty-five minutes, why?”

You bit your lip, fingers toying once more with his suspenders which were clipped to the waistband of his light, grey trousers and sat over a maroon shirt, set off with a black tie. “Do I gotta spell it out to you, Weiss?”

“No, I just like hearing you beg.” A cheeky glint flashed in his eyes and you gave a snort.

“I do not beg.”

“Really?” He arched an eyebrow and in a swift moment he stood up, causing you to give a shriek of a giggle as he sat you on the table in front of him. “I bet,” he pushed on your shoulders causing you to rest your weight on your elbows as he loomed over you, gently reaching for the tie on your robe, “that I can have you singing my name and begging for more,” his hands made quick work of the knot and pulled it open, before his fingers slid up the front, opening it to leave you bare in front of him, “in less than five minutes flat.”

“Less than five minutes?” You looked up at him, his eyes blown with lust and you smirked. “You’re so full of shit.”

He wasn’t though, you knew full well that you were the one full of shit. Mike had on many an occasion had you crying his name in less time than it took you to sing a verse of the National Anthem, and he knew it as the cocky expression on his face showed.

“Oh, Baby Girl.” He chuckled, bending over, his mouth brushing against that spot on your neck, the bristles of his short beard scratching your skin. “Have you learnt nothing, yet?”

“Only that you’re a cocky little bastard.” You tried to keep your voice level but it didn’t work. Your words came out a shaky whisper as one of his hands gently splayed on your stomach and brushed up your body to your sternum as he peppered hot, opened mouthed kisses across your collar bone, before his lips ghosted up your neck, over your chin and his mouth claimed yours in a searing kiss as his hand palmed at your breast. As he rolled your nipple between his finger and thumb you gave a moan and he smirked against your mouth.

Suddenly, he was gone from over you and you frowned, missing his sudden presence and you propped yourself up on your elbows to see him settling back in the chair by the table.

“Mike, what the-“

You were cut off as he reached over, grabbing your ass and hoisting your pelvis up, pulling you towards him. Before you could register what was going on, your legs were over his shoulders and you just caught a glimpse of his face, as he quirked an eyebrow at you, lips curled upwards in that maddeningly smug bastard grin, before his mouth was trailing up the inside of your thigh.

“Oh, Jesus.” You let out a little groan as he neared the place you now desperately wanted him and he chuckled.

“No, just me.”

“Fuck off you-“ But whatever it was you were going to call him flew from your mind as his tongue licked up your sex, and grazed against your clit, teasing it with quick, hardly there flicks which, you were ashamed to say, had you riled up something feral. His hands palmed at your ass, his fingers curling round the outside of your thighs as he quickened his movements, his mouth expertly devouring you, tongue flicking into your entrance as his lips circled that sensitive nub, giving a suck that made you cry out, your back arching off the table, pushing yourself further onto his face.

Mike let out a chuckle which vibrated exquisitely against you and you gasped again, your hands slapping onto the cool surface of the table, fingernails feeling the grain of the wood as he upped his efforts dramatically, lips and tongue teasing you in a way that was so delectable it was teetering along that fine line between pain and pleasure. His mouth expertly devoured every inch of you, from your inner and outer pussy lips to the depths of your walls, tongue fucking you like you he was starving, despite the breakfast the pair of you had eaten moments ago.

“Fuck, Mike, I need…” Your voice was croaky, the words sounded far off as they bounced around your lust addled brain and once again he chuckled.

“I told you.”

“Yeah, yeah you arrogant sh-oooh fuck!” You cried as he gently nipped your clit. “Shit!”

You were willing yourself to remain grounded, wanting to prove him wrong but you couldn’t. You couldn’t fight the urge you felt to ride over the edge which was building like a fire inside you. When his mouth was over you completely once more, tongue deep, you felt him move one of his hands and his thumb pressed against your clit, before the pressure eased off and his tongue slipped away.

"Okay, okay you win, Mike, please for the love of God!” You groaned and with a final, maddeningly smug chuckle he dove back in, only this time when you felt your orgasm brewing he didn’t stop. One of your hands flew to his hair, pulling lightly on his soft, spiky strands and he gave a growl as you tugged, his efforts doubling once more as his beard scratched against your sensitive pussy and inner thighs. The coil in your belly was tightening, your entire body quivered and with a final flick of his tongue you gave a cry as your orgasm crashed over you. Your toes curled into his back just below his shoulders, your own back arched as your walls clamped down over nothing, the room fading out as everything went silent and the lights erupted in front of your eyes, your entire body feeling like you were floating.

Mike grinned, guiding you through your release before he stood up, pulling you further to the end of the table as he undid the flies on his trousers, freeing his painfully hard erection. The swollen head of his dick gently swirled around your folds before he buried himself inside you, groaning as he felt you fluttering around him in the after throes of your orgasm. You let out a low groan and finally opened your eyes, looking up at him as he pounded into you, fully clothed, those fucking suspenders that drove you wild still looped over his shoulders.  

He slid one, large hand under your back and pulled you up causing you to cry out as he drove deeper into you, his hand on the base of your back pulling you up and towards him as he dipped his head to give you a dirty, sloppy kiss whilst he rolled and thrust into you. Then His lips moved down, nipping at your neck, his breath hot on your ear as your head fell back, a low moan rumbling in his throat.

“God, I love seeing you like this, fucking wrecked all because of me.” His panted words made you groan even more as the heat in your groin was beginning to mount again. “Makes me higher than any fucking drug ever could.”

His thrusts continued, hard, deep, and you felt his dick throbbing inside you as he drove up against your spot, his lips back on yours as he kissed you hard, swallowing the pants and whimpers you were making as you began to teeter on that cliff edge again. With a deep roll of his hips you let out a low wail and came, once more, your core spasmed around him as your entire body tingled, and that was enough for him to follow you. With a powerful thrust he stiffened, a low grunt stuttering from his lips as he pulsed inside of you, his hips growing sloppy before they stopped completely. His chest heaving, he pressed his forehead to yours, the pair of you gasping for breath as you came down from your high.

“Shit, Mike.” You managed to stutter as he grinned, his lips meeting yours in a soft peck. “That was…”

“Yeah, I was pretty good.” He chuckled and you slapped his arm as he moved and pulled out of you. You straightened your robe and stood up, wincing as you felt his release trickled down your inner thigh.

“I need another shower.” You grumbled, before you glanced at his crotch, the damp patch where he’d pressed against you was clear as day. “And you should probably change your trousers.”

Mike glanced down before his eyes met you, and he shrugged. “Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll go into the office like this and then every time I see it I’ll be reminded exactly what a damned good breakfast I had this morning.”

You blinked before you shook your head, scoffing. “You’re gross.”

He laughed. “You love it, Sweetheart.”

“I love you.” You corrected, your hands sliding up over his shoulders and he smiled, a pure, innocent smile that made him look like a schoolboy before he took your face in his hands and kissed you deeply, pulling away, his nose bumping against yours.

“I love you too.” He whispered, his eyes locking onto yours. “Now go, before I decide to play hooky for the day.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Weiss.” You smirked, before with one final quick peck you left the room.

Mike watched you go, before he ran his hands through his hair and turned to glance around the kitchen, his eyes falling to the table he’d just fucked you senseless on.

He should probably clean that before he went to work…

#uglywombatsexpositionchallenge #mike weiss #mike weiss x reader #mike weiss x you #mike weiss reader insert #reader insert #mike weiss fanfic #mike weiss smut #chris evans #chris evans characters