#he holds them for safekeeping

[jlf23tumble]

Ok Jen dying to know why you think Harry brought out that bat signal ring some last year. I think some say during the month of sept it was replacing the bird ring which was being repaired but it does seem like a statement to wear it for My Policeman premiere at TIFF (with the Oscar Wilde reference outfit). Lotta focus on the hands that day for those seated interviews holding mics. Just a *wink wink* to the fandom? I’m sure all his jewelry has some assigned value/meaning in his mind but they are prob different from what we assume, at least in part. But he knows the relationship we connect that ring to I’m sure, no?

Nah, one of my rancidly unpopular onions is that these two aren't signaling to their fans, especially now (in fact, they probably low-key actively resent a significant chunk of their respective fanbases), so I don't think it was a wink, wink. If anything, they seem to signal to each other, doing that monitoring monkeying writ large. What it all meansTM, I have no idea, but yeah, I'm with you! I think there ARE meanings to certain pieces, and we'll never know the particulars (though I do love to speculate)

#harry styles #my own head canon ring theory is that a lot of them represent people he's involved with #but i also know some of them are probably gifts from innocuous family members too #who's to say it's all head canon city! #i do think the peace ring had/has a significant meaning #connected to a person #and when it's brought out it might mean alllll kinds of things #but it's mighty telling that it's not a permanent fixture anymore when it absolutely was for a lotta years #and that's probably why people do CRAZY reaching (like that one theory of louis sitting there holding it for safekeeping? what?)

[libraryofgage]

I realized Steve is absolutely that kid whose parents put him through piano lessons solely so they could have another way to show off at parties and shit. And then that thought morphed into a little Steddie plot bunny and here we are lol:

Steve doesn't know it's the last time he'll sit at the grand piano, the last time he'll press down its keys and let music fill the empty room before bleeding out into the empty house.

He doesn't know that when his parents next come home, his mother will notice how horribly out of tune the instrument is. He doesn't know that it will be sent off somewhere for repair (his parents won't tell him where, no matter how he asks, and he'll never quite understand why) and lost to him. He doesn't know his parents won't bother buying another one; it was only ever there to impress party guests when Steve sat down and played some Bach. Without those parties, company or otherwise, there's no point in getting another one: both the piano and Steve will have outlived their usefulness.

He doesn't know that he'll be storing away his sheet music, carefully placed into folders and in a waterproof box for safekeeping. He doesn't know that he'll soon become too consumed by high school and dating and monsters to idly write down notes on a staff. He doesn't know that when he's swinging a nail-ridden bat in the future (to destroy monsters, sure, but destruction is destruction, right?) he'll ache with the pain of missing the act of creation as a means of stress relief.

He doesn't know any of that, so Steve sits down at the grand piano with a soft smile, gently trailing his fingers over the keys before lining them up in the Middle C-position. He runs through a few warm-ups, letting muscle memory take him away, so he doesn't have to think. Without another thought, he seamlessly transitions into idly playing, bits and pieces of everything he remembers and songs he's heard blending together.

Mozart's Air morphs into Beethoven's Fur Elise into Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody. It doesn't all sound good together, but that's not the point when Steve plays by himself. All that matters is letting his brain shut off for a bit, letting the notes and echoes mingle together to create something new and joyful.

After two hours on the piano, his wrists are aching; he always forgets to hold them in the proper position when he plays alone. But it's a good ache, one that reminds him of the music still dancing around in his brain.

Steve takes a deep breath and slowly releases it, feeling the last of his tension dissipate. He lets his hands linger on the piano for a little longer before standing and leaving the room, tragically unaware of his imminent and unavoidable loss.

--------

Steve is sprawled across an old couch in Gareth's garage, reading Eddie's well-loved copy of Lord of the Rings. He'd promised to at least give it a go, and he had to admit he was looking forward to finally understanding some of the references Hellfire Club and the kids make. His progress is slow, but he's almost halfway through after two weeks of work. Reading while Corroded Coffin practices helps; the background noise of their music is perfect, letting him ignore all other sounds and focus.

Of course, that's provided they actually play continuously instead of starting the same song over and over only for Eddie to stop them halfway through. When it happens for the sixth time, Eddie growls in frustration, tugging harshly at a lock of hair. "It still sounds wrong!" he cries, dropping into a crouch while cradling his guitar close.

"Stopping us halfway through isn't helping," Gareth points out, idly twirling a drumstick as he watches Eddie's lament.

"Do you know what's wrong yet?" Asher asks.

Steve can longer focus on Lord of the Rings. Instead, he places the book on his chest and looks at the band to watch how this plays out. Eddie scowls and looks up at Asher. "Unfortunately, Ashy Baby, no."

Jeff, meanwhile, has locked eyes with Steve. And because Jeff knows the perfect way to get Eddie off their asses is to get him on Steve's instead, he says, "Why don't you ask Harrington what he thinks?"

Eddie whips around to look at Steve, eyes wide and hopeful. He doesn't even bother standing from his crouch, instead waddling his way over to Steve and testing his ability to hold back laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of the sight. "Stevie, baby, sweetheart, lover boy, please tell me that wonderful brain of yours has an idea so your favorite boyfriend can finish this rocking song."

"You're my only boyfriend."

"Which automatically makes me your favorite," Eddie points out, grinning as he leans closer. With Steve still laying down, Eddie's the perfect height in his crouch to kiss him. He lingers for a few seconds before pulling away, and Steve knows his own smile matches the dopiness of Eddie's.

"Have you considered adding a piano?" Steve asks.

"None of us know how to play," Asher says, and Steve would look at him if Eddie's face and hair and shoulders and everything weren't filling his entire line of sight.

Without thinking, Steve hums and says, "I do."

"Do what?" Eddie asks.

"Know how to play piano."

There's a silence that follows his sentence, one that makes Steve's stomach lurch as he wonders if he's maybe fucked up the shaky peace and friendship he's finally managed to build with the other members of Corroded Coffin. He doesn't know how his words might have done it, but he's scrambling to somehow take them back when Eddie slaps a hand over his mouth, the bands of his rings pressing against Steve's lips.

"Gareth, you still got that keyboard?" he asks, keeping his eyes locked on Steve. There's a light dancing in them like he's just discovered magic is real, like Steve has amazed him beyond imagination.

With a grunt, Gareth gets up from his drums and steps into his house. The rest of them stay in silence while waiting, Eddie refusing to remove his hand no matter how much Steve licks his palm. When he finally gives up and just glares at Eddie, his boyfriend grins brightly back.

"It's a little dusty, but it'll work fine," Gareth says when he comes back, and Eddie finally moves his hand and body, allowing Steve to see Gareth setting up a keyboard a few feet away from his drums.

"Okay, sweetheart," Eddie says, taking the book from Steve and carefully setting it aside before pulling him off the couch, "you've heard the song enough. Play what's missing."

Steve hesitates before walking over to the keyboard. Eddie sticks to him like a shadow, sliding his arms around Steve from behind once he's standing in front of the white and black keys. An odd nervousness churns in Steve, tugging at his spine and making his palms clammy, but he knows it would be much worse without Eddie there. If he had to play in front of the band without feeling like anyone was on his side, he'd probably just throw up instead.

"It, uh, it's been a while," he says quietly, easily falling into the muscle memory of tracing the keys and finding Middle C and dancing his fingers through warm-ups despite his words.

Eddie squeezes him tighter as Jeff asks, "Since you've played? Why?"

Memories of his grand piano rise in Steve unbidden, overwhelming him in a rush of longing for the instrument itself and the relaxation of playing. "My parents paid for lessons and had me play at company parties. They, uh, sent it off to be tuned, but it got damaged, and they didn't get another one."

"That sucks, Stevie," Eddie murmurs, soft and reassuring and Steve suddenly feels far more confident.

He looks up at Jeff. "Can you start playing again?" he asks, flashing a grateful smile when Jeff nods and starts strumming the song's opening notes.

Steve listens closely, breathing in the tune he's heard so many times and letting it take hold. He doesn't allow himself to actually think, letting Jeff's guitar and Eddie's arms and hair and scent drown out everything else. Before he knows it, he's playing a hesitant tune that grows with confidence as he follows the song laid out before him. He's always a measure behind, chasing the guitar's echoing notes as they fade.

He and Jeff make it through the whole song without Eddie telling them to stop. When the final notes of guitar and piano echo together, the latter still chasing the former even at the end, Steve is shaking with excitement and anxiety and grief and joy.

He lets out a slow breath, feeling tension he didn't even realize had lingered for so long finally draining from his shoulders and dissipating. Steve can also feel Eddie's face pressed against his neck, a smile searing into his skin as Eddie squeezes him even tighter.

"I love you so fucking much, Stevie, that's exactly what was missing," Eddie says, his words the only warning he gives before pulling Steve away from the keyboard and off his feet and spinning him around. His surprised yelp quickly morphs into laughter that still lingers even after Eddie has set him down again.

Gareth and Jeff and Asher have already started discussing how the other parts of the song might change with the addition of a keyboard, but Steve is too busy turning in Eddie's arms and kissing his smile away to pay them any mind. He can worry about inevitably being roped into the band's practices later, after he and Eddie are breathless and flushed and smiling bright.

#steddie fic #Steddie #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #Corroded Coffin #Stranger Things #My writing #I got this plot bunny and fucking ran with it

[lundenloves]

THE CARD

〔 this is dedicated to all the girlies who never stopped trying. because sometimes, putting up boundaries isn’t as easy as it seems and that’s okay. if you think i’m talking to you, i am. 〕

˗ˏˋ to be flat about it, simon’s daughter stopped making him birthday cards. this one unintentionally got a bit deep but i do that with everything so don’t act surprised.

⇀ 1.1k | no warnings

masterlist | dad!simon masterlist | request info | taglist

Your husband often forgot about his birthday. Lost to bad memories, and lack of care but primarily his job. Even still, it wasn’t something he particularly wanted to remember — feeling comfort in letting it slip under the rug, rubbing the back of his neck in absence when you had asked him the date. He insisted it was something to be ignored, and for your three years without kids it was, aside from the one present he reluctantly let you buy. 

Of course, that was until your first born came along. 

And there were a lot of things Simon didn’t know about having children. The obvious ones like the guilty regret late at night, being out of his depth and even how to deal with them. But, also their childlike wonder and passion for random things that seemed so foreign to him. Afterall, a birthday is a birthday, it never seemed to matter whose it was — your kid would turn to incredulous sobs if it wasn’t celebrated. Especially when she had found out about her fathers, bottom lip quivering when he had gently told her how he prefers to not do anything. 

It started when she was a toddler, forgetting about his birthday until she had heard you talking about it. Small ears perked up at the mention of the word, hanging by the door to watch as you traced Simon’s arm and the tattoos, his head shaking and a few words mumbled between you. Every year you asked if he wanted to do anything, knowing his answer but hoping for another.

So, naturally, she took to her bedroom. Trashing her small desk with dozens of crayons to create a card for Simon, one that was unevenly folded yet made with her whole heart. 

She did that every following year without fail. Except, her cards folded more evenly as time passed and the crayons were exchanged for pens, then pencils. The drawings got better and better, words spelt right and the inner messages were longer all before they had stopped entirely.

In seemingly simple change for a shop bought card. See, the words were joined together nicely though the message was shorter and the lack of ten kisses in exchange for one suddenly made the card seem empty. “Why’d you stop?” You would ask one night as the pair of you lay together in the dark, your husband's place taken by your daughter near every night when he was away. “Making the cards.”

She shrugged. “Didn’t think he cared.” 

When in reality, those cards were the only thing Simon looked forward to year round. And it wasn’t like he had outwardly expressed how much they meant to him, rather giving a weak smile and a soft kiss to her temple each time. But he kept them, every single one, every drawing was stored for safekeeping in a small box filled to the brim. Sketches that ranged from family drawings, to landscapes, animals and solo drawings of him if not herself.

Time ran from small limbs clambering over your own, six in the morning to reach Simon who had stirred when she fell onto his chest, a hand instinctively placed on the back of her head in his half-conscious state. “It’s your birthday!” She used to drag out with a laugh, sitting up on his stomach and holding the card mere centimeters from his face. 

To the last birthday, handing him the shop bought card in all teenage glory, too embarrassed to write ‘I love you’ so it came as a ‘Love you’ and the once overly done x’s and o’s were now a set of one. He didn’t know the first thing about teenagers either. How past a certain age everything felt detrimental and targeted, embarrassment seeped through everything and it wasn’t cool to like your dad anymore. 

Especially not as a teenage girl. 

And it wasn’t until he was away for his birthday for the first time in years that she had missed it. Missed the softening of his eyes and the way his arm would wrap around her shoulder and pull her to his side, hand rubbing her arm in acknowledgement of her efforts. 

She took his safety for granted most of the time. Waving to him at the door with no doubt that he would be back months later, a naturally blunt text that he was safe would be sent to you and all would be well. Though, sometimes he was required to hand his phone in before the tougher trips. Designed to provide the safest atmosphere, though back home many miles away it never did feel safer. And that was when she missed him the most. 

You always wanted what you couldn’t have.

Simon was no better. He had taken the younger years for granted. The tears before bed, stalking into his bedroom after a bad dream, tired eyes in the mornings and the excitement to see him once back home. He wasn’t to know when the last time he would pick up his daughter was, or the last time she would ask for help when reaching for a cereal box. Hell, even the final she had fallen asleep on his chest or asked him to stay until she had dozed off in her own ‘big’ bed. Small hands wrapping around his fingers, giggles and toothy grins had all evaporated into nothing. 

It was tough being a dad.

But it was hell being a teenage girl. 

Sometimes it felt ike you were made purely to drink iced coffee with alternative milk, wear baggy clothes and feel bad for old people every now and then. The act of growing up isn’t something you want, though something you concede to after realising you had wished your youth away. 

And in that, 

There was something about girls and their fathers. 

The constant need for subconscious approval and love, feeling bad for the man who raised you whenever he was left to eat dinner alone or scorned by your mother in a heated argument you couldn’t help to overhear. Simon’s daughter had always been in that predicament. 

She missed her dad when he left, yet hated when she shared the kitchen with him. It felt like an itch that you weren’t able to scratch, though his rare hugs completely killed all flame she had for him and sometimes, instead, they allowed for tears to flow. Because after all, a girl is really just her dad. 

Maybe that card should've been made after all. 

˗ˏˋ university is wiping me out already. it’s the first week back do you want to fucking calm down. been set two presentations (both recorded wtf) and three literature papers.

simon ‘ghost’ riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @misshoneypaper @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @fwibblefwobble @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @dilfdotgov @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @maki-z @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffeee

as always reblogs and comments are mighty appreciated blah blah blah

#simon ghost riley #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod mw fanfiction #ghost mw2 #simon riley #cod mw2 x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley headcanons #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley headcanons #dad!simon #ghost call of duty #call of duty mwii #call of duty imagines #call of duty

[onlyswan]

summary: in which you give jungkook the silent treatment and he books a 5am flight to japan.

> fluff, angst lowkey / wc: 4.6k

> warnings: mention of c*m swallowing bc jk is a menace, oc overthinks bringing their new boots but jk wins the boyfriend of the year award <3 (these could be title candidates tbh)

note: hello friends! a late valentine’s day gift from me inspired by this ask <3 i almost cried writing this near the end lol. as always i hope you enjoy and feedback is always appreciated ^__^

—

“ey, this stubborn- yah! what are you doing up there?” jungkook exclaims in panic, nimble feet rushing to the kitchen.

with your back facing him, you flinch at the sudden loud voice filling the empty silence encased by the four walls of the apartment. you feel his big hands firmly hold onto the curves of your naked waist, revealed by a loose crop top you opted to wear for comfort after your shower barely an hour ago. your heart almost jumps out of your chest because only then do you realize that your bare feet have gone closer to the edge of the counter, only two inches backwards and you would be on your way to the hospital.

you carefully face to the side and bend down on your knees, but he clicks his tongue and effortlessly swoops you up in his arms before you can step down on the wooden chair you used to climb on the counter.

a kiss is planted on your temple before your feet touches the warm floor. “haven’t we talked about being careful around here, baby? you were about to fall.”

you shrug off his touch with a huff, glaring at him with piercing eyes. “you know, they didn’t put a lot of thought into my name just so you can replace it with baby.”

and then you turn on your heel to walk away.

his jaw slacks open in shock. he’s left standing alone, a flabbergasted smile slowly forming on his face. “wow! what’s with this sudden attitude, huh?”

after returning the chair to the dining table, he follows you to the dimly-lit living room. you sit down on the couch, crossing your legs and placing a throw pillow over your lap. deciding to be petty tonight, you pretend to be highly engrossed in the performance taking place at the music show.

he plops down beside you as he pulls off the black hair tie holding up the upper half of his hair, wearing it on his wrist for safekeeping.

“aish- my hair is a mess.” he chuckles when the thick locks messily fall infront of his bangs, obstructing his vision. he patiently runs his fingers through the tangles before daintily tucking them behind his ears. after getting that out of the way, he rests his tattooed arm over the backrest of the couch, his tongue unconsciously playing with his lip ring as he figures out how to capture your attention.

he affectionately kisses your cheek and gently holds your forearm, drawing random shapes on your skin with the pad of his thumb.

“hi.” he says softly. “you don’t like me calling you baby anymore? then what should i call you?”

you remain unresponsive, vision stubbornly locked on the television screen. he inches closer to block your view, tilting his head to the side so you’re left with no other choice but to look at his face. and then he calls you by your name, as if he’s testing the waters, and he doesn’t miss the disgruntled frown you quickly hide.

“see? you sulk when i say your name!” he giggles as he gets flashbacks of the first month of your relationship, when you used to be shyly tell him that hearing him say ‘baby’ instead of your name felt weird.

oh, how the tables have turned. but still . . . he gets nothing.

he sighs at the suffocating silence, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling his face on your neck. “baaaby, what did i do? talk to me.”

he breathes you in, the smell of his milk body wash unmistakably embedded on your skin. this means you can’t be that upset with him, right? when it’s in regards of a serious matter, you usually call him out straight away instead of beating around the bush. but you’re not looking for a solution right now. you’re giving him a punishment. that much he knows.

“i’m so tired and hungry after boxing. you know how i haven’t trained in a while. my body hurts more than usual because of it- ah, i really regret putting it off.” he rests his cheek on your shoulder, squeezing your body delicately as he watches the on-going commercial. “should we order their chicken for dinner?”

you stay motionless, letting him do whatever he wants as if he’s a ghost and you’re ignorant to his faint presence. this makes him jut out his bottom lip somberly as he racks his brain for what he could’ve possibly done today to deserve this silent treatment.

“is it something i did? or didn’t do?”

these questions are what eventually elicit a reaction from you. funny enough, the roll of your eyes puts a small smile on his face, because at least this conversation is finally going somewhere.

“okay, okay- i see. i’m supposed to know what it is, right?” he nods in understanding, sweet voice determined to unravel tonight’s mystery.

why is my baby upset with me?

“i’m still sweaty so i’ll reflect on myself in the shower.” he announces before stealing a quick kiss from your lips. this trick earns another glare from you as he walks away, which he reciprocates with a wink when he whips his head back.

“it’s alright if you don’t want to talk to me, just don’t go anywhere, okay?”

you sink down into the couch when he disappears into the bathroom, tightly hugging the pillow to your chest as you sarcastically roll your eyes.

“this is my house, too. why would i go anywhere else?”

—

jungkook heaves another sigh of frustration as he unplugs the hair dryer. despite retracing his footsteps from this morning to afternoon, he’s still as clueless as he was earlier. you were sharing stories when you ate brunch together, and you even kissed him sweet goodbye before he left for the studio. he thought that perhaps you asked him to buy something important and he didn’t read your texts, but he already checked his inbox twice and your last message was from two days ago. it was a sleepy voice memo sent at 4:01am. you were asking him to go back to bed because he was playing games in the living room again.

he taps the play button for the third time in a row, your weary and mellow voice spilling out from his phone’s speaker.

“…kook, love, don’t mind you playing in here. ermmm, but no yelling or i’ll kick you out… just go back to bed, please? i’m cold.”

“ah, shit.” the curse is accompanied by an airy laugh as he punches the bathroom countertop with as little strength as possible, tattooed knuckles turning a light shade of red. the fluttering of his heart doesn’t cease until your voice fades into silence, ticklish giddiness spreading from his stomach all the way to his fingertips.

to be brutally honest, he doesn’t know how he got so lucky. there’s nobody else on earth who can love him, handle his difficultness, and keep him on his toes as effortlessly as you do.

“no but seriously, what am i missing?!”

—

“baby, i ordered the chicken! you’ll eat dinner with me, right?”

he walks into the living room with his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants, finding that you’re still sitting on the same spot where he left you.

“i got that limited flavor- the one you wanted to try last time. what is it again?” he raises an eyebrow as he taps his bare foot against the floor, his forehead creasing in deep thought.

you glance up at him when his knee knocks against yours, taking the final bite from the choco cookie pepero stick you’re holding. the plastic pouch on your lap makes a crinkling sound as you bring out another one.

”map- maple crunch? that’s the one, right?”

he waits for you to tell him whether he got it right or not, but to his dismay, the seal on your lips prevail. with a dramatic sigh and droopy shoulders, he makes a beeline for the kitchen. he fills a glass halfway with cold water from the fridge, and as he chugs, his doe eyes land on the top shelf. that’s where he caught you when he arrived from the gym, and so, with his curiosity piqued, he pulls the small door open.

it appears to be empty at first, but in the dark, innermost corner hides the snacks your friend, who visited japan recently, dropped off yesterday.

and that’s when it dawns on him, the reason why your expression turned sour when you saw his face an hour ago. he shuts the door with a lighthearted chuckle, leaving the empty glass in the sink before padding back to the living room.

he supports the back of your head with his wide palm to plant a kiss on your forehead, before squatting down infront of you with his folded arms weighing down the pillow. you grimace inside your head because you’re practically held down on the couch so you won’t be able to escape his sickeningly affectionate ministrations.

“pssst.” he whispers at you, eyes glimmering with hopes met by silent disappointment. his head drops lazily on your lap, low and husky voice sounding slightly muffled as he sullenly speaks. “baby, you’re killing me here. this is the worst punishment… please, punch me instead. that would hurt less.”

and he stays like that for a little while, almost falling asleep as the soreness of his muscles starts seeping deeper into his system. maybe, just maybe, he also put himself in this position with the intention of tempting you into playing with his pretty, as you like to call it, hair. he recently learned that the longer it grows, the more attention it earns from you.

true enough, setting himself up as bait works its charm, but unfortunately, his patience meets its demise just as you’re about to give up your petty little act. he looks up at you with a sad frown and twinkling eyes, expression identical to that famous pleading face emoji, only he’s thousand times more adorable in your eyes.

you hastily chew the chocolate-y snack to hide an endeared smile, teasingly quirking an eyebrow at him before reverting your attention on the television. at this point, he decides that he has had enough. his knees collapse on the floor as he abruptly holds your face steady, greedily biting at the other end of the pepero stick until his lips inevitably crashes against yours for a sweet kiss.

“hmmph-” your dominant hand weakly grasps his shoulder out of reflex, sticky thumb and index finger pointing out so the chocolate won’t stain his white t-shirt.

jungkook pulls away with a cocky grin, teeth sinking on his lower lip before his tongue darts out to lick it.

“ugh, i hate you! first, my strawberry mochi, and now, my pepero?!”

your furious outburst causes his animated giggles to echo throughout the apartment, his sore abdominal muscles aching and heart feeling significantly lighter. your wide, striking eyes fluttering close against their own accord when your face gets peppered with apologectic kisses.

“fuck, you’re so cute. i love you. i love you. that’s why you’re angry at me? i’ll buy you more…” he wipes away the scattered wet kisses on your cheeks with his thumb. “you only took one bite and left them in the fridge. i thought you didn’t want them anymore. i’m sorry.”

the story goes: he randomly woke up around 3am again. struggling to return to sleep, he started feeling peckish and decided to venture into the kitchen. that was when he saw the transparent container of five strawberry mochi, one on the corner not even half-eaten. in his defense, that’s how your unwanted leftovers usually look. and he thought those ones… particularly looked delicious. almost criminally so.

“that’s how yummy they were. i wanted to save them! and nothing would taste the same from here, so there’s no point.” you retort with a sigh of utter defeat. the doorbell rings a second after. “…that chicken better be crazy fucking good that i forget mochi exists.”

jungkook’s precarious fate completely lies in the hands of bb.q chicken’s kitchen people. wonderful.

“i’ll get it.” he softly squeezes your arm before standing up to answer the door.

—

“why do i like this so much? i’m about to finish everything…” you mumble to yourself after taking a peek at the box of those maple crunch chicken jungkook mentioned earlier.

“jungkook, aren’t you going to eat?!” you yell out for him before taking another bite from your fourth piece of chicken, ripping off the meat from the bone using your teeth. you continue entertaining yourself with a variety show while you wait for your boyfriend to join you.

“i will!” he shouts back from the bedroom, emerging from the door a moment later. he bites the nail of this thumb out of habit, highly absorbed in scrolling and tapping at his phone screen. he automatically sits on the edge of the couch to be as close to you as possible, who transferred to the floor to feast on your dinner, without giving away the website he’s current navigating. his leg bumps against your side, and you instinctively lay your head on his thick thigh.

“is that going to take long?” you question ingenuously, thinking that he might be preoccupied with something related to work. “i want to start watching the glory. i’m so curious!”

you made it a rule to put your phones aside when you watch a show or film together, not liking any distractions from the plot (and mostly the cuddles, really). it might not be anything special, but it is your quality time together after all. two hearts intertwined by love, beating in sync, with no intentions of ever letting go. and for a little while, it’s all that matters in the world.

“download the episodes on the tablet so we can watch it in the plane.”

“what? watch it where?” you abruptly lift up your head to look at him, a look of sheer confusion painted on your face.

“what?” he mimics your tone with faux innocence, round doe eyes meeting yours. “will you ask your friend? i need the address of the local bakery where she bought the mochi.”

“are you about to fly to japan just to buy them for me?” you snicker, nudging his knee in jest.

“not just me.” he boldly raises an eyebrow, showing you a plane ticket to your name displayed on his phone screen. “we have a flight to tokyo at 5am.”

“are you insane? babe, what the hell-” you hastily remove the gloves from your hands to grab the device, reading the details written on the screen to process what he just told you. “i was just joking!”

he almost curls in on himself when he hears a pet name slip out from your lips.

yes, that was the main reason why he took a long time in the bedroom. he needed your passport numbers to book the tickets and he struggled to find your passport. in the end, he found it beneath his in the cabinet drawer.

“this feels like the perfect opportunity to finally do something this spontaneous with you. it’s valentine’s day the day after tomorrow. let’s be dauntless and spend it at disneyland instead of camping, baby.”

he nervously taps his foot on the floor as he observes your reaction, feeling a little shy after revealing his surprise. he’s not entirely confident you’ll agree with his date idea— the first and last time you went to a theme park together, he ran into a bit of trouble the day after because he got recognized. he can’t read your mind at the moment, but he knows how you’ve always felt guilty about that.

however, those worries get washed away the second you excitedly climb on his lap to wrap your legs around his waist, engulfing him in the tightest hug.

“you’re so annoying, oh my god! why are you the best boyfriend in the whole wide world? you’re really going to pull this off?!”

your whiny voice makes him smile fondly, a surge of warmth spreading through his insides because that kind of praise coming from your mouth is music to his ears.

“that means you’re going with me, right? because there’s an extra fee if i cancel on them.”

you playfully squeeze his soft cheeks together to make his lips pout, sighing dreamily at the golden boy under you. “you spoil me too much, you know that?”

“i should. i want to. it’s for valentine’s day, the day of love! and you’re the personification of love for me.”

you shrug your shoulders with a lighthearted laugh.

“i don’t know. most guys buy flowers and call it a day.”

ouch. it seems that you already forgot that’s exactly what he did for your first valentine’s day. but to be fair, he couldn’t pull off anything special because he was overseas. and he will be again this year, except it’s different because you’ll be by his side.

“…i mean, i still think gifts like that are romantic. but i’m just happier when we create core memories together.”

“that’s why i’m the best boyfriend for you. because i know your love languages.” he responds proudly, nose scrunching and corners of his crinkling as he beams.

“that you are.” you squeeze his cheeks a second time. “then i’ll pay for the hotel.”

“took care of that already. six nights. it’s where me and jimin-hyung stayed before, but there was only a room with two single beds left. we can just sleep on one of them.” he cheeses at the thought of being squeezed into a small bed together with you, not even considering the option of pushing the two beds into one.

with how fast he managed to book the tickets and the hotel room, you can vividly see how much he wants, and maybe needs, this vacation to happen. his excitement is contagious — because this is slowly beginning to feel real and you’re already imagining how beautiful your lover would look like under the bursts of fireworks lighting up the night sky of disneyland.

“hmmmm,” you purse your lips as you hum. “then i’ll take care of the food and transpo.”

“sounds good.” he repeatedly nods in agreement, hair bouncing as he does so.

“except for the strawberry mochi.” you squint your eyes at him threateningly, and he cheekily smiles in return.

“except for the strawberry mochi. i’ll buy you the entire tray of those.”

you fix his bangs as you utter an almost inaudible ‘pretty’, worried about them poking his eyes. he instantaneously melt from your wholesome gentleness, guilty of becoming all mushy when he receives said compliment.

“give me a kiss.”

“later. i taste like chicken.”

“babe, come on.” he gives you a dirty ‘you can’t be serious’ look. “you think i care about that? just this morning i kissed you after you swallowed my cum-”

“oh my god, okay! okay! shut up! that’s different!” you cover his mouth with your hand, flustered by his obscene… choice of words outside the bedroom.

he presses a kiss to your palm before you finally reward his lips with a peck, a triumphant smile replacing his pout.

“we need to start packing!” you eagerly climb off his lap, heavy footsteps striking the floor as you skip to the bedroom.

“jeon jungkook! hurry!”

his full name?!

he hurriedly puts on a clean glove on his right hand. guess he has no choice but to eat dinner while packing, he did this to himself when he booked the 5am flight after all.

“coming!”

—

you know that jungkook likes using spacious luggages when he goes on trips. that doesn’t necessarily mean that he overpacks, he just wants the extra space because he tends to especially enjoy shopping when he goes on trips. that’s why when he enters the walk-in closet, one of his biggest suitcases is already laid out on the floor.

he sits beside it cross-legged, holding the box of chicken under his chin so the crumbs won’t fall on the floor as he eats.

“which one are you bringing?”

“this.” you emerge from behind the door, slumping your upper body over the light pink suitcase as its wheels roll towards the center of the room. it’s a size smaller than his, but then again, you can just mooch off his extra space if you need it.

“cute.” he chuckles in adoration of your youthful charm. “want more chicken?”

you abandon the suitcase to crawl towards him, allowing him to feed you until you finish another piece of chicken in record time.

“okay, that’s my last one. i know i’ll get hungry at the airport again.”

“i’ll finish the rest.” he hums, feet kicking in satisfaction as he continues eating.

“then i’ll start by packing our underwear. six nights and seven days, right?” you speak in a sing-song voice, which makes him giggle yet again.

for a few minutes, he only watches you neatly fold the two sets of underwear while moaning and commenting on the chicken he’s happily devouring. later on, he exits the closet and comes back with your butterfly hairclips decorating the sides of his hair.

“i love that you wear them on your own now.”

you only notice the splash of colors contrasting his black hair after catching a glimpse of him in the middle of picking out which jackets to bring. according to the weather app, it’s less colder in tokyo than seoul, so you think you should be fine for the most part.

“i forgot where i put my hairtie again.” he explains as he sheepishly scratches his head.

“is it not on your wrist?” you ask without looking, too busy going through all the clothes you own to complete the outfits you have in mind.

“oing?” he raises his wrist to his eye-level, enlightment escalating in his brain. “ahhh- you’re right?! i thought i took it off but i got it wet it in the shower!”

“dummy.” you shake your head in amusement. “how did you not feel that?”

“you were ignoring me.” he retaliates, chest puffing up in defense. “i’ve been distracted!”

—

“what’s taking you so long? it’s an hour drive to the airport!” jungkook reminds you as he barges into the closet, unzipping your bag to check your passports for the third time.

you’re almost ready to leave. bam will be prolonging his stay with his brothers, song and paeng. the appliances have been unplugged. the two of you are already fully-dressed against the negative temperature outside. your boyfriend replaced the butterfly hairclips with a headband. he’s wearing his prescription glasses to aid him in safe driving. his suitcase is zipped up, and his backpack is hanging on his shoulder.

on the other hand, you’re having a crisis, still sprawled out on the floor like your own suitcase.

“are you finally wearing them?”

you tilt up your chin to find jungkook’s face beaming with more excitement. he’s referring to the knee-high, five-inch white boots you gifted yourself for christmas. they’re lying right infront of you as you inspect them with anxious uncertainty. you eyed this pair for months before you clicked the checkout button at last, but seeing it in the flesh somewhat intimidates you because of how big and flashy it is.

“you look sexy in those boots, baby.” he crosses his arms, muscles bulging through his black t-shirt. he tucks his index finger under his chin as he envisions his plans and goals for your week-long vacation. “i packed my camera for this. i’ll film for a video, but i want to take pictures of you that have the street style, insta vibe too.”

“i do want to wear them but…” you trail off, hugging your knees to your chest as you pucker your lips in deliberation. “i read that it’s either snowy or rainy there these days. what if i slip?”

“no, no. i’m sure it’ll be fine.” he waves off your worries. “just bring them and we can figure it out when we get there.”

your boyfriend sounding inexplicably enthusiastic about this more than you has thoroughly boosted your confidence.

“okay.” you rest your chin on top of your knees, chewing on your bottom lip to conceal a smile. “i need to make space for it then. or should i get a duffel bag?”

“ey, no need for that! i’ll go pack them in mine…” he wastes no time, immediately squatting down to put the boots back in its box. “finish up here and don’t forget to turn the lights off.”

“yes, sir.” you chirp, kneeling on the floor to zip up your suitcase while he goes out to the living room where he already wheeled out his.

you stand in the middle of the bedroom, looking around as you mentally list down and cross out the essentials for your travel. you turn off every lightbulb you pass by on your way to the front door, picking up your powerbank charging in the living room, until you eventually reach jungkook who is standing in the narrow hallway.

“there you are,” you are greeted with a loving kiss planted on your forehead. “time check, time check. it’s 12:55.” he reports in a dulcet tone, slotting the strap of your bag over your head and letting it drape across your torso.

this is when it undoubtedly sinks in. hours ago, you were just sulking over something so silly and now, you’re about to leave for the airport. god, you can’t remember the last time you felt this surge of thrill thrumming in your veins. this is so out of the blue. you plan on creating a rough itinerary during the car ride and you already have several spots in mind (cough, cough. your tiktok’s fyp has been filled with recommendations courtesy of your friend and curious google searches). plus, you’re 99% sure there are things you forgot to pack, yet for some reason, you look forward to realizing what those are and stressing over where to fucking buy them in tokyo. and you highly doubt that you would feel this alive if you were travelling with somebody else rather than your best friend and your lover.

“let’s go!” you squeal, dashing past your boyfriend to push the door open.

he follows suit, hauling his luggage outside. “let’s go!” he chuckles to himself after he teasingly mimics your high-pitched tone.

once again, your childish impulses take over. you slump over the light pink suitcase to ride it, pushing the soles of your shoes against the smooth tiles to gain momentum as you roll across the quiet hallways. it’s absurd how you almost feel like you’re sneaking out, but you’ve always been one to enjoy reckless abandon.

entering a serious relationship with jungkook was a gamble you invested all your faith into. you used to feel like you were both running out of time, holding hands beneath the thick sand trickling down the hourglass. you didn’t want to have high hopes about building a life together, but you sure as hell pictured it in your mind a thousand times. and granted by a wild miracle, the universe was kind enough to breathe life into that picture. nowadays, the butterflies in your stomach wake up in the morning fluttering with life instead of fear.

“i realized something.” you voice out your thoughts as you wait for the elevator to climb to your apartment floor, sat on your suitcase with your chin propped up by the handle. “our flight is at 5am, right?“

“yup.” jungkook confirms with a nod as he zips up his windbreaker.

“then that means we can watch the sunrise from the plane!”

the new piece of information makes the photographer and videographer in him perk up with burning interest, dimples on his cheeks popping out as he lightly slaps his forehead.

“fuck, i need to drink a liter of coffee to stay awake for that.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask / dm if you want to be added or removed :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

[bloompompom]

Safekeeping

Your brother's best friend learns you don't want to leave for college a virgin, and he thinks he might be able to lend you a hand.

✧ content: ~9.2k word count. 20 y/o eren jaeger x 18 y/o female reader. shameless porn without plot, older brother's friend trope, inexperienced reader/virginity loss, praise, spit, corruption themes, dry humping, guided masturbation, oral sex (f!receiving), protected PIV sex, reader's brother has a name, pet name ('baby'), passing mentions of alcohol/marijuana, explicit sexual content, explicit language, reader discretion advised. 18+ only. ✧ a/n: virginity is a social construct but this is smut so i’m gonna play into it. enjoy ♡ ✧ part two

You planned to move away to college at the end of the summer, finally. Your school of choice was a three-hour drive from home. To you, it was the perfect distance. Just far enough to give you some much-needed space, but still within reason for a weekend visit if needed. You wouldn’t know anyone there, but that was what you were looking forward to the most, actually. It would be a fresh start.

You never did get the ‘fresh start’ that everyone talked about. You know, the new beginnings that came with every school year. You always tried to be optimistic about it but each time, without fail, your teachers scowled when they saw your last name on their rosters. They all knew your older brother Collin—very well, unfortunately.

His reputation preceded you as a punk who was sent to the principal’s office for acting out in class time and time again. Out of the classroom, too—in the hallways, on the football field after hours. Even in the parking lot when he got into a fender bender with his English teacher his senior year. You were cursed with the same teacher last semester and learned the hard way that she had a habit of holding grudges. 

But that was beside the point. What you were trying to say was: you were ready for college. More than ready. Giddy and practically vibrating with excitement, marking the days off on your calendar until move-in week. Until you could finally quit your lousy summer job at the ice cream shop, waiting on old folk that never knew what they wanted and didn’t bother tipping. 

Still, there was just one teensy little thing you were hoping to get out of the way before freshman year. But now that it was only a few weeks away—twenty-three days, but who’s counting?—it was starting to feel more like a pipe dream.

At the end of the day, there was no point throwing a tizzy over going to college a virgin. Surely, you wouldn’t be the only one.

Right?

Your parents had left for their annual end-of-summer trip down to the beach to visit your grandparents for a week. It used to be a family event, but now that you and Collin were deemed old enough, you had more say in whether you tagged along or not. 

Collin had skipped out the last two summers, but this was the first year you were allowed to stay home, too, now that you were eighteen. But what you didn’t expect was that his three best friends would be there with the two of you—for the better half of the week, at that. Apparently, since they had done it the last two years, it had become a tradition, as they put it. Honestly, you were just impressed Collin was able to pull it off without your parents catching on, considering he was never one to clean the house when you were kids. 

No matter, though; it didn’t bother you much. They had been your brother’s friends since they were in the eighth grade. Having them around was nothing new to you. Of course, it was more fun when you were younger—back when you could play Mario Party together and force Collin to sit out. Now, there wasn’t nearly as much in common besides the occasional tormenting of your brother. 

So, the four of them did their thing, and you did yours.

But therein lies the problem. Even while you minded your business, someone just couldn’t seem to mind theirs. He couldn’t prevent his thoughts from wandering back to you—couldn’t prevent his eyes from lingering longer than they should.

It wasn’t Armin. He would never dare to look at you that way, the girl he tutored in algebra. Nor was it Jean, hopelessly consumed with texting his classmate, still determined as ever to win her over.

No, it was Eren. 'The cute one,’ as coined by you and your friends once he hit his growth spurt and grew out his hair. Though Eren was unaware of the epithet, this would be the year he’d unknowingly return the sentiment, thinking of you as Collin's very cute sister.

Eren was gone last summer, away at an internship, so it had been a couple of years since he’d last seen you. And you appeared to have—ahem—really grown into yourself, to put it delicately. 

Listen, it was harmless. It wasn’t like Eren planned on feeling this way toward you. He didn’t think twice about it when Collin said you’d be at his place, too. And there was no way in hell he’d act on it. He wouldn’t even dare to let the thoughts hang around in his mind, consistently shoving them aside before they could permeate. You were Collin’s—his best friend’s—sister. More than that, you were his little sister! 

He thought he was being discreet about it, but man, did you have to make it so tough? Did you really need to lay out by your parents’ pool every single day? Jeez. As a matter of fact, when was the last time it rained? This had to be the longest they’d been without it, now that Eren was thinking about it.

Back to the point here: Eren was, in fact, not remotely discreet. Armin brought it to his attention as they went to grab another beer. You happened to pop into the kitchen at the same time, just to grab a snack, and damn it, why did you have next to nothing on? Like, yeah, the place was a little warm tonight, and it was your house and all, but seriously—tiny shorts rolled high on your waist and a tank top that looked extra clingy as you reached for a cup on the top shelf? Really?

“You can’t be serious,” Armin grumbled to Eren. Once you were gone, obviously. 

Eren should have known what Armin was referencing, but he was dumb to it, wholly convinced he had been treading carefully. “What do you—”

“You can’t bang Collin’s sister!”

Who even says ‘bang’ anymore?

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on a second.” Eren innocently held his palms up, waving them as if he could shake off the wicked accusation. “That’s a little far now, isn’t it?”

Armin was getting ahead of himself again; even Eren hadn’t let his mind wander past that boundary… yet. 

Armin gave him a look, like he knew better than to take Eren’s word at face value. “Well, it sure looks like you’re trying to bang his sister.”

“Who’s trying to bang who’s sister?”

Both Eren and Armin jumped at the voice, heads spinning like they were on a swivel to find Collin. He emerged from the basement, Jean trailing behind with a suspicious, low-browed expression.  

“Oh,” Eren stammered. He had to come up with something fast because he wasn’t about to leave it to Armin, the notoriously awful liar. “Armin was just telling me about some porn he watched the other night.” Eren shrugged. “You know, where the guy tries to bang someone’s sister.”

Armin glared at Eren for throwing him under the bus but reluctantly went along with the lie. “Yeah, and then he, uh… bangs the sister?”

Idiot, Eren couldn’t help but think. Whatever, it seemed to work well enough. Collin stared back at them like they were no better than a couple of horny morons. Jean dismissed it, too. Or at least, it didn’t bother him enough to let it interfere with him going for another beer.

With the crisis only half-averted, the four returned to the basement with freshly-cracked cans of beer in tow, where they would spend the rest of the night playing video games until they eventually passed out.

Well, at least three of them did. 

Eren couldn’t sleep, but that wasn’t anything new. He battled with insomnia from time to time. Tossing and turning on a wobbly air mattress didn’t make it any easier to fall asleep, and with the basement only marginally cooler than the rest of the house, he thought he might as well get a glass of water. 

Unluckily (luckily?) for him, he was interrupted before he could do just that. The sight of you, simply existing, lounged up on the couch, startled him. 

Someone’s jumpy tonight. You giggled when he cursed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What are you doing here?” Eren asked.

You lightheartedly taunted, “Last time I checked, I live here, don’t I?”

He made a face at you, lacking the amusement your voice carried. “You know what I meant. Why are you still awake?”

It was the first time Eren had bumped into you. Not the first time ever, obviously; you had been alone together on countless occasions. But this was different, never this late at night before, and it was the only time it’d been just the two of you since he’d thought about you like that. 

“Do I need a reason?” you airly replied, almost on a yawn as you stretched. “It’s summer break, and I don’t have work tomorrow.”

He didn’t offer more than a nod of acknowledgment before moseying across the room, his hands shoved into his pockets. Unsure of where this was going, you reached for the remote and paused your show.

“What are you guys doing down there?”

“They’re all asleep,” Eren answered. He stood idly in the middle of the room because, like you, he was curious as to where this was heading.

“And you’re not asleep because…?”

No, he couldn’t think like that. This was going nowhere. 

“I came to grab some water,” he hurried to say—or at least, you thought it sounded hurried—and disappeared into the kitchen right after. 

You listened for a moment, fingers dancing on the button of the remote as you debated starting your show again. But when the faucet flicked off, he didn’t return to the basement in the apparent rush he was in. Instead, he stayed there, with you. 

Eren sipped his water, thinking of what to say next. It was an uphill battle because there wasn’t anything to say. There was no reason he needed to start a conversation with you. And yet, there he was, leaned up against the wall, dumbly scratching at his midriff as he racked—

Wait. Were you checking him out?

If there was one thing Eren had learned at college—let’s be real here, he had a nasty habit of skipping class—it was that he did pretty well for himself when it came to girls. Decent enough, he’d say. He at least had enough sense to know when a chick was interested in him. And now that you had creaked that door open, ogled at where his hand had lifted his shirt to reveal his stomach, he didn’t really have another choice but to step inside and explore around. Just a bit. 

Armin’s warning blared in the back of Eren’s head. As luck would have it, his conscience tended to have Armin’s voice. But there wasn’t anything wrong with casual conversation, was there? After all, he had known you for years. 

“So, are you excited to leave for college soon?”

Nope. There was no turning back now. 

You perked up in your seat. “Yeah, for sure. It’ll be nice to go somewhere new. Meet new people, make new friends—”

“Maybe you’ll finally find your Fabio.”

There was a joke there, unfortunately. One you hadn’t heard in so long that you cringed at the memory.

As Collin’s sister, his friends were first-hand witnesses to your boy crazy phase, all your dating flops. Perhaps they had even learned you were quite the hopeless romantic. And by that, you meant Jean had found a smutty novel you had stolen from your mom—yes, it even had the signature Fabio-esque cover, hence the joke. Anyway, he read it aloud in front of your brother and the rest of their friends until Armin snatched the book from him, which somehow made the whole ordeal even worse. 

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” you offhandedly chuckled. “I was sort of hoping that would happen before college, but you know—I’m sure plenty of people go to college inexperienced.”

Your voice trailed off there at the end, almost like the notion really bothered you. Eren scrutinized it, this thing you handed him. It was a conversational game of hot potato—something you had shoved his way and forced him to hold onto. Why were you bringing this up? Were you looking for his advice?

Eren set down his glass and moved to sit by you on the couch. The far side of it. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

“No,” you blurted out, embarrassed and kicking yourself for having said anything in the first place. But your abruptness sounded just as bad, so with a sigh, you said, “I mean, I guess. I don’t want people to think I’m a loser for being a virgin.”

Again, why were you mentioning this to him? Eren felt like he was playing with fire. He knew he was going to wind up burnt the longer he stayed, maybe even scorching everything around him, even you, in the process. 

Still, he poked it, added some kindling because he was unwilling to let it die out. “I think there’s a fairly simple solution to that.”

“What, getting laid? I think I know that,” you scoffed. “And it’s easy for you to say that, looking like—” You loosely waved your hand over the length of him. “You. Believe it or not, I don’t exactly have suitors lining up outside my door.”

Okay, so he was picking up on something here. He wasn’t crazy. You said it then: you found him attractive. And he found you attractive. Extremely so, if that wasn’t obvious already. The answer was easy enough; he might as well go on say it outright then.

“What if I did it?” Eren suggested.

You didn’t know what he meant by it, his casualness throwing you for a loop. Surely, he couldn’t be talking about that. 

“You know, took your virginity.”

Oh. There was no mistaking it now. He was, without a doubt, talking about that. 

And why were you considering it?

Your brother’s friends, Eren included, had taught you all sorts of things before, things they probably shouldn’t have. They told you to flush the toilet to mask your squeaky front door if you planned on sneaking out. Taught you how to roll a joint, and how to take a proper hit after you confessed you had never ‘felt high’ when you smoked. So, would this be any different?

While you mulled it over, Eren took the far-away look behind your eyes as a horrible sign. He realized how insane the proposition sounded once he spoke it into existence. Before he could take it back, play it off as a joke—he had one too many beers, that’s all—you piped up.

“Really?”

He certainly didn’t expect that, stammering, “I—yeah. Why not?”

Another lengthy pause passed before you accused, “Are you just fucking with me?”

“No, no! I wouldn’t.” He started rambling then, a jumbled mix of ‘I just—’ and ‘I shouldn’t have—’ until you decidedly cut him off.

“Okay.”

“Huh?”

“I said okay. You can… take my virginity.” It felt like a strange way to say it, too formal. And to say it to Eren of all people, who would have guessed it?

Then again, maybe this was the most logical outcome. It wasn’t like you needed to make a big deal of losing your virginity. You weren’t looking for something romantic, with rose petals or a waterbed or any of that corny-porny crap. You were just looking to get it out of the way. That way, when you inevitably meet the love of your life in college (okay, so maybe you were a hopeless romantic), you wouldn’t embarrass yourself the first time you hooked up. 

“Okay,” Eren replied on his inhale, a breath sucked through his teeth, like it was a sin to say aloud. 

He scooted closer, sitting on the cushion that once separated you. You expected him to kiss you, even leaning into him with closed eyes, but your lips barely brushed into his. He didn’t come any closer than that.

Lowly, he asked you, “Do you trust me?”

You nodded. Your noses bumped.

“I need to hear it.”

“I trust you,” you said, even quieter than him. You could barely hear it over the sound of your heart, thumping so hard you swore it might burst into your throat.

Eren kissed you then, tentatively, with his hand cradling the side of your face. He didn’t move until you did, and when you returned the kiss, he followed while letting you take lead.

It didn’t last long, though. You jumped away from each other, back to the opposite sides of the couch, when the basement door squeaked open. The panic subsided when you caught the bright eyes of your family’s cat, her little head poking out from the shadows.

You held a hand to your chest, steadying your breath and trying to settle your rapid heartbeat, as if both were possible. When you met Eren’s gaze, he was already staring at you with a brittle sort of look. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Did he regret what he had done with you? You didn’t, and you prayed he didn’t either.

Before you had the chance to ask, he finally said, “Should we go to your room?”

“Good idea.”

He knew where your room was, but still, he followed right behind you anyway. At the top of the staircase, just before your bedroom door, you split. You turned to see Eren sneaking into Collin’s room. A minute passed while you listened to his rustling, but when he returned, held between his two fingers was that infamous, shiny foil.

You frowned, hard. “I’m not going to use one of my brother’s condoms.”

“Do you have one then?” Eren asked, already well aware of your answer.

“Fine.” 

Eren had never been in your bedroom before. It felt foreign, and weirdly wrong, to have him in there. He looked out of place for it, too big, too mature, especially as you looked at all your girlish knick-knacks and old photos. You wished you could tuck everything away into some lonely drawer. 

You avoided Eren’s eyes and fixed your attention on adjusting the lights. Your bright ceiling light was far too unforgiving for this, so you switched it out for your bedside lamp. The drone of the old bulb buzzed in the back of your ears, its light a fizzy yellow.

You were nervous. Eren didn’t need to see your face to know it was written all across it. Not that it surprised him, considering this was about to be your first time having sex, and it would be with him. 

He felt his heart drop into his stomach, the sick feeling you get on a rollercoaster, but somehow you want to ride again. Maybe he was just as nervous as you. You had put your trust in him, enough to take your virginity. Handing it to him as if it were some sentimental treasure he could watch over, for safekeeping. 

Sure, he knew the optics were bad. Not just bad but horrendous, actually. He was about to sleep with his best friend’s younger sister, a recently eighteen-year-old virgin. The whole situation sounded no better than a second-rate porno—like the one he had made up with Armin in the kitchen, ha!

This was as much a blessing straight from heaven as it was a curse. But he couldn’t care about the optics now, not with you taking a seat on the bed, looking over at him with these come-and-get-me eyes that may or may not have been intentional. 

No, this wasn’t a curse at all. If it were so wrong of him, then why was it that he already felt his cock straining against his sweats at the mere thought? The thought of how delicate he’d be with you. He needed to be, for the last thing he wanted was to ruin your first time. He’d be the first to show you what pleasure could be with another person—what you were deserving of before going off and letting other boys touch you.

He set the condom on the nightstand and joined you at the edge of your bed, his knee barely grazing yours. He was about to ask if he could kiss you again, but you entirely side-skipped any conversation by picking up right where the two of you had left off. 

Again, Eren relinquished control to you, but he did take the initiative to swipe his tongue into your mouth. You tasted him, the bittersweet flavor of light beer. He was nothing like the last boy you kissed. He didn’t ram his tongue down your throat but kissed you as though he wanted to taste you, to muse over and memorize you. And you let him, lips languidly caressing one another with little point or purpose, solely running on instinct. 

You balled his shirt in your fist, twisted the fabric of it between your hands to have him close—closer. He hoisted you onto his lap with his hands at your waist, and you went along with him more than willing. You draped your hands over his shoulders, crossing them at the wrist, and didn’t let your lips break from his once. 

He smoothed his palms up and down the small of your back until he eventually ventured lower. He gripped at your ass, pulling you down to grind over him. Just once, so you could feel him, how achingly hard he was for you. Then, you did it again all on your own. Lightheaded and teeming with desire, the pressure against your clit, even through your layers of clothing, was an addicting relief. You moved against him, again and again, until you were dragging yourself over him, practically about get off from that alone. 

But Eren didn’t let that happen. Before you get there, Eren used his hold on your hips to stall you. His voice was a mumble against your mouth as he asked you, “How far have you gone?”

“This,” you professed. “This is the farthest I’ve gone.”

Fuck.

“Okay.” It was the word of the night. Eren breathed it out like he was talking to himself. The type of sigh you’d give yourself in the mirror when trying to calm down, which was precisely his goal.

He lifted you with little effort, had you lie back into the pillows before he crawled on top of you. He kissed at your jawline, then placed another on the side of your neck. He left a few of them there. It was all lip, all wispy, like he could break you. Still, you felt each of them like a spark at the base of your spine. 

His fingers trailed lower, tickling over your collarbone but stopping short of the neckline of your tank top. 

“Is it all right if I touch you here?” he asked, punctuating it by running a hand down your breast, over your shirt.

“Yes,” you whispered with a shudder. 

With the confirmation, he massaged lightly, his thumb caressing over your perked nipple. 

He kissed you again, his tongue meeting yours while he rolled your nipple between his fingers. Your back arched instinctively, wanting more—needing more. He listened to your body, learning as he went, and tugged down your tank top. With nothing between you, he lightly pinched at your nipple, pulling a whine from you, one that didn’t get the chance to meet the air.

Eren kissed the side of your face. “Can I kiss you there?” he muttered, referencing your tits as he gave another squeeze. He pressed another kiss, lower, against your throat.

“Mhm,” was all you managed with a voice that was long gone, lost somewhere in the opened-mouth kisses he left along the dip between your chest. 

It tickled a bit when he flicked over your nipple with his tongue—even more when he latched onto it with his mouth. You were wiggly beneath him, driving him wild, and you didn’t even know it. It was sweet how sensitive you were, his mouth being the first to kiss you there, to learn the taste of your skin. So soft. And warm, too, heating up the longer he sucked at your tits, anywhere he pleased.

Eren kept his hand at your waist, palming over your stomach but never risking any lower than that. His touch was heated, urgent, yet he only showed restraint. 

He pulled back from you, letting his face hover inches above yours when he asked, “Have you ever touched yourself before?”

He was strangely calm for asking such a personal question, setting your face ablaze. Too rushed, you replied, “Of course I have.”

What did he think? That because you were a virgin, you hadn’t thought about sex before? Hadn’t ever watched porn? Yes, you hadn’t actually done it, but it wasn’t as though you were heading into the situation blind.

“Then—” You, the sight of you wriggling out of your sleep shorts, interrupted him. You caught the bob of his throat when he swallowed, but you weren’t sure he was trying that hard to hide it. “Show me how you do it.”

Eren sat back on his knees, just shy of sitting between your legs as you rested against the pillows. The only thing separating him from you was a thin pair of panties. You hoped he didn’t notice your jittery fingers as you slipped them beneath the band.

You started, “This is—”

“It’s not embarrassing,” he interrupted. It only made you more anxious, like he could read your mind or something. But he was genuine as he said it, assuring you even while struggling to maintain eye contact, his attention flitting from your face to between your legs. “Show me how I can make you come.”

How could he possibly be so open about this? There wasn’t even a shred of hesitation or shame in his voice. You wondered how many people he’d been with—how many times he’d rehearsed before he could speak with such confidence? Enough confidence to have you listening loyally and plunging your hand beneath your underwear. 

You pressed the pads of your fingers against your clit and started to rub. Slowly at first, but already, just that smidgen of relief was enough to pull a flimsy sound from you. You were sensitive, throbbing, and so incredibly turned on that you didn’t hide even as he unabashedly stared at you with pure infatuation. 

Eren rested a hand on your leg, sliding higher and reaching for your panties. “Can I take these off?”

You stopped only to help him work them down your leg, shimmying until he had them thrown to the foot of the bed. You were hesitant to spread your legs again, but he did it for you, placing one at each of his sides. He took your hand and returned it between your thighs, eager for you to continue. So you did just that. 

There wasn’t any doubt he could see everything now—how wet you were, how it coated your fingers the longer you rubbed, the tighter your little circles became. But you were too wrapped up in it to care, playing with yourself just as indecently as you would if you were alone. You couldn’t even be bothered to stifle the chant of gasps spilling from you.

“Can you put a finger inside for me?” Eren requested.

You nodded and pushed one inside, felt how you pulsed around it. You moved it in and out, the same way you had done many times before. 

“Yeah, like that,” he murmured. You heard the ‘fuck’ he cursed under his breath. “How’s that feel?”

“Good,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut.

“Try a little faster.”

You did just that and bit back a whimper.

“Add another.”

He needed you stretched. He needed you ready for him. 

You took your second finger well; you had done that before, too.

“You’re doing so good,” he told you. He leaned into you, closing in. “Can I help you now?”

“Please,” you breathed. You slipped your fingers from you, giving Eren access to do with you as he wished.

But he didn’t reach for you. Not there, at least. He held his fingers before your mouth.

“Open up.”

You weren’t sure what he was after, but you obeyed, lusty enough that you found you were trusting him implicitly. He placed his middle and index fingers against your tongue, telling you, “Get them nice and wet for me.”

You sucked on them lightly. Saliva pooled on the back of your tongue as he pressed down. He pulled them from your mouth with a lewd sound and smiled at you. It made your chest swell a bit.

Eren returned to your side. His presence was engulfing as he wrapped an arm around you, holding you close. It surprised you, the intimacy of it, but you didn’t have any time for second-guessing before he urged, “Keep going.”

You returned to circling your clit as his hand met yours. He traced his pointer finger through you, and every muscle in your body tensed.

“Can I?”

“Yes,” you said, practically a moan.

He slipped it inside you, taking his time with it. His finger was much larger than your own, thicker, reaching deeper than yours had ever gone. Your stomach tightened at the intrusion, trying to adjust. 

“That okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” It was better than okay. “More. Please.”

Eren chuckled warmly. He pumped his finger in and out of you, curving it just right to have you squirming in his arms. You were beginning to understand why he was holding you now. He wanted to keep you still so that, once he figured out what you liked, he could maintain his pace through your needy bucking. 

He had a hand on your head, petting over you as he asked, “You close?” You couldn’t respond because he added a second finger. A hiss left you, but it melted into a satisfied whine. “Yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” you whispered against him, his body dizzyingly hot even through his T-shirt. 

It was becoming quite the task to keep your fingers moving, what with Eren’s fingers hitting a spot that you didn’t even know existed, over and over again. It had you—fuck—it had you coming. So hard that you thoughtlessly rode his hand, eyes screwing shut as you fucked yourself deeper on his fingers, prolonging the bliss however you could until you turned to goo in his arms. 

You were panting against his chest, your body still twitchy, when he started to ask, “Did you—”

“Yes,” you said on a drawn-out exhale. 

He pecked your forehead. You still felt the stamp of it as he moved to get back on top. He held himself above you with hands planted on either side of you, kissing you full on the mouth. Still hazy, you didn’t move much, letting him make out with you all he wanted until his lips traveled down to the dip behind your ear, then the delicate crook of your neck.

He bunched your tank higher up your chest until you both tore it over your head. With it out of his way, Eren continued kissing lower—even lower than before. His breath tickled over your nipples, leaving you a needy, rutting mess—for what exactly, you didn’t know, just more.

“Too much?” Eren asked, looking up at you with his big, green eyes.

“No,” you assured, your mouth agape and in awe of him. “I like it.”

He pressed his smile against your skin, kissing and licking his way down your sternum.

When he reached your navel, you asked, “What are you—”

“Making sure you’re ready.” He kissed your hipbone.

“It’s really okay,” you said, slightly wary. “We should just get this over with, right?”

“What if I don’t want to get this over with?” Eren kissed just above your slit. “What if I want to take my time?”

Eren wanted you as comfortable—as relaxed—as possible. And since he was already about to fuck his friend’s younger sister, with one of his condoms nonetheless, he certainly wasn’t going to dig around for his friend’s lube next. Luckily, there was another, more fun, way that he could ensure you were properly lubricated so as to avoid any pain that may arise from him splitting you on his—

Focus. 

“I need you to tell me what feels good and what doesn’t,” Eren said, a reminder more to himself than for you. 

You gasped, almost choked, when he kissed the top of your thigh, then the inner part of it. 

“Can you do that for me?”

“Eren, I—” 

“Please.” He licked a broad stripe up the crease of your thigh. That alone had your head thrown back against your pillow, a tiny ‘oh’ escaping you. “Let me. I want to.”

“You do?” you timidly asked.

“So badly,” he replied, but it sounded more like an admission. A white flag of surrender, like he was letting himself fully give in to his desires because, yes, he had thought about this before. There was no use in lying about it now. 

“O-okay.”

On that, he returned to teasing his way between your legs, kissing from the delicate flesh of your inner thighs to—

“Wait!” you interjected. Eren immediately looked to you like he had done something wrong, but you quelled his worry with, “Can you get undressed, too? Like, at least your shirt.”

Your request didn’t sound nearly as self-assured as his, but he listened to you nonetheless. He sat back to peel off his shirt. He smiled at you softly. “Better?”

You scanned over his toned torso, sun-kissed and tanned from summer. Definitely better. “Thanks.”

He leaned over you, his mouth inches from your pussy as he murmured, “It’ll feel good.” Then he kissed your entrance, and the sensation of it jolted through your body like lightning. “Promise.” 

Eren parted you with his fingers before licking through you, letting the newfound feeling sink in deep. His tongue was warm, wet, and exceedingly gentle—nothing like his fingers or even your own. You couldn’t begin to describe it, but that might be because, after a second lap of his tongue, you were already losing any and all coherency. 

You made a few strained sounds, flowery and pathetic, but supported yourself on trembling elbows to watch. When you met Eren’s eyes, he only stopped licking at you to say, “Tell me what feels good.”

“Everything.” The word tumbled out of your mouth desperately. “Everything feels good.”

You felt his laugh just before he closed his mouth back over you. He continued having his way with you, sucking and licking at you, saliva and slick making a mess of his pretty face as he staggered kisses between his laps. Whenever his lips brushed against your clit, your legs would flex tight. He hooked his arms around them, laying them over his strong shoulders. You felt the way his fingers dug into the fat of your thighs, locking them in place while he circled his lips around your clit with more pressure than before.

“Ah—oh,” you moaned, your back leaving the bed to press your pussy further into his face, as if you could have him any closer—you know, until you’d have him inside you. But that would come soon enough.

Eren didn’t ask this time; he knew exactly how he was making you feel. And you were thankful for it because you couldn’t dream of him stopping. You needed more, lacing a hand through his locks and pulling lightly, encouraging him. He groaned against you, clearly liking it, so you did it again.

He was sloppy with it while still… thoughtful? That didn’t feel like the correct word for it, but even as he made out with the most intimate part of you, he did it with intention, doing that thing again, whatever it was, with his tongue pointed, because he had quickly learned you liked it. No, he showed you that you liked it. Loved it, actually; it was excruciatingly evident by the breathless sounds you made. 

And when Eren paired his tongue with his sucking lips, swirling it against your clit, you came with your own hand clamped over your mouth. Your entire body gained a pulse of its own. It was much stronger than your first orgasm and longer-lasting, too. The muscles of your stomach wound and released while you rode out your high, Eren groaning against you just as pleasedly. 

Only once you were no longer propped on your elbows but flopped against the bed did Eren let up. Your thighs were still trembling as he kissed a pathway back to your side. You both sat with heaving chests, though yours much heavier than his, and you were beginning to question how you were supposed to go for another round. You hadn’t even reached the—for lack of a better word—main event yet. Truthfully, you expected Eren to throw you to your bed, pop your metaphorical cherry, and be done with it. But now you had already orgasmed twice and he still had his sweatpants on. 

You should probably do something about that, shouldn’t you?

“I wanna touch you, too.”

While innocent, it was the most you had communicated with him this far, so he didn’t stop you when you reached for him. He was more than ready for it. 

You explored him a bit, tracing over his length and discovering what touches made him twitch beneath your touch, still as chaste as ever. 

“Show me,” you purred.

It wasn’t that you didn’t know what to do—a hand job was far from rocket science. It was more like if you had to show him yours, then you wanted to see his. You wanted to watch. 

Eren tugged his sweatpants and boxers down his legs. His cock sprung out, nearly slapping against the low part of his abs. Already, his tip was wetted, needy for anything after going untouched this long, even if it was his own hand. 

He wrapped his fingers around his shaft, working his fist over his cock, faster, until he was jerking himself off for you. His breath, fanning just above your head, went from steady to ragged, his chest tight.

You watched him for a moment, already needing to touch him. You pushed yourself upright, perched so that your knees brushed against his thigh, ready to take him with both hands. 

“Hold on.”

You glanced at him. He fidgeted, like he was about to say something but retracted it immediately. He sounded hesitant, looked even more hesitant, when he asked, “Can you—can you spit in your hand first?”

“Oh, um.” You looked at your open palm and tried your best to collect some saliva in your mouth. It was a little daunting, knowing he was watching as you did it, but he didn’t seem to mind. 

No, he definitely didn’t mind. Not in the slightest. But he wouldn’t admit that to you right now. 

You took him in your hand, mimicking how he did it, with a loose wrist and your grasp slightly firm. When you squeezed over his tip, you heard the sharp inhale it pulled from him, noted how his pelvis flexed. Eren’s hand closed over yours. He was going to show you exactly how he liked it. 

Eren moved your hand for you, gripping it whenever you reached the head of his cock. His pinched breaths turned into groans, his brows hanging low over his keen eyes. That was when he started thrusting, fucking your hand, and nearly forgot where he was—forgot whose hand he was using like his own personal toy.

“Spit on it,” he grunted, that temperate side of him growing unrestrained. 

He didn’t mean to come off so crass, not in front of you, not this soon. It was just that Eren couldn’t remember the last time he came from a handjob, but he was nearly there, with your hands so dainty and velvety around him. Not to mention the spit dribbling from your pretty lips before you spread it down his cock—he was about to lose his last smidgen of composure. 

Thankfully, he remembered the reason why he was here. He had a much bigger agenda than fucking your hand. How could he have forgotten already that he was here for you?

“That’s—ah, shit.” Selfishly, Eren waited for another second before releasing your hand. You continued stroking him eagerly, and it felt wrong to stop you, but he did just that with his hand around your forearm. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep going.”

“Sorry,” you said, your hands now politely to yourself and folded on your lap.

With a short, huffing laugh, he told you, “You do not have to apologize for that. Believe me.”

His chuckle had you smiling again. That closed-mouth, coy smile that he was quickly learning might become the death of him. He straightened out, taking your chin between his fingers to kiss you again.

“Lay back for me,” he whispered. 

You fell into the mess of pillows and tangled sheets, making yourself comfortable while Eren fetched the condom. You didn’t know what the feeling was—trepidation, anticipation, excitement, perhaps all three—but it bubbled in your stomach as you watched him rip the wrapper before rolling on the latex.

He pumped himself a few times as he reminded, “We can stop at any time if you need.”

Eyes wide and fixed onto him—specifically on his cock, which he’d soon gape you on—you asked, “Do we need a safe word?”

He laughed again, through his nose like earlier, but only because you were so agonizingly cute about it. “I think ‘stop’ will work just fine.”

You did that smile again, winding the knot in his stomach more than he even thought possible. Eren was so close to snapping—not like that! Not hurting you, never. More like coming undone, turning into a puddle of himself, finishing humiliatingly early—that sort of snapping. He didn’t know what had him feeling this way, but something about you made him feel like the virgin here. 

He didn’t dare push inside yet, not only for your sake but for his. His eyes, now brazen and alert, scanned over you, staring you straight in the face like a silent check-in. And when you gave him the go-ahead, nothing more than a bobble of your head, slowly, he tilted his hips into yours. 

With you unbelievably tight around him, he stilled with only his tip inside you. Even so, his breath had already hitched in his throat. He couldn’t hold back, he simply couldn’t. And when he gave you a little more, between his eyes flittering shut, he caught the scrunch of your nose. 

There was a stretch, a certain fullness. It didn’t necessarily hurt, but it didn’t exactly feel like he belonged in there, either. It was considerate of him to take his time with you, prep you with his fingers and tongue. But even so, with his cock only halfway inside, you had your nails dug deep into his biceps. 

“How’re you doing?” Eren asked. 

“I’m—” You glanced at where your bodies were connecting. There was still more of him to take. “Okay.”

It didn’t appear like he believed you, which was fair because it was a shaky statement at best. “It’s too much?”

“A little,” you sheepishly admitted. 

He pulled out of you, and even that made you wince. Your shoulders dropped back to the mattress, every muscle in your body easing up now that he wasn’t bullying inside you. 

"Here.” Eren rolled onto his back. He guided you on top of him, set you so your knees straddled his waist, his cock resting between your legs. Somehow, it looked even longer like that, laid upon his abs. “Let’s try it like this.”

Like this? It felt incredibly vulnerable from up here, where he could see you—in all your glory—bouncy above him. Plus, you hardly knew what you were doing; you had just given your first handjob! If you were being honest, you thought you’d just sort of lay there and take it from him, and now he was expecting you to ride him? It was intimidating, to say the least, even if Eren tried to assure you it wasn’t.

“You have total control this way.”

That was the exact thing you feared. You didn’t want any control. What if you did something wrong? 

Apparently, you didn’t do a great job at masking your worry because Eren immediately placed his hands on your hips, not taking them in his grasp but rubbing his thumbs encouragingly against your skin. 

The entire point of this was to trust him. That was why you were doing this—losing it to Eren, someone who wouldn’t make fun of you. That way, when it really mattered, you wouldn’t royally fuck up. And after getting this far, there was no chance in hell you would end the night a virgin. Well, half-virgin.

Ready to try again, you drew a deep breath, lifting yourself to your knees. Before you reached for him, like the new sexpert that you were, you spat in the palm of your hand, not minding Eren’s eyes this time. You stroked over the condom, mixing its lube with your saliva, then lined his cock up with you. 

Carefully, you sat down. He only reached as deep as before, but the pressure was nowhere near what it once was. You rolled your hips, testing different angles to see what worked best—how you could get more of him, all of him, inside you. 

Eren curved a hand around the nape of your neck, cooing, “Come here.”

He brought you in for a kiss—more than a kiss—his tongue immediately licking into your mouth the second your lips crashed into his, tasting every one of your contented, little hums.

He snaked a hand between your legs, lazily thumbing over your clit until your lips were unable to match his fervency. It was more like you were moaning against his mouth, right into it, sharing each of his breaths until your cheeks sweltered. He melted you from the inside out, softening you up like butter until you were flush against his pelvis—as easy as that. Cautiously, you started rocking your hips.

“That’s it,” Eren whispered into the corner of your mouth.

With quivering arms, you held yourself up with your palms pressed into his chest. Perched proudly atop him, the tip of his cock reached deeper, filling you deeper than anything else had before. It stole your breath, almost like you felt him in your throat.

Eren admired how your mouth fell into an adorable ‘o’ before you started moving. As though a switch had flipped, you were suddenly rolling your hips against him—slowly, of course—repeatedly having him hit that delicious spot again as you indulgently chased after your third orgasm.

“You’re doing so good, taking me well for—for your first time.”

Shit. Eren remembered he was taking your virginity. 

He inhaled sharply, hoping you wouldn’t notice how his voice gave way, or how his cock jolted inside you when he realized he was the first to have you like this. His cock was the first to fill you, stretch you, mold you to accommodate him. Only him. 

“Do what feels good for you, baby.”

The pet name slipped past him before he could wrangle it back, but you didn’t seem to catch it. Or, at least, you didn’t mind. 

No, you were too busy to hear him, more occupied with getting a feel for what you liked best. Eren let you use his cock freely because—what, was he supposed to stop you? Fuck no. He would let you continue forever if you desired it, so long as you’d continue gifting him with such lovely and lewd expressions—the sweet curl of your lip, the knit of your determined brows as your thighs had surely started to burn.

But, boy, it was quite the challenge, letting you have your way with him. You could only keep your pace for a moment or two before you’d take a break. Such a fucking tease, and you didn’t even know it. It was endearing how worn out you were from everything that came before this, and all Eren wanted was to dig his heels into your bed, pound away at that tight pussy of yours, and show you just how wonderful he could make you feel. 

It was a test of strength for him, whether he could hold back or not, because finally, you looked like you were enjoying yourself on his cock. You took him with short strokes, a simple tilt of your hips back and forth once you realized you could grind your clit into his pelvis.

He could tell you were close, from the way you fluttered around him to the gasps getting caught in your throat from the added, and absolutely euphoric, pressure. 

“Just like that. Keep going. Make yourself come for me.” 

The gravel in Eren’s voice pushed you closer to the edge. There was a growl to it, and you could feel it vibrate through you. You tossed your head back with a cry loud enough to wake a neighbor as you shoved a hand between your legs, desperate to come. 

Eren shushed you dotingly, but there was a grin on his face as he placed his sticky palm against your mouth. “Can’t let them hear us now, can we?”

He felt your heady breath as you panted, trying to reach your peak. When you couldn’t ride him any longer, your hips an erratic sputter, he beamed up at you, slack-jawed smile and all, and said, “Feel good? Need some help?”

Too overwhelmed, you couldn’t even nod your head. You babbled uselessly.

“Want me to fuck you, just a little? Get you coming on my cock?”

“Yes, please—oh, God, Eren.”

When he started to move, thrusting into you ever so slightly, you were already scratching your nails down his chest. It was no bother to him, though. He only wanted you to do it again.

When you came, you squeezed him so perfectly that he thought he might explode. It was taking his last bit of self-control to fuck you at such a steady and slow pace when, in reality, he only wanted to hammer into you. Eren felt like he was moments away from boiling over. His face was burning, and he could feel the sweat beading in his hairline from this aching, pent-up desire within him. After fingering you, going down on you—no, after days of fantasizing about you—he needed release.

Even you could see it—the unmistakable flush of his face now spreading to the base of his neck and spanning his chest. As blissed out as you were, limply collapsed on top of him, you mumbled against his skin, “Eren, I want you to come, too.”

And how could he turn that down? Now that you had come three times, he figured he could finally have his turn. 

“I’m gonna go a bit faster now. You tell me if that’s okay or not.”

Before he could even flinch, you assured him, “It’s okay. I want you to.”

The soft laziness of your voice, the dreaminess seeping through it like syrup—it was too much. 

Eren took you by the hips first, holding your body pliant for him to thrust into. He started with long drags of his cock, letting his tip kiss your entrance before stuffing himself back inside you. Each time he bottomed out, he bit back every vulgar curse he wanted to hiss into your ear. 

Then, he flattened his hands against your back, folding you into him with his palms seared into your shoulder blades. Your face was smothered in the crook of his neck as he fucked up into you. The bed began to squeak, like a mockery of your tiny bleats.

“You all right?” Eren asked, his voice hoarse.

You only made an affirmative sound that got muffled as you burrowed against him. With your chest warm, like a tingling between your lungs, and your head stuck somewhere in the clouds, you took him in a speechless, almost surreal, bliss. How fiercely he needed you, if only for a blip in time, was intoxicating.

And in that fleeting moment, the sin of it, the forbiddenness surrounding you, had vanished. Eren was sure it would rear itself again, that was for certain. He could predict the ripple of guilt that’d course through him once he inevitably faced what he’d done. But even if it meant betraying his best friend, he couldn’t find it within himself to regret it.

Especially when he realized how fucking good it felt to come inside you. With his arms locked around your waist, your entire body smushed against his, he snapped his hips into you, as if he could possibly fuck you any deeper. He emptied himself into the condom as a groan tore through his throat, the hum of it against the shell of your ear like a final shudder down your spine. 

He pulled out of you, faintly cursing as he did. You flopped at his side, entirely spent, and stared at the ceiling with fuzzy, unfocused vision. The rush of adrenaline was on a steep comedown, and you were already starting to feel it. Sore, but extremely satisfied. 

“You should probably go to the bathroom—to pee and stuff,” Eren said, that familiar, boyish side already returning in full force. 

Pee. Got it.

You only muttered a ‘yeah’ before you redressed and tip-toed off to the bathroom down the hallway. There, you wiped yourself clean, forced yourself to pee, and gave yourself a good long look in the mirror.

In just one night, you had hit every base. By definition, a home run, in your book—and with your brother’s ‘cute friend,’ at that. 

You were shocked to see Eren was still there when you returned to your bedroom. He had on his boxers and tee already, stepping into his sweatpants as you opened the door. He gave you a soft smile as you hopped into your bed. 

Then, even more surprisingly, he asked, “Do you want me to stay?”

Eren knew he should leave unless he hoped to get caught. Still, he thought it was the right thing to say.

You giggled, “I think my brother would kill you if he found you in here.”

He laughed along with you, but when it settled, he crawled beneath your sheets anyway.

Though you felt uncertain about it, he consoled it away with, “Don’t worry. I’ll just hang here until you fall asleep.” You at least deserved that.

He turned the light off and let you rest your head against his chest, your arm looped around his waist. You didn't know where the urge to cuddle came from, and neither did he, but he didn't question it. It was comfortable, even as he waited for that pang of guilt to hit.

But it never did. And once he heard your breathing taper to a peaceful drone, he slipped out of your bed and snuck back down to the basement. That stupid air mattress felt a whole lot more comfortable now.

Finally, Eren had scratched the itch he couldn't kick, just to get it out of his system. Now, there was absolutely no way he'd think of you again—not that kittenish little smile nor how you curled against him in your sleep—and definitely not while you were three hours away at school…

Right?

✧ continue to part two ✧

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren smut

[shares-a-vest]

@steddiemas Day 2: Winter Sentence Starters (Sentence Starter Saturdays)

"Holy shit!" Eddie shrieks, his voice regrettably echoing around the small quarters of Family Video's storage room, "Your hands are freezing!"

He envelopes Steve's hands in his own, brings them to his mouth and starts blowing. Steve grimaces and attempts to yank his hands away, but Eddie only tightens his grasp.

"Don't you have any mittens!" he continues, frantic as they now tug back and forward.

"No way," Steve scoffs, "I'm not walking around with an ugly pair of mittens pinned to my jacket."

He cocks his chin and his eyes flit down to the set of navy-blue mittens joined by a length of matching yarn and attached to Eddie's worn parka jacket via two safety pins.

"Excuse me!" he defends, letting go as he brings his hands to his chest to shield his mittens from further insult.

Steve giggles, "You look like a kid going off to kindergarten."

Eddie holds up a warning finger and feels his jaw clench, "My mittens are pinned to my winter jacket so I know where they are at the beginning of winter when I need my winter coat and mittens! Then, when I enter a premises that is supposed to be warm – to seek out my boyfriend whose hands should be warm – I pin them straight back on my jacket for safekeeping. It makes perfect sense!"

"So this was Wayne's idea because you kept losing them?" Steve asks, raising a brow and smirking.

"... Yeah," Eddie admits, looking down at his mittens.

The embarrassment is fleeting (this is practical for god sake!) and Eddie moves to unpin them.

"Eddie, I'm not taking your mittens!"

"Take my mittens!"

"How am I supposed to work in them?"

"You can stack away returns in a pair of mittens," Eddie offers, twirling the mittens by their joined string.

"And how am I going to type or use the phone?"

Eddie pauses and bites the inside of his cheek.

Damn it, he always has a checkmate defence.

"Turn the AC up!" he says with a click of his fingers.

"Can't," Steve grumbles, folding his arms and leaning against the built-in shelf that was supposed to support their regularly scheduled make-out session, "The AC is broken."

"What!" Eddie looks around, waving his hand about, "Where's your customer complaint form? Suggestion box? Something like that?"

"Eddie, you are not filing a complaint to Keith."

"I sure am!" he nods, determined, "Complaint or my mittens. Your choice, babydoll."

#again this is silly 😅😂 #i spent way too long thinking about what kind of winter jacket eddie would wear #steddiemas #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #family video 📼

[impishjesters]

If it’s not too much trouble, what about Caine or Jax (whoever you prefer!) with an s/o who is just. Tiny. Like, can-take-a-nap-inside-Jax’s-overalls-pocket small - like not even a foot tall!

Maybe they can change their size at will, maybe they’re just eternally itty bitty, your choice!

Thank you so much, and have a wonderful day/night!!

Caine

You’re so small that while Caine finds it adorable, it is also quite the pain when it comes to including you in activities, or just doing anything with him overall.

In the beginning, he’d offered to carry you when he was present, but because it’s Caine it’s not a very fun method of transportation. His whole head kinda makes sitting on it or his shoulders difficult or impossible. And being carried around like a doll isn’t very fun or comfortable—especially with Caine being the type who talks with his hands.

Jax once called you a mouse as an insult and Caine found the name to be cute and fitting—unaware that it was an insult—and took to calling you his little mouse.

It takes awhile but Caine offers to try making you bigger—though the two of you find out later on it’s not permanent. The upside is you can switch between little and big at the price of exhaustion.

He’s in utter awe the first time he gets to fully take you in, all the hard-to-make details finally pop, and wow you are cuter than he thought initially.

Caine likes to make it a fun little game for himself to play, which is essentially just hide and seek except you aren’t intentionally hiding. You aren’t even aware he’s really playing the one-sided game, he just likes to pop in randomly and see if he can find you. You are a slippery little thing able to bypass many of his all-seeing eyes.

When it comes to dates he prefers them with bigger you, not that he dislikes your smaller form but he realizes how impractical it would be to take you out and exhaust you on such a tiny walk when there’s so much more ground to cover. Or risk losing you—which he’s totally never done before by the way…

Being big means he can hold your hand, lead you around, and sit with you, he feels like you are equal this way, when you are tiny he feels like the bad guy with control over everything—even if it technically is.

Just for funsies, Caine has shrunk himself down to your side when it’s just the two of you, it’s a very trippy experience he’ll say that much. Everything really is massive holy heck.

Jax

Jax has without a doubt nearly stepped on you or kicked you too many times to count that he’s taken to shoving you in the pocket of his overalls for safekeeping.

Mind you it wasn’t intentional, you’re just so damn tiny and he’s definitely far from being the shortest in the circus. If anything he does feel genuinely bad, not only did you get the shit hand of being the size of a Barbie doll, but he’s not even the only person who’s nearly trampled you.

You’re basically a glorified purse dog in a sense, it’s easiest when he carries you around and does all the hard work and walking. You are his little purse dog s/o and he’s your glorified taxi driver, the two of you definitely joke about it though so there are no hard feelings.

Jax has found you more than once taking a cat nap when he checks inside his pocket, you’ve even got a little pillow and blanket—where the hell did you get those?

“I feel more like an apartment than a boyfriend.”

“Oo, free rent, great view, and a boyfriend. What a steal.”

You’ve experimented sitting on his shoulders and head before, Jax vetoed your rights to his head after you’d clung to his ear screaming—though to be fair there’s not much to hold on with him moving around. And after nearly wearing you like a necklace as you choked him out, the two of you settled that the pocket was best.

He just moves around too much sometimes for anything but the pocket to be safe, though when it’s just the two of you and things are chill he’ll give you necklace and earring rights again. (something he started calling you with the way you’d cling to him.)

Regardless of the appearance you’ve taken, Jax calls you a doll because well, you’re literally the size of one it’s self-explanatory. He even stopped calling Ragatha “doll face” to avoid any confusion when referring to you.

The whole permanent tiny thing gets on his nerves but he tries not to mention it, it sucks not being able to do stuff normally with you—or hold your hand or you—well in a manner that’s not his pocket. You get the gist.

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #the amazing digital circus x reader #jax #jax x reader #tadc jax #tadc caine #caine x reader #caine

[opalopera]

I love your works, never stop writing please.🙏🏼🙏🏼

Could you write employee x boss male reader (subbot)??? Where the m!reader is a shitty boss and the employee decides to teach the m!reader a lesson.

Any kinks are welcome.

thanm you.,,, cw;; dubcon, degredation, mild binding, tired employee/mean boss dynamic, drugging/aphrodisiacs, taking pictures of you drugged out, subordinate, bttm male reader, minors ageless blogs dni!

all he's thinking,,, is that someone has to teach you a lesson. picking n choosing who to be nice to every once in a while - god. cant you be nice to everyone? he wonders, sitting in front of your desk with his hands neatly in his lap under the guise of merely having to talk to you about his schedule - or getting some sort of bonus... he decides to be the brave soul to get back at you. he's strong. he can hold his own. definitely against you of all people.

"shit, you don't mind staying here, do you?" you grumble, frusrated - your copier wasnt fucking working. your subordinate swore up and down it was fixedㅡnow you'd have to go to the communal...

"not at all." he grinned brightly, mildly nervous. you leave, wordlessly. and he, taking the chance to pull out his mysterious little bag full of crushed white pills. shakily untwisting your bottle - pouring the contents into it and vigorously shaking it once closedㅡand acting as though he was just putting away his phone when you come back, papers in hand... you sit, frustrated. fiddling taking a small sip of your water before fiddling with your folders - christ, last minute organizing with this brat trying to talk to you... fuck. "go on?" you gesture, narrowing your eyes.

"a-as i was saying..." he begins, gentle and obviously observing you rather intently as he tries to get through his small speechㅡbefore you cut him off again. "... sorry. could we do this another time?" you were breathless. and sweaty. and go for another sip of your water bottle before gesturing to himㅡ"the door." you stood from your desk abruptly; hand held out to said doorㅡand he nearly laughs aloud. you were hard. having an erection. perfect. fucking perfect - it worked so easily, but perhaps thats because he used the whole bag. it wouldve made a mess if he put the ripped bag back into his pocket...

ㅡ"what the fuck are you doing?" you grit - coughing, spluttering as your wrists were so easily pulled behind your back - restrained with your tie he shucked off; choking you-! using to tie your forearms together behind your back,,,, threats spilling from your lips as he so shamelessly dips his hand inbetween your legs; his own bulge pressing into your ass, sandwiching you in-between him and your desk. choking on your breath as he palms your aching cock pressed against your slacks,,, "ff-ffhh.. g-et off." you try bucking him, trying to stand straight and turn - to worm yourself aroundㅡyour body considerably weakened.. wanting to chew him out for making a mess of your deskㅡbut - y-you couldn't exactly speak with his fingers down your throatㅡnearly biting them off before he hooks your cheek; pinching you,,,

ㅡ"no biting." he demands with grit, pinching your cheek before pulling awayㅡcarelessly tossing your belt to the side with a camera in hand. c-,, camera? of course, why wouldnt he have a camera on him, seeing his boss so embarrassed and defiled? snapping a few from the behind, your sweaty, messy build too lovely not to ignore - safekeeping is all. you're too fucking dumb to comprehend whats in his hand anyway, just enjoy the pain of his fat cock stretching your lazily lubed up gummy walls while he takes a few pictures of your rim sucking him in,,,

y-you shouldve been so much nicer. you want to say sorry, but its futile. now that youre all wrapped up... you think it would still be appreciated. choking on his fingers doused in your own cum as he so eager - and so mean. sobbing, trying so hard to catch your breath as you whimper apologiesㅡy-you're so, so sorry... "ff-aa-ah, fuck-" incoherent babbles as you had no control over your aching body, trying to push back into him, to suck him deeper into you as he fucks you like an animal over your desk- feeling his cock stretch out your unused, rather virgin, holeㅡ"i want a raise."

#x sub male reader #x bottom male reader #cnc free use #dom male character #top male character #uke male reader #corrupt!on kink

[himegureisu]

Can you please write a fic where reader sends Snape a plush (which she crocheted)of a cat which looks like her(or her favourite breed) and she send him a picture of her with a black cat plush(also made by her) which looks like him to keep eachother company

Bonus If he opens it infront of the students in the great hall😄

A Momentary Lapse in Judgement

A/N: I think I was blushing the whole time I was writing this. I did it in a single go, didn't even need to edit it much my brain was in a continuous💡. Everything is there plus a bit more.

——————————— 🪄———————————

In the Great Hall, lively chatter from students’ conversations echoed throughout as the warm light filtered through its’ windows on this fine morning of the school year. On the other hand, at the High Table, only a few words were spoken between the staff.

It wasn’t long until the owls arrived to deliver the morning post.

One amongst them, your tawny barn owl landed gracefully in front of the Potions’ Master. In front of his plate, a beautifully wrapped gift in deep green and silver ribbon. Their students’ attention caught by the shiny display and the whisper of who would send that smarmy git a present was briefly heard.

His dark eyes flickered in curiosity, the sight of your stationery attached on top eased his frayed nerves. His fingers delicately opened the parchment to see an enchanted candid postcard of you smiling, holding a black crocheted cat plush that eerily resembled him. On the back, in your neat handwriting, a short message.

I miss you always. I hope this is sufficient company until I come home. Counting down the days.

His hands tugged on the silver ribbon, and neatly unwrapped the package that contained a single crocheted cat plush very similar to you. Its’ fur, the color of your skin, bright eyes the hue of yours, a pout on its’ tiny lips, and flushed cheeks reminded him of you whenever you didn’t get your way. There was a tag that said “Hug Me,” and so he did.

Boy, was that the wrong move.

Your voice echoed throughout the hall, a soft I love you came from the cat. His stern features softened, cheeks flushed, the tips of his ears a tinge of crimson, and a soft smile appeared on his lips from the pronouncement. His students and the professors agape at the sight of their strict professor undone.

On the edge of the table, he gently banged his head and quietly wished for the ground to swallow him up whole. His eyes locked on the cat plush that resembled you, an internal debate of whether to burn or not to burn the blasted toy came across his mind until he was reminded that it carries your voice.

You.

The woman he loves, who chose and chooses him every day. The one person he couldn't bear to lose. He couldn’t. He would never. It was a very thoughtful gift from you and truly, he did miss you.

His composure returned. His face was its’ normal color by the time he raised his head from the edge of the table to see the intrigued gazes of students and teachers alike.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he packed up the plush, “This needs to be in safekeeping,”

On your side of the bed, by his side until you return.

#severus snape #severus snape x reader #hp #harry potter #severus snape fanfiction #snape #professor snape #hogwarts #fanfiction #snape x you #severus snape x you

[octuscle]

Hey support. I gave my phone to my dad for safekeeping while I went to a doctors appointment. During the appointment, I started feeling strange, like I was getting dumber? Also my shirt feels tight, don’t know if that’s something.

It's just a screening appointment. I'm here because I need to get my blood levels checked. Of course, I know for a fact that the doctor will say something about my cholesterol levels again. He will say something about the fact that I should do more sport. What should I do? I'm a junior in college. It is extremely challenging to keep up with the curriculum.

The shirt is not only tight, it is also itchy. It would be nice if the doctor came soon. Then I can finally take it off for the examination. I don't have forever. I have to be back on campus by 4 p.m. at the latest. Otherwise I won't have enough time to warm up before training.

I hope da doc isn't uh wimp. Yes, I cud have taken uh shower before going to da doctor. But before da doctor wuz gym, afta da doctor is football training. Ha much sense does uh shower make? let me check my armpit. Yes, gud jock sweat. Da doctor will like that.

Bruh, I'm lowkey praying this ain't nah shredded muscle or somethin wild like that. Haha, damn, I probably went ham on dem weights, but you know ha it goes on chest day - total amnesia, all about them pecs! I live for chest day!

Yo fam, like, why do I gotta chill on this chair every time for them to drain my blood? n why does da doc gotta inspect my balls first, like, what even? but hey, he's da med guru, he must know his shit, right? lit to know that my coach is posted up in da waiting room holding down my celly. Praying I can bounce back to ballin' with da squad pronto. Da ultimate showdown is goin' down this weekend. N coach dropped uh hint about needing uh fresh QB on da team. Please, oh please, let it be yours truly!

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #nerd to jock #football jock #ai image

[azulashengrottospiano]

SUMMARY: little things the ikevamp suitors love about you.

WARNINGS: none!! :D

COMMENTS: this is kinda to get me back in the writing groove again. i thought this was really cute as i was writing it hehe

napoleon adores your voice, the sweet sound of it carrying in the wind as you cheer him on when he spars. your voice goes higher when you talk to jupiter and lower when you talk to the kids he teaches, and although he’ll never tell you he notices these things, it’ll be evident when you look over at the teasing smirk on his face.

mozart adores the contrast between your klutziness and your grace, he’s caught you swaying to his music when you clean before, now that you two often find yourself sharing the same space. his eyes wander to you as he plays under the guise of making sure you don't slip on the sleek floors and injure yourself...but really, he is enraptured by you.

leonardo adores your lips, even more so when they’re on his own. ever the flirt, he makes sure your lips are always turned upwards in a bashful smile, the one that makes the corners of your eyes crinkle and your cheeks warm up. he touches your cheeks, brushing his fingers along your skin before kissing you, leaving you both smiling.

arthur adores your eyes, the way they’re always trained on him, the way he can see himself reflected in yours and just knows you see yourself in his. he loves how soft they look as they gaze upon him, a hopeless man, a sinner, a weak and helpless person that couldn’t save the ones he wanted to save most. you can still look at him, and that's all he could ever ask from you.

isaac adores your neck and the way it looks when you wear necklaces and different collared shirts and different hairstyles. he finds himself flustered at the thought of pressing his lips to where your neck meets your shoulder, sprinkling the skin with his kisses and dusting it with soft whispers for the both of you to cherish.

vincent adores your smile and the way it makes him happy, too. he loves that you never shy away from your feelings and you aren’t scared of his. you smile when he expresses what he wants, as if him craving and needing and wanting makes you happy, and oh if that’s what it takes to see you beam like you’ll love him forever, vincent will embrace every part of him.

theo loves your arms and how they work hard every day, only to wrap around him at the end of it all. it melts his heart when your head finds itself over his heartbeat, listening to his pulse as you shut your eyes. he’s never felt more weak in the knees in his life. you’ve ruined him, but he doesn’t care just so long as you keep holding him and working hard at his side.

dazai adores your waist and all of the uses it has. he loves kneading the flesh he finds there, making you squeal because those spots may be a bit ticklish. he finds himself placing a hand there as he walks with you, holding you close to his side, just close enough to catch your scent. it’s cheesy when he grabs your waist to lift you into the air, swinging you around in an impromptu dance, but his heart melts with love for you when your hands find themselves over his, keeping him latched onto you.

jean adores how you wake up in the morning, all sleepy and confused. every little noise you make makes his heart skip a beat, and so he captures every single one and places them in the corner of his mind labeled with your name for safekeeping. maybe then, even when you’re gone, he’ll still be able to know you. the heart that pounds so vehemently for you nearly pops out of his chest when you throw an arm over him and snuggle into his chest, a delicate smile on your face.

will adores how you smell when you come out of the shower, all freshened up. the fragrances of all the products you two picked out together waft throughout the villa, and will doesn’t find himself minding that he can smell you everywhere. after all, you’ve left your mark on this place, and furthermore, his heart.

comte adores you for staying by his side, even though he knows it’s hard. he’s been so painfully lonely for most of his life, and even now he doesn’t feel he fits anywhere. but you come along and take him into your arms, gently collecting all of his broken pieces, and you bring him back together with your embrace. this. this is where he belongs. he is certain of it.

sebastian adores your laughter and the way you seem to infect the mansion with it. he hears it ringing in his ears even when you aren’t around, the sweet sound carrying through his memories as he busies himself with chores and thoughts of you. it isn’t easy running an entire mansion, but with you by his side, bumping him with your hip as the two of you wash dishes, he couldn’t be happier.

vlad adores how you love vampires just as much as he loves humans. you have always tried to get him to bridge the gap with comte and trust humans again, and although it's not easy he sees your efforts and he loves you for it. you’re strange for not fearing him, for staying by his side throughout all he has done, but he’s glad for it.

faust adores how you’re so honest. you set boundaries and mean them, you tell people off when they’re encroaching on your space, and you make sure the environment you foster around yourself is as lovely as it can be. it makes him smug, knowing you’re so capable and he’s the one that gets to call you his. 

charles adores your fingertips and the way they map out his body, pressing into his scalp to soothe him and trailing down his back when he wants a hug. you’re always so gentle with him, treating him like he’s precious like he’s loved, and he knows he can never get enough of it. you’re so sweet, indulging him like this. he will never be able to stop loving you.

#auburn's fics <3 #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp theo #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp dazai #ikevamp charles #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp shakespeare #ikemen #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp vlad #ikevamp faust #ikevamp sebastian #ikevamp comte #ikevamp jean #ikevamp napoleon x reader #ikevamp mozart x reader #ikevamp leonardo x reader #ikevamp arthur x reader #ikevamp isaac x reader #ikevamp jean x reader #ikevamp vincent x reader #ikevamp theo x reader #ikevamp dazai x reader #ikevamp shakespeare x reader #ikevamp comte x reader #ikevamp sebastian x reader #ikevamp vlad x reader

[dazeddfate]

Bus ride

Synopsis: Bus ride home with your bestfriends and boyfriend Niki.

Genre: fluff fluff fluff

Pairing: Niki x reader ft. Jungwon & Jake

You stand at the bus stop, feet sore from all the walking you did today, shopping bags held by Niki (He nearly fought you when you wanted to carry them yourself) as he was immersed in his phone, tired you presumed.

Jungwon and Jake were behind you two trying to figure out when the bus was exactly getting here. You kept staring down the road until you saw the big vehicle come your way.

“I think this is the one!”, you exclaim pointing briefly in the direction of the bus. The boys looked up, obvious relief flooding their eyes.

“Thank God”, you hear Jungwon say loudly, brushing his hair back while Jake closed his eyes in relief once again.

You queued up to the bus Niki gently guiding you by your waist up to pay. You were about to take your money out yet a hand sneaking from your side beat you to it.

You turned to look up at the boy as he gave you a brief smirk, putting the tickets between his lips and picking up your bags beginning to walk to the back of the bus, you following closely behind with the other two boys.

You ended up sitting at the four seats at the back Jake at the left window seat, you and Jungwon in the middle and Niki on the right.

You saw Niki tilt his head back with a tired groan taking the tickets from his lips giving you both for safekeeping. You could tell he was in need of sleep.

However, you and Jungwon felt the coffee you had before, kicking in a bit too late and began playing footsies in the bus, giggling to eachother. You both then proceeded to have a staring contest up until the third round where both of your eyes rimmed with tears and you couldn’t help burst out in full blown laughter.

Your loudness began to subside until Jakes sleeping head suddenly landed on Jungwons shoulder making him jump and you once again had to try keep in your laughs.

You proceeded to take a picture, continuing to giggle until you felt a hand interlink with yours and a sleepy Niki telling you to “shhh” as he laid his head on your shoulder.

Blush rose to your cheeks as you began to quiet down, running your thumb over the boys knuckles soothingly, resting your own head against his trying to calm down.

You felt a kiss being placed to your hand as Niki pulled out a pair of earphones, giving you one and placing the other in his ear. He gave you his phone.

“Which song would you like”, you whisper softly brushing his bangs out of his face as his head once again rested in it’s original position.

“Whatever you like love”, he mutters voice deeper from drowsiness.

You reply with a small “okay”, unlocking his phone and putting on a song you found fitting from your shared playlist. You rested your head back, closing your eyes.

Suddenly you feel another head collapse onto your other shoulder as Jungwon seemingly couldn’t keep it up. You scrunch your face trying not to laugh again and pull out your own phone, holding it with both hands to take a picture of the four of you.

You see Niki smile briefly looking over to the other two boys who were knocked out. Pocketing your phone you rest back once again and felt a pair of soft lips on your shoulder from the Japanese boy beside you making you smile giddily.

- 20:11PM

A/N: Literally wrote this on a bus so it may or may not have a few small errors as I’m writing this authors note while getting of the bus :,)

#nishimura riki #niki x reader #niki smau #nishimura niki #niki #ni ki enhypen #niki nishimura #niki fluff #enhypen niki #niki imagines #niki scenarios #yang jungwon #jungwon #sim jake #enha niki #nishimura riki fluff #riki x reader #riki x you #riki imagines #nishimura riki x reader #nishimura riki imagines #riki fluff #enha riki #riki scenarios #riki nishimura #jungwon fluff #yang jungwon imagines #jungwon imagines #enhypen imagines #jake sim

[bloompompom]

Safekeeping - Aftermath

the second part to safekeeping | read the first part here

After a proposition to lose your virginity to your brother’s best friend, it becomes difficult to move on once you’re away at college. Difficult for who? That's up for debate.

✧ content: ~9.4k word count. eren jaeger x female reader. modern/college au. upgraded from porn without plot to porn with feelings, older brother's friend trope, reader’s brother has a name, sappy af, mutual pining/getting together, oral sex (m!receiving), PIV sex, spit, praise, pussy job, alcohol use, explicit sexual content, explicit language, reader discretion advised. 18+ only. ✧ a/n: because they deserved a happy ending, didn't they?

You did it. Your first semester of college was officially over.

Actually, it ended roughly two weeks ago when your final grades were uploaded. Now, you were smack in the middle of winter break, left with no responsibilities other than lounging before your family’s fireplace. 

You were grateful, and it wasn’t just from the holiday spirit. You were overjoyed—and not to mention, relieved beyond belief—because college was everything you hoped it to be. It wasn’t exactly like the movies, of course, but it was damn near close. You got along well with your roommate, and for once in your life, your professors didn’t hold their grudges toward your brother against you because they didn’t have any.

And it just so happened that you were seeing someone. Something casual, no big deal.

You meant that earnestly. The guy wasn’t much to write home about, and he definitely wasn’t the one. He was just… there. 

It was fun, though! It had to be, or else you wouldn’t keep going back to him. You felt a connection right away—it was why you slept with him in the first place—but after your semi-regular hookups, it just sort of fizzled. It was fine. He was fine. 

Anyway, he hadn’t tried to reach out since you left, even once. You wanted it to hurt only because it felt like it should, but you couldn’t find it in you. Talking to him sounded less than appealing, if you were being honest. You much preferred to spend the better half of your days catnapping around a house much warmer than your dorm. The only person you bestowed your precious attention on was Hitch, your grade school bestie who was also visiting home. But that was about to change. 

After breakfast, your brother Collin came knocking at your bedroom door, creaking it open with just his knuckles. 

You peered up from your phone when he asked, “Got any plans later?”

“No,” you replied. He was giving you this weird look. Then he closed the door. “What’s the about?”

“I’m going to a party tonight. Wanna come?”

You looked from side to side because he had to be talking to someone else.

“Don’t be dumb.” He leaned against the wall like he planned to be there for a minute. “You’re old enough now. I’m sure you’ve gone to plenty at school, anyway.” 

You weren’t buying into the whole brotherly love schtick. You deadpanned, “Mom and Dad said you have to bring me wherever you’re going, right?” 

Collin’s shoulders slumped in that ‘you caught me’ sort of way. “I told them it was an ugly sweater party as a cover-up, and they bought it a little too well—said I have to take you if I want to go. They’re worried about you, all cooped up inside and—”

“Okay, I get it!” You didn’t need to hear that your parents thought you were a loser. There was nothing wrong with wanting some peace and quiet during your vacation. 

To really sell the lie, you needed ugly sweaters. Neither of you had thought that far ahead, and you had to go thrifting after your parents began pestering you about it. On the drive to the store, you told Collin he had to pay for yours since he forced you out, and he spent the ride home complaining that he should have simply snuck out and saved the money. 

“But then you’d have to cover for me, and I’d have to see your sad, lost-puppy eyes as you stayed in for another night,” he jested. You thumped his forehead. 

Hours later, the two of you were back in the same seats. Collin parked the car, and the overhead light cut through the pitch-black neighborhood. He unbuckled, then immediately yanked his knit sweater over his forehead.

“I’m not planning on coming home tonight obviously. I’m staying at Jean’s. What about you?”

“Hitch’s,” you answered, peeling off your own sweater and throwing it into the backseat. “She didn’t want to come, but she offered to give me a ride to her place to stay the night. I doubt I’ll stay long.” 

You stepped out of the car together. The doors slammed shut, and the sound echoed off the houses. 

“Sounds good. Just be sure to let me know when you leave,” he said. 

Collin parked a block or so away. On the walk, you started to overthink things. If Jean would be there, would Eren be there, too? You wanted to say it had been a while since you last thought of him, but that would be another lie you’d have to tally for the night. 

“So,” you drawled.  “Is Jean going to be here?”

Collin snorted. ���Duh. It’s his house.”

He didn’t mention that earlier. 

Your heart dropped into your stomach. Past your stomach, like it had splat on the pavement. 

As fate would have it, you did see him at the party. Eren. Not immediately, but it might as well have been.

You had only drunk roughly three-quarters of a beer when you saw Eren, and it wasn’t nearly enough to dull the weird twirly feeling pitting in your stomach. It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling, but it was a confusing one, that was for sure.

It wasn’t that you regretted what you had done, not in the slightest, but that didn’t mean you weren’t nervous to see him. How couldn’t you be? This was the first time you’d been in the same room since you had naively bared it all for him, looking about as pathetic in bed as a newborn faun taking its first steps.  

At the very least, you expected to see Eren the morning after—you actually dreaded it. You stayed in your bed, laid on pins and needles, staring at your ceiling until you could no longer. And even then, the basement remained silent.

They eventually emerged from their hibernations once the afternoon rolled around. Eren was nowhere to be found, as if he was suddenly the earlier riser of the group. You supposed it was less awkward this way. 

In that emotional cauldron you were brewing, the one that was close to boiling over, you felt a dash of jealousy. It was strange and unexpected, but now that you saw Eren cozied up with some girl, her legs draped over his lap… the feeling was certainly there. 

You hated it. Especially after your eyes lingered for too long, resulting in very brief, very fleeting eye contact between you. It was over and done with so fast that you didn’t even get a good look at his face. Was he surprised? Indifferent? It was only a guess at this point. But you—well, you made it entirely clear that you were avoiding him, what with the speedy way you spun on your heels to flee. It was a dead giveaway as to how you were feeling, whatever it was. 

You tossed back the rest of your beer, then went scouring for what was next. Your best bet was what appeared to be a thrown-together hot chocolate bar. Not the best option but certainly not the worst. The slow cooker, still halfway full, sat warming on the counter. Surrounding it were loose bottles of cream liquors and peppermint schnapps, torn-open bags of marshmallows, and whipped cream if you were feeling fancy. Very on-theme for tonight’s holiday party. 

In an attempt to look busy—keep your gaze low, hands moving—you headed that direction. 

You fiddled with a stack of styrofoam cups and pretended you weren’t overwhelmingly flustered by this unbeknownst feeling. You didn’t do a great job at it. Or at least, Eren didn’t think so. And unlike you, he had already come to terms with his feelings, but only because it had hit him more or less like a freight train. 

So let’s go ahead and recap what the last semester was like for Eren, shall we?

Becoming a third-year freed Eren from the required dormitories and roommates. He spent the tail end of his summer moving into an off-campus apartment. It wasn’t much—exactly what one would imagine when asked to envision an apartment with a down payment suited for a student’s budget. One-bedroom, one-bathroom, but it was all to himself. 

No different than any other twenty-something, Eren was excited to be on his own. He could see it already: no one to answer to, no one to schedule his life around. And definitely no weird-ass habits he’d have to deal with from a roommate—one he, to this day, couldn’t believe he matched with based on the school’s dumb quiz. He just had to wait out the summer until his lease began, and then his life would officially start.

The vision derailed, of course, just two weeks before he was handed the keys to his (self-proclaimed) bachelor pad. The reason? It was easy enough to guess.

Eren could deny it as much as he wanted, but it wouldn’t change that after fantasizing about his friend’s little sister for days, he selfishly prioritized his needs over his friendship and took her virginity. And in a cruel turn of events, he wound up with feelings for her. It seemed a bit like karma, didn’t it? 

From the very second his eyes snapped open the next morning, he convinced himself it was nothing more than a hot dream—albeit one that left him rattled. But when he ambled upstairs, he found his half-drunk glass of water, untouched, exactly where he recalled leaving it. 

Days passed, and Eren waited for that dreadful pang of remorse to smack him upside the head for what he had done—what the two of you chose to do together. It never came. Somehow, that felt so much worse.

Now, he had a secret large enough that if it came to light, he’d end up with a black eye from his best friend. Not that it wouldn’t be well-deserved. Even he could acknowledge that. But he was far from guilt-ridden over it. The only thing he regretted was that he hadn’t spoken to you since. He never talked to you much to begin with—he didn’t even have your phone number—so it’d be weird of him to start now, right?

Eren didn’t know what was the right thing to do, so he defaulted to doing nothing. It didn’t feel like there was any right option, like he had already made too many wrongs to turn back now. 

His worst offense? To him, it was that he still thought of you when he was, for lack of better words, alone. But that was the only time!

That was how he justified it: he’d only allow his memories of you, though painfully limited, to seep to the forefront then and only then. It was a half-assed boundary at most, Eren knew as much, and it was so wrong of him. You trusted him, you told him that yourself, and here he was, shamefully fucking his fist to nothing more than a mirage because that was all you had left him.

He’d think of your sweet sounds. Those little, fluttering breaths would escape you as a shiver no matter where he touched you. Sensitive and soft and warm beneath his palms, he’d replay the moment you first tried to take him on your own. Lowering yourself onto him, Eren could see you shifting your hips as you learned how to take him, all of him, best. Past lulled and heavy eyelids, you were intent on getting yourself off, no matter what it took. And when you got there—fuck, he wished he could see it again. He wanted to feel it again, something his hand could never replicate. 

After, you never went away. That was when Eren knew he was in trouble. When you were no longer a perverted fantasy but still at his side when he’d close his eyes. No longer fucking but basking in the afterglow of it together. Your arm slung around his waist, your balmy cheek resting against his chest. Tangled sheets, kisses pressed to your forehead, bodies sheened and sticky with sweat—all of it. 

This went much deeper than merely offering a helping hand to someone in need before she left for college. Eren did the favor of scratching your back, but what you didn’t realize was that you had scratched his, too. The one itch he couldn’t reach. He still bore the scars of it. 

You had him in a chokehold, and you didn’t even know it. A very, very complicated chokehold at that. Eren couldn’t believe he had caught feelings for you, his best friend’s little sister! But now he was peeking at—no, who was he kidding? He was religiously checking your Instagram stories.

By the look of it, there was finally some action in that love life of yours. You were never explicit about it, sharing no more than a picture of his hand on your thigh or a strategically-snapped photo of your cocktail with the mystery man’s face reduced to a background blur. The subtle art of a soft launch. It told Eren enough. 

So when he noticed how your eyes sprung to the size of saucers when you saw him across the party, he was intrigued. Eren didn’t know when he’d bump into you next, but he often wondered how you’d react. And when you scurried off like a mouse, excitement sparked within him, even if it was at your expense. He needed to know then if you still thought about him—what he did to you, and you to him—despite being with someone else. 

He quickly decided there wasn’t any harm in approaching you to say—

“Hey.”

Eren interrupted you just as you attempted to serve yourself hot cocoa. You nearly dropped the ladle when you heard his voice over your shoulder.

You faltered as you piped back a ‘hi’ but smiled through it only because you realized he came looking for you. 

“Need some help?” He offered you a smile laced with pity. You followed his eyes to find yourself pouring hot chocolate onto your wrist. You didn’t feel the string of it until then.

You cursed but thanked him when he took your cup. Since it was apparent you needed his help, Eren started making your drink as you searched for some paper towels.

“What alcohol didya want?”

“I didn’t think that far ahead,” you admitted, nodding toward cocoa-coated hands. “Clearly.”

His mouth curled up at that but nothing more. He didn’t leave any time for your embarrassment to simmer before he replied, “Then I’ll fix you what I made myself.

By the time you were dry and the remnants of your mess were forgotten in the trash can, Eren had mixed your drink and extended it to you. You thanked him for it and took a sip. It was sweet on the tip of your tongue, enough to comfort the burn of liquor that tickled from your throat and down your stomach. 

You smiled at him, the kind that made your eyes crinkle. “Cream and peppermint liquor. Good choice.”

“I thought so,” Eren beamed briefly before adding, “Oh—almost forgot.”

He reached for the can of whipped cream, locking his eyes to yours as he angled the nozzle toward your face.

“Open up.”

His smirk was like a wordless language that only you understood. He told you he remembered it—in fact, he even still thought about it—and he wanted to know if you did, too.

You opened your mouth. 

A laugh bubbled through you before the cream even met your tongue. Eren’s laugh joined yours when half made it into your mouth. The rest landed on the corner of your lips, daring to spill down your chin. After you thumbed it into your mouth, Eren surprised you by dotting your nose with it, too. 

You weren’t stupid; you knew how this looked because it was exactly as it appeared. The action toed the border between playfulness and something more—something that wasn’t entirely uncharted, given your history, but just as forbidden. You would have cared more if anyone was paying you any mind. And if someone important—Collin, Jean… hopefully the list ended there—were to see, you were convinced you could wisely play it off as a joke. 

You never expected your next run-in with Eren to go like this. You hoped for it, the shameless flirting, but it was more likely that he’d avoid you like the plague. You convinced yourself of it. You moved on from that ephemeral night, began to see other people, and let your dead-end crush fade away. 

No, you didn’t expect this at all. And even if you had, you wouldn’t have imagined it quite like this, with every fiber of your being tightened and set ablaze. And when you laid a hand on Eren’s arm, catching yourself in a fit of giggles, it tightened in reflex, like he felt the burning, too. 

You hurdled through the pleasantries even though they weren’t necessary, considering Eren had sex with you off little more than a single conversation last time. In an act of modesty, you were sure, he didn’t directly ask if you were single but instead teased you about Fabio again—asked if you had met anyone that compared. 

You hadn’t. The guy you were ‘dating’ was far from your dream man, even to the extent that you had already considered how you’d end it when—if you ever heard from him again. 

But Eren didn’t need to know that. You rolled your eyes at the lame joke, offhandedly saying, “I’m sort of seeing someone.”

It piqued his interest, discernible by his raised brow. Either that, or he saw right through you. He leaned into you, close. You wanted to check if Collin was near, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away. 

“Oh, yeah?” He tilted his head and repeated, “‘Sort of.’ What does that mean?”

You sensed he wanted you to spell it out for him, the dirty details of it, but you hummed, “You know, hookups, the occasional dinner—not exclusive.” 

Whether or not he detected the hint at the end, your answer didn’t seem to suffice. “Is that what you want?”

You swirled your drink, took another sip, and suppressed your shiver. “I’m still figuring out what I want.”

The next thing you knew, Eren had snuck you upstairs. For obvious reasons, you had never been to Jean’s house; you had not a clue whose bedroom Eren had chosen for the two of you. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t distinguish much under the tawny lights strung around the room, but that was far from your first priority. What mattered more was that no one saw you slip away with Eren. It was no big deal that you were about to have sex with your brother’s best friend on their other best friend’s bed, right? 

Fuck it. Quite literally.

You shoved the thought to the back of your head much like the way Eren shoved you against the door as he kissed you. He kept one hand cupped around your face and used his other to lock the door behind you. The moment the click of it hit your ears, he pushed a hand between your legs. 

You weren’t going to talk about it, the rather large elephant lurking in the room. That Eren offered to take your virginity much like a business proposition, and you agreed to sex that was supposed to feel just as transactional. But the reality of it was that you hadn’t stopped thinking about that night ever since. Neither of you had, so you’d go on and pretend like it never ended. 

He palmed over the crotch of your jeans, teasing you before reaching for their button. You indirectly made him work for him, keeping him close with your arms looped around his neck—close enough that your noses were smushed together.

Eren struggled with the zipper next, less focused on it and more distracted by your teeth, gently tugging on his bottom lip. He groaned, and it spilled into your mouth like honey.

You broke the kiss, hands flinging to your sides to slip from your jeans. You bent at the waist, eyes fixed up at Eren, as you wiggled them down your legs. Noting the deep rise and fall of his shoulders, you felt a similar stutter in your own. 

He confessed he didn’t have a condom. You told him you were on birth control now, and that was enough for you both to continue—so long as he pulled out, you reminded. He agreed by hooking your leg around his waist. You swung the other to match, locking your ankles against his lower back, and let him carry you to the bed. 

Eren navigated to the bed with suspicious ease. He walked backward, lips still on yours, like he knew the room’s layout and where the bed was. You wanted to wince at the realization—that the likelihood this bedroom belonged to Jean had skyrocketed—but you forgot it just as fast when Eren sat on the edge of the mattress, pulling you down with him.

You straddled his lap with hands on either side of his face, your tongue in his mouth and against his own. He still tasted like peppermint schnapps. Burned like it, too.

He rucked up your shirt as his hands smoothed along your back. You’d think his fingers were made of matches, scorching trails whenever they roamed. You gasped when he dared low enough to grab your ass, pinching at the fat of it. Your thin underwear bunched in his grasp, dragging along your skin with him. 

Eren pinned you to him, working you over the front of his jeans. Back and forth, your hips on a swivel, he used you to get himself hard, only stopping to smear his palms on his jeans when you’d start to slip from his grasp. It didn’t take long before you felt him, stiff and nicely pressed between your legs. 

When you started to grind against him, demandingly and all on your own, the kiss went sloppy. Though the plush of your lips brushed together, it was less like making out and more like swapping breaths. Like a warm fog swirling around you, you grew dizzy off it. Eventually, one of you would have to come up for air.

You pulled away right as he sat back. You’d call it harmonious, but that would make it sound graceful. Each of you fumbled to get your shirt over your head, and it cascaded into a tangle of limbs and clumsy laughs. You reached for the hem of his T-shirt next. You’d hate to be the only one in your underwear.

You didn’t see them but felt the tight muscles of his chest. They didn’t give under your touch, even as you flattened a hand against him. He picked up on the hint, that you wanted him to lay back, and you moved together. He pushed himself further back on the bed, you following in a feline-like prowl above him, until he rested against the pillows. 

It was a new side to you—at least, one that Eren hadn’t seen yet—and he already craved more. You were no longer shy, not in the way he remembered, but entirely disinhibited with this, dare Eren say, beyond turned-on look on your face. Glassy eyes, kiss-swollen lips, and the cherry on top: that devilish smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. 

He could only gawk as you pressed your smile to his sternum, then a bit lower. Then even lower than that. Your lips skimmed over the smooth skin of his hip bone, tickling him, smacking him with the realization of how dangerously low you were. Every muscle in his body tightened, his cock throbbing to be touched. 

Only a tad bit desperate—he’d call it enthusiasm—Eren snaked his hand down to undo his belt. Once it was off, you helped him out of his jeans, working them and his boxers down his legs. You settled between. 

Eren was so kind to you the first time, so exceedingly gentle; the least you could do was give him the chance to see what you’d learned since. 

You placed a hand on the top of his thigh. Already, it flexed. You slid it higher, merely palming over his cock at your leisure—not his. He chewed on his inner lip in anticipation, fighting the impulse to rut against your hand. He wasn’t prepared to look that pathetic, even if he felt that way watching you wet your lips. He knew what was coming next, and if he had any air in his lungs, he would have whined at the sight. 

When you finally brought your mouth to the tip of his cock, he sucked in a breath. That was all it took, just a swipe of your tongue; you didn’t even have to take him past your lips. Wanting to pull another noise from him, you did it a second time, licking him from base to tip, agonizingly slow.

You knew what he wanted. You could see it plainly on his face: Just put it in your mouth already! Anything, please! But instead of flinging a hand to the back of your head, he gripped the sheets. He let you tease him despite that it wasn’t the time or place for it. Outside the door, there was far-off music. It was indistinct, buzzing behind heavy footsteps and creaking floorboards and laughter—the usual party rumblings. It was as ambient to Eren as white noise, no greater than a low drone. He could only concentrate on suppressing his desire to ruin you—as if he hadn’t done so already. But before he could do that, you needed to show him how much you could take.

So you did just that. Inch by inch. 

Eren’s abdominals clenched as more of him disappeared past your lips. Your mouth, wet and oh-so warm, was tight. Intentionally so as you wrapped your lips around him with hollowed cheeks. You found a comfortable, steady pace, bobbing your head over his length. You only paused to gather your saliva, allowing it to pool behind your front teeth. Unabashedly, Eren watched. 

It was a sight so incredibly pornographic yet one he found undeniably adorable. Your little expressions had him smitten—how you pursed and puckered your lips before finally spitting. It dribbled from your bottom lip in a lewd string connecting you to him. You let out an uncomfortable giggle, then snapped it with a swipe of your thumb.

He’d say you officially had him wrapped around your pinky finger now—as if he hadn’t been pretending that wasn’t already the case for months.

Up and down, your hand spread the saliva over his length with little resistance. After a moment, you returned your mouth to him, and the little rasp of a moan he let slip caught your attention. Through tear-damp lashes, you found his eyes keen on you, his jaw slightly slack in what you’d only describe as awe. 

The buttery lights warmed the side of his face, glinting like fire behind his eyes. You studied every part of his face, from the twitch of his brow when you’d lap your tongue along the underside of his shaft to how his nose would scrunch when you’d swirl around the tip. You wanted to learn exactly what made him feel good so you could do it over and over again, as he had with you.

Eren wrestled himself on whether he should let you continue or not. He didn’t want to stop you, dutifully attempting to take all of him without choking, it was just that he had a better idea in mind.

He sat up enough to guide you to his side with both hands. You could tell he was trying to be smug, but his voice sounded taken as he told you, “Looks like whoever you were with must have been a real amateur.” 

Eren had you perpendicular to him now but still bent over so you could keep on as you were. 

“Or just selfish,” he added. His hand stroked down your spine and over the curve of your ass. He reached between your legs and pushed your panties aside to make room for him. “Because this way, I can touch you, too.”

You moaned when his fingers traced over your slit. He used the pads of them to circle your clit and didn’t falter even as you wiggled back against his hand. With his free hand, he cupped your face, gently encouraging you to pick up from where you had left off. You were more than willing. 

He dipped a finger inside you. On impulse, he jerked deeper into your throat when he felt you flutter around the intrusion, as if he could feel it in his cock. Every whimper he’d coax from you sounded even sweeter when muffled.

“Not to mention, he must be a fucking idiot to miss out on this.” Eren’s voice was a murmur up until the end. Then it was a hiss. “Because I bet you look real pretty coming with your mouth full.” 

He spoke to you softly, the timbre of his voice a warm hum, yet his confidence was palpable. The back of your neck burned.

Though you clung to it like a shield, your strength began to waver. It was evident by the quiver in your thighs every time he’d slip from you, fingers dripping, to play with your clit. Every time, you followed it with another strangled whimper. Each was like a gift to Eren.

He had brought you to the brink of becoming undone. All the while, he watched contently, head drooped to his shoulder and everything. He felt the tiny huffs from your nose fan over his pelvis as you sputtered around his cock. Your arm would wobble, elbow threatening to give out, as you struggled to focus on him and your orgasm, impending and fogging your senses. You had forgotten how wonderful another person could make you feel, and this was just his fingers. 

Eren was a bit of an anomaly; it only took you a few encounters to conclude such. Not everyone was talented with their fingers or their tongues or their—the list could go on, really. But it was more than deftness alone. Eren actually wanted to make you come, and by the look of it, he was just as needy for it as you were. And you were right there, the heat of it winding in your stomach until your entire being gained a pulse of its own. 

You came with Eren’s cock in your mouth. It overtook you in a glow, burning you from the inside out in a series of little explosions. You dug your nails into his thigh. Your other hand, though shaky, was still around the base of him. You were hardly conscious of how you squeezed him, but he didn’t even feel it. He was more enraptured by the way your throat tightened around him as you choked through your orgasm.

Past the thick thrumming in your ears, you heard how much Eren enjoyed that lovely little mouth of yours—how much he enjoyed using it.

Thunder emitted low from his chest as he rolled his hips, meeting you halfway to ensure every bow of your head was punctuated by another squeak of the mattress and his tip bumped against the back of your throat. He was as delicate as could be while fucking your mouth, yet tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. They welled up and threatened to drip down your cheek, teasing him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” It tumbled from Eren’s mouth in a ragged chant. His head was thrown back into the stack of pillows, but he fought to steal a glimpse of you before your knees buckled beneath you. “Look at you. You’re fucking perfect.”

Your heart skipped. 

You liked that you were the reason for his pleasure—the reason his cheeks bore a flush, and why he could no longer hold himself back. Seconds ago, you had set a scene just as vulgar, helplessly grinding against his hand in a chase for your own high. And now that he was just as swept up in it, he could no longer pretend he had dreamt only of fucking you gently.

There was no way Eren could finish before he had the chance to get started. He regrettably pulled out from your mouth with a spitty pop.

You were still panting when you traded positions. Eren laid you back on the bed, gazing down to trace over the features of your face. He petted the side of it when he said, “You did so good.”

He kissed every spot he touched. Your cheekbone, the lobe of your ear, then the dip below it. You felt each one at the base of your spine.

“Talk to me.” Eren nuzzled the words in the nook of your jaw, breathed them over your skin, sensitive and already tacky from your swelter. His tongue and teeth grazed down the column of your neck. “Tell me what you want.”

There wasn’t any air behind your voice, nothing to carry it when you tried to reply, “Take off my underwear. Please.”

You went to raise your hips for him, but your legs had long turned to mush. There was an unmistakable tremble to them as Eren shimmied off your underwear. You placed a leg on either side of him, spreading yourself and welcoming him between. His eyes, alert as a hawk’s, widened before falling exactly where one would predict. Then he swallowed hard. 

He was faced with the task of taking all of you in, as if it were even possible. You followed the tips of his fingers as he trailed them up your curves with a butterfly’s touch. He toyed with the strap of your bra, now wilted off your shoulder and dangling at your arms. With a quick tug, he had your breasts popped over the cups.

Eren licked his lips. “God, you’re—”

He eagerly crashed to your chest, right between your tits. He didn’t intend to cut himself off, but he decided it was probably for the best; he wasn’t sure what he was about to spout out, anyway. 

You were just as sensitive as he remembered, unable to keep still as his large hands squeezed at your breasts, kissing and nipping and licking every inch of the delicate skin. When his mouth was latched to one, flicking his tongue at your perked nipple, he’d continue playing with the other, rolling his thumb over it. 

As though you could possibly drift away, you anchored yourself to Eren. You raked a hand through his hair, fingering through the lank strands that escaped his tie and hung loose. Before you could screw it up any further, you flinched when you heard voices booming on the other side of the wall. Your entire body froze as you glanced over to the door. 

Either Eren didn’t hear it or if he was only pretending he didn’t. His hold on you was steadfast as he covered your body in kisses—that is, until the handle jiggled. He tore away then to follow your line of sight. 

You waited for something to happen. Anything. Like the knob to rattle again, or a pound that would shake the door. Maybe someone would kick it down—you didn’t know! But the only sound between you was the thumping of your heartbeat against Eren’s.

Whoever it was, they must have wanted the room for the very same reason you and Eren did because, after a minute passed, you believed they had left. The groan of the floorboards grew distant as another hot and bothered pair continued their search for a vacancy. 

You brought Eren back to you by lightly taking him by the forearm. You were unable to wrap your fingers around the entirety of it but managed to pull him in, anyway. At the same time, you dug your heels into the mattress and scooted closer to him.

“I want you,” you quietly confessed. You lifted your hips, angling them in an attempt to meet his cock. 

Eren needed to convince himself this was real—that you were real. You hardly gave him the time to before you hitched a leg around his waist. He collapsed over you, caging you between his forearms. His eyes had darkened, brows sitting lowly above them in that drunken, determined look of lust. 

He kissed you. The corner of your mouth first, then fully on your lips. Between your legs, you felt him brush against you, throbbing. His tongue parted your lips, slipping past them the moment he pushed inside you. 

It stole your breath. Though your mouth was agape, a tiny ‘o’ against his, not a sound left you. He slipped out of you, then filled you again. Your breath returned in the form of a moan. He did this a few more times, deeper with each tilt of his hips, fucking you languidly, just to see if you could take it before he bottomed out.

Eren straightened out. “You okay?”

You gazed up at him and watched his lips curve into a soft smile when you whispered, “More than.” 

Then you watched it melt away once you wiggled against him, encouraging him, asking for—no, taking more of him. As though he had been waiting on you, he finally pushed deeper until he was flush against you.

You realized Eren’s composure was an act because it much snapped like a rubber band. You caught his inhale, through his nose and sharp in your ear. His head dropped on his exhale, and you felt it vibrate through you. He thrust into you a few more times, adjusting to you, while tiny grunts played at your ears. 

Keeping in mind your whereabouts, you expected this to be a quickie. But before you knew it, you were having the type of sex that wasn’t meant for a friend’s bed. It became pounding hips, so intense—so fucking good—that you heard Eren’s hand hit the headboard with a smack, gripping the top of it for support. It was erratic kisses. Ones that were messy and missed but would catch another part of the face, like the bow of your lip or dip in his chin; gasping and stealing damp breaths from one another in a bedroom growing headier by the second.

Lest he wished to come now and completely ruin everything, Eren had to pump the breaks. He sat back onto his calves and shoved a hand through his hair, sweeping it away from his face. His chest looked heavy, yet his arms remained sturdy as he cradled your hips. He fucked you slowly, mesmerized by the sight of him burying inside you—how well you took him—again and again. 

Flustered, you tried to remember how to breathe, but Eren made it difficult with his lazy eyes and an even lazier smile. 

You felt your whole body react when he placed a hand at the base of your neck. You were silk beneath his touch, from the dip between your chest, down to your navel. He traced along the side of your body and the swells of your breasts, then repeated it.

Eren had known you for years, but he didn’t know you—not like that. But he knew enough to say he liked you. And he was sure he’d only grow to like you more—a lot more.

He couldn’t wait to get there, to know everything there was to learn about you. Your birthday, your favorite food, what you liked to do on a rainy day—hell, he wanted to know what superpower you’d choose if presented with the option. He wanted every detail of it, and that had to mean something. 

Eren grabbed your hand. He held it against his face and kissed the inside of your wrist. 

“You’re so soft,” he told you, voice pitched low and spoken into your skin. 

The only coherent thought you had was how desperately you needed him again. You yanked him forward until his mouth was back on yours, where it belonged. Taking your open mouth as an invitation, he sucked your tongue lightly. You felt a frisson of heat beneath your skin, but it prickled like a chill.

“Eren. More,” you pleaded, your voice lost somewhere in his mouth. 

You twisted beneath him. Eren pulled out and watched as you rolled to your stomach, pushing yourself onto your hands and knees. You could only glimpse over your shoulder, but it was enough to see that his eyes were trained on you.

Suddenly hot under his gaze, you rushed to add, “Only if you want to.”

Whether it was intentional or Eren was just seeing things, he swore you arched your back as you said it, ass in the air like it was an offering. 

Of course he wanted to. He wanted to so badly that he nearly couldn’t get the words out. From his mumbling, you could only make out, “You have no fucking idea.”

Eren had to kiss you then, everywhere that he could reach. Your lower back and then the valley of it next. He kissed a path between your legs. With his hands on your ass, he spread you, luring a squeal from you when he licked a stripe through your pussy. 

He stood tall on his knees, kicked your legs apart, and plunged inside you with a swift swing of his hips. You let out an indulgent moan, your hands clawing fists into the pillows. With the fingers digging into the dough of your sides, he worked you over his cock. 

“You feel so fucking good,” Eren panted, almost like a laugh, as if he was in disbelief. He wanted to say he had forgotten how wonderful you felt, almost like you were made for him, but how could he forget? He had only been longing for it. 

“Fuck,” you whined under your breath.

You didn’t see it, your head had dropped between your shoulders, but Eren smirked. 

“You like when I talk to you, don’t you?”

He watched how your back arched deeper before you answered, babbling, “Yes, yes—oh fuck, yes.”

There was little else on your mind other than how close you were to coming for the second time. Absolutely desperate for it, you bounced back against Eren’s thrusts. He cursed through gritted teeth, watching you sink back onto his cock. His hand snaked between your legs in search of your clit. He began rubbing tight circles that you felt in your toes. 

You squeaked out a small, breathless sound as your body tightened.

With a voice like gravel, Eren hummed, “There you go.”

He fucked you through it. His hips never lost their pacing, and the rhythm of his fingers was resolute even as you twitched below him. It wasn’t until you heard him grunt, “I can feel it—shit, I can feel you coming—you’re so tight,” that he began to strain.

With a cheek smushed into the sheets, your moans were choppy until they sputtered into one last sigh. You went slack in Eren’s grasp.

He slipped an arm beneath you before you could crumble to the bed, holding you close enough that he could feel your rabid pulse against his arm. Eren folded over you, lazily rutting into you. You felt his weight atop you, the words he etched into the nape of your neck when murmured, “I wanna be with you.”

Blame it on the orgasm, but for whatever reason, it didn’t register with you. Be with you—wasn’t that what was happening right now?

His hand scooped your chin, angling your face to kiss your temple.

“Come back to my place.” Eren ghosted his lips over your ear. “I wanna be with you tonight, like I should have the first time.” 

You could only assume the blood had left your head by now. Your eyes fluttered shut. You were as malleable as putty; you’d agree to just about anything at that moment—if you could. Hazy off all those feel-good hormones, you couldn’t manage a nod as your body rocked with his. After a few more jerks of his hips, he pulled out.

He didn’t come but flipped you onto your back. You slumped into the pillows willingly, your legs falling at your sides so Eren could nestle between. He didn’t enter you again but laid his cock against you, nice and slick for him, and spread you with it. He held himself there with a flattened palm and fucked between you. Wrecked and tortuously sensitive, the head of his cock bumping your clit had you spinning to the point of seeing stars.

Eren’s eyes snapped shut as he focused on your blissful purrs below him. He was already close; it only took another stutter of his hips before he threw his head back and came across your stomach, some of it spurting as high as your tits and neck. The muscles of his arms flexed, the veins of them chiseled and defined, as he held you there, soft and pliant for him.

He was still breathing hard when he stilled. He flexed his fingers, stretching out an ironclad grasp, as he sat back on his heels.

“Fuck, what a mess.” Eren croaked a chuckle. “Sorry.” 

He stood and poked around the room a bit before locating a tissue box on the dresser. It skipped through your mind to ask if this was Jean’s room, but you decided it was best you didn’t know. 

Eren gave you some tissues before taking his handful to wipe you clean. Despite your attempts at controlling it, you were visibly trembling. He must have noticed because he didn’t rush to dress but flopped beside you, even if he claimed it was because he was too hot to put his shirt back on. 

You lolled your head to the side to look at him. Dew painted the edges of his face, catching what little light was there and defining the structure. 

You shared a look, let it linger between you. It was unreadable. A face of shock—one you surely mirrored, and yet comfort lapped at you like tropical waves. The two emotions, together in stark contrast, could be summarized with a simple, ‘It’s you.’ 

Said once through a heavy sigh, like the realization that you were only startled by a friend around the corner.

Said twice with your jaw cartoonishly dropped to the floor when you realized who you had sex with again—the prickle of surprise when you rouse from your dream only to find them naked at your side.

Eren patted the top of your thigh before heaving himself upright. Time to go.

You quickly dressed and straightened out as much as possible, double-checking that no one’s clothes were on backward. Eren was fixing his hair in the mirror when he asked, “You ready to get out of here?”

“You were serious?” you questioned—nicely, of course. You figured it was only a heat-of-the-moment sort of deal.

He caught your eye in the reflection. “I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t serious.” 

It slipped from his tongue easily. It sounded natural, no different than fact, as he told you what he wanted—you. The words were weighty, dragging your woozy head back down to Earth. They sobered you up like a splash of ice water to the face. 

You didn’t have any desire to return to the party. There was no way either of you could continue on as though nothing happened. Someone would catch on. Besides that, you didn’t want to pretend any longer; you were much more interested in seeing where the rest of the night would take you—where Eren would take you. 

You plotted your exit well enough that Eren was waiting on your ride outside by the time you were sneaking out. You had texted Collin that you were leaving and took his lack of reply as a good sign. You gave Hitch a half-truth—told her you were going home with someone but didn’t specify who. 

Eren’s apartment was nice, neat. Still exceptionally new and hardly lived in. Then again, he didn’t fit the type to go full throttle into interior decorating. 

He immediately pointed out the bathroom because you had complained you felt gross during the drive. There, you rummaged around a bit before you found his face wash in the shower. You freshened up as much as you could, stealing a swig of mouthwash to rid the syrupy taste of liquor from your teeth. 

Eren knocked at the door. You spat into the sink, wiped your mouth, and peeked out.

“Thought you might want these,” Eren said, offering what appeared to be clothes much comfier than your own, folded and stacked in his hands. 

You thanked him, inspecting them once he left you to change. You decided on just the T-shirt; it covered enough. There was no use in hiding now, and it certainly wasn’t worth risking tripping over the legs of his sweatpants.

Though you were practically tip-toeing, Eren heard you the second you walked into the kitchen. He stepped out from behind the refrigerator door dressed in just a pair of shorts, no shirt. You held your breath when he smiled at you, ever so lopsidedly that you found it cute. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” he said like an admission, with a sheepish laugh and all. 

Your giggle was just as lighthearted, smiling when you replied, “I am, too.”

He neared you in a step with ardor sparkling through his eyes. With hands closed around your waist, he scooped you up and plopped you onto the counter. 

You yelped when its chill hit the backs of your thighs. You made yourself comfortable, sitting happily and with dangling feet, as you watched Eren cycle through what little preparation was necessary for a frozen pizza.

You’d seen him like this, exactly like this, just as you’d seen all of your brother’s friends lumber out from his bedroom at three in the afternoon on a Saturday. You never looked for too long; that was off-limits. But now, things were different. He was different—to you, at least. Now you could touch. 

You studied the sinewy muscles of his back, how they pulled taut when he reached into the freezer. Even under the fluorescent light of the kitchen, the crests of his shoulders shone like gold even though it was the middle of a sunless winter. 

Eren squinted to read the instructions on the back of the box. Your snickering was met with his side eye, and he followed it with a ‘don’t laugh’ as he tossed the box aside.

He snatched a bag of chips from the counter, and the two of you split them as an appetizer while the oven preheated. While the pizza baked, you played a game of twenty questions, just to pass the time. And when the timer blared, you ate your slices straight from the oven and asked each other questions with burnt tongues. 

You learned that Eren’s birthday was on March 30th and that his favorite food was a cheeseburger, hold the pickles—that part was important. When it rained, he preferred to either nap or go outside to watch the storm, no in between. And if he woke up one day to discover he had superhero-like powers, Eren would want to be able to teleport and travel the world, even if his clothes couldn’t come with him—yes, you asked. 

The questions continued into the bedroom because some answers, like the one to the superpower question, inspired lengthy conversations. You met Eren in his bed and curled against him, letting him spread the blanket over you. You were glad to have stuck with just the tee because you liked the feeling of his skin returning to yours, your legs intertwined with his.

It was Eren’s turn. It was the final question to end the game. You thought he’d contemplate it longer, as he had with his previous questions, but it only took a beat for him to ask, “Can I see the guy you’re dating?”

“Absolutely not!” You scoffed a laugh at his audacity, even sitting higher in your seat to balk at him. “Besides, that’s not how the game works.”

Still, his grin widened. “C’mon, please. It’s the least I deserve.”

He poked you playfully, causing you to giggle as you asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I need to size up my competition.”

You wanted to be just as bold and tell him there was no competition, none at all. But your reluctant, “Fine, here,” said enough as you settled back into the crook of his arm. 

You outstretched your phone before your face, far enough that Eren could see the screen, and scrolled to your dating app. You flitted through his profile because you didn’t want Eren to get a proper look, but he plucked the phone from your hand anyway. He glanced from you to the photo, then back to you once more.

“Seriously? This guy?” He tilted his head knowingly. “You know you can do better than that.”

Thinking you were clever, you sassed, “Oh, then are you suggesting you’re better?”

He flashed a cheeky smile. “Of course I am.”

You grabbed your phone from him with a roll of your eyes. “Whatever. He’s nice.” Eren pulled a face. “What?”

“It’s just the way you said it—‘he’s nice,’” he explained. “You don’t actually like him, do you?”

Eren was right. You didn’t want to admit it, though, not with the way he was eyeing you. But the truth sat heavy in your chest, and it consoled some of the weight to outrightly say, “No, not really. Not like I thought I did.”

You didn’t have the chance to set your phone aside before Eren snagged it again. Now aware of the guy’s name, he easily sorted through your contacts and found your messages with him. The unanswered text you last sent, well before winter break, stared back at you mockingly.

You felt a twinge of embarrassment waiting for Eren to comment on it, but whatever he was thinking, he kept the comment to himself.

It was undeniable that the guy must be a real prick for ignoring you. In turn, Eren determined he probably deserved what was coming: a message as short and sweet as ‘I think it’s best we don’t see each other again.’

Though you could have stopped him at any time, you still gasped, “Eren!” when he sent the text. It was meant as a scold but spilled from you as a laugh—as laughter, shaking your shoulders and making it a challenge to get your phone back.

A middle-of-the-night text like that could only mean one thing. You were sure he’d put the pieces together—that you had gotten with someone else—but you didn’t care. Now that he was out of the way, Eren ditched your phone next and captured the last bit of your attention.

His eyes were loyal to you, looking you straight in the face as he told you, “I like you. A lot.” He said it calmly, with a voice like a breeze. He brought a hand to your face and grazed it with the backs of his fingers. “Way more than I should, considering…”

Eren’s voice trailed off in a too-knowing way. He left it up to you to fill in the blank. No, blanks. Considering the only history between you was a two-night stand? Considering you lived three hours away? Or—how could you forget?—was it that you were the younger sister of his best friend? 

The correct answer? All of the above. 

Eren had more to say; you were sure of it. There was much—too much—left to be said. Tonight wasn’t the night for it.

You buried into the curve of his arm. Nose pressed against his neck, you breathed in the smell of his day, the salt on his skin from fucking. You lazed a hand on his chest. He was warm, live beneath your palm, his heartbeat like the patter of a tiny drum. 

You took the bait then, carelessly pitching him, “So, how’s this going to work?”

Eren heard the smile in your voice. His fingers found your chin, angling your face toward him. On it was that coy smile of yours, the one he remembered from that night. He kissed it, soft-lipped, as chaste as a mere taste.

“We’ll figure it out.”

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren smut

[vole-mon-amour]

Modern Halstarion AU where Halsin and Astarion meet at various motels. One of those times, while naked and lazy in bed, Astarion sits on Halsin and starts taking pictures of him (and them together) with a Polaroid.

Halsin is somewhat shy about it, he's not used to that, which makes the pictures even more adorable and dear to Astarion's heart. And Astarion models (i also wanna say escort, but with Cazador, we know what kind of escort that is) because he's forced to, so to be on the other side of the camera is actually a very nice change. He likes noticing and keeping the beauty of the world with him through a camera lens.

The pictures come out very genuine and raw, some blurred because taken in the action such as kissing, holding hands, and laughing. Some pictures Astarion takes with him on the road to remember that there's still good in the world, there's a person who truly loves him with no mask at all, and who waits for him, that there's something and someone to live for. The rest he gives Halsin to "remember him" and for safekeeping. To which Halsin goes, "My heart, I wouldn't even dream of stopping thinking about you. I count days, hours, minutes before our next meeting."

Astarion dreams of the time when he can be free from Cazador and start a family of their own with Halsin. When he can come back to those pictures in their apartment, knowing that it's finally his new reality. That he can do whatever he wants & that his partner will support him in that.

#halstarion #halsin #astarion #halsin x astarion #astarion x halsin #bg3 #au #natiswriting

[sakurapika]

How TWST characters would react to getting money for New Year

Author's note: I originally wrote this around January 1st and intended to post it at that time. However, I never had the chance to finish, as I was too busy actually celebrating New Year's Day with my family. Luckily, the Lunar New Year has rolled around, so I have another chance to post this!

🧧🎊Some fun facts about this tradition: 🎍🎉

New Year's Day, or お正月 ("oshogatsu") is the biggest holiday of the year in Japan. Since most Japanese children aren't given their own allowances, getting an envelope of money from your relatives is a big deal. This tradition is called お年玉 ("otoshidama"). At this time of year, there also tends to be a lot of sales, hence the New Year Sale event in the game. Of course, if your parents are like mine, your money goes towards your education instead of toys, lol.

I grew up in an area with a large Chinese population, so sometimes I would also get red envelopes on Lunar New Year from family friends. However, the typical money envelopes in Japan, which are called "pochibukuro" are usually white. They tend to feature patterns with images such as daruma dolls, ribbons, origami, popular childrens' characters, or the yearly Zodiac animal.

Pochibukuro are usually given by adults to children to symbolize good luck and to thank them for their hard work over the past year. However, we're going to imagine a scenario in which you give the TWST boys money for fun.

If you also have special traditions on January 1st or Lunar New Year, whether in Japan, China, Vietnam, or another country, please let me know what they are! Also, if you'd like to buy some pochibukuro of your own, you can find them at shops such as Daiso or Kinokuniya.

Heartslabyul

Riddle Rosehearts: He would be surprised by the idea of receiving such a gift, and would thank you profusely. He would likely save the money for something in the future like medical school expenses or textbooks, but he would keep the envelope as a bookmark to remember your kindness.

*I like to headcanon that Riddle is of Japanese descent on one side of his family. At some point, maybe one of his relatives gave him something for New Year's, but his mother stored it away for "safekeeping." At NRC, when he meets you, he has a chance to hold onto his own money. Maybe he'd even indulge just a little, and buy himself a strawberry tart or two.

Ace Trappola: He'll shamelessly spend it all that day, but at least he'd buy something high-quality and useful, like some shoes or a new basketball.

Deuce Spade: Like in Chapter 6, Deuce would likely say something about how he'd like to give the money to his mother. "But this is for you," you would say. "Spend it on something you like." In that case, he'd buy a snack at the mall or a new shirt. He'd also buy you something small in exchange.

Trey Clover: It's hard to imagine what Trey would spend his money on...maybe a new hat, a fancy kitchen set, or a motorized toothbrush. He'd probably ask about where to get money envelopes so that he could get some for his younger siblings.

Cater Diamond: He would probably hug you if you gave him such a gift. I imagine that he has been looking forward to all the sales on New Year's Day and has been looking forward to buying trendy new clothes and accessories. Maybe he'd even bring you along.

Savanaclaw

Leona Kingscholar: Why are you giving money to a prince?! Leona has no need for this little herbivore tradition, but he'd at least thank you. He'd also misplace the envelope before he could spend it, but he probably wouldn't be bothered.

Ruggie Bucchi: Luckily, Ruggie would find Leona's missing otoshidama. Finder's keepers? There's about a million things Ruggie would like to buy, but he'd probably end up using the money for household things like laundry detergent and toilet paper. Leona would most likely keep his, in addition to the envelope that you give him.

Jack Howl: Jack may be surprised to get such a gift and have a hard time accepting it from you until he understands that it is tradition. Like Ace, he would make sure to spend it on something practical, such as workout clothes, but he'd also buy a few cacti--and maybe give you one as well.

Octavinelle

Azul Ashengrotto: A tradition...involving free money? Say no more. Like Jack, Azul would say he has a hard time accepting such a gift, but it is a clear façade. Deep down, he'd be delighted that you thought of him. He'd likely save the money for the Mostro Lounge's expenses, or he would treat himself to a new book or fancy skincare. He'd also try to take Floyd's and hold onto it before he spends it recklessly. Maybe he'd feel as if he'd owe you something as well, which is a feeling he hates.

Jade Leech: Jade would act like Azul, except he is better at hiding his delight. He might even scare you a little while asking whether he owes you money in return! As for what he spends it on...who knows? (My guess is a tea set, a fancy knife set for threatening people the Mostro Lounge, or some new hiking gear).

Floyd Leech: Giving Floyd money is like freeing every animal from the zoo and unleashing them at the mall. He'd most likely ransack the shoe stores first, but he'd also wreak havoc at the arcades and toy stores.

Scarabia

Kalim Al-Asim: Again, why are you giving the richest people at NRC money?! Kalim would be intrigued and would want to adopt this tradition, giving his money to everyone, young and old. He’d probably be like Trey and try to get some envelopes for his siblings, too. Honestly, though, you’re better off giving the money to Jamil, because like Leona, Kalim is definitely going to misplace that envelope.

Jamil Viper: Hmmm, this one is difficult. He’d probably take it with hesitation, asking whether you’re trying to bribe him or if there’s something you’re asking from him. Once he realizes that you’re being sincere and that the money is actually for him, he’d likely save it in a secret bank account. I imagine that he has some money saved for if ever he has a chance to leave the Asim family, even if just temporarily. After all, money is power, and anything he can get would make a difference. Don’t worry Jamil—the world awaits you!

Pomefiore

Vil Schoenheit: Vil is a smart man—he has likely heard of these traditions before after working with actors from different countries and watching movies. Although he may be a bit baffled at being on the recieving end of an otoshidama, he’d instantly reciprocate by giving you traditional deserts, like a box of mochi wrapped in tasteful wrapping paper.

Rook Hunt: You wouldn’t even have a chance to speak, let alone actually show him what you have. The (one-sided) conversation would go something like this: “Trickster, arrête! What is that in your pocket, hmm? An envelope with my name on it? Judging by the weight, you’ve given me about one thousand madol* for New Year. C’est bon, merci! Alas, I know not what to do with it. I would purchase something beautiful to look at all year, but true beauty is something you behold, free in nature. I know! The true beauty is your thoughtfulness! Merci beaucoup!”

*I assumed that madol/thaumarks are equivalent to Japanese yen, so that’s about 1,000円, or roughly $10 USD. That's really not a lot of money, but hey, you're just a college student, and you have 22 classmates. I think the conversion rate depends on the translation, though, as the ENG version of the event implies that the currency is closer to USD/GBP/Euro instead.

Epel Felmier: Epel is the type of kid who has been raised around older folks, and not a lot of kids his own age. I like to imagine that he would visit his neighbor's farms and help them with chores, and they'd give him pocket money in exchange. If you gave him a money envelope, he would be reminded of his hometown and probably send some of the money to his grandmother (he's a good kid). Otherwise, I think the boy would benefit from getting some new athletic wear.

Ignihyde

Idia and Ortho Shroud: Like Vil, Idia has probably heard of this tradition from watching anime/donghua or reading about it somewhere, but he'd still be caught off-guard by receiving one, feeling every emotion from flustered to excited. While Idia would go on a full-speed rant about how he wants to spend his money on this and that, Ortho would thank you politely. The two brothers are very close, so I'd imagine that they'd combine their money to buy something that they would use together, like a two-player game, manga from a series that they both like, or merchandise of characters from their favorite gacha game.

Diasomnia

Malleus Draconia: Before giving him a money envelope, you greet Malleus with a "Happy Year of the Dragon!" Malleus proceeds to lecture you about the difference between dragons and longs (or 龍/"ryuu" in Japanese) again, but in a lighthearted way. Like Riddle, he is not used to receiving gifts. However, he is a very sentimental person, and would probably keep the pochibukuro in a special place, just to admire the shiny golden long on the envelope every once in a while. He wouldn't even realize that there's money inside until Lilia tells him about it.

*Yet another side note: I am once again begging the TWST developers to make a special Year of the Dragon card for Malleus (the next time they'll have this opportunity is in twelve years!!!). I know he'll eventually get a New Year's Sale card, and already had Qing Dynasty-style clothing for the Halloween event, but I really, really want to see him wearing hanfu.

Sebek Zigvolt: Sebek was secretly waiting for this day because he also knows that it is the Year of the Dragon, and is leaping at the chance to celebrate his liege again. In fact, I'm sure he has already gone all-out in decking the Diasomnia dorm in dragon/long/ryuu-themed decorations. He would still be genuinely excited to receive money envelopes, and tell you about how Lilia used to give them to him and Silver as children. He would then remark that although you're a human, you clearly know your stuff, and thus have the honor of being invited to the party he is throwing.

Silver (Vanrouge): Of course, Silver was dragged into planning the party with Sebek, but he's enjoying it as well. He'd accept your money envelope graciously and tell you about how it reminds him of his father doing the same thing when he and Sebek were children, as well as other stories he heard about his father's travels in The East. I like to imagine that you'd talk for a while with him while standing in the kitchen, preparing kagami mochi and soba, and desperately trying to keep Lilia out of the kitchen.

Lilia Vanrouge: Lilia has always been on the giving end and never on the receiving end of the money envelopes--after all, he is...quite elderly, and people usually give money envelopes to those younger than them. But who knows? I gave my grandmother a money envelope once, and it was fun. Knowing Lilia, he'd probably tease you, saying, "Yes, indeed, I am a very youthful boy!" Of course, Grandpa Lilia won't let you leave empty-handed. He'll give you your very own overfilled pochibukuro too, and won't let you go until you've had some of his special, homemade, traditional New Year's cooking! (Good luck.)

Do you have more ideas about how the cast of TWST would celebrate oshogatsu or the Lunar New Year? Please let me know!

To everyone reading this, happy New Year, and happy Year of the Dragon!

#disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst #riddle rosehearts #ace trappola #deuce spade #trey clover #cater diamond #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #jack howl #azul ashengrotto #jade leech #floyd leech #kalim al asim #jamil viper #vil schoenheit #rook hunt #epel felmier #idia shroud #ortho shroud #malleus draconia #sebek zigvolt #twst silver #silver vanrouge #lilia vanrouge

[chronicowboy]

When Buck shows up on the Diaz doorstep with a vacant frown, Eddie is struck nauseous by the wave of hope that crests in him and the swoop of deep concern in his stomach. He leads Buck into the kitchen without a word, sets him down in a chair and fetches them both a beer from the fridge. He pops the caps off, sets one down in front of Buck, and retreats to lean back against the counter just in case this isn't the conversation he thinks it is.

They drink in a stifling quiet. Eddie watches every tiny micro expression that twitches across Buck's face, catches every tic of his fingers and jump of his leg. He watches and waits and most of all he sees.

"I misunderstood," Buck murmurs eventually, and Eddie has to physically bite down on the hope that rears its head at the words. He thinks back to a pink and yellow heart, an assignment failed correctly in Eddie's opinion.

"How so?" Eddie pushes gently when Buck wavers. Buck's eyes meet his then, for a single moment, heavy with something beyond the fizzle of a three-week-old relationship.

"I never actually asked her out." Buck takes another swig of beer, shakes his head. "She asked me for coffee that first time, but we really only talked about me."

"And the lightning?" Eddie asks. Buck nods.

"And then, we kept meeting up." Eddie holds a gulp of beer in his mouth to distract himself from the sharp stab of pain behind his sternum. "But we kept getting interrupted every time I tried to find out more about her. Every time I tried to talk about more than my death."

"Maybe the universe was screaming at you?" Eddie suggests just to hear Buck's huff of disbelieving laughter.

"Yeah, well, it was wasting its time." Buck leans back in his chair, takes a deep breath. "Natalia said enough for the universe."

Eddie swallows another mouthful of beer, washes his heart back down his throat and into his ribcage for safekeeping. He'd known, of course. He'd known this was going to happen. Eddie sees Buck, so of course he sees Buck's relationships too. He saw Buck still pining after Abby even when it was clear how it had already ended. He saw Ali's hesitance in the hospital waiting room and just knew this was too much for her to handle. He saw Taylor from the very beginning. And he saw Natalia too, even though he didn't really. But he knew a death doula asking death's best friend for coffee couldn't end well.

"I actually managed to ask her out on a date at lunch today." Buck sighs, deep and turbulent. "She was very nice about rejecting me. Seems, she thought I knew this was more of a professional interest than a personal one." He scoffs, drops his head into his hands. "Thing is, I know that now. Not just because she told me, but because I realised I was only really using her to come to terms with... everything?" He brings his head out of his hands, sets his chin on his palm, gazes up at Eddie with something breathtakingly honest in his eyes. "I just... I thought she could make my death mean something. I needed it to mean something."

"Buck," Eddie sighs, sits himself down in the chair opposite, "you know that's not how it works. There's no rhyme and reason to death. As much as we might want there to be. You can look for a reason all you'd like, but that's how people drive themselves insane." Eddie folds his arms over his chest.

"But I survived, Eddie," Buck says it like he's pleading, "surely that has to mean something."

"And it does," he concedes. "It means you're still here. With the people who love you." And maybe that's too honest for the quiet of the kitchen at half ten, but Eddie finds he doesn't care when Buck looks at him like this. He sits upright, braces himself on the tabletop. "You think any of my near deaths meant anything?" Buck flinches a little at that, looking down at his bottle chastened.

"I don't know." He shrugs. "But the helicopter brought you home, right? In the end?"

"Well," Eddie swallows every drop of bravery he can muster, "maybe the lightning brought you home too. In the end."

"Eddie," Buck breathes, "what?"

"You came here, Buck." Eddie smiles weakly, lets his eyes speak for him. "You came home."

Buck opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, clenches his jaw shut. He glances around the kitchen, drinking in every inch of it, the square spoon in the drying rack that Eddie knows Buck brought from his apartment, the collection of kitschy, overpriced zoo mugs in the cupboard Eddie had left open at the knock on the door, the Hildy coffeemaker that had been one expensive prank.

"I came home," Buck repeats softly. His eyes find their way back to Eddie's. "And I fell asleep on the couch."

"Yeah," Eddie breathes a soft chuckle, "you did."

"Oh."

"The couch will be waiting for you, Buck." Eddie stands, drops his empty bottle into the recycling. "Whenever you're ready, the couch, the home, the kid, all of it, it'll be waiting for you."

"When I'm ready?" Buck croaks.

"When you're ready." Eddie smiles. "We've got time, so take it."

#sami rambles #im writing this instead of an essay due tomorrow but idc bc i love this #911 show #911 fox #911 spec #911 spec fic #911 speculation #911 fic #911 fanfic #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #buddie #buck x eddie fic #buck x eddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #spoiler alert: they don't have time #also square spoon supremacy