#let my boy have a get out of murder charges free card | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miekasa · 3 years

Text

NICE.

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

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

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

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

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

+ word count: 19k. i’m sorry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, baby. I love you.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Get off my line.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no—of course not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was almost three thou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It wasn’t mine, I was—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what’s it matter to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not avoiding him,” you frown.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sound like you speak from personal experience.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“His parents?” Jean cuts you off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you… told Eren yet?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is… is that why you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles. “I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You—you, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah? What, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t taste any almonds.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I mean—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eren—”

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

“Eren—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you took it, anyway?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eren loves you, more than you could ever know.

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

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

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

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

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

“Mitchell, I have to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And if I asked you now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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libraford · 4 years

Text

The short version: We had a serial thief at the flower shop. She’s retired recently and I think that due to Covid she really means it this time.

The long version? hoooo boy, here we go.

This story, and others, are viewable on Tablo

There are rules and there are rules.

In dealing with shoplifting in retail, there are rules on how one engages with a thief. The handbook, if there were one, would consist of a single word.

Don't.

Don't pursue, don't interrogate, don't accuse. Let them take the merchandise, let them get away. Let them return the Cricut machine for an equivalent amount on a gift card to be exchanged once again for drugs.

Let them.

There is no handbook on how to handle Flower Thieves. Prior to working in a flower shop, I never thought that this was a problem.

Life is surprising.

I'm sure some of you have figured that out by now.

The Flower Thief is notorious, and she has a system. There are days when you simply know that she's going to be in.

"Break the heads off the flowers before you throw them away," Grandpa will say. "She's going to be here tonight, I think."

And sure enough, she would be. At 6:45, a quarter til we close- the Thief would announce her arrival. Loudly.

"Heeeeey, baaaaaaby!"

The very first time I encountered the Flower Thief, she came in through the back door.

"Oh Hiiiii, Darlin'- ain't seen your face around here: you must be NEW! I'm Wren, you know- like the bird? Well, Kyle and I have an agreement that I come and work for y'all sometimes. You should take out this trash, it stinks to high heaven. Anyways, nice talkin' to ya, see ya later."

I may only be a little bit psychic, but I've spent enough time around liars to know insincerity when I see it. Kyle, at the time, was the manager of our store and I have it on record that he's tried to throw her out of the building once or twice.

While I was taking out the trash, her pile of purchase became so tall it towered over her. I watched Clark massively undercharge her for the sake of getting her to go away.

She has a pattern.

She comes in during the design classes because she knows that when there's twenty people in the store, there's not enough people to watch her and make sure she's not stealing. "There's a class today," she asks as if it's not literally every Tuesday. "Don't worry I know you all wanna get out of here on time."

The Flower Thief announces her presence in a grand way and then makes her way to the back to grab a trash bag or an empty box and then proceeds to bury any spare parts she finds in the cooler in the trash bag, hiding them under the things that she's actually buying.

After that, she checks the garbage cans for things we might have thrown away that will last another three days and stuffs them underneath her other ill-gotten goods.

Just when you think she's finished, she'll go through her pile of flowers and say: "You know what? I don't need this eucalyptus." And she'll go back into the cooler with it, stuff it in her purse, and walk back to the register.

And when she's all done being sneaky, she asks one of us to come ring her out.

This is the part that no one wants to do. Because ringing out the Flower Thief means haggling with the Flower Thief.

"Oh baaby, you know I don't pay those prices."

"Oh baaaby, I only pay $19 for roses."

"Oh baaaaaaaaaby, those carnations were on special."

She'll talk you down to under $100 with a sob story:

"Oh baaaaby, you know I'm donating this spray to the family. It's for that woman you know- you know the one. She got herself murdered a couple nights ago? Two children and she was pregnant too! Pregnant! Can you believe it? Who murders someone with child? What's the world coming to? So I need a good discount to make sure we treat this family right because they got a looooong road ahead of them."

"Oh baaaaaaby, you know this one's for that car crash over on Cleveland Avenue? I hear he was taking care of his dying father himself, so it's such a shame for him to go first like that."

"Oh baaaaaaaaaaaaaaby, this is for that little boy that shot himself, isn't that sad?"

Thank you, Sister Mary Loquacious.

And you nod because you don't want to come off as an uncaring sociopath. And while you're nodding and adjusting the price for her sad, sad consequence and mulling over how good she is for donating to these people in their time of need, she steals some greens from the trash can and sticks them in her bag.

She hands you crisp $100 bills. You check them and she makes jokes about how she printed them this morning. They're legit. Counterfeiting isn't why she went to prison.

What she went to prison for was drug trafficking.

"Do you need some help," you ask, trying to be a good citizen.

"Oh no, I got it," she insists. "I'll make it in two trips. I'm stronger than I look!"

And don't you dare get caught looking to see what she put in the bag or she will give you one hell of a lecture.

By the time all of this has passed, the class will be over and there will two minutes left in the work day. She's spent thirty-seven minutes in the store. Your register is unbalanced because now you don't have enough small bills to balance it and only have one $100 bill to get you through tomorrow.

And that's why there are rules.

On occasion, a new person will break the rules not knowing that there's rules. One such occasion was when Clair decided to be helpful.

"You know what? I don't need this eucalyptus," Wren said.

"Oh! I'll put it back for you," Clair suggested. And before Wren could protest, it was out of Wren's hands and nowhere near her purse.

It was mentioned to Sage, who only worked for us one summer, that Wren had failed to pay for something and she immediately chased her out into the street.

Wren drives very fast.

If you cross her too many times, she'll make sure you never forget it. One day, she stomped her way in through the front door, angry.

"You ain't treated me better than a damn THIEF," screamed the Flower Thief.

Grandpa, who was helping Blue make a wedding bouquet at the time, departed from the desk. "Beg pardon?"

"A thief! You been treating me like a thief ever since they made you manager and I'm sick of it! I see you bringing in your henchmen, following me in the cooler, chasing me down the street. Treat me with some damn respect."

Words were exchanged. They were not kind. We thought we'd seen the end of her.

But she was back one week later, doing the same damn thing.

So now there are rules.

If you make something and there's an excess of flowers left over from the pack, you have to make something out of the leftovers or she'll pick through them and stuff them in her bag.

If you cannot make something out of them, you must throw them out.

If you throw them out, you must break the heads off first.

The trash cans must be emptied every night before 5:00.

We do not keep trash bags in plain sight.

Break down all empty boxes, or she will use them in place of trash bags.

Do not leave any food or drink where she can find it.

Do not leave any half-used rolls of floral tape where she can find it.

Do not let her know anything about you- lest she use it against you.

If you speak of a Thief, you summon a Thief- speak quietly, and never her name or you invite trouble.

The basic rules one makes when dealing with pests. Or fairy-folk.

There are rules and there are rules and there are rules.

If you want to keep a pest away, you make these sorts of rules. But if you want to get rid of a pest indefinitely, you have to remove their food source. And Wren's food source was her discount.

You start exercising your right to say 'no' to a customer in small ways.

She saw a bunch of carnations in the trash and said:

"Oh baby, these are still good! I'll take them off your hands for you!"

"They've been sitting without water for hours."

"They're still good!"

"They were out in the sun."

"Oh baby, I've been working with flowers for 40 years and I know that these will still be fine for a couple of days!" She picks a bunch of them out of the trash and shoves it in my face. "See, it's still stiff- it's still good!"

"Okay," I said. And before I could stop myself: "Full price."

Her eyes just about popped out of her skull. If it were just a little bit colder, I would have been able to see steam coming out of her ears.

We stared at each other for about a minute, waiting for the other to flinch. She took the bunch away from my face and threw them back into the trash. While she was in the cooler, I took the liberty of snapping the heads off of them and burying them further into the garbage.

And so began a war between the flower shop and the Flower Thief.

She came in: every single night. And each night, she got me.

Again.

"Oh no, baby! These carns are supposed to be 39 cents a stem. I can bring up the email."

"Sure." She brings up the email. "I see that they are 39 cents but... this was for Saturday."

"Yea, and I bought those carns on Saturday and you charged me full price!"

"Saturday."

"Yeah."

"You didn't buy these on Saturday. You bought them Friday."

"Well I didn't know that they'd be on sale, so I need them for that price because I didn't know they'd be on sale."

"The sales are one-day only. I can't adjust a sale from Friday to reflect Saturday's sale... on Sunday."

She made a noise that reminds me somewhat of a cement mixer.

And again.

"I got a bad banner last time, can you print me a new one?" She shows me the banner in question. It's white. The 't' and the 'h' in 'mother' ran together.

"Sure."

"Okay, I need it to say 'Beloved Mother' and I want it in pink."

"Sure."

I print it. I ring her up $5.

"Oh baaaaaaby, no, that one should be free."

"Grandpa said- banners start at $5."

"Oh, but you sold me a bad one last time."

"We haven't sold you a banner in three weeks. How long have y'all had that body sitting in your cooler?"

She grumbled, and paid.

And again.

"I swear you been workin' every night this week! You must be tired," she said, nerves plain in her voice. "When do you get a day off?"

"When the work is done."

"That ain't what I'm askin'. When's your next day off, baby?"

"I stop working when the work is done, Wren."

She narrows her eyes, which is a fun change from them bugging out of her skull like a fruit fly. "You don't ever get any days off?"

"When the work stops, I rest."

And again.

"I'll be in and out, I know y'all want to get out of here on time," she said- announcing her presence to the entire class. She piled her stuff across the register counter and Grandpa began ringing her up.

"Oh baby..."

"No. We're doing away with the discounts."

There are twenty people in the workshop for the class and Grandpa doesn't want to make a scene. She pulls her into the back, and I choose to make my instructions louder to mask the sound of them yelling.

"So you're going to take your hypericum berries and you're going to cut the stem to about ten inches-"

"How can you do this to me?"

"And you're going to slowly fill the vase with these berries to kind of set the shape of the arrangement."

"After all these years and this is how you treat me?"

"Fun fact- you might know hypericum berries as their more common name: St John's Wort! St. John's Wort has been used as a medication for depression prior to modern medicine." You see- I, too, have taken notes from the Chattering Order.

"You can't do this to me," Wren said, stamping her feet like a toddler.

"But I wouldn't recommend eating them. However, they do smell somewhat like baked brown sugar."

Stamp, stamp, stamp.

Wren threw herself into the cooler and began putting a bulk of her flowers back.

"This is robbery," I heard her say to Grandpa at the register.

"Is it now?"

And again.

She came in and immediately reached for a half-empty box of oasis bricks (the green sponge material that we use to hold flowers.) She said few words to me, few at all. She talked to Carrie about how she was going out to the country for awhile, to take care of her nephew's property. She needed to stock up. And oh- don't worry about it, she knows what she's doing. She's part of The Family.

She is in no manner of speaking, a member of The Family that owns this shop. Not even a third cousin.

I saw her beeline for a rose I'd set in the trash. I picked it up, opened my mouth, and bit the head off of it. She stood in the middle of the workshop, absolutely stunned.

Rose petals have the vague texture of arugula, by the way. Slightly sweeter, though. Tough to swallow in one go.

She ran back into the cooler and didn't talk to me.

I began taking down numbers.

27 bricks of oasis. One pack of roses. Ten calla lilies. 1/2 pack of assorted greens.

I punched the numbers in to the register. As if sensing something was amiss, she emerged from the cooler.

"$54? What do I have that's $54?"

"The oasis. They're $2 each."

"Oh no baaaaaby, they're $1."

"I can text Grandpa and ask her."

"... that won't be necessary. Why are you charging me $22.50 for roses? You know my prices by now!"

"22.50 is the price for a pack of roses."

"22.50 is everybody prices."

"Welcome to 'everybody.'"

"I ain't paid a price increase in 7 years!"

"The price of milk went up, Wren. So does everything else."

She was seeing red, I knew it. There's a vein in her forehead that pops out when she's angry and it's the same shape as the river that runs through my home town. She sized me up, as if wondering if she could take me.

I'm 256 pounds of 4H beef, and I have a knife. Try me.

"I'm gonna call Kyle on this."

"Do it." A lifetime of retail has made me immune to 'I'd like to speak to the manager.'

She grumbled and put things back. Carrie offered to watch her, I held up my hand.

"Can you do something for me on these carns? They're the last pack in there and they're lookin' kinda ratty."

"9.50."

"9.50's the regular price."

"Regular price is $14."

"No it ain't."

"Is today. You're taking our last pack and we need those for funerals."

She put them back.

She gave me a credit card. It seemed fake, but it ran. Every time I see here, she's got a different card. Did she print this one this morning, too? At least she stopped trying to sell me on Bitcoin. As you can see, it made her incredibly wealthy.

She gathered her things and left. "Guess I'm getting the rest of my flowers from KROGER!"

There are things you want to say. Like... I hope they enjoy your company just as much as we do. Or: Haven't graced them with your presence in awhile, huh? But at the time, it was better just to watch her leave with her minuscule bunch of flowers. I get a choice in where I loan my voice.

Not here.

Is it over? Nah. She'll be back for another round. But one day she'll finally retire in the way that she's always threatened to. And then? Then it can be as over as it ever will be.

It is shocking to come from a history of retail, where you're not allowed to even hint at the idea of a customer being wrong, where you have to override every single price change to get the scores up, where you have to just let them steal your things and pull the wool over your eyes...

... to flat-out telling someone 'no.'

"No."

It's such a great word.

There are rules and there are rules.

And there are thieves that the rules are made for.

And there are words like 'no.'

And all those things are magic in very human ways.

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ptergwen · 3 years

Text

favorite crime

w/c: 1.6k

warnings: swearing, mentions of blood / death, lots n lots of angst

summary: you convince peter to go on the run after he’s framed for murdering mysterio, but he doesn’t want to drag you into his mess

a/n: this was completely based off the song by olivia lfmbsjfhs it’s so beautiful and i’ve wanted to write something for it for a while now so yee i hope y’all like ! pls lmk what you think <3

“we have to get you out of here, peter! come on!” you shout back to your boyfriend and tug his hand that’s laced with yours.

peter doesn’t budge. even when your grip on him tightens, when you pull him forward with all your might, he remains stoic.

there’s something he needs to do, and he’s been contemplating it since the day he met you.

it’s time to let you go.

“please, peter. i’m begging. i know you’re tired of running, but if we don’t leave now… they’ll find you,” you desperately choke out. peter squeezes his eyes shut, dreading what’s to come. “i can’t do this to you anymore, y/n. i… i’m sorry.”

emergency sirens and flashing lights approach the old apartment building serving as yours and peter’s latest hideout. the whole world is on the lookout for him, so you two stowed yourselves away in brooklyn for a bit.

you were hopeful the rumors would pass eventually — about how peter shot the beloved mysterio and left him to die in cold blood. they’re merely talk, of course. you’d personally seen the events of that day unfold on the tower bridge. hell, your class was right at the center of them.

quentin beck was pure evil, so rotten he defamed both peter and spider-man with a charge as cruel as murder. he’s wreaking havoc on him from beyond the grave, over a complete misunderstanding that peter had nothing to do with.

beck’s true source of anger is stark industries. yet, once again, peter ended up the collateral damage.

he was deemed a wanted murderer. posters revealing his name and face were plastered up around the city, a reward even being offered to whoever who turns him in.

you’d proposed the idea of skipping town until things settled. the way you saw it, it was peter’s only option other than prison for twenty-five to life. peter was panicking and couldn’t think straight, so he went along with your getaway plan.

a few weeks later, he’s regretting it.

you’ve been the one person he could trust through this madness. you’re right there to console him, to protect him just like he does you. through sickness and health, life and clearly death, you stick by peter’s side. you left everything behind without a second thought, for him.

peter loves you more than you’ll ever fully be able to comprehend, which is why he can’t ask you to do that. this is his battle to fight, not yours or anyone else’s. his.

you suddenly freeze in your tracks, turning around to look at peter. “what are you talking about? you’re fine, pete.”

his eyes roam everywhere except to yours as they water. blinking back tears, he fixes his gaze on your intertwined hands. you notice a stray tear fall down his cheek and use one of your thumbs to wipe it away, then press a reassuring kiss to his lips. peter lets himself reciprocate momentarily before jerking back.

“please just… stop being so nice to me. you’re making this way harder than i wanted to to be,” he rasps and squeezes your hand tighter. you’re still lost, absolutely clueless about what he’s referring to.

“look, pete. i wanna hear you out, baby. but… i think it should wait until we get to jersey.” you keep your voice as calm as possible, though you’re terrified for both of you. since the feds know your location, they’ll have the place surrounded any minute.

hopping cities isn’t cutting it anymore, so you’ll have to change states this time. new jersey is next on your list.

using his strength to his advantage to hold you in place, peter seizes both your shoulders. his bloodshot eyes lock with yours. a stern expression coats his features, one you’ve seen from him yet never been on the receiving end of.

“we’re not going to jersey, y/n/n,” he declares, the sirens starting to grow louder. you feel a pit forming in your stomach. “we have to!” you immediately protest. “it’s not gonna be easy finding our way, but it’s the last-“

peter cuts you off, voice softer now. “no, no. that’s not what i meant.” he waits a beat and inhales a deep breath, aiming to settle his nerves. it doesn’t.

“i’m going to jersey. you’re staying.”

tears cloud your vision the second those words leave his mouth. you shake your head furiously back and forth, willing him to take them back.

part of you was always afraid peter would get second thoughts. not only about running away with you, about ever being with you. you’re both so young. your entire lives are ahead of you, and peter won’t allow you to risk your own because this isn’t worth a single bit of it.

he’d warned you how dangerous it was to be associated with spider-man. it’s why he held off on telling you about his alias for the longest he could. you naturally began asking questions whenever peter bailed on dates and showed up to school covered in bruises. he hated lying to you, using his stark internship as an excuse, so he finally came out and said it.

peter sometimes wonders if you’d be better off not knowing at all. it’s too late now, though.

“wait, what? why- why can’t i go with you?” you plead, peter’s fingers coming up to cup your cheek. his fingertips lightly caress your skin. “i’m a criminal, y/n. you’d be my accessory.”

it takes everything in him not to break down and sob along with you.

you lean into his palm, already missing his touch. “i don’t care... i don’t give a fuck. i just wanna be with you, peter.” peter literally has to bite his tongue to fight the urge to cry. hands grabbing either side of his head, your fingers twist in his hair roughly. “i’ll do anything, pete. i really will, i swear. name it.”

peter threads his own fingers through yours again, bringing your hands to his chest.

“i’m so sorry, angel. i never should’ve gotten you involved,” he murmurs out and pecks your forehead. “you have nothing to prove to me, okay? you’ve done more than enough. i’m gonna return the favor.”

you let out a strangled whine, your knees buckling as you come to terms with the gravity of your situation.

this is it. this is the end of yours and peter’s story.

“hey, none of that. it’s okay,” peter coos, neither of you convinced. the tastes of salt and metal flood both your senses. he helps you back up and hugs your waist, peppering your cheeks in more kisses. you’re bawling now, arms wound around his neck, clutching at his tattered jacket.

free tears escape peter’s eyes at last. “i love you. i love you so goddamn much, y/n. never forget it,” he nearly whispers. you sniffle and push your forehead against his. “i’m not saying it back ‘cuz that feels like a goodbye, and i- i can’t say goodbye to you yet.”

“it’s not a goodbye,” peter reassures you, rubbing circles on your lower back. “it’s, uh, it’s a see you later. i’m gonna figure something out and be back to you before you know it. can’t get rid of me that easy.”

that earns a faint giggle from you, peter managing a grin. you two attempt to ignore everything happening beyond these walls, only focusing on the other.

“then, um…” you clear your throat. “i love you.” his smile dwindling slightly, peter nods and meets your gaze. “i love you too, baby. you should probably get going soon.”

affirming his advice, a booming voice that sounds from a microphone commands peter to come out with his hands up.

your worry spikes, instinctively drawing peter in closer. he forces himself to put on a brave face for you.

“i’m scared, pete. where… where am i supposed to go?” you rush to ask him. “home, y/n/n. go home,” peter decides, pressing a final kiss to the top of your head. “just don’t get caught, and you’ll be fine.” carding your fingers in his undone curls, you sigh. “easier said than done, but i’ll try not to.”

you’d never pictured that the sweet boy with a heart too big and brain even bigger, who sings you to sleep even though his voice sucks and spends his last dollar buying you flowers, would be accused of first degree murder. it isn’t true or fucking fair.

what’s worse, he has to bare this storm alone now.

you lift your heavy backpack off the cold ground, slinging it onto your shoulders. peter stares out the window and down at the assembly of swarm troops crowded together.

“are you gonna be okay?” you catch his attention. he snaps back into reality, pulling your hood up so it covers your head. you’re wearing a sweatshirt of his, after having gone through all your own clothes. “i hope so. are you?” peter repeats your question. “i hope so,” you echo.

tying your hoodie strings tight, peter offers a smile. “say hi to may for me. ned and mj, too.” it’s going to be tough to face his family and friends after this. “i will. i’ll let them know you’re alright.” you kiss his cheek, placing a hand on his chest. peter lets your touch distract him from the mess he’s about to be hit with.

“thank you, y/n. i’ll see you soon, baby. you have my word,” he promises, stepping back so you two can go your separate ways.

you watch him with fresh tears threatening to spill.

“i’m gonna hold you to it. be safe, spidey.”

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harveywritings92 · 3 years

Text

BNHA vampire soulmate scenario: When you first saw them.

The first time you saw him, he was feeding off someone.

TWs: Blood, death stalking and attempted assault.

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Mr. Compress: {Your Quirk: Card capture: it's similar to Mr. Compress's quirk but you can entrap people and objects in cards by manifesting these clear glass like cards that slip out from your wrist, you can use them as throwing weapons too as they're very sharp, the only drawback is that you can get severely dehydrated if you overuse it.]

You were walking home late from work just hungry and physically done! today was crap show! first you missed the train then half way to work you forgot you realized you forgot your lunch!, Your boss (who's usually pretty chill) for whatever reason decided he hated your guts today and yelled at you in front of everyone! and to rub salt on the wound you spilt hot coffee all over yourself! so now you arms and chest have burns on them that were itchy as hell! you just wanted to crawl into bed, and forget about this day.

You decided to cut through the park when you saw a odd pair, a man in a yellow trench coat and top-hat and mask which was pushed to the side kissing a woman in sundress under a streetlight. "huh, how sweet." you sighed exasperated before continuing on you way, when you noticed foot steps coming out behind you, you cautiously reached into your coat for one of your cards... you knew it wasn't the man in the top hat as you did a quick glance over your shoulder he was still 'occupied' you could smell stale alcohol in the air remembering the beware of mugger sign at the park entrance and figured out what was going on when the person was in grabbing range.

You whirled around grabbing your would be assailants arm forcing it up and pulling him towards you, you hissed felt a sting on your cheek as your free hand slammed your card into his chest "release!" you barked as a powerful cyclone burst from the card sending the man flying off his feet *Thank-you Anko-san* you mentally cheer happy that your friend had a wind-quirk and let you capture it's effects in a card; said card then shattered as it was a one-shot use like all your offense cards.

The man wheezed as he was thrown to ground next to the "couple". while you took off running! not seeing Top-hat pull away from his lady friend and sniff the air.

Atsuhiro dropped the woman he was feeding on she slid limply to the ground as he readjusted his mask and followed that delicious scent and found a bloody knife on the ground *Could it be?!* his heart was beating abnormally faster as picked it up and sniffed it he lifted his mask up and licked the blood off the knife, Atsunhiro almost felt alive again as the sweet taste of his mate's blood touch his tongue...

He was so elated his mask was blushing! (cos anime logic!) "My Darling❣~" he purred in pure ecstasy, but soon his euphoria was cut short when he heard the man who attempted to rob you on the ground cough, the vampiric ex-magician turned in his direction, he could smell this uncultured brutes scent all over the knife mixing his mates.

Atsuhiro's primal urges were screaming at him to kill the man for harming his mate, however the ex-showman had something else in mind... The next morning you were watching the news on your laptop seeing the mugger at the park last night had been caught, and was being charged with murder for another woman. You felt your stomach churn as the photo of the woman who you saw making out with the top-hat man flashed on screen.

Than you felt a a chill go down your back!

You nervously looked away from your screen and scanned around the nearly empty café, there's was only you, an elderly couple wearing matching tracksuits enjoying some tea and having a conversation, a tired and obviously hungover mother and her two rowdy kids having breakfast, and lastly a man with black hair and copper eyes wearing a yellow casual suit and gray news boy cap reading a book.

You squint at the title....The magicians nephew, you frowned letting out a small hum; swearing you felt someone's eyes on you, thinking you were just paranoid from last night... you unconsciously traced the healing cut on your cheek and went back to you doing your work, not seeing the copper eyes of Atsuhiro watching you from behind his book with a knowing smirk.

-----------------------------

Dabi: You were walking home drunk to hell as your friends kept you out at the bars until 3am, you decided to take a detour home to get a late night snack/early breakfast at the 7/11 a few blocks from your place, as you were walking to the store you spied what looked a couple making out against the dumpster a few feet a ways, even in your drunken state you couldn't help but scrunched up your nose the sight. "at least take her to cheap motel buddy, jeez..." you muttered the man in the black hood growled back in retort as you entered the store.

While in the shop you frowned seeing you favorite snack was out of stock. "D-dammit." you huffed and looked around before spotting the clerk who was unpacking some packs of ramen. "Hey d'ya got any f/snack left?" you asked trying to keep from slurring your words. "Yeah there should be some packs over by the-" the clerk went to point but forgot they were holding a box cutter and accidentally jabbed you in the leg just under your knee. "Oh my gosh I'm so sorry!" the clerk gasped while you tried waving them off, it was just an accident, but if it made them feel better you bought some band-aids and disinfectant along with your food the clerk felt soo bad they gave you discount and with that you walked out in to the night....

When you got out your leg was still bleeding it didn't really bother you as you too tipsy to care, besides it's just a tiny cut, as you were leaving you noticed the "couple" still going at it, however now it felt kind of off... and that's when you noticed the man in the black hood stiffen... you stomach felt like it was full of rocks as you watched him slowly turn to face you.

Dabi was busy draining this dumb bimbo who followed him out of the bar after he told her to piss off, but seeing as he hadn't fed on fresh human blood in months, (he was drinking blood-packs of pig's blood.) he decided screw it, she'll know the consequences her actions that is if he doesn't suck her dry.. "at least take her to cheap motel buddy, jeez..." a drunk woman muttered as she passed them Dabi let out a frustrated growl at that jab yet another reason he hates feeding in public, about ten minutes later the vampire's attention was suddenly pulled away from his dinner when a sweet enticing scent invaded his nose.

Dabi's eyes snapped open his senses were on fire as his inner monster snarled *mine.....mine...* his breathing became labored as he turned away from the woman's neck; her blood dripping down his chin as he turned to look over his shoulder, saw a [y/ht-wt] woman with [y/hc] and starring at him in shock, his eyes drifted down and saw the blood dribbling down her leg, he let go of the woman he was feeding on, she let out a weak wheeze as she fell limply to the ground not that he cared, Dabi took a step towards his mate reaching out to her, only for the woman to snap out of her shock and run....

Leaving the vampire standing there in an almost trance like state, before he looked inside the store could smell faint traces of her blood in the air and saw the clerk washing the bloody box cutter; A guttural growl escaped Dabi's throat as he approached the door.

The poor oblivious clerk didn't know what was coming as the door chimed telling them a customer had entered the store... "Welcome!" they greeted cheerfully. from an outside point of view there was hot flash of blue from inside the 7/11 followed by the store fire alarms going off.

The next morning you were hiding under your blanket hugging your knees your whole body was shaking while you were watching the news... there was a fire at the 7/11, the clerk was killed their remains were so badly burnt they were carbonized...

-----------------------

Bakugou: You had just started working for his agency as a secretary and were working on late paperwork one of your coworkers pushed on you so they could go on a date, you grumbled as you made your way to the elevator to drop the files off on Bakugou's desk, and were stunned to find the top floor was pitch black! you were trying the navigate in the darkness by feeling desk, when your hand brushed up against a pair of scissors someone left out you hissed feeling them cut your palm, you could feel the blood dripping down you hand and decided screw this! you were going to leave the papers on the desk outside of the boss's office for him to find in the morning, when you noticed the door was open a crack.

You could hear deep breathing, a woman gasping and grunts, your cheeks felt hot as you though Bakugou was getting frisky with one of his fans. *I never took him for that sort...* you were just going to pretend you didn't hear anything and walk away, but curiosity got the best of you, and with careful steps you crept toward the door and peeked in, and felt you stomach drop when you realized what was going on was not a wham-bam thank you ma'am situation, you threw your hand over your mouth when you saw Bakugou eyes glowing red had his fangs sunk into this woman's neck draining her of blood! Scared you were about to quietly back away from the door when you saw the blond blink pull away from the unconscious woman, sniff the air and... you ran before he could even turn his in the direction of the door, and made it on to the elevator just as a shock of blond hair rounded the corner.

The next morning Bakugou was on edge as he recalled the events last night, one minute he's feeding off some pushy fan-girl and the next, his senses were taken over by this amazing smell it was so enticing he forgot about his hunger and overwhelmed by the insistent need of find it's source... as Katsuki turned his attention to the door he saw someone dash and and he gave chase just in time to get a split second glimpse of a woman with {y/hc} before the elevator doors closed.

{later after he sent that fan home via cab)

Bakugou inspected his office and found a blood trail leading from random sidekick's towards his office the couple hurried drops towards the elevator, he curiously swiped his finger threw the blood on the desk where the trail began, licked it a content rumble left his throat, his inner monster purred. *Mate...mine* however that euphoric feeling he felt had soon soon worn off into frustration as the next morning rolled around he had been in the agency all day, and no one who came in today had that scent on them!

The blond was pissed and ready to rip someone's head off, when he overheard two of his employees talking. "Hey where’s Y/n? I have to thank her for staying back and doing my extra work last night." the other employee shrugged. "She said she hurt her hand last night and was staying home." Neither had noticed the explosive blond who immediately went to his office and pulled your file out for your address, and he here was standing on your front porch, sniffing the air as a cocky smirk graced Katsuki's lips breathing in that sweet scent from last night. "Found you..." he purred.

#bnha fanfiction #bnha scenarios #bnha imagines #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #dabi x reader #touya todoroki #atsuhiro sako #mr compress x reader #Tw: blood #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #bnha soulmate au #bnha vampire au

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internalsealpanic · 3 years

Text

Monster Monster

I wholeheartedly blame this pic for the existence of this fic. I just wanna hug him and ruffle his hair.

Summary: Parent Teacher Conferences are very scandalous.

a/n: This is actually one of my few fics where reading some of my previous fics will help. I highly recommend reading Of Midnight Smoothies and Murder Mysteries to get a better feel on Dick and Reader’s relationship but anything on the Dick Grayson masterlist works too. Special thanks to @littleredwing89 and @americasmarauders for proofreading. Thanks to @littleredwing89 and @batarella for help with the ending.

warnings: A slur is mentioned but it gets shut down. Also, swearing.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

“Tt, stop staring at me.”

You bite back a smile and what was probably a laugh rising in your throat. “Hmmm, no.” You hum, carding your fingers through Damian’s curls. The corners of your mouth twitch into a frown when you feel an angry bump against your fingers. It’s dry and there seems to be no break in the skin as far as you could tell. You let a little sigh of relief escape you which has the unintended consequence of upsetting the gremlin in front of you.

Damian attempts to swat your hand away, snarling as he did. You grin at him, all sharp teeth and pettiness. You, being childish, do not take your hand away and instead ruffle his hair more. An adorably petulant pout settles on Damian’s mouth making the kid look ten-years-old for once. It takes everything in you not to squeal in delight.

“Unhand me. I do not require your mothering and you would do very well to leave the scolding to Richard or Pennyworth.” You can easily picture Alfred scolding Damian but Dick? You try to picture Dick, hand on his hip, trying his damndest to be mean to the kid but you just couldn’t. Sure, Nightwing can be terrifying, even Batman but Dick? Especially with a kid? Not even feasible. You snort openly, the noise echoing in the deadly silent room. The woman on the other side of the room sitting next to a boy with a faceful of bruises and probably a couple of chipped teeth glares at you. Specifically, the woman scowls at your arm, skin festooned with bangles of coiled serpent tails and glittering blades. You fight the urge to stick your tongue out at her. Instead, you tug a bit at your sleeves, baring the golden lines streaked with old gashes. A low humorless laugh escapes you causing her scowl to deepen.

Damian follows your line of sight. His face folds in utter contempt. The boy next to her flinches. Their size difference made this all the funnier. “[What did he do?]” you ask in what you hope are the correct words in Arabic. Damian crosses his arms not meeting your gaze. His leg kicks out, the restlessness thrumming in his bones. “[Your accent is atrocious.]”

Your mouth twitches uncontrollably, edging into a fond smile. You tamp it down with a click of your tongue lest the little demon tear your head off. “[I’m out of practice, child,]” Damian grabs at a space beside him only for his hand to close on nothing. Something inside you dies when you stop yourself from cackling. Thank goodness, Bruce has--had--the good sense to take the kid’s katana away.

“[Anyway, what did he do?]”

“[How are you so sure he did something?]”

“[Because you’re a brat but not stupid. You are by far the most annoyingly reasonable child I have had the displeasure of conversing with.]” Damian’s eyes widened in surprise. It seems the assumed hatred was mutual. You watch as he folds his face back into a glower, not quite fast enough to evade your attention but certainly fast enough to fool the untrained eye. Unfortunately for him, you’re used to the acrobatics of faces, the chaotic cacophony of microexpression. Most people in your life are, after all, awful at broadcasting their feelings even when it was sorely needed. This is probably why you gravitated to Dick so easily. The man believed in openness, in communication.

Distantly, you can hear the woman across from you tap her foot impatiently against the carpet. A flick of your eye tells you she was sneering at both of you likely eavesdropping (and failing) on your conversation. Why she needs to know what you and a ten-year-old with a stick up his ass were talking about you weren’t sure. Damian turns his head slightly towards you, angling his chin upward to mask the uncertainty in his posture. “[If you must know, he-]”

“Gypsies”

The syllables ring like a loud staccato of gunshots despite how quietly she’d hissed it. You freeze. You can feel Damian stiffen right beside you. Understanding flowed into you molten and bubbling. You feel your throat itch, unkind words coalescing into a lump in your throat. You turn your body to Damian who was now still but you can feel the anger wicking off him. You sling your arm over the head of the chair behind him drawing his attention back to you.

He arches a brow at you, challenging. The expression falters when the next few words leave your mouth.

“[You’re off the hook.]”

Principal Jameson is a nasally man. It isn’t his anything to do with his voice. Though, you would be remiss to say that his voice was pleasant. You’re actually half tempted to turn your bad ear on him, block out the words coming from him but that would negate the point of you coming here. His voice isn’t that unpleasant but his entire demeanor rubbed you the wrong way. You’ve seen jellyfish with more backbone than this man. Then again, this might just be a by-product of your presence. Dick, and several other batbrats, have helpfully informed you that you were in fact pants pissing scary to civilians. You would like to say you couldn’t see it but standing in front of this man it was clear as day.

“Y/n L/n,” you offer congenially. His shoulders ease a fraction but did not offer you a hand. You smother a sigh before offering an additional “I believe Mr.Grayson-Wayne had informed you that I would be coming in his stead to discuss this-” Shit show, your mind supplies but thankfully, your mouth was quick enough to bite it back. “- incident.” Beside you Damian scoffed. You stop yourself from kicking the kid because that really would not do.

“Yes, well, Ma’am your-” Jameson halts frankly unsure of your relationship to Damian because of course, Dick would leave the leg work to your socially allergic ass. You make a mental note to kick him later. “- charge.” you supply, feeling a modicum of sympathy for the drowning man.Your eyes flick to Damian. His face is impassive, ire still directed at the thirteen-year-old sniveling behind his mother. The term is too cold for your taste but as of right now that’s all you were. Maybe you’ve finally found a Robin you wouldn't get attached to.

“Well, ma’am, you see your charge, Damian, he’s punched another student and has yet to even apologize. He even started a full on brawl.”

“Mhmm, I see,” you drawl tilting your head. You feel Damian stiffen at the ease of your response. You don’t have to look at his face to know that he was glaring at you with something in his eyes withering from the betrayal. The woman across from nods agreeably as if you had said something sensible. Jameson for his part nearly sighs with relief. You click your teeth a little irritable from their responses but more fascinated than anything. ‘I see’ is barely an answer but they each filled in the gaps with their own assumptions. “And has that young man over there apologized for what he said to Damian? Or for the lump on Damian’s head? Surely, you sent Damian to the clinic as well.” you voice out looking as scandalized as possible.

The room froze.

Your eyes will probably roll into the back of your head before your meeting is done. Judging from Jameson’s posture, they didn’t. They should have at least checked if the kid had a concussion. A familiar sort of ire rose in you. Oh boy, you’re going to have a field day with these people. You sigh in exasperation before continuing. “Not only did you neglect to send him to the clinic to check on the lump on his head, but you were also planning to let the other boy off the hook?” you accuse, voice rising with some effort. Your voice has a tendency to draw low when your temper is flaring. It’s an intimidation tactic you'd learned from a while ago. It would probably be ill advised to use it on a man who looked like he was a second away from a heart attack.

Jameson leans forward, reaching out appeasingly.“Ma’am, we-”

“From what I recall, Gotham Academy has a strict zero tolerance policy on derogatory language, does it not?” You cut him off, voice suddenly vicious. You shift your body in front of Damian putting yourself between him and everyone else in the room. He bristles at the gesture but you and your habits aren’t exactly concerned with his pride.

“Ma’am I-“

“I rest my case. Please, feel free to contact Mr.Grayson-Wayne if you have more to say.” You settle a hand on Damian’s shoulder. You’re surprised he didn’t fight you or swat your hand away. Taking it as permission, you pull him closer to you as you leave the red faced woman and the paling man gob smacked and silent. Damian himself doesn’t make the sound as you made your way down the hall. You squeeze his shoulder gently hoping it comes across as a reassuring gesture. His posture does not loosen but you do not let him stray from you. You close your eyes as the elevator doors shut.

“I did not require your assistance.”

“I know.” Of course, he doesn’t. He is a Robin and an Al Ghul but that doesn’t mean he isn’t gonna get it. You drum your fingers against the steering wheel, the dull beat only serving to irritate your nerves. You swear the traffic in Gotham was somehow infinitely worse than everywhere else in the world even with working traffic lights. Maybe that’s why there were so many crazy people here. Maybe Bruce should have invested his money on better roads. Maybe-

Your eyes slide towards Damian who is somehow shrinking and pressing into the side door. Still, his face is twisted skeptically and braced for a continuation to your statement. You looked heavenward not even hiding the weariness in your smile. The brat is truly a bat-- suspicion and all. You turn your body towards him, opening up your posture. You fold your leg and rest your chin on your arm. Damian meets your gaze head on, looking imperious as he crosses his arms over his chest. His posture is artificial, probably uncomfortable from the weight of your attention.

You roll your shoulders and reshape your features, reconfiguring yourself from understanding to teasing. “I know. I know but you see, they needed telling off and your tiny gremlin ass isn’t scary enough. And, I promise I won’t tell Dickolas that you defended him so vehemently.” you wink, a conspiratorial grin spreading across your face. Damian straightens, his body is bowed like he was about to spring for your throat but the shape his limbs took on was more natural and seemingly relaxed. The knot in your shoulder loosens. You reach over and ruffle his hair again. He really is still a kid. You stare each other down. Your smile is as unwavering as his glower.

Both of your stomachs grumble. The sound was loud and abrasive in the closed space of the car. You check your watch and hum, shifting back into your seat. Wordlessly, you switch on your signal light.

You leaf through the pages of the thoroughly used book in your hands, eyes skimming through the blocks of texts not really absorbing any of it. You never really found the appeal in fiction. The stories are too neat compared to what you experienced daily. You suppose there is simplicity in them but you find that in nonfiction, the kind of books that explained the mechanics of things. They made sense of the world and were much more useful in your opinion. You’re much more interested in the messy scribbles on the margins, the etchings of a loud mind on yellowing pages. Jason’s notes were written in the same tone of voice he used when he spoke, deceptively layman but upon further inspection was frighteningly insightful. You smile at the little comments and complaints, the snarky little remarks. Remnants of the little boy he had been before. You frowned. You should probably give this back to him once you have the chance and maybe come up with some excuse of why you still have it. Or you can just keep it.

You look up at Damian who is drumming his fingers impatiently against the lacquered table. His posture is artificially relaxed, likely something he learned from the league or maybe all nervous gremlins do it. You look down at the book again. The sight reminds you of Jay. You tip your head, the loud thunk of your skull is felt more than heard since it was your bad ear that is pressed against the glass. The sound startles Damian who was deep in thought. You hold out the book to him. He must be bored waiting for your order. He pointedly ignores you.

"I don't need that childish drivel." He snipes. You click your teeth feeling a little defensive of the book.

You sound exactly like your grandfather, you think but have enough sense to keep it to yourself. No child needs to be compared to Ra's Al Ghul even if he is a brat.

"Not a fan of-" You look at the book's spine and frown. "-Robert Stevenson?" What kind of dork reads Robert Stevenson for fun? Oh wait, it's the same dork that quotes Shakespeare while bashing heads.

"I have no need for such things."

Of course, he didn’t.

"No, I suppose you don't need anything with the actual text but the margins are quite fascinating." You hold out the book to him again. His eyebrows shoot up looking at you skeptically as he reaches for it. There is no actual written indication that it was Jay's and the kid likely hasn't spent enough time with Jay to actually tell from the way it's written. You look out the window to turn your good ear to him, listening for any reactions he might have. Every now and then you hear a huff of amusement. You smother the smile threatening to form on your lips with your hand.

"Well, the person who owned this certainly had a lot to say." Damian says carefully, handing the book back.

"Jay really was a mouthy kid."

Damian looks at you, little face scrunching up in confusion. You suddenly notice just how easily the booth swallows him up. Why is he so tiny? "If this is Todd's, why do you have it?"

You clasp the book in your hands, your thumb tracing over the creases. "He leant me this book shortly before he died. He-- Well, I told him that I wasn't fond of adventure stories. I prefer books about science and culture. They're much more useful, yanno?" Damian gives a slight nod. You relax into your seat with his understanding. "Well, he thought it was just that I've never read a good one so he gave me this one. Never quite finished it though." you admit a little sheepish after realizing just how sentimental you felt. Your eyes trace over Damian's expression. It's clear that the sentimentality bled through your words and some childish part of you winces at the vulnerability of it. Damian says nothing and doesn't even sneer in derision.

You hum, the tune musical but offkey. “Jason, actually did what you did today awhile ago.” Just like that you begin down a rabbit hole telling the little gremlin about all the stupid shit the older bats have gotten into. And oh boy, there’s a lot.

“So do either of you want to explain what happened and why GAs headmaster called me sounding like he was gonna piss himself?”

“Hmmm, probably not ” you say around your spoonful of mahalabia, not even looking up from your book. Hilariously enough, Damian had also elected to leave Dick’s presence unacknowledged and busy with his own mahalabia. Dick scoot into your side of the booth, purposefully squishing you against the wall with a shiteating grin. He loops his arm around you and pulls you closer, planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek. You blanch and push half heartedly at his chest as he laughs. That laugh makes your heart warm and a relenting smile spreads across your features softening them. Your body twitches forward to kiss but you still when Dick freezes instead you plant a kiss on his cheek as well. Dick relaxes at the familiarity of it and you two settle down.

Damian stares at both of you befuddled. A heat creeps up your cheeks realizing that Dick is practically sitting on you. Dick, on the other hand, seems perfectly content with your current lack of personal space, so you leave it alone despite the incredulous look Damian is giving both of you. Dick snatches up your spoon taking a heap from your dessert. You make an offended noise in the back of your throat which he simply answers with another broad smile. Your lip twitches uncontrollably and your shoulders go slack.

“So what happened?”

You and Damian exchange a look. Damian rolls his eyes at you and you shrug at him performatively. “Nothing.” you two say in a chorus of nonchalance. It only succeeds in annoying Dick, so it was partially successful.

Dick pouts taking another bite of your desert. You stare in disbelief as the grownass man sitting next to you attempts to give you the puppy dog eyes as he eats your desert. You sign on exasperation because it's working and the bastard knows it. Richard John Grayson-Wayne is a manipulative asshole and you are a certified sucker.

You turn to Damian pleadingly begging him to please either help you or end you. Instead, he simply looks the two as if searching for an answer to a question forming in his mind. You run your hand over your face ready to concede when something clicks.

"Man-Bat got into GA and Damian fought him off." you say, praying Dick would catch on to the game. For a terrifying moment, he doesn’t. He blinks at you in confusion and your stomach sinks then a smile slowly spreads across his face lighting up every feature. Your heart swells at the sight.

"Bullshit. What was Man-Bat doing in GA?"

"Dunno,maybe bullying students. I don't know what bat creatures get up to." you say grinning. The picture becomes clear from every outlandish story. To your surprise, Damian joins in with a few vague details of his own giving even more details than you'd initially gathered.

Lunch passes pleasantly with outlandish stories and good food.

“NEWS: Dick Grayson-Wayne, New Face of Wayne Enterprises, Caught in a Torrid Love Affair with a Mystery Woman. Who Could this Exotic Beauty Be?”

“NEWS: Young Wayne Heir Being Extorted by Mystery Woman?”

“NEWS: Wayne Heir with Secret Family?”

Dick wants to evaporate somehow. He stares at the headlines mortified beyond what he ever thought possible. Maybe the floor will be merciful and it’ll finally swallow him as Jason reads another headline in a ridiculous newsreel voice.

“No, no wait. This one is fucking priceless!”

“Jason, please, I am begging you. STOP.” Dick whines, his face flattening against his work table. Tim shrugs, an amused smile adorns his face. Dick is going to scream. “Tim, please please please, make him stooop.” Tim ignores Dick in favor of scrolling through his own tablet looking, frankly unsympathetic.

“Oh a tryst!”

“Jason, you are making it sound so much worse.”

“Dunno, big bird, some of these make it sound like you fucked her over a table in the restaurant.” Jason watches in absolute delight as his older brother attempts to merge with the work bench, the tanned skin of his neck and ears burning a bright shade of crimson. Tim snickers, unhelpfully. Dick loved that his younger brothers were getting along for once. He just hated that for some reason they just had to be united against him. “All I did was kiss her on the cheek and eat her food.”

Jason gasps theatrically, feigning fainting. “Premarital kissing?! Dick, how could you? What’s next? Premarital hand holding? Think of the children.” Jason exclaims, dramatically pointing to Damian who at this point had been ignoring the ruckus Jason was causing.

“Jason, you’re awful and you’re being extremely dramatic.”

“Dick, you don’t exactly have any room to talk in that department.”

“Yeah, Mr. Pretty Man Down, Baby Bird has a point.” Jason says smugly as he offers Tim a fist bump which Tim reciprocates by shaking Jason's fist, a joking smile on his face. Jason snorts as if getting the joke or whatever movie reference this was from.

Tim's face folds into a barely held back smile. The laughter bubbling in the back of his throat straining his features. “I will say it is really funny that they didn’t recognize Damian.”

“You know how they are. They probably came up with something like the whole Damian being Bruce’s kid was actually just a cover up for Dick.” Somewhere in the background Damian makes a very displeased noise but Dick can't be bothered to lift his head to check.

“Please no. That doesn’t even-”

“Here’s one, NEWS: Dick Grayson-Wayne’s Baby Mama? Who is this mysterious woman?” Tim reads out flatly.

“The PR team is going to kill me. No, wait. Y/n is going to kill me first.”

“She won’t. She probably finds this hilarious.”

“How would she even find this funny?”

“Well, she does enjoy your suffering- Oh shit. This one might piss her off.” Jason clears his throat, sliding back into the newsreel voice. “DICK GRAYSON, HANDSOME PLAYBOY - WITH YET ANOTHER GIRLFRIEND - WILL HE EVER SETTLE DOWN?”

Dick is half tempted to throw his own tablet at the wall. What did he do to deserve this? You certainly don’t.

“Hey, at least, they called you handsome.” Tim laughs placatingly. It doesn’t work, of course.

Dick looks up at his little brother ruefully. “Oh yeah because the stuff about my looks was definitely the issue.”

“Well considering your morning routine...”

“I haven’t even been on a date so who are these other girlfriends?!”

“Well, me and Jason thought the same thing.” Tim shoots down sneering. When did his sweet baby brother turn to the dark side? Likely, Jason’s influence but deep down he knows Tim has always been capable of evil. Jason is cackling proudly.

“I don't see why you're concerning yourself with this drivel.” Damian says, swiping the tablet right in front of Dick forcing him to look up. Dick smiles at him wearily. “Dami, it’s a little hard when a photo of me kissing y/n on the cheek is plastered everywhere with weird headlines.” Damian tilts his head considering it but he shakes his head muttering something about pointlessness.

“Goddammit, Disco Stick!” The sound of your voice ringing out into the bunker sends their banter crashing to a halt. Dick feels his heart jump to his throat. He-- This was how he was going to die and for once he wasn’t sure he deserved it or not. You stand at the doorway haloed in bright light. At least, his angel of death would be the prettiest one, he thinks-- all the oxygen leaving his lungs.

Crumpled in your fist was a newspaper. Dick can feel his brothers take a step back as you draw near. Your footfalls were as steady as a pulse which made Dick’s own heart rate ratchet up. Your face is carefully impassive the way it always is when your anger was dosed with something else. Dick is sincerely hoping Jason is right about you being amused by the headlines.

You stop in front of him, eyes narrowed and jaw tight. You glower down at him frankly looking murderous before you snort and your face breaks into a smile. The thick tension in the air dissipates and the room releases its collective breath. The smile on your face grows even brighter. Nope, this is how Dick dies, his breath catching in his lungs as his mind fizzes out from the sight of your smile.

“I’m sorry?” Dick lifts himself off the table just barely, still bracing for any sudden wave of anger that will, justifiably, roll over you at some point.

You lean your body on to the spot next to him, letting the table support your weight. Straightening the newspaper in your hands, you frown. “I look terrible in this.”

“You look beautiful.” Dick blurts out. You raise your brow at him incredulously. Jason folds over trying to hold back laughter, his shoulders trembling. Tim just shrinks from second hand embarrassment.

“No, she is correct. She looks repulsive.” Damian says flatly as he snatches the paper from you.

You let out a breathy laugh. “To be fair, anyone would look repulsive next to professional pretty boy Dickie Wayne.” There was no sharpness in your teasing. You look at the photo over Damian’s shoulder. It was a cute photo actually. Dick’s arm loops around your shoulder as he gives you a kiss on your cheek as Damian blanches at Dick’s very public display of affection. It was hilariously easy to see where they got the idea that you two were a couple. You weren’t. You haven’t been for awhile. The thought wrenches something a dull ache inside you. You flatten your lips preventing the edges from dipping into a frown.

A look crosses between Jason and Tim. Tim leans over, asking in a hushed whisper, “I thought they were back together.”

“Dunno they act like it.” Jason shrugs watching your movement. As if to prove his point, you and Dick lean into each other’s space as you bicker about the merits of Gothamite photographers. Jason is half tempted to shove you two together.

“What are you two talking about?” You ask, finally leaning away from Dick.

“Nothing-”

“They were pondering the state of your relationship. I myself have been pondering it.”

For a moment, your eyes meet. For a moment, you are back in a drab hotel in Moscow. For a moment, you are crying your heart out in his arms trying to push him away.

You click your teeth and stare Damian in the eyes not entirely sure what kind of emotions they were betraying. “We were a thing.” Damian’s brow shoots up. You hear someone’s hand slap against their forehead.

You flush wanting to disappear but hold your stance. You hear Dick chuckle beside you as he stands shoulder to shoulder with you. Something in you eases with the closeness, like a gap being filled. “We used to be a couple.” Dick supplies, saving you from your flailing. You tap your finger against the back of his hand as a silent thank you. He taps yours twice in reciprocation. You look down trying to hide a smile.

Jason and Tim look at each other again and nod.

“We should probably go.” Jason says carrying Damian under his arm.

“Todd, unhand me! We are not done here!”

“We’ll see you two later.” Tim waves giving Dick a knowing smile. Dick’s heart jumps up to his throat while his stomach drops to the floor. Is this really the time for his brother’s to play cupid?

You lean in, letting your body press into Dick’s side as you listen to their footsteps fade away. Your head settling on his shoulder hand bracing you against the workbench. You let the stillness settle and make everything around you more solid.

Dick shifts a bit, his fingers lacing in with yours. The gesture makes your heart twinge, the chasm in your chest yawning with longing. You swallow. The air is thick with unspoken words like smoke clogging up your lungs. You think that if you could just pluck the right one out of thin air, you could clear the air.

‘I love you’ itches in the back of your throat but what right did you have to say that to him even after all this time.

Beside you, Dick is smiling and relishing your presence. The silver glint of your earring winking at him from beneath your hair. He had gotten you that on your first date, a little souvenir you got to commemorate the occasion.

Dick pivots in front of you making your breath catch. His free hand brushing your hair behind your ear revealing the silver robin on your ear. Silver robins. You had at the time laughed at the absurdity of it but here they were years later. Dick’s hands settle on either side of you boxing you in against the table. Even when he’s got you trapped like this, you feel at ease knowing Dick would never hurt you. Dick leans his forehead against yours, his fingers still intertwined with yours. Your pulse is loud in your ears. You lean your forehead against his, eyes sliding close soaking up the contact.

“It’s always been you.” Dick says breathlessly. The words do not register, too dreamlike in their conception. You always hoped and wished that you could take it back, that you had never left, that he would love you the same way he did before but you were never foolish enough to hold on to things like that with both hands. Yet here Dick was whispering things that you only let yourself dream of.

“It’s always been you.” He repeats as if the repetition could make it more real. You swallow the lump in your throat trying to find your voice but you’re afraid that once you speak, the room would catch fire and the dream would dissolve into harsh reality.

Dick gently cups your face and for a moment you let yourself be lost in the sea of blue. The stinging in your eyes makes you blink even if you don’t want to. You lick your lips as if somewhere on them were the right words.

You can’t even fathom the combination of words that could encapsulate the cocktail of longing and love you felt for him.

Your tongue darts out, wetting your bottom lip as your eyes focus on his lips. You swallow again your throat feeling thick even as you lean into his space, pushing off the work bench. Your nose rubbing against his, his long lashes fluttering against your cheek and tickling your skin. Dick leans in, his lips on yours, the pressure barely enough to make contact. You twitch forward, lips melting against his. The world around you stills and disintegrates leaving only him in its wake.

The kiss is all tender softness, a promise of love and loyalty quietly exchanged between you. A delicate push and pull. Undemanding yet uncompromising in its gentle intensity.

You both pull back, only barely. Your skins still thrum with hunger for contact. Dick leans in again, his lips brushing against yours making them tingle at the sensation. Murmured breaths exchanged between you. This time you both find the right words.

Dick turning to reader seeing the familiar glint of her earing

“I still love you.”

--------------------

I was thinking it was just them in the cave standing next to each others fingers twining with each other leaning into each other's space

he brushes the strands of her hair away

After brushing her hair away he presses his forehead against hers and he just kind of comes out with it

like he'd been holding back on saying it but couldn't anymore

Why not have the reader do something like this?

What if she nudges her nose against his? Or rubs her nose against his, like an Eskimo kiss? And it’s silent, her eyelashes flutter against his cheek. They say in Inuit, when you feel eyelashes stroke on your skin like that, it’s a way of saying “I love you” without actually saying it.

And maybe Dick knows that? Without her actually saying the words and he just smiled and captures her lips in a delicate kiss. And when they pull back, they both say it at the same time against each other’s lip, all hushed and murmured?

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Thanks for reading!

Taglist: @batarella , @anothertimdrakestan , @lucy-roo , @multifandomgirl-us , @idkmanicantenglish ,@birdy-bat-writes , @boosyboo9206 , @americasmarauders , @l-inkage , @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay , @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #dick grayson x you #dick grayson imagine #Damian Wayne #batboys x reader #batfamily x reader #damian wayne x sister!reader #dc x reader #dc reader insert #merc!reader

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hotchscvm · 3 years

Text

prologue [dirty secrets]

Summary: At 17, you witnessed your father murdered by vampires. Two men save you, taking you in. But the hard part is, you were thinking about them a little too much.

Series warnings: underage reader, consensual underage sex, explicit sexual content, underage drinking, language, violence, gore, angst, major character death, major age difference, size kink, unprotected sex

Word count: 2.4k

dirty secrets masterlist

Taking a sip of the cooler, you relaxed in the lounge chair, feeling the sun beat down on your skin, relishing in the summer heat. Ariana Grande sang in your ear, the upbeat music hyping you up as you laid beside the pool, watching you skin sizzle underneath the bright sun. The pool sparkled in front of you, the waves of light bouncing off the water. If anything, it was heaven.

A much needed rest, a summer break was exactly what you had awaited for a week ago after a few days of stressing about finals had been worth it. Sitting on the pool deck, you let the hot, humid air consume you, enjoying the unauthorized alcohol you held. You knew your dad was around the house somewhere, probably in his office working like a madman, but you gave up trying to get him to relax after he incoherently mumbled something about a meeting with a Zuckerberg. You hadn't want to get anywhere near that alien.

A few messages from a group chat had showed up on your lock screen before you had enough of the interruptions, and put your phone on silent, listening to the music as you read the book splayed across your lap.

The adorable Doberman laying beside your legs perked up as you turned the page of Anna Karenina, the dog turning his head, looking at the glass door behind you, barking at the commotion in the spacious living room. Draco got up, waiting for you to follow him.

You heaved a sigh, taking off the AirPods you had implanted in your ear, and ear-marked the page on your book. As you got up you looked through the glass wall, spotting two suited men entering the gigantic entrance, talking to your dad. Draco scratched at the glass door, and you walked over to it, opening the door for the dog.

The three of them looked up, watching Draco run up to the men in excitement, wiggling his tail as he jumped on the taller man, whimpering to be pet. Before anyone could react, you cursed, running after Draco with only your hot pink bikini on. "Shit! Sorry, he gets really excited."

Your father threw you a look, and you rolled your eyes at her, not caring about the swearing while the shaggy-haired man lets out a chuckle, petting the Doberman's head. "It's okay. Hi, buddy."

"Agent." his green-eyed partnered interrupted, letting out a cough as if to break his partner from the puppy trance. Green Eyes' eyes shifted to you for half a second, quickly noticing you were practically naked. He had an edge to him, a frat-boy sort of vibe as he looked around the spacious living room, his light brown hair pushed back into a clean hairstyle.

"Pumpkin, this is Agent Stark," he gestured to Green Eyes, then at the tall man who was still petting Draco before reaching into his pocket to reveal a badge, Gibbons following his actions. "and Agent Banner."

Dread ran through your veins, and you tensed up at the mention of the FBI. For no particular reason, you went through all the slightly illegal things you had ever done in the past seventeen years, quickly trying to come up with reasonable excuses for why you did them; including drinking the cooler you had previously held. But then realization washed through you, the FBI wouldn't send their agents for the small things, right?

With an arched eyebrow, you slowly took back your dog, a small smile resting on Banner's lips. "Like the Avengers?"

Genuine surprise flashed across Stark's face, an impressed look twinkling in his eyes as he took you in. A smack on his partner's arm, he smiled, his husky voice piercing the room. "Exactly like the Avengers."

Banner rolled his eyes, putting his golden badge back in his suit. Something about him pulled you in, maybe it was the amount of grief in his eyes that you related to or the way he carried himself. If only you were one year older. "Mr. Pierce, we'd like to ask you a couple of questions about your business associate, Andrew Daniels."

Your dad nodded, motioning for the agents to sit on the couch, doing so himself. Turning to you, he murmured, "Sweetheart, why don't you get dressed and take Draco on a walk?"

"Actually, we'd like to Ms. Pierce, too." Stark interjected, his green eyes meeting yours. To say you wanted both of them was the understatement of the year, trying to hold yourself back from flirting with a Federal agent. "If you don't mind."

"Of course not. Lemme just put something on and I'll be right back." you replied, walking back outside to put on the dress you had abandoned on the chair next to yours. You heard the low voices as you returned back, sitting on the leather recliner, across from the two agents, Draco sitting beside your feet.

"...and when was the last time you heard from Mr. Daniels?" Agent Banner asked, glancing at you as you sat down, giving you a quick smile.

"Several years ago. Unfortunately, we didn't end on the best of terms. We started the company but he left due to his wife's death, and gave me free reins. After a few years, I got a break and I think he resented me for having the life he lost." said your father, slowly shaking his head, glancing at you. "His son had died in a car accident shortly after his wife's passing; it was too much for Andy, and he snapped. He came into my office one day, started accusing me for stealing the life he planned, threatened to take my daughter. I had no choice but to call security and press charges."

The two agents shared a look, an understanding falling over them. Stark cleared his throat, his Adam Apple bobbing. "Other than that accident, has he done anything violent or threatening to you or your family?"

"Not that I know of. After that incident, I made sure there was always someone by my daughter's side, but she proved well enough she could take care of herself." the businessman gleamed with pride at you, the only family he had left. You gave him a small grin, rolling your eyes at the sentiment. "That was the last time we ever spoke. You're free to look around here or my building if you want."

Agent Banner nodded, clasping his hands together. "Would you mind showing my partner your office while I talk to Ms. Pierce?"

"Not at all." your father stood up, Stark mirroring his actions. Side-stepping the glass table, your dad motioned for the green-eyed man to follow him. "Right this way, Agent."

As they climbed up the glass stairs, you turned your attention back to the chestnut-haired agent, wishing you could make a deal with the devil to have him lock his lips with yours. Draco prowled over to him, unexpectedly jumping on his lap, the Doberman's head itching to be petted. You both laughed at his enthusiasm.

"I think that's my fault. I've been so busy lately I forgot to show my baby some love." you claimed, staring at the touch-starved dog as he was petted by the nice—and sexy—agent.

"Don't blame yourself too much. He's still a puppy and they're always so energetic." Banner replied, his lips pulling at the corner, as if he was one joke away from laughing. The sunlight reflected off the concrete from the pool deck hit his face at just the right angle to see the pool of brown swimming in his hazel eyes. "Um, what do you remember about Andrew Daniels?"

"Not much." you shrugged, trying to remember as much as you could about the man. You held up the angel wings that hung around your neck, showing him the diamond necklace. "He got me this when I was, like, three. I think that was the last time I saw him. My memory is a little blurry but he was nice. My dad told me that his wife died giving birth and his daughter died with her."

His brows furrowed, his lips turning down into a frown. The agent tilted his head. "How old are you, Ms. Pierce?"

"Seventeen," you answered, grabbing the glass of water your father had laid out on the table. Agent Banner watched your chug it down. "Can I ask what happened? Did he go missing or something?"

"We're not sure what exactly happened, but we think Mr. Daniels could be a suspect in a crime we're investigating. From what we've gathered, neither you or you father are in any danger. Yet. He seems to be straying from the city." Agent Banner informed. He continued to pet the Doberman, amused by the dog's panting. "You won't have to worry, your father's security was hard enough to pass that you'll be protected if he does come. If you don't feel safe, or you remember some more information, give me a call."

He reached in his suit pocket, placing the blank piece of paper on the table as he grabbed the pen beside the vase of Rosas. He scribbled a ten digits on the paper before handing it to you. Your nails slightly grazed his knuckles as you reached for it, clenching it in your fist prior to stuffing it in your phone case. "Thanks."

"Are you okay, Ms. Pierce?"

"Not really. You'd think by now I'd be used to this kind of stuff but—" you began, cutting yourself off before you could reveal the traumas you went through. But the hazel-eyed agent caught on, an eyebrow rising in interest. You wave it away, telling him your name. "You don't have to call me Ms. Pierce."

"Alright." he nodded, his lips curving as he said your name. You bit back a giggle, loving the way your name sounded on his lips. You could only imagine how his partner would sound.

Your father and Agent Stark returned, making the agent in front of you get up. Draco returned to you, a whine leaving his snout at the absence of the friendly FBI agent. Focusing your attention on the dog, you barely heard them wrap up their little interrogation, petting Draco long enough to almost miss Agent Banner giving your dad a business card.

"If he reaches out, or if you need any kind of help, call us." Agent Stark muttered, seemingly unsatisfied by what he had uncovered. Both agents gave you a nod as they were led to the door by your father.

Confused by the questions and, overall, the situation, you stood, waiting until the FBI agents had backed out of the gigantic, gated driveway in their black Impala before following your father to the kitchen. When neither of you said anything, the silence grew deafening enough for you to speak up.

"Dad, you okay? You look very tense, and a little constipated." you murmured, more worried about your father's health than what the Feds had brought up. He nodded, waving away the question while he got himself a beer from the fridge. You sighed. "It'll be okay. You have a shit ton of security here."

"That's not what I'm worried about, pumpkin." he mumbled, ruffling your hair as he passed by. You followed him through the living room, once again waiting for him to explain. He watched Draco snuggle against your leg, the knee length dress hovering over the dog's head. "I've— I need to make a few calls and then head to the office. You stay in the house until this situation gets cleared up, you understand? Don't you dare leave this property until Andrew Daniels is in cuffs."

You blanched, surprised by the sudden strictness. Over the years, you had free reign on your whereabouts and even your activities, and you father had never commented about it unless it had been really unsafe. But you couldn't see the immediate danger of the current situation and this Andrew guy didn't seem to be a serial killer by the nonexistent murders on the news. "You're fucking with me."

"No, and I mean it. You're not going to that bonfire tonight, or shopping tomorrow. Cancel your plans for the rest of the week 'cause you're staying inside, you understand?" he instructed, taking his phone out of his pocket.

Reaching out, you grabbed his phone, drawing his attention back to you. Your complaint came out sounding a lot more of a whine than you had wished. "No, I'm not. You're overreacting, and I'm going to that bonfire."

"The hell you are." said your father, crossing his arms, a stern look etched on his face. You challenged him, raising a brow. "You're staying in, watch some movies, invite anyone you want but you're not leaving this house. Not tonight."

"No."

"I'm not asking."

"Good thing I'm not listening." you snapped back, giving him back his phone, shoving it into his hands as you walked past him, practically storming away. "I'm going to that party, and you can't stop me. But have fun trying, daddy."

The CEO crumbled, unable to grow a pair of balls to stand up to his stubborn daughter. After all, you were his soft spot that he sometimes considered a weakness. He sighed, groaning in defeat. "Fine. Fine. Give me your phone."

Reluctantly, you handed your phone over, your curiosity growing as he took out the business card from the Feds. He looked back and forth between the screen and the paper, his finger tapping away at the screen. After a minute, he gave the phone back, the new contact information staring at you. You arched an eyebrow, seeing the agents' names on the screen.

"Really?" you questioned, reading the number.

He nodded. "You already have Edgar's number, but in the off chance he doesn't come, call them. And stay away from Matt Burke's kid."

"Jesus." you sighed, unable to sass back as he answered an incoming phone call. The phone in your hand vibrated, a text notification popping up. You swiped the banner up, too annoyed to text back when you saw the number. Taking out the paper you stuffed in your phone case, you opened it, comparing the numbers written on the paper and the ones typed on the contact information of business card Agent Banner had given your father.

It was different. You ignored the possible theories as you threw the piece of paper on the glass table. It had to been a simple mistake, after all, they did have the same area code.

With Draco by your side, you went back outside, taking off the dress to continue sizzling your skin. In the midst of the loud music playing in your ears and reading the spicy novel that you had forgotten your curiosity on what Andrew Daniels could possibly have done.

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clavis-baby · 3 years

Text

The (possible) Downfall of Obey Me

5-16-21 (when writing this the event toys out)

(Tbh this post is just be trying to be naïve towards Solomare and at ever aspectthat I mention you have every single right to be upset and mad)

Okay so it’s no secret that Obey me is making bank and is very very obviously trying to make us money on the game with even trying to make us spend money with original stuff that was free to now secretly changing some mechanics behind our back

Here’s a post by @thalfox https://thalfox.tumblr.com/post/653994972840919040/i-just-noticed-a-little-bit-ago-that-the-barbatos that dose a really good job at explaining everything that has changed

(also this isn’t a hate thing fox has actually done a great work explaining everything to good detail of what has changed)

With all the changes I don’t think that it’s shocking to say that players are leavening the fandom because of many reasons to the games getting stupidly harder to even the game development

This is just a heads up this in no way is a post saying “hey this is why you shouldn’t feel this way” I kinda just wanted to see from a business standpoint and be naïve of what’s happening you have every reason to be mad at Solomare because even me I’ve been playing sense week 2 of game released and I’m only on lesson 42 every counter argument that I’m going to make I have complained about at some point

Arguments

(P.s grammar is really bad it’s sort of turned into more of a rant I wrote this at 5 am without any sleep so sorry)

1. Obey me is marketed as a free to play game

First there are many reasons people are mad this main thing that I hear about is from a lot of people is that is a “free game” which lets be honest is ridiculously hard

But still it is still essentially a “free to play game” I personally feel like the main prolog is lessons 1-20 to introduce all the characters to understand and getting the just on how to play the game

Okay and now here’s where I sort of stand with obey me, the gatcha rates are kinda ridiculously lucky when you play for the first week you luck is so amazing and is in my experience with gatchas the best luck I have ever seen for games so it’s not really hard collecting the cards

Now are they the best absolutely no, this I feel like is where you might have to spend money unless they up the skills on the Nightmare A

But what Obey me is technically trying to do is obviously making you pay by releasing your favorite demon card every 2 week which…aren’t essential they are really just hoping that you love your main demon enough to pay

With the high increase on the gatcha rate there really isn’t a pity unless you count the card pieces (but I’m not going to count that because you are more likely to roll your UR before completing the pieces)

Now after lesson 20 once the huge break I feel like Obey me almost expecting the players to keep logging in any doing jobs and some players did do that and boy did it pay off

But those players have not needed to spend a single dollar and are all caught up

Now for everyone else who didn’t the game was so difficult it’s unimaginable and because for that a whole lot of players left the game and personally I don’t blame them because of how much impact the next lessons were

Now sort of like Mystic Messenger you really just have to grind you ass off log in everyday and do JOBS :D and grind but as hard and long as it is you are still able to be a f2p but where obey me fails is that when grinding Mystic Messenger grinding was a lot more fun for me it took about a whole year to just get 550 hourglasses even when I purchased and same with Genshin Inpact it takes a while but with obey me there isn’t really anything else to do once you get to a certain point which I think obey me really lacks and could be part of a reason why people left. Grinding just is not fun (now I do think that on a phone there is so much you can do with a app game but I feel like there could be a bit more they could do)

Personally I’m just going to come out and say it don’t spend your money for one UR card for your favorite demon it’s really not worth it now im one of those Mammon stans but if I ever wanted a specific card for instance the Mammon bunny card when it first came out I wanted it so badly and didn’t get it but I also knew there would eventually be a revival so I saved and did not spend any DV(demon vouchers) until the revival

The events

Some people complain about getting the cards in the events onestly for me this one kinda makes a bit of sense I noticed the first change when the Vampire even came out and how it wasn’t as easy to get the second card but if you think of it it makes sence why

When the first event came out (Santa event) you only had to collect about 30,000 gingerbread compared to the 100,000 in event today but when the first event came out no one was at high enough levels for the AP required and you would every day when times rest to gain gingerbread as well as there was only one part to the story so when people kept leveling up their AP Obey Me had to higher the bar so it wouldn’t be so easy to get all these cards and have a actual reward system but eventually they also added another story lesson starting at the Ruri Chan event

Second thing about the events is that one there started just getting plain out boring.

When lesson 20 finished and we were all waiting for season 2 I was still loving in everyday and logging in at 12 and 8 for the free 30 AP because I didn’t know what else to and would participate in the event but eventually what I think that all otome games that have constant events like Ikemen Vampire and Ikemen Revolution they just start getting repetitive and getting real boring so I stoped playing until there was something more interesting

The last thing that some people complain about the events is that you can’t keep up with the story and the events now I can’t find it but I believe that @0beyme said something about the events a long time ago about how you have to pick between the event and moving through the main story which I kinda think isn’t really the games fault and more just a discussion on maybe missing a event

Add ons

Okay so they did this from day 1 you spend a certain amount of Devil point that you guaranteed don’t have and get out a card

Now this is just spelling out a disaster

Yeah so for the first Charge Mission is when you log in which everyone had but essentially what they want you to do is spend $100 on a game that you just logged into and never experienced or played I don’t really understand what they were even thinking with that but it must’ve worked for them to keep doing them

The second time they did it was when the break was over and season 2 came out and they celebrated by doing another charge mission which was the Lucifer and Simon card which would cost again $100 again I really don’t understand what they were thinking

And now this is I believe the fourth time they have done this for the 1.5 anniversary where they know that Mammon is obviously a favorite for many Obey Me players and where smart to put it on the really stupid charge mission but the difference is, is that instead of it costing $100 it would cost almost $200(same with Levi’s) for one thing I don’t understand

But one thing that you do have to remember is is that this isn’t apart of the main gameplay it really just is a mini game if you would even call it that of dress up and optimization so still I guess would be just a add on that has no effect on the actual story and game so you could I guess still call it a f2p game with really really stupidly high priced add ons

VIP

Umm so I am the first one to call myself out I have bought the VIP package first when season 2 happened and I knew how much I loved the game so personally it was worth it to me to support the developers and gain something out of it

Now I haven’t really seen much complaints on the VIP because people more use it as a “hey the game is impossible with out VIP” but the people who say this ive noticed never bought it

For $9.99 each month it is 100%

IT IS NOT WORTH IT!!! Out of everything you get which honestly isn’t much you get some extra free space in jobs and really that’s it and if you choose to use all your job slots for the highest paying you get around 30,500 about a 10,000 difference not really worth it in my opinion

With VIP you also get other things like higher chance of gifts from Jobs which you will not notice one bit, and +20 AP (which if you play the events is sort of useful) as well as extra packages exclusive to VIPs so after paying $9.99 per month you also get more things to buy and that’s about it for VIP now if you really want to get more grim just use your AP and spend it of normal lessons you will get more AP that way

The Story and Kids

This could be all me just complaining and a theory by I wanted to include it anyway

Obviously many people are not even caught up or even playing but as more lessons went on the less interesting the story became to me I don’t know if it’s a me thing but season one was absolutely amazing the once season two came out it was good but not anywhere as good and one

One reason why I think that it to me became almost bland is the amount of kids that is on the app and how sensitive people were if anything bad happens

It’s no secret that the Japanese versions a lot more non-kid friendly for hell’s sake the characters don’t even swear as well as all the colors I feel like to a American audience bright colors is usually marketed towards kids but in other countriesI think many understand that that is not always the case for instance a lot of people will thing in America that anime is all for kids but I mean look at Attack on Titan or Tokyo Ghoul you would not let kids watch that of literal people getting brutally murdered you just don’t see things like that in the West where something looking kid friendly could also be very adult like

Also wtf dose this in the App Store say +12 with Ikemen Vampire and a lot of other games if you have a game rated +17 then there will be a actual pop up that says something along the lines of how “thier could be violence acts and sexual act are you sure you want to instal”

Now the story I’ve seen people point this out but there isn’t really much character development for instance Beel he dose not have a actual personality his personality (fight me on this one) all you really know about him is that he likes food and his family now I could be wrong cuz I’m on lesson 42 but still not much and this is kinda with all the characters except the special ones where the devs really favor and love for story

Some one mentioned how the developers hold back a lot which I agree with 100% they said how when there is character development they all the sudden pull back and never will almost talk about it again like ???? So there’s this constant bland story

——————-

Honestly if you liked this I might do more cuz as much as this post made me especially at the end I kinda liked ranting so...yeah there is also many other things that I want to rant about but I’m tired soooo

feel free to comment your opinions btw

Bye ima go sleep now

#obey me #obey me shitpost #shall we date #shall we date lucifer #leviathan #obey me shall we date #lucifer #obey me beelzebub #shall we date mammon #obey me swd #obey me mammon #ikevamp #obey me asmodeus #obey me belphegor #shall we date belphie #belphie

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zambie-trashart · 4 years

Text

Land of the Free and Home of the Wayne pt7

previous part

masterlist

Summary: Tim takes the students on a walk around Gotham City. Not the smartest decision.

.............................

Marinette woke up at four in the morning sweating slightly and breathing heavily. She had a nightmare about Chat being taken by Hawkmoth and beaten beyond recognition and all she could do is sit there and watch as his cane came down once, twice... she got up and roamed the halls of Wayne Manor and heard laughter from a living room.

“No, no, no, you smell like fucking maple syrup you are not fucking touching me Dick!” someone from inside the room yelled.

“Give me a hug dear brother or I might just die!” another person said and a loud thump was heard. Marinette peered around the corner to see what was going on but she was going to stay out of sight. Jason was standing above Dick with his arms crossed and Dick was on the ground with an arm over his forehead dramatically. The room reeked of sugar and two other people walked out of a clock.

“Jon, you’ll give me a hug right?” Dick asked hopping up and extending his arms. Jon laughed but hugged the older boy. “See, Jon actually likes me.”

“He’d be the first,” Jason said sitting down.

“Oh yeah, good job putting out the fire there Jonno, your freezy breath really came in handy there,” Dick said patting Jon on the head.

“We should shower and change before breakfast but seriously I know that I’ve been saying this all night but a fucking maple syrup factory?” Jason got out and puffed out his chest. “All right, tonight I have a big assignment for you. You’re going to go put out this fire cause someone might have lit the old Gotham Maple Syrup Factory on fire,” Jason said doing a really bad Batman impression and Jon and Dick started laughing. “Yeah ok Bruce we’ll go put out the fire, look at who he sent to put out a fire, Golden Boy, Murderous Rage, Demon Brat, and Sunshine Child. Like what the fuck Bru...” Jason was walking though the door and saw the shadow of someone running away.

Jon walked over and heard the footsteps. “That’s not good.”

Everyone walked down for breakfast later, Marinette eyed Jon and Damian who were looking around at people seeing if anyone looked suspicious. Marinette was still putting the pieces together but there was only one thing that made sense: they had to be the Batfamily. She looked over to Dick who was talking to Kory both sitting on a counter top. He was looking around too.

Adrien walked down the stairs. He was excited to walk around Gotham but it sounded like a really bad idea. He sat down and across the table, Alya let out a frustrated growl at Lila. Jon looked over perking up a little. Alya stormed out of the room and Lila followed yelling something in Italian that made Damian, Jason, Jon, Dick, and Kory flinch. Tim walked into the room wincing slightly.

“Who peed in her cornflakes?” Tim asked and Jon got up and followed the girls.

“I can’t believe you stole my necklace from my secret admirer!” Alya yelled arms thrown up in the air.

“Whatever, if you don’t want to be my friend anymore then I’ll just have to tell Clark Kent not to put in a good word at the Daily Planet and you’ll never get a good job in reporting,” Lila said and Alya looked at her with fire in her eyes.

“That’s not fair, you can’t ruin my chances just cause you’re a spoiled brat who knows people,” Alya said crossing her arms.

“You’re gonna regret that, go crawl back to Marinette you useless pig, you’ve been draining me long enough,” Lila said and other students started to flood the lobby.

Tim was sipping the last of his coffee and threw the mug over his shoulder and Jon caught it and placed it carefully on a table. He made a motion for the students to follow outside.

“Hi, I’m Tim I’ll be your tour guide for today,” Tim said looking out at the students who followed him down the driveway and down a random street. There was a noticeable lack of Miss. Bustier and some of the students couldn’t help but be nervous about being placed in the care of a twenty-year-old caffeine addict. They had made their way to a nameless skyscraper and they stood awaiting further instruction.

“Tim, we stopped,” Jon said and Tim pulled Jon next to him.

“Alright kids, I have three rules, if you break any of them I can’t promise that your body won’t be found in a ditch being eaten by rats,” Tim said with a light smirk on his face as the students grimaced.

“What the hell Drake?” Damian asked from the back.

“Ok rule one, have a buddy. Rule two, don’t wander off. Rule three, don’t talk to or look at strangers.” Tim kept an arm around Jon. “Buddy up!” The students rushed to find a buddy. Sabrina grabbed Chloe, Nino climbed on Adrien, Nathaniel hugged Alix, Mylene ran into Ivan’s arms, Alya stood by Juleka angrily, Lila stood next to Rose smirking, and Max stood next to Kim quivering. That left Marinette and Damian, the two stood close but far enough away for some comfort room.

They started walking again and Tim and Jon were laughing arms linked at the front with Damian and Marinette making sure that no one wondered off or slowed down too much.

“Tim?” Jon asked smiling.

“What is it my good fellow?” Tim asked in a fake posh accent.

“Where are we going?” Jon asked looking down the road in front of them and then quickly behind him to see the slightly less scared students.

“To get more coffee,” Tim said pulling Jon into the Starbucks next to them. It was sizable with a good amount of booths and around five employees. “Order whatever you want, it’s on Bruce,” Tim said pulling out a card and ordering a black coffee with extra espresso. Thirty minutes, an indifferent staff, and a caffeinated class later the students were walking through the city of skyscrapers and smog. Tim was spitting facts off the top of his head with had arm reattached to Jon’s who was smiling at Tim’s horrible British accent.

They had been walking for around two hours when a man jumped out at them and demanded for money. A few students started screaming and frantically taking out their wallets. The mugger grabbed Jon and held a knife to his throat making the students panic even more. Jon rolled his eyes and stepped on the mugger’s foot making him hop back and Jon spun around hitting him in the face with a fan kick knocking him out.

Adrien was near the back standing next to Damian who put a hand on his shoulder. “I know what you’re wondering and yes, he is single,” Damian said making Adrien blush before stepping back in line with Nino.

“I can’t believe it took us two whole hours to get mugged!” Jon said hooking his arm back with Tim’s after adjusting his glasses and shirt.

“Hurry up guys, we’re approaching the best part of town!” Tim yelled pointing to an arcade which was two buildings down from the police station. “I’m going to go talk to Jim, Jon you’re in charge,” Tim said handing the youngest of the group the credit card patting his head. Jon walked inside behind Damian and Marinette.

The teen working the register looked out the the sea of bouncing toddlers and popped her gum sliding Bruce’s credit card. “Have fun,” she said in monotone looking back at her phone. All of the students split up going to different games. Jon walked up and sat on the table where Damian was standing.

“Damian?” Jon asked smiling maniacally.

“What Jon?” Damian asked looking out over the students.

“Wanna play Dance Dance Revolution?’ Jon asked before bursting out in uncontrollable laughter.

“I take it that Logan told you about his defeat?” Damian asked now understanding the joke.

“Gar was pissed,” Jon said and Damian smiled back at his friend.

“He shouldn’t have challenged me.” Damian looked over at the students again. Adrien was racking up tickets with Nino for something and Damian couldn’t help but think that he was trying to win Jon something. “How do you feel about Adrien?” Damian asked thinking of the first day the students were there and hearing Adrien’s confession.

“He really hasn’t talked to me a lot but I’d like to get to know him,” Jon said turning his attention over to the blue-haired girl. “What about you and Marinette?” Jon asked trying to set his friend up too.

“What do you mean?” Damian asked defensivly.

“There’s so much chemistry,” Jon nudged Damian and he looked out at her seeing her smile and have fun.

“I don’t kn...” Damian was cut off by a loud bang and the front door flying off it’s hinges. Two-Face walked into the arcade worming through his henchman. “DUCK!” Damian yelled and all of the students got to the ground behind games and under tables as guns went off. “The the words of Todd: fuck.”

..........................................

JPS: @wannajointhecrabcult @loveswifi @ive-tumbled-down-a-rabbit-hole @liquid-luck-00 @mochegato@thatonecroc@mochinek0 @toodaloo-kangaroo @moonspiritwolf1

Tag list: @abrx2002@finallyaniguana@danielslilangel@chocolateherringtacofan@animegirlweeb @fleur-de-jasmin-fdj@pawsitivelymiraculous@justcourttee@ayamestudios@greenteacz@thornalchemist23@vixen-uchiha@readeracctagmepls@tomanyfandomsinmymind @t1dwarrior-of-earth@michaelshadow7779 @i-is-mysterious

#jon x adrien #jon protection squad #tim drake and jon kent #best friends #damian wayne #marinette x damian #jon kent #jon and damian #lila salt #lila gets exposed #lila rossi #miraculous ladybug #miraculous class #marinette dupain cheng #tim drake #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #adrien agreste #gotham

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umbry-fic · 3 years

Text

A Palette Full of You (2)

Summary: Glimpses into Colette and Lloyd's lives as they grow up together, learn who they are, and fall in love with each other.

(Written for Colloyd Week 2021)

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel Relationships: Colette Brunel & Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving Rating: G Chapter: 2 of 6 Word Count: 4212 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 10/06/2021

Chapter Title: Save the Children!

Chapter Summary: Lloyd and Colette take a break from studying and decide to play a video game. Colette starts to ruminate a little on how she's different from the rest of her classmates...

(Colloyd Week Day 2: Sidequest)

Notes+Warnings: Chapter 2 of my multi-chapter Colloyd week fic! Colette and Lloyd play a bunch of Kameo: Elements of Power. Lloyd is bisexual. This chapter might have a bit of internalised acephobia so beware.

Chapter list Full fic Previous chapter Next chapter

~~~

12-years-old

"There! Over there!" Colette shouted, dropping the Xbox controller onto her lap and gesturing frantically towards a corner of the television screen. In her frantic excitement, she completely forgot that Lloyd was sitting right next to her on the sofa, her elbow banging straight into Lloyd's arm.

Lloyd, startled, pitched to the side and pushed the joystick on his Xbox controller in the same direction.

Major Ruin, who Lloyd had been controlling to charge up a Bolder Rush, executed the move at this exact moment as Lloyd let go of the right trigger.

And so Major Ruin careened right off the edge of the platform, as per the directions Lloyd had just inputted into the game. The tragic end to a glorious adventure. Kameo would never rescue her father from her sister’s evil clutches, for she had fallen to her death from a high height... by complete accident. Or maybe it would be better to class this as incompetence?

Oops.

"Oh, no," they both muttered at the same time, staring with their mouths open in horror. Colette reached out uselessly towards the TV, as if she could reach into the game and stop Major Ruin’s fall.

As if.

The armadillo look-alike Earth elemental (except a lot spikier) continued to fall while flailing their stubby limbs uselessly, eventually hitting the ground with the familiar and resonant "thud", accompanied with the dreaded snapping sound that had populated much of their playtime in the Snow-top Village. The thin and winding ice paths throughout that area had led to many a death from fall damage as they had tried to get their hands on the elemental fruits hidden away among various corners. Now that they were in the Ancient Tower, with its dark, foreboding, narrow stone corridors lit only by the sparest of torches sitting in sconces, where there was only one path forward and they were caged in by walls, Colette thought their falling episodes would be over. It was a bit claustrophobic, really.

It appeared that was not the case. Fall damage was eternal, and it would haunt them always, following them everywhere and showing its face at the most inopportune of moments.

Major Ruin morphed back into Kameo's petite, winged form, collapsing to the ground with a pained groan. Lloyd's side of the screen faded to black before he respawned at the last checkpoint, erasing a full 20 minutes of progress. The Kameo that Colette controlled was now completely alone in the chamber, performing her idle animations as Colette’s controller went untouched. Lloyd dropped his Xbox controller into his lap as well, leaning back against the sofa as he let out a groan of his own.

There was no sound apart from the whirring coming from the Xbox under the TV, the game music, and the "whup-whup" of the blades of the ancient standing fan in the corner of the living room, struggling in its job to blow "cool" air at them and combat the viciously hot weather.

Lloyd had every right to be frustrated with her; she had a tendency to kill him in-game. It wasn't murder, just manslaughter: knocking him off the cliff, setting both of them on fire, or startling him in general. It wasn't just in Kameo. Her clumsiness and butterfingers translated to every genre. No matter the game - Mario, Minecraft, Maplestory - she always found some way to cause a game over.

But he'd never directed any frustration or anger towards her. These are just silly games, he said every time. Much easier to laugh over the mirthful consequences together than get mad. Whenever they had the time to play video games together, the air was filled with nothing but laughter, a few frustrated grumbles from when they were struggling at a particular level, and the occasional rib from Lloyd’s end when she messed up. That's what made it incredibly fun. What the two of them had termed "game-time" never failed to put a smile on their faces.

And it was an effective destresser! It was a great relief to be able to channel all the stress from studying for PSLE into beating up trolls in Kameo. That appeared to be Lloyd's favourite part of the game - racking up combos with his favourite character Pummel Weed. Though she had to say her favourite part of the game so far was watching the cutscenes that played after rescuing the baby elementals from the prisons created by the nefarious shadow trolls. The wacky transformation from adorable blob to full-fledged elemental, complete with the blob sprouting arms and growing claws or shells, was… interesting to witness.

"Sorry," she sheepishly said, still feeling the need to apologise as she patted his hand. "Didn't mean to startle you. It's just that I found the last child!"

"Oh, really? Where?” Lloyd asked eagerly, attention turning back to the TV. “I couldn't see anything. It's all so dark."

"Over there." More calmly this time, Colette pointed out the child encased in a translucent ice crystal, tucked away in a corner of the platform hidden in shadow. She’d forgotten the name of this species, and could only describe them as cuttlefish that had taken human form. What were they were doing so far from the Mountain Falls? Weren't they native to that location? "We need to free them quickly! This is the last child."

“The last - you’ve been keeping count?!” Lloyd asked, voice rising in volume and shock written clearly across his face.

“Yeah! The mother said there were three, and we’ve rescued two. She must have been really worried, or she wouldn’t have begged us to save her children. I want to reunite them as soon as possible!”

"Alright. Ice, huh? It'd be similar to the other crystals we got rid of in the snow area. So just turn into Ash!" Lloyd suggested.

"Oh, you're right! Thanks for the reminder!" Colette opened the transformation wheel with a quick press of a button and proceeded to fumble with the joystick for a full minute while Lloyd slowly crawled his way back up the tower. She kept pushing too far to the right and overshooting Ash's dragon head on the wheel to land on Thermite, before overcorrecting to the left and landing on 40 Below. Frustration slowly piled up until she groaned, burying her head in her lap. This was embarrassing. She couldn't even navigate a simple menu like this, even after months of playing this game. Butterfingers, once again.

"Lloyd, can you open the main menu? I'll just pick Ash from there."

"Nah, we don't need to open Wotnot. Let's give Ortho a break for now," Lloyd replied. She knew that wasn't the real reason. Lloyd just didn’t want to hear from the eccentric wizard trapped within the paperback book that doubled as the main menu. "Here, let me help. But you need to get up first!" She straightened up, still sulking as he smiled at her, looking like he was holding back laughter at her predicament.

Lloyd stretched out his hand and placed his index finger over her thumb, gently guiding her thumb on the joystick so that the selection square landed right on Ash's head. Colette watched as Kameo hunched over and transformed into the red, clawed, scaly dragon that was the fire elemental Ash, tail slowly swaying from side-to-side as his wings flapped.

"You're so good at this..." she muttered, glancing down at her controller where Lloyd's hand was still placed over hers. They were only 12, but his hands were already slightly bigger than hers. He'd gotten his growth spurt in the earlier part of this year and shot up in height; now half a head taller than her. It was a slightly startling change after being the same height for the six years they'd known each other. He would likely only grow taller as time went on. As for herself... Maybe she'd gain another 5 centimetres by the time she was 18, if she was lucky. Given the actual state of her luck, she'd probably stagnate at her current height. Tallness was just not in the cards for her.

Not that she minded. The added height made him rather comfortable to lie on. If he gained just a few more centimetres, his shoulder would be the perfect height to rest her head on… That would make movie nights all the more comfortable.

Plus, the height change was just that. A physical change. Inside, Lloyd was still the same person - the boy who loved playing with Noishe but hated doing his homework, and would do everything in the world to avoid it. He hadn't changed. Not a single bit.

"Don’t sweat it. There are so many things you’re good at too! If it weren’t for your keen eye, I would’ve missed the kid entirely… So don’t be too bothered!” Lloyd gave her hand one squeeze before removing his hand, returning to his quest of returning to Colette's location. "Now, melt the ice!”

Colette did exactly that, leading the lumbering Ash over to the entrapped child and unleashing his fire breath. She watched with bated breath as the ice slowly melted, causing more of the child to be exposed to the air. They had previously used this exact same technique to unearth elemental fruits in the icy caverns filled with those icky bugs that exploded when defeated and obscured the screen with blue juice. It had been exciting then, to stumble upon secrets because of their penchant for exploration. But watching the child slowly be freed, watching their tentacles slowly start to move as they came into contact with warm air, was an entirely different experience, one that filled her with joy.

When was the last time the two of them completed a side objective like this, one that had direct effects on a citizen of this magical world? Casting her mind back informed her that that would be the starting town, when they returned to water the farmer’s crops with Deep Blue.

Now that the last child had been fully freed, all the children went running back to their worried mother, who proceeded to pull them into a giant group hug. Colette dropped her controller, clapping her hands together at such a sweet sight. Lloyd did laugh, then, a chuckle that she could feel rumble through her as well from where their shoulders touched. "What are you so excited about?" he asked.

"We did it! We saved all the children!" she exclaimed, watching the mother pull out one of the large elemental fruit in thanks. "Doesn't that make you happy? That we were able to help someone... That's what makes these side objectives fulfilling, right?"

"Yeah, I guess. It's just like you to get like this over a video game,” Lloyd replied, watching Kameo hoist the elemental fruit into the air, where it magically shrunk in size to fit in her bag. Colette wondered how Kameo’s bag even worked - how did it store Wotnot and dozens of elemental fruits? It was like a black hole. Just like Noishe's stomach.

“Though..." Lloyd frowned, staring up at the clock that hung on the wall, whose hands indicated that it was 2 pm. "Time’s up. We should get back to revising before Mom gets home from the vet with Noishe."

"Oh, you're right..." That was a downer. Time had flown so fast; their 20 minutes were up already!

The moment had come to return to the dining table and the assessment books that sat open on it. Studying was never fun, but it just had to be math today, and the chapter just had to be nets. Her most hated subject, combined with the topic she hated most. It was a headache all around.

But Lloyd was surprisingly good at nets, and he'd been a great help the whole day. Even if he still hated math with a passion and always got stuck on algebra questions, where it was her turn to assist him. That was why studying together was effective! They could fill in the gaps for each other, and motivate each other to keep going. Just three months left to go until it was all over! They could do this, and they would get through it. Together, just as they would every predicament that came to pass in the future.

"Um, and before you go home today, could you help me with something else?"

"What is it?" Colette asked, reaching for the TV remote on the coffee table. Lloyd was staring at the carpet, his hand absent-mindedly pulling at the hem of his singlet, separating the fabric from sweaty skin.

“Ellum’s birthday present,” Lloyd muttered, his voice getting softer with each word he spoke, until she could barely make out the words. “His birthday is in two weeks, and I…”

Ohhh.

They had a habit of telling each other almost everything, for any secret was always safe with the other. So she knew why Lloyd was clamming up. Ellum was his current crush, after all.

“Say no more. Of course I’ll help you! We can do whatever you want!” she replied with enthusiasm. She'd be happy to help.

"Thank you," Lloyd replied, meeting her gaze again with a tiny smile lighting up his face. "Now, let's get back to studying."

They made the short walk to the dining table, taking their seats across from each other. Lloyd's face was already starting to twist into a grimace, resigning himself to another few hours of torture at the hands of the twisted people who made their livelihood setting math questions.

Clearing away the Kit Kat wrappers on her assessment book, she glanced down at a question about nets she'd been working on before the break. Yet not a single word on the page was being absorbed. They were all running away from her.

The downside of Lloyd confiding in her for all of his crushes was that it was a stark reminder that she hadn't had her first one yet. And then, inevitably, her mind would drift further to all the little ways she stood out from her classmates.

It was like everyone around her had changed drastically overnight at some unknown point in time. The jokesters of the class had just started making dirty jokes one day, prompting scandalised glares from the rest of the class but also prompting snickers. She herself didn't get the joke half the time, just laughed to go along with everyone else.

Then there was the shift in daily conversation. Instead of discussing their favourite Pokémon, more often than not the other girls would now discuss in hushed voices while giggling which celebrity was the most attractive. She herself would sit quietly, trying to melt into the wall as she observed without interjecting, half fascinated and half horrified. Weren't they all too young for this?

Things got even more awkward when she was forcibly pulled into the conversation when someone directed a question at her. She had no idea what to say whenever someone showed her a picture of a celebrity and asked her to rate them. The only thing she ever managed to stutter out was that their eyes were a nice colour, and so was their hair. That... was how you judged a person on how attractive they were, right? Everyone else, though, seemed to think she was weird. But how was she supposed to be feeling? No one had ever taught her. It felt like everyone was keeping a secret from her on how these things were supposed to work, then making fun of her for not getting it.

She only got more confused every time something like that happened. All she wanted to do was go back to talking about her favourite cartoons, but that didn't seem to be an option. Lloyd wasn't in the same class as her, so she couldn't even sit with him and ignore everyone else. The only time she could meet up with him during school hours was at recess. She didn't know what Lloyd talked about with the rest of his friends. Maybe the same stuff. But she didn't really care, because, with him, she could just be herself. There was no need for tiring pretence.

All she could do when the girls were in a mood to discuss celebrities again was sit a little outside of their circle, counting down the seconds remaining for class to start while she tried to look as occupied as possible. She couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief every time the topic of conversation turned back to something a little easier to understand, like video games.

But surely, someday, she would understand.

She was waiting. For that day. For her to finally catch up to everyone else in the race she hadn’t even known she’d entered until everyone had left her in the dust, still standing with her mouth agape at the starting line. To finally be like everyone else, to be able to fit in seamlessly. But there was no use getting down about it!

She just had to meet The One. Then everything would change, everything would fix itself. That's what happened in all the stories, the shows, the movies, after all.

Because everyone, in the end, learned to feel the same way, right?

~~~

19-years-old

"Right! I think that’s enough for now.” Colette’s voice shattered the serenity of her room from where she was sitting on the bed with her laptop balanced in her lap, cutting through the sleepy fog that was starting to fill Lloyd’s head. The peaceful Ghibli tunes that had been filling the room cut off abruptly as she shut her laptop screen, reaching a hand up to undo her messy hair bun.

Lloyd yawned, rubbing his eyes and hoping that would make his eyelids feel less heavy. Pushing himself up from his belly-down position on the bed, he caught one last glance of the back of Colette's neck before her hair covered it again. Doing prep for uni was not the most exciting way to pass the afternoon, and it certainly wasn't normal fare for a date. But it had to be done, so they might as well do it together, as they did all things.

Though he'd gotten distracted and started scrolling through YouTube about an hour ago.

"Are you going to change out of pyjamas?” Lloyd asked, stretching, his shirt hiking up slightly. He’d taken the lift down the three floors that separated his apartment and hers in the old HDB block that they’d stayed in all their lives, rang the doorbell while staring at the Chinese New Year decorations that were still hung up despite the month now being April, and waited for Colette to open the door… Only to be met with the sight of Colette in her favourite doggie pyjamas, the baby blue button-up ones that covered every inch of her skin. She'd shrugged and said it was cold from the non-stop rain, but he knew the real reason was the lazy post-A-levels haze, that affected him as well. These days, sleeping in until noon was the norm. Or sleeping in until one of his parents came into his bedroom to knock him awake.

“Yeah,” she replied, grabbing a towel and a few articles of clothing from the open wardrobe and heading towards the doorway.

“Alright.”

Lloyd closed his laptop slowly, not wanting a repeat of the time in Secondary 3 he’d shattered the screen because Zelos had sneaked up on him and caught him unawares. He rolled off the bed, making the small trip of barely a few steps to the study table, passing the various objects Colette had up on the walls - the Disney posters she’d gotten ages ago, and the random stickers she’d amassed over the years from school club sales and donations - and the bay window filled to the brim with cute and huggable soft toys, a familiar Siberian Husky that showed the signs of being well-loved sitting atop the pile.

Lying on the study table was Colette’s Nintendo Switch, plugged into a socket to charge. Right next to it was a jar holding paintbrushes of all sizes, all of them as clean of paint as possible, for he knew Colette took extremely good care of her art supplies. The sketchbook no one was allowed to peek into was sticking out of the table’s drawer, half-used pads of foolscap and sheets of paper with pencils rolling in them visible within. Files that he’d nearly kicked, containing lecture notes and worksheets, were shoved into messy piles under the table, unneeded after the conclusion of examinations but having no convenient place to be stored. The tiny shelf sitting on the table still had her Junior College badge housed on one of the layers, silver in colour and reflecting the light from the windows, despite her having no use for it ever since they had graduated in November. (Perhaps she liked looking at it? She was something of a magpie sometimes.) He could spot a familiar conch shell, placed among other knick-knacks, mostly birthday presents.

Picking up the handheld (with its lime green and cyan JoyCons firmly attached), he unplugged the charger and watched the screen light up - and frowned at what it showed him.

"Hey, Colette!" he yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. He hoped he could catch her before she entered the bathroom. Uncle Frank was working in the master bedroom no more than five metres away and had been nothing less than incredibly nice, as he always was, providing tons of refreshments and snacks. Lloyd would like to prevent a shouting relay if possible.

If Colette had been walking, she shouldn't have reached the bathroom yet...

The fast pitter-patter of bare feet against the floor informed him that he was right. "What is it, Lloyd?" Colette's head poked its way into the doorframe, her golden hair reaching down towards the floor, her blue eyes wide and questioning.

"You left Animal Crossing on," he answered, waving the Switch in the air.

Her eyes lit up in understanding. "Oh. You know what to do, right?"

Control the playable character and put her to sleep, then save the game. He'd done it before.

"Yeah, but, I was thinking... I haven't taken a walk on your island since last year. How about I take another tour while you're in the bathroom? If you're okay with it, of course."

"Oh, sure! I trust you." Colette smiled sweetly, turning to leave before pausing and turning back. "But remember -"

"- remember not to step on the flowers." Lloyd finished her sentence easily, stating that fact very seriously. He knew about Colette's concerns about her precious flowers, which she’d spent hours arranging around her little island until they were in just the right spot - fields of rainbows to welcome any guests and guide them around. He hadn't known that the stems of the flowers could break from being trampled multiple times when he first explored her quaint world - the fictional flowers were just as fragile as their real-life counterparts. He’d kept that in mind ever since, adding it to the many rules to follow to ensure no harm came to all the hard work Colette had put in to make her island perfect.

"Yep. Um…” Colette wrung her hands together, bowing her head so her hair formed a veil over her face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, taking a step towards her.

“No, nothing’s wrong!” Colette hurriedly replied, lifting her head again. She screwed her eyes shut, hands clenching into fists. “I - uh, just wanted to say… I love you!”

The last three words came out in a shout, so quick that he almost didn’t catch them.

Lloyd froze, trying to process what he’d just heard - and before he could reply, Colette was already gone, having fled down the corridor and out of sight.

He slowly shut his mouth, which he hadn’t even realised was open.

This was the first time she’d said those coveted three words since they'd started dating. Her voice had been dripping with uncertainty, her posture betraying her shyness, but no matter how contradictory, she’d said it with sincerity, with all her heart. And even though he didn't need to hear them from her to know she loved him, for it was actions that counted, and certainly didn't need to hear them from her for him to love her, it still made him smile, his whole soul filled with a light warmth.

They’d travelled such a long way from all the checkpoints in life that they'd passed together. They still had a long way to go, but they’d do it together. As they always had.

"I love you too, silly," he said into empty space, knowing Colette couldn't hear him but wanting to say it anyway.

Lloyd unlocked the Switch screen, staring down at Colette's intricate creation. Flowers filled the screen, black, grey, white, purple, that he found familiar but couldn't put a name to. Oh, well. He would just tour the island and check out any new changes while he walked to the living room and waited for Colette to come back. Maybe he'd visit the town centre as well.

The most vital question to be answered was... Had Colette gotten those froggy chairs that she wanted for the townspeople?

~~~

Next chapter

#fanfiction #multi chapter #lloyd irving #colette brunel #colloyd #colloydweek2021 #day 2: sidequest #tales of symphonia

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youresog0lden · 4 years

Text

Last Thing I Do II Spencer Reid

Summary: SSA Davis has found her sister shot in front of her by her sisters stalker. When her best friend is left pick up the pieces just like she did for him.

Warning: Cursing, Drug Mentions, Guns, Shooting, Blood. Very sad, Angst

This story is very similar to Maeve’s story. I completely made up the scene where they try and catch the unsub.

WC: 2.4k

I used a real name because it was easier to write feel free to change the name !!

masterlist

I DO NOT OWN THE GIFS I USED !

"SSA Davis," I spoke confidently on the phone.

"Yes I understand." I say. I walk out of my office and into the meeting room.

"No time to get comfortable. This is huge." Garcia said turning on her remote.

"Three Murders in the past two nights."

"A mom and son and a younger man?" Reid questioned.

"Yes."

"Okay they need us in Atlanta Georgia. Wheels up in 30." I sigh.

"Are we ever going to get a break." JJ sighs. I shake my head no before going to my office. I sit in there for a second my head spinning a little bit. I hear a soft knock at my door.

"Yeah." I say. Spencer steps in.

"Hey what's up." I say

"Can I ask you a question?" he asks.

"You just did." I laugh. He rolls his eyes.

"No but for real what do you need?" I ask

"There was three different drugs found in the bodies. A drug for each person. What do you think that could me?" he asks.

"They're probably a sadist. Who somehow has a connection to drugs." I say.

"I get that but how would all of them get the types of drugs into them without a prescription. Besides LSD." he said

"I don't know but we'll figure it out." I say softly rubbing a hand on his arm. He nods.

"Let's go." I say we both grab our to-go bag's and head out onto the plane. We sit down on the plane only having to be on there for an maybe twenty minutes all of us decide to just sit quite and do our own thing. Ever since Hotch left to spend more time being a dad and I was put in charge I've always felt different. I don't like being in this high authority but I promised Hotch I would keep this team on track. Ring. I look down at the contact. Amber is calling,

"Hey I'm on the plane I'll text you later. Love ya." I send the text and turn off my phone. We land all of us heading to the cars. Driving down to the police station. I walk in there.

"Hello, I'm SSA Davis, These are agents Rossi, Morgan, Jareau, Prentiss, and Dr. Reid." all of them shake hands with the Sheriff except Spence. He just nods shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Okay. We have all the files Garcia asked for on a table and a conference room set up. If you need anything don't be afraid to ask." we all nod.

"Okay JJ, Morgan ya'll go to the the house of where the last murder took place. Prentiss and Rossi, ya'll talk to the witnesses and families. Reid and I will go down and get the autopsy report's and examine the body." I say we all split up. I give Spencer the keys as we drive. I feel a vibration from my pocket. I pull my phone out to see my sister calling again. I hit decline deciding to call her tonight. We pull up at the morgue. I look at my notebook making sure I have a pen to take notes.

"Who still takes notes." Reid teases.

"Not all of us have an eidetic memory." I ruffle his hair. He let's out a huff before laughing.

"SSA Davis?" the autopsy technicians asks.

"Yes."

"Okay well in the mom there we severe levels of a date rape drug called Rohypnol in her body."

"Rohypnol also knows as Forget-me pill, R2, and Roofies is a pill some versions of it turns blue when added to liquid but other forms have no color when added to liquid." Spencer states.

"So she was roofied. Did she have an alcohol in her system? Maybe she got it at a bar and the unsub followed her home."

"No there we're nothing but water and rohypnol found in her body."

"Any food?"

"No."

"What about the-" I was cut off by my ringer going off. I shut it off again.

"Sorry about that. What about the boy?"

"He was a teen there we're high levels of Phencyclidine found in his system."

"It creates numbness of the legs and arm areas so he can't move."

"Yes, we think this was a really well though out plan to this because there was no way that this could've just happened randomly." I nod.

"What about the other one. We we're told high levels of LSD were found. So was he drugged when he died or was he coming off the high?" Spencer asked.

"We looked but couldn't really tell. But we made an educated guess and are saying that it was already in his system maybe to get him where they wanted him."

"They?"

"There's no way that only one person could do this. It had to be a team." she says. I nod.

"Thank you for you're time. If you have any more evidence please give us a call." I give her my card and she nods. We walk out and sit in the car.

"So they we're drugged before they could get away. Kept there for a day or two given water but no food and then brutally murdered. They are definitely a sadist." Reid says I nod.

"Let's go Morgan says the father of the kids are there."

"Father as singular."

"Yes apparently he is the father of both kids. Different moms." I say. He nods speeding off. We make it to the precinct. Spence and I walk into the interrogation room.

"John Hunter." I shake his hand.

"Why am I in here I didn't do anything." he pleaded.

"We needed you to be somewhere where there were not many people." he nods.

"Do you know who these three people are?" Reid asked.

"Yes that's my wife and sons." okay.

"Who are these two people." I ask.

"That's my ex-wife and son."

"Why isn't you're son with you in these photos. But you're youngest with you're first wife is."

"He was mentally ill. They had to take him away when me and my first wife Rose got a divorce he tired to kill his brother. Drowning him in a bathtub. He was sick." I nod.

"Can you give me his name." I ask

"Jack Hunter." he says. I nod and walk out. Dialing Garcia.

"Goddess of Everything Computer Related how may I help you."

"Hey can you do a background search on Jack Hunter and when he was released form a mental hospital. "

"Yes ma'am." she says,

"Okay so he was released from St. Claire's Mental Instantiation two weeks before the first murder."

"What about his mom?"

"Rose Strut she was given... you'll never guess."

"What."

"Phencyclidine"

"God I love you Garcia." I hang up seeing four missed call from my sister in the past twenty minutes. Reid walks out.

"It's time to give the profile." I said.

----

"We are looking for Jack Hunter and Rose Strut. They we're last seen two miles south of the Savannah River." I said.

"They could possibly be armed so if you are to see them do not go up to them. They will not be afraid to kill at this point." Emily said.

"If you do see them at any point. Please call the police and get away fast." Morgan finished. I hear my ringer again.

"Hey Garcia what's up."

"You'll never guess who's phone just pinged at a cell phone tower five minutes away,"

"Send the address." I circle my fingers telling everyone to load up.

---

Jack and Rose we're now being put into life in prison without the possibility of parole. We we're all getting off the plane when my phone goes off.

"Ash. "

"Hey Amber . What's up."

"She's back help-" before she said anything else I heard screaming.

"AMBER" I yell into my phone.

"AMBER." I yell again. Everyone looking at me. They put the stairs down. I grab my bag running down.

"Davis." I hear my team yell. I race to my car unlocking it. I start the car as fast as I can driving away. I'd be at Amber's house in a matter of minutes but realizing I wasn’t going fast enough I turn on my lights speeding down the high way. I finally pull onto her street. I stop at her drive way running up my gun sitting in my hand. I try opening the door but its locked, I kicked in the door. Looking all around before sighing. I heard a muffled scream come from the front yard so I run out the door as quick as I can seeing her. Holding a gun to Amber’s head. I must have forgotten my head set was on because I could hear the team yelling for me through it.

"Don't you come any closer or I will kill her."

"Please you don't have to do this." I begged.

"You killed my mom. I think it's only fair." she laughs. I take a step forward.

"Stop fucking moving." she yelled. I held my hand up my gun still in my hands.

"Drop your gun." she said. I drop my gun. She looks at me again and laughs,

"See I'm going to kill her either way but now you're just defenseless." she laughs. It was almost to fast to happen. A ring came into my ear's and I see her drop to the ground.

"AMBER." I called out

Blood spilling out of her head. I don't know if something kicked in my I grab my gun out of my leg canister and pull the trigger.

"Oh hun. I'm not that easy to kill." she picks up her gun. Before shooting one last shot hitting me in my arm. I hissed in pain.

"I will kill you if it's the last thing I do. Weather I actually kill you are watch you fall apart mentally I will watch you suffer." she laughs falling to the ground. I see the lights flooding around us. I drop to my knees crying.

"Amber." I say softly. I put her limp body in my lap. I stroke the hair out of her face kissing her forehead. I see my team moving out of there cars. Kiera being taken away into cuffs. At this point all I'm doing is crying. I feel someones arms around me as they pick up my sister. I try to fight back but its inevitably not worth it. I'm covered in her blood. I turn around to see Spencer's arms around me. I almost fall in them crying.

"Come on. We need to get you're arm looked at." We walk to the ambulance. I sit on the edge having them tear into my shirt cleaning up the barley scraped skin. I start staring into the space. Until. I grab Spencer's arm looking into his eyes.

"She has a kid. Where's Blake." I said softly.

"We'll find him. Right now you have to go to the hospital. I'll come with you okay." he says just as softly.

"Okay."

----

They say it's always the hardest after. But what's hardest was telling my mom that it could've been me not her or that she would still be alive if I didn't move. Her funerals today. But a part of me can't go. This is my fault. I can almost hear my parents saying it to me but, none the less I still go. They found Blake and Tom her husband. They we're on out at a movie. Amber had to stay home for work. They don't blame me. They tried to tell me that I couldn't stop it even if I tried. Blake isn't old enough to understand what it means yet but he'll get there one day.

---

The funeral is over. I'm sitting in my tiny apartment surrounded by my feelings. My team couldn't be here. They were needed somewhere else. Even though Spence did offer to stay with me.

~ Flashback ~

"Spence." I called out.

"Spence I'm not leaving so please let me in." I say. I hear the door's locks come undone. He opens the door. He's standing there in a t-shirt, a cardigan, and a pair of pants, his hair was a mess, his eyes were puff, and he had bags under his eyes.

"Spence." I pull him into a hug. He wraps his arms around me crying into my shoulder.

"I couldn't do anything about it." he cries harder.

"Pretty boy, listen. It's not your fault. As much as I hate to say it. Diane already knew what she was going to do. Baby you couldn't stop that." I said softly. He just cry's.

"Can I come in?" he nods. I grab his hand he shuts and locks the door. I walk to his bed and lay down opening my arms. He cuddles into them laying his head on my chest.

"Go to sleep kid. I'll be right here when ever you need me." I look at him. I kiss his forehead before putting my hand in his hair.

"I'll always be here for you." I said softly. His grip around my waist got tighter.

~ End of Flashback ~

I stood there a picture of us hung on the wall.

"I'm sorry." I said softly.

"Ash." I hear Spencer's voice call out. It startled me so i let out a yelp.

"Ash let me in please." I couldn't move. I hear keys jiggle and I see the door nob turn. Fuck why'd I have to give him a key.

"Ash." he says softly looking at me. He looked at me head to toe. I was wearing a pair of sweatpants and some how his 'Caletech' shirt. He sets his stuff on my counter and looks at me. I walk over to him standing in front of him. I let a tear drip down my cheek. He wraps his arms around me. I start sobbing in his chest.

"Why are you here..." I ask looking into his eyes. He placed a kiss on my forehead. His hands on both sides of my face.

"Because you we're here day after day when Maeve was killed so I will be here day by day until you are okay. because I love you. I love you more than anything." he says softly. I look into his eyes they were glistening with hope

"You love me?" I ask.

"Of course I do. I've loved you since day you offered to help me through everything you stuck by my side through everything, all my stupid little lectures, my rants, and facts. You're one of a kind." he said. I look up at him one more time. I lean forward into his lips. Melting together like butter.

"I love you too." he smiles and kisses me again.

"Let's go lay down." he says I nod.

“Everything will be okay” he whispers in your ear

#spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid #spencer #spencer reid smut #mgg fic #matthew gray gubler #mgg fanfiction #mgg #mgg smut #derek morgan #garcia #emily prentiss #jenifer jareau #david rossi

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hypnoticwinter · 4 years

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole part 4

"You kids really ought to feel ashamed of yourselves," Peter says to them, and one of them, at least, the youngest, probably, judging by his looks, by the baby fat still on his cheeks, has the decency to feel embarrassed, to cast his glance downwards and away, to let his cheeks color with the shame of it. The other two, older, lankier, cooler, probably, just stare at him, hands folded in their laps. One of them, the girl, snaps her gum loudly.

There in the break room of Ranger Station 34c, the one with the old beige-painted walls that they never got around to redoing when they renovated the rest of the old Anodyne-era ranger stations, and the big poster from the 80s about the Roadless Rally, it's easy to forget that just fifteen feet below them is a pool of gastric acid powerful enough to strip flesh from bone within about five minutes flat, assuming total submersion.

"It was just a joke," the older boy says, and Peter rolls his eyes.

"Do you feel like it was a joke?" he asks, turning his gaze to the younger one. He must be around thirteen or fourteen. His hair is short but messy, like the barber wasn't paying attention when he'd cut it.

"No," the boy says, quietly, not willing to look Peter or the other two in the eyes. The girl snaps her gum again and Peter points at her.

"Spit that gum out," he tells her, nudging the wastepaper bin forward with his foot. Inside it he can see a printout of the memo that they'd emailed around earlier about the park staying open later for the firework show. Peter had groaned initially when he'd gotten it but then the promise of time and a half was transmitted in a reply and he'd felt better about it. The girl stares at him defiantly.

"You can't make me," she says. "You're not a cop."

"In here I am. Didn't you know that? Down here Rangers have almost the same authority as police do," he says, conscious, suddenly, of how he's resting his forearm almost lazily on the butt of his pistol. "I can make arrests, write tickets. Anything you can think of."

"Can you hold us here without charging us?" the older boy asks suddenly. He looks up at Peter with defiant eyes. "I want to –"

"How old are you?" Peter asks, not letting him finish. The boy shrugs.

"Nineteen."

"Really? Let me see your ID."

"Don't have it."

"Not in your wallet?" Peter asks, looking over at the table to his left, where he'd put the three kids' things. He walks over to it, pushes the girl's sweatshirt aside, picks up the small leather wallet with the embroidered fisherman on it. "This one yours?"

The kid won't answer him so he looks at the girl. "Is it yours?" he asks, waggling the wallet at her. She shakes her head after a moment.

"It's not mine," the youngest one volunteers.

"Well, look at that," Peter says. "Process of elimination. It's either yours or mine," he says to the oldest boy, making a show of patting his pockets. "Hmm, now where'd I leave my...oh, there it is," he says, pulling his own wallet out briefly, showing it to them. "Looks like this one's yours. You going to have to tell me how old you really are or do I have to look in here?"

"I said I'm nineteen," the boy repeats. Peter flips open the wallet, sorts through an insurance card and a Subway giftcard before finding the kid's ID. He pulls it out and studies it.

"Nineteen, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Bad at math, huh? When's your birthday?"

"June third."

"The year, smartass."

"Uh –"

"Too bad. You wouldn't have to think that long about it. You're seventeen," he says, fingering the ID. "Happy birthday..." he stops, looks down at the ID and back up at the older boy, enjoying the way his face tightens. "...Fitzroy. Hell of a name."

"Alright," Makado says, bursting through the door, a little out of breath. She glares at Peter. "I'm here. What the hell was so important?"

Peter nods to the eldest boy and the girl. "Why don't you tell her?"

"It was a joke," the girl says.

"Just a prank," Fitzroy agrees.

Peter shakes his head, looks at Makado. "These two," he says, pointing to the girl and the boy, "pushed this kid off of a walkway and were taunting him while he was slipping down into the pool below this ranger station." He gets a perverse sort of satisfaction watching Makado's cinnamon complexion pale slightly.

"Jesus," she breathes. "Thank you for not putting that on the radio."

"I'm not a total idiot."

"Look, what's the big deal?" the girl says. "It's not like we were going to let him drown, we would have jumped in after him."

The youngest boy shudders. Peter watches Makado's eyes narrow. "Did you see any signs down here?" she asks, her tone very cold. After a moment the girl shakes her head. "You," she says, turning her attention to Fitzroy. "People are only allowed down here as part of a ranger-lead tour, how did you get down here?"

He mumbles something.

"What was that?" Makado asks, cocking her head. He explains that they waited until a ranger slid his card to unlock the fence and then distracted him once he'd gone through by pretending to be lost and had asked questions for long enough that he'd forgotten to lock the gate after him. Makado rolls her eyes on hearing this, looks at Peter. "It must have been DeAngelis," she says. "He's the only one dumb enough to fall for that."

"Not everybody's as paranoid as you are," Peter reminds her, and she laughs.

"And yet I'm a head ranger and everybody else isn't. Wonder why that is?"

"Can we go now?" the Fitzroy asks, and Makado glares daggers at him.

"Absolutely not," she says. "You two," she says, pointing at him and the girl, "are going to the police station topside, and you're going to be booked for attempted murder."

"What?" the girl shrieks. The boy looks scared for a moment but regains his cool and laughs.

"You're just trying to scare us," he says, but Makado shakes her head, looking grimly satisfied.

"First," she says, counting on her fingers, "you're trespassing. On federal property, I should add, which is a fairly serious crime. Up to six months in prison, and a $500 fine."

"But we were –"

"Shut up," Peter tells them.

"Second, you aren't being incredibly cooperative right now, which is really only going to make things worse for you in the long run."

The girl looks like she wants to say something but thinks better of it.

"Third, the pool beneath this structure is the largest digestive bulb in the upper Pit area," she says significantly, glancing between the three of them. The younger one frowns, then pales. "You have any idea what that means?" she asks the girl, who shakes her head.

"The pool isn't water, or whatever you thought it was. It's acid."

"Bull," the older boy says.

"You think we'd be going to all this trouble if we weren't serious?" Peter asks. Neither of them have an answer. He looks over at Makado, jerks his head towards the table behind them. "Check out what's in the wallet over there."

She looks at him, then turns around, flips open the wallet. Peter can hear her rustling through it but he's watching Fitzroy, watching the way he squirms, watching the way he can't quite seem to meet Peter's eyes.

Makado makes a very small noise that Peter swears must have been her chuckling, but when she turns back around, perhaps a half a second later than he might have expected her to, her face is deadly serious. "Looks like we're adding drug possession to the list of charges," she says. Fitzroy makes a strangled noise somewhere in his throat and the girl groans.

"Come on!" she says. Her tone is pleading. "It's only a dub!"

"I'm going to pretend I know what that means," Makado tells her. She turns to Peter, leans in to whisper in his ear. "I'll call someone. Take them up to the surface and kick them out."

"No charges?" he murmurs.

"Of course not. They're kids. I'll keep the weed, though, that should teach them a lesson. Probably about twenty dollars' worth in this bag."

Peter nods and Makado pulls her radio out of its holster, clicks it over to the general channel. "Makado here, unattached rangers in Lower Gastro Zone B, respond please."

She takes her finger off the button and waits. Quiet static rumbles to itself on the channel, then the radio squawks.

"Makado, it's Maria. I just clocked out and I was heading back to the LVC, do you need me to clock back in?"

"Stand by, Maria," she says. She glances at Peter. "I forgot," she growls. "There's that stupid fireworks display tonight."

"Yeah, we're staying open until..."

"I forget. Midnight? Something like that."

"Hey, you're a Head Ranger, I figured you would know."

"Wait a minute," Makado frowns, clicking the radio on again. "Maria," she asks, "isn't everybody working late tonight? Why are you clocking out already?"

"I got permission from Carl," Maria says. "Cause my mom is in bed with that fever, you know, and I have to pick up my kid, and I don't have anybody else who can –"

"Okay, Maria," Makado says, "that's okay. You go on and go home."

"Are you sure? I've got about half an hour before –"

"Don't worry about it, Maria. Makado out."

"Roger."

Peter looks at Makado and Makado looks at Peter. "Whatever," she says. "We can take them up."

"You don't have more important things to do?"

"Probably," she admits. "But maybe I need a break."

"Alright kids," Peter says, turning to the three of them. Fitzroy and the girl have been whispering back and forth to each other the whole time, their faces drawn and serious, the gravity of the situation finally breaking over them. The youngest one is trying not to look smug but that disappears when Peter glares at him, lumping him in with the three of them. "All of you are in big trouble. Even you," he says, pointing to the youngest. "What's your name?"

"Tyler," he says in a small voice.

"Tyler, you were still trespassing. Don't think you're getting out of this scot-free."

"Are we doing good-cop bad-cop?" Makado murmurs in his ear. He can feel her breath on his earlobe and it sends a row of goosebumps cascading up his spine. "I thought I was usually the bad cop."

"You can be the bad cop later," he mutters back, keeping his eyes fixed on the kids. He feels more than hears her lips part in a smile.

"Let's go," she says.

They do. Peter happens to look at his watch before they all file out of the break room, him in the rear, watching the kids; the time is 9:30 at night on July 4th, 2007.

* * *

While they're marching down the long fenced-in corridor out of Lower Gastro Zone B back to the utility lift that will take them back to the Lower Visitor Center and, from there, ultimately to the surface, Peter considers the pink, fleshy walls pressed against the fence. This particular corridor suffered a contraction about a week ago when a stent failed and the Pit's muscles naturally filled in the resulting extra space. There was a tour group in the corridor when it happened and according to a friend of his, who was leading the tour group at the time, four people of the twelve fainted.

For the moment it's safe, though, since the temporary extra stents installed by Engineering are holding back the passage from complete collapse, but a more permanent solution will have to be sought soon. From what he understands they'll have to either go back in and tease the flesh back from the fence and insert additional permanent stents, as well as repair parts of the path that had buckled under the sudden change in pressure, or give up on this corridor altogether and widen out a new one, link it up to the vast network of passageways making up the lit, reinforced networks of the Pit.

He doesn't reflect on it often, but when things like this happen, when stents fail, when things go wrong (which is thankfully fairly rare, at least in his experience), Peter can't help but think of what it must be like, to be trapped in a corridor like this if it were to totally collapse in on itself, if, by some unlucky and unlikely coincidence, every stent were to fail simultaneously. As far as he knows nothing like that has ever happened in the history of the park, but it's a possibility, if a vague one. If you were in a proper suit you'd probably survive, the suits are armored and rated against a certain level of crushing pressure, but the kind he's wearing now, the lighter, 'interior-work' suit, wouldn't be able to stand up to that kind of abuse. It's only the heavy, reinforced engineer suits that would let you survive, and even then if you didn't have a supply of personal stents and probably a laser cutter you'd be trapped there, alive but unable to move, surrounded by throbbing, crushing flesh, unable to do anything but call for help on your helmet radio and watch the air in your canister tick down until you ran out and asphyxiated.

Peter's not bothered by tight spaces – when you get hired at the Mystery Flesh Pit you have to pass a claustrophobia test, even if you're working at the Burger King in the LVC – but even without any phobia of it the thought isn't pleasant.

He finds his eyes wandering down Makado's figure, lithe and supple even in the bulk of her ranger suit, at the way her sides taper inwards and then frill outwards pleasantly at her hips. He watches her hips sway as she walks. He knows he shouldn't look but he does anyway.

Ahead of him he sees Makado incline her head downwards and tap her earpiece, listening intently. He flips through the channels on his radio briefly but hears nothing out of the ordinary – whatever she's hearing must be on the command channel he doesn't have access to. Still walking forwards, she turns briefly and looks back at him; their eyes meet for a moment, then she turns back around. If the look was supposed to carry any significance or meaning, he misses it.

She says something into the radio then slows to a stop, turns around. "Alright kids, hold up for a second," she says. Peter slips past the three of them, sidles up to Makado. "Got a call from Control," she mutters. "There's a flooding issue in the Sand Gullet."

Peter's eyebrows raise. "How bad?"

"Don't know. Engineering is on the way right now, we'll know more in a couple minutes."

"What happened?"

"Pump failure."

"I mean, that's not so unusual. It's been raining cats and dogs today and they really ought to have replaced those pumps in waves instead of waiting to do all of them at once."

"Sorry," Makado says. Something in her tone cuts a quiet sliver of dread across Peter's belly. "I misspoke," she tells him. "The emergency pump failed."

It takes a moment for him to process that but when he does his eyes widen. "Oh fuck," he says.

"Oh fuck," she agrees. "Listen to me. You're down here more often than I am. Closest constriction-rated shelter from here?"

"Safest is the ranger station we came from. Closest is the elevator housing ahead. Your call, you know the Sand Gullet better, if it's full enough that the e-pump would have kicked in..."

Makado shakes her head briefly. "We can make it back to the ranger station. Hunker down, ride it out. Safest place in a constriction, those gastric pools don't have many muscles surrounding them."

"It'll take ten minutes to get back there."

"Five if we stop talking and run for it. Let's go."

The kids almost panic when Makado tells them that the area is becoming unsafe and they will need to run as fast as they can back to the ranger station they came from, but Peter grabs Fitzroy and Tyler and Makado grabs the girl whose name he still does not know, and as they run Peter puffs out what reassuring nothings he can in between breaths, trying to make it seem like this is less of a big deal than it is. Than it might be.

They keep as quick of a pace as they can. Makado's lean physique could easily outstrip all of them but she stays at the girl's pace, helping her up when she trips and stumbles, letting Peter and the boys get ahead. They cover the long hallway in a few minutes while Peter focuses on his breathing, in through his nose and out through his mouth. Tyler is flagging a little but keeping up, and all of Fitzroy's cockiness seems to have departed him at this point. His eyes are wide and frightened.

The path diverges into a fork. They came from the left, Peter remembers. He puts his hand out, catches himself on the fence, pushes off and keeps running. He glances behind as he does and sees Makado, face drawn, eyes grim, nodding at him, just behind. He can smell the gastric bulb ahead.

The lights snap off with an audible click and a hum of powering-down electrical lines. "Fuck!" Peter yells, skidding to a stop, drawing the two boys closer in so they don't fall. Makado plows into his back and Peter stumbles but keeps his balance.

"Why the hell are the lights off?" she asks. "Did we lose power?"

"We must have," Peter says, snapping the flashlight from his belt and clicking it on. He angles it upwards towards one of the heavy-duty fluorescent fixtures but can't see any obvious signs of damage. "We must have," he repeats.

"Makado to Control, over," Makado intones, pressing her earpiece deeper into her ear. She repeats herself twice before shaking her head and pulling out her radio and flicking through the channels. "This is Makado," she says on the general line. "We've got a power loss in LGZ Bravo, can anybody confirm if this is localized?"

Nothing but static, stronger than before. She looks at Peter significantly. "It must be the whole park," she says after a moment. "The repeaters are down."

She looks at the kids. "We need to move. Now."

"Wait, Makado –"

"No time," she says, hustling them along towards the ranger station. The constriction hits before she's taken ten steps, and it's so strong that Peter drops his flashlight, sending it skidding crazily ahead of them and then off of the walkway through the fence, casting shadows that flex and writhe and skitter. The girl is screaming and Makado is huddling over her, keeping her still; one of the boys, Tyler, he thinks, cries out, and he can hear Fitzroy breathing heavily at his side, and Peter realizes that without even thinking about it he has grabbed them both and taken them down to the floor of the walkway with him. He wants to squeeze his eyes shut and wait for it to be over but he forces himself not to. Outside the fence the fleshy walls of the conduit they're in are writhing and convulsing. He can hear the faint, distant rumble of a carnal moan, coming from somewhere deep in the Pit's gullet, but the actual noise is really fairly soft; just a wet, squishing sound, the slapping of muscle twitching and clenching in on itself, and then a sound that strikes dread into his very core – the snapping pop of a hydraulic stent failing.

The lights flicker back online, which surprises Peter, and as they all blink in the sudden brightness he and Makado lock eyes; he sees from her expression that she also heard the stent fail, and they scramble to their feet, hauling the kids upwards with them. The girl is clutching her wrist; she looks almost mad with fear, staring around at the fleshy walls of the corridor, several feet closer to the fence than they were before the lights went out and still shuddering and convulsing against the retaining plate in the ceiling. He hears the stent nearest them let out a dangerous hiss. Makado shakes her head.

"Double-time it," she commands, starting back down the corridor.

"Makado, wait," he repeats, looking back down towards the elevator, a long way off and out of sight.

"No time," she says, pushing the girl ahead of her. Halfway down, where the stent failed, the fence has been bent inwards and the flesh is puckered into a wrinkled, ugly cone, leaving enough room to crawl through. It would be tight, though, and likely the fence would catch on some of their gear. Makado touches her earpiece and swears, pulls it out, then takes out her radio and examines it. Even from ten feet away Peter can see that it's busted; she must have fallen on it when the convulsion knocked her off her feet. "We need to get to that ranger station," she tells Peter, and he shakes his head.

"Makado, we can't."

"What?"

"Think about it. The power was still out when that convulsion hit," he explains, pulling his own radio out and handing it to her. As she takes it and plugs her earpiece into it, he continues. "If the power was out, then the hydraulics would have been out too. And if –"

"Shit, you're right," she says, reaching out to steady herself as another tremble runs through the corridor. Almost a full second after, they feel the walkway shudder as the Pit convulses again, someplace deeper in its anatomy. Tyler stumbles and Peter reaches out and catches him. For the first time since he's known her, Makado looks unsure. Past her shoulder, Peter sees the crumpled cone of flesh ahead of them crunch inwards another inch or so. He can see blood dripping down from the chain links where they've dug into it. He shakes his head.

"If we go down that way," he says, pointing at it, "we'll get trapped down there. And if the ranger station slipped or got dislodged and it's sinking into the bulbule right now..."

Another convulsion rocks through the corridor. Makado falls to her knees, then pitches sideways – the cone has finally crushed the fence entirely and canted that section of walkway at a crazy angle. Past it they hear a muffled thump as another stent fails. The Pit shudders.

Peter holds out his hand and Makado takes it. She nods at him.

"Alright," she says. "Let's go."

"Are we going to –" Tyler starts, but Peter shakes his head.

"No talking," he says, grabbing ahold of Tyler and Fitzroy's hands. "We need to go."

Two more stents collapse as they make their way down the corridor, jogging now, not willing to risk a full sprint in case of another rolling wave of convulsions pitching the walkway beneath them and throwing them off. Luckily, the stents ahead seem to be holding. The second stent that collapsed did so barely twenty seconds after they passed under it, and the noise was so loud that even Makado yelped in surprise and the five of them huddled closer together for a moment, watching the muscles of the Pit crush the reinforced steel into an irregular ovoid pellet. After that they hurried even quicker. The utility lift they're heading to is contained within a reinforced access shaft, one that Peter reasons will likely have been able to withstand the convulsions of the Pit, even if they've gotten bad. He wonders briefly, stumbling a little amid flickering lights as the corridor tilts again, what things are like in the Visitor Center; if the power went out and there was a choke response simultaneously, there could have conceivably been some serious damage.

"Hey, Mak," he calls ahead, and Makado turns, breathing heavily, looks at him. She's told him not to call her that, not at work at least, but he figures that right now it's the least of their concerns. Plus it's easier to say, fewer syllables; less of a strain on his tiring lungs. Tyler is practically done for already and Fitzroy isn't doing much better. It's a long distance to the elevator and every branch they pass, Peter's seen something worrying. Corridor to Rest Stop 23? Collapsed inwards when a stent failed close to their end of the corridor. Lots of blood. The Pit's or some poor ranger or visitor trapped in exactly the wrong place? There's nothing so dramatic as an arm or a hand or a leg sticking out of the scrunched, wrinkled orifice. Corridor to the Lower Interpit Campground? There's a lesser copepod lurking on the rounded, livid ceiling, roughly the size of a deer, antennae prickling with anticipation as he and Makado stopped to consider it. Further down the lights were flickering, and even further down the lights were out entirely. They looked at each other and Makado shook her head.

"Mak," he says again. "Have you gotten anything on the radio?"

"Thought I told you not to call me that," she mutters, fiddling with the radio. She unplugs her earpiece, turns the volume up. They all listen; even Fitzroy and the girl cock their heads intently. Where before there was static and the tantalizing hint of communication, just too fuzzy for them to be able to make out, there is just a worrying soft noise. "The repeater must be completely fucked," she says. She switches to the general channel. "This is Makado, can anybody hear this? Respond, over."

The seconds tick by. Somewhere close by but obscured by pounds and yards of flesh, a stent collapses. Peter jumps when it does, the thumping noise like the beating of a heart, praying that it wasn't any place they needed to go.

The convulsions have slowed now, still passing in rolling waves of panic, but with longer and longer intervals between them. Even the girl, whose name he still does not know, doesn't shriek when the walls writhe, but merely looks at them with a horrible emptiness in her eyes, as though she's simply waiting for it to be over. She hasn't spoken a word in about ten minutes now, and Makado has to coax her into jogging with them when they do move forward.

Makado shakes her head, holds the button down again. "This is Makado," she repeats. "Can anybody –"

The radio squawks and they all jump. Makado nearly drops it. "-akado, it's – trapped in the –" a voice says, tinny with static. Peter can barely make it out, let alone determine who it is. Once the noise stops Makado taps the button twice. "Makado here, I don't know who said that but we can barely hear you, please repeat? Over."

"Makado," comes the reply, a little better. "It's Carl. Can you hear – now? Respond please."

"Carl, we hear you," she says urgently. "Are you alright?"

"No," he says. He sounds frightened. "I'm in access tunnel 32, a stent... -apsed and I'm trapped, I can get into - ...Campground, but –"

From there, the broadcast devolves into indistinguishable noise. Makado frowns at Peter. "Access tunnel 32, that's on the other side of the Campground, right?"

"Yeah," Peter nods. "32, 41, and 17 feed into it."

"Carl, we heard most of that," she broadcasts. "Get to the campground and sit tight, Peter and I will rendezvous there in ten minutes, how copy?"

Nothing. Nothing at all. Peter blows his breath out. "The campground is probably a mess right now."

"Yes," Makado agrees, "but it won't have constricted enough to have blocked off passage, it's too big of a bulb. We can get through and then meet up with Carl, and then we can all get to the elevator and take off together. If he's alone in there –"

"Do you want to split up?" Peter asks, looking significantly at the teenagers. They've been watching Peter and Makado's conversation with terrified faces. They seem to have accepted for the moment that they're safe, but whatever claustrophobia they might have had before they entered the Pit is coming back in spades. Tyler keeps looking up at the ceiling as though it might collapse inwards on them at any moment, although, realistically speaking, a collapse like that would be all sides and all angles at once, realistically speaking, and if it were bad, they'd be pinned between the fence and the walkway and get the breath crushed out of them that way.

"No, absolutely not," Makado says. "We've all got to stick together."

"But the kids –"

"I am not letting them go off alone and get picked off by a shamble or something, and I am not letting you or myself go and try to meet up with Carl alone and have the same damn thing happen. Did you see the size of that copepod back there?" she asks, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. "We'll have to go that way, you know."

"I know, I know, it's just –"

She reaches out, puts her hand on his shoulder, pulls him inwards. For one insane moment Peter thinks she is about to kiss him, but then her chin lands on his shoulder and she whispers into his ear, "Pete, I'm scared too. I don't want to die down here. But we have got to get these kids out, and we have to get Carl. If he's hurt, if he's in trouble, we're going to help him. You and me can make it happen."

Peter nods after a moment and then Makado squeezes his shoulder and is gone, hunkering down and gathering the three teenagers close to her. "Listen to me, guys," she says, "I need you two," she says, looking at Tyler and Fitzroy, to take care of...honey, what's your name?"

Peter sees the girl's lips move but she doesn't actually say anything. "Her name is Eileen," Fitzroy says.

"Eileen," Makado says, "you're doing great."

"I'm scared," Eileen murmurs.

"I know, honey, but you're doing great. We're going to be down here for just a little longer and then we'll be going outside, okay?"

"We have to go get your friend, don't we?" Tyler asks, and Makado nods. Peter turns around so that the three teenagers won't be able to see and takes out his service pistol, checks that it's loaded. He knows it is but something about doing this makes him feel a little better.

When he turns back around the kids look a little better. Tyler looks determined, at least, and Fitzroy doesn't look quite as panicked as before. He doesn't know what Makado told them; probably some kind of empty promise about them being back on the surface quickly. No, stop that, he thinks. We will be back on the surface quickly. This is just a choke response. They probably already have pumps working in the sand gullet. Everything will be fine.

They make the trip down to the campground cautiously. The copepod lurking on the ceiling has disappeared since they moved past and Peter isn't sure whether or not that's a good sign. When they get to the darkened section of the hallway Peter draws his pistol. Makado looks at him, as do the kids. He gives them a smile and shrugs. "Just in case," he explains.

But they are lucky and don't run into anything, other than another lesser copepod, a smaller one than the one before, that takes one look at them and scurries off like an overgrown cockroach.

The campground is situated in a large gastric bulb that, a very long time ago, had been drained of its contents and various campsites marked out, which provided for slightly more comfortable camping quarters than just setting up a tent in a bronchial canal or other tubule. It was roomy, with fairly spectacular calcium deposits for an area as high up in the Pit as it was. There were even a few electrical outlets, as well as a restroom. The convulsions have put all that to hell, though; the restroom and camping platforms have cracked and tilted, and while the retaining shunts and plates seem to be alright, there's a small rupture in the ceiling where it looks like a bone might have torn through the thin, vulnerable flesh, and a steady stream of what proves to be gastric juices is pouring in from the tear, mixing noxiously with the Pit's blood and falling in thick, sticky rivulets to the floor, where it's already collected in a depression. A small pack of macrobacteria, about ten or so, are rolling about the pool; they must have came in from the entrance to the lower organ trails, over there on the left, a dark, gaping chasm in the floor. The stairs leading down to it still seem intact, so perhaps everything's alright down there – but, Peter reflects, if macrobacteria have gotten in, that means that something nastier might have as well.

"Do you see Carl?" he asks Makado, sweeping the beam of her flashlight across the vast bulb. The campground looks deserted, as it should have – there wasn't anybody in here all day, as far as he knows. There weren't any permits issued for this area, at any rate, so nobody, no guests at least, should have been in here.

"I don't –" Makado starts, then trails off. He glances back at her and then follows the beam of her flashlight, and sees a body laid out on the floor, almost in the corner of the bulb, with a round macrobacterium squatting evilly on its upper chest. He can see the ranger suit and knows it must be Carl, it simply must be.

"Shit," Peter says, taking a step forwards.

"Peter," Makado hisses, desperate. "Peter, don't."

"I have to see," he growls. "He might be okay."

"He's gone, Peter."

"Goddam it!" he says, as loud as he dares. One of the macrococci tumbling about the gastric stream pauses for a moment and they watch with bated breath, but it resumes its gamboling just as quickly. Peter creeps closer to Carl's supine form, the sucking noises the bacterium is making nearly turning his stomach. When he gets to within about ten feet of it he looks back at Makado. She shakes her head slowly but Peter can't stop, he has to know, he'd want Carl to be this tenacious for him, he'd want every effort to be made. He looks at the macrococcus; it's big and spiky, the size of a beach ball, its oral groove turned to Carl's face. He'll be okay, Peter tells himself, he's just passed out because of lack of oxygen, he's suffocating. If I get it off of him he'll be fine.

The bacterium's flagellae waggle with slow, lazy motions that Peter can't help but interpret as satisfaction. "Fuck it," he mutters, then takes a few running steps and swings his leg out like he were kicking a football and punts the bacterium away from Carl. It's a magnificent kick, really; it sails off in an arc and splatters against a calcium deposit fully thirty or forty feet away, a thick yellow mucus bursting out of it like a water balloon, the thing's deflated skin sliding weakly and wetly to the ground. Peter sees none of this; he can feel his gorge rising. Behind him, Makado groans and covers Eileen's eyes; Tyler looks away, but Fitzroy cannot stop looking, for there, limp on the ground, is the maculated, jawless corpse of Carl, his eyes popped and sucked out of their sockets, his tongue abraded to a stump, all of the flesh from his cheekbones to his collarbone devoured by the macrobacterium.

Peter doesn't recognize Makado when she grabs his arm and drags him away, cursing at him, begging him to work with her here, dammit, doesn't notice when Tyler and Fitzroy both take ahold of him and help pull him back the way they came. He regains control of his legs somewhere along the access pathway. They make it to the elevator and Peter collapses against the thick reinforced wall, eyes shut, still feeling queasy. He can't get the image of Carl's half-eaten face out of his mind. Makado pushes the button and then goes, sits next to him, rests her head on his shoulder. The kids huddle in their own corner, equally drained and exhausted. Eileen threw up on the way there and she still looks green.

"I'm sorry," Makado says.

"I should have listened to you," Peter tells her. "I should have just..."

"Don't."

"I should have –"

"Peter, don't."

He realizes that he's crying, then a moment later realizes that Makado is as well.

The elevator is on its way down, the readout proclaims, and Fitzroy lets out a ragged whoop. Makado lets out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and wipes her eyes. "Alright," she says, looking at the teenagers. "We're halfway there. It'll take a little bit for the elevator to get here, but we're halfway there. You guys are doing great."

Mumbles and nods. Peter gets up and stretches. He feels a little better. Eileen even manages a little smile, after some coaxing from Makado.

It's quiet for a moment or two, and then there is a crackle from the PA speaker on the wall. Everyone looks up at it; Makado frowns, glances at Peter. "Anybody who can hear this," the voice states, "brace for choke response RIGHT NOW!"

Peter has only a split second to see the flash of panic flutter across the broad, fine lines of Makado's face before the floor bucks beneath them and hurls him into the wall head-first, and darkness takes him.

Continue with Part 5

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