#okay goodnight i’ll figure it out when i wake up again and goodnight

[twistedfics]

𝑲𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔

Leona (twisted wonderland) x AFAB!reader (no pronouns mentioned) NSFW

2.3k+ words

~

hi! this story is 18+ and contains dark content. read at your own risk.

tags/warnings: ⚠️ non-con/dub-con, somno, biting, dacryphilia, breeding, possessive sex, mating, leona is in rut, licking, cum eating, kinda yandere ig?, leona is mean, maybe a bit ooc

~

summary: what if the night you stayed at savanaclaw went a little.... differently?

Leona had been acting strange. Or, at least, that’s what you thought. You couldn’t exactly say you knew the guy very well but something seemed off about him. 

But then again, maybe you were just majorly pissing him off. If you knew anything about him at all, it would probably be that he wouldn’t exactly want people (that he doesn’t seem to like, especially) all up in his business. And especially not in his bed. Whoops.

You’ll admit, it wasn’t the best arrangement, but given your current options, it was all you had. You had to stay somewhere right? It’s only temporary, you can live with him hating you for a night. 

Leona grumbled to himself, tail flinging around as you attempted to make yourself comfortable. He had thrown himself down in the middle of his bed in the midst of his little tantrum and you were forced to squeeze yourself into the bed the best you could. And as far away as you could manage. All those times you thought about Leona getting you into his bed, this wasn’t exactly what you had imagined.

“This is so fucking stupid. I should just throw you out and let you and that damn cat of yours find someone else to bother.” He spat in your direction, but you didn’t acknowledge it. Maybe if you just face the other way and pretend to sleep, he’ll calm down?

“You better not make a fucking sound tonight. If you wake me up, you’re dead, herbivore.” Guess not. 

You sighed and turned slightly in the bed, looking over your shoulder at him. You spoke softly, “Look, Leona. I’m sorry about this, really. but I really appreciate you letting us stay here. I’ll keep quiet, okay? You won’t even know I’m here.”

He didn’t look at you, but you heard a quiet “ugh” which you decided to take as a response. You knew you weren’t getting much more. 

“Goodnight, Leona,” you said as you turned back to face the wall, closing your eyes. You just needed some sleep, and then you’ll figure everything out in the morning.

~*~

You awoke to a room that was far too dark for it to be anywhere near morning. You felt hot. Way, way, way too hot. You attempted to move but found yourself constricted. What was going on? 

In your half-asleep state, you tried to kick away whatever it was that was holding you in place, and your heart nearly stopped when you were lucid enough to feel it. Something was pressed up against you from behind, holding your body against the mattress. Your eyes shot open when you felt something wet and hot against your neck. 

You tried to scream and were immediately silenced with a hand over your mouth. 

“Shh. I told you to be quiet.” A deep voice growled in your ear. Leona? That was definitely him. What in the seven was he doing?

“Leona, wha-” your voice was muffled, and he shushed you again. “You smell so good,” he mumbled, shifting against you. And that’s when you felt it. Something long and hard pressed against your ass. 

Panic shot through you as you began to struggle against him. You managed to turn yourself towards him before he got a hold of you again, removing his hand from your mouth in the process.

“Stop. Stop, Leona, please!” You cried trying desperately to pull yourself out of his grasp. This proved impossible, as he simply tightened his hold on you. It felt like he was trying to crush you to death.

“Maybe you should of thought of that earlier? You know, before you decided to invade my space all night.” He spoke low, way too casual for the situation you were in. His teeth pressed against your neck and you gasped.

This is apparently your fault to him??? You didn’t ask for this! You were only staying here out of necessity anyway. Sure he was hot, and you can’t lie that you haven’t thought of this before, but you never wanted it like this. Why now? Why you?! Violated just because a man can’t keep it in his pants? It’s sick!

Despite your constant struggling and protests though, Leona didn’t let up. His claws were digging into where he held you by your hips and you were sure your neck was probably bruised beyond belief. And to make matters worse, no amount of your crying was keeping him from pressing himself into your thigh. 

“Leona, please! You’re scaring me. Let me go right now!” Your pleas fell on deaf ears as he maneuvered himself on top of you. One of his hands held your wrists together above your head, the rest of his body pinning you against the mattress. Tears were falling down your cheeks now, sobs getting stuck in your throat. You were no match for his strength. You couldn’t see yourself getting out of this alone.

“Do you ever shut up?” He growled, attacking your neck with his teeth again. His claws started to work at tearing your shirt apart and his hips not so subtly ground against your thigh. You tried to thrash around one last time, but the groan that came from him at your movements stopped you in your tracks. This was a nightmare.

“W-why are you doing this?” Your voice was shaking now, sobs being ripped from your throat at every nip of his teeth against it.

“I let you sleep here out of the kindness of my heart, didn’t I? I should at least get something out of it.” He had completed his task of ripping your top to shreds, and he slowly moved himself down your body, biting and sucking at your skin the whole way.

You whimpered when he reached your chest, licking at one of your nipples while his hand came up to pinch at the other one. He teased you for a while, switching between your tits, sucking and licking at your nipples while massaging the other one. 

You could feel him each time he ground himself against your thigh. He was so hard, and you could almost swear he was growing harder- if that was even possible. Pre-cum dripped from his tip and soaked the front of his pants, so much so that you could feel it, sticky on your exposed skin.

His free hand moved down to toy at the waistband of your shorts and your breath hitched. He was really doing this. This was really happening. 

You tried to free your hands but found that he still had your wrists caught in an iron grasp. Tears were now pouring down your face, begging and pleading as you sobbed for him to stop, to just let you go. 

Why did this have to happen to you?

He came back up so he was level with you, his face just centimeters from yours. You searched his eyes for any kind of remorse at what he was doing, but there was nothing. His pupils were blown wide with lust as he smirked down at you.

His face moved closer towards you and you froze as you felt him lick at your face, wiping away your tears in the most disgusting way possible. You felt like you were going to vomit.

“You’re cute when you cry. Be a lot cuter if you were quiet though,” he whispered to you, nipping at your ear before moving back down your body. 

You had given up struggling, accepting your fate. You couldn’t get out of this. He was too strong, and there was no reasoning with him. Something was wrong. He wouldn’t listen, you knew that. 

You cried even harder as he finally ripped away the material of your shorts. You felt humiliated, left in just your panties as you cried and shook beneath him.

His hand slipped past your panties to toy with your cunt, and you watched in horror as he flashed you a predatory smile. 

His next words sent ice through your veins, “Would you look at that, herbivore? You’re soaked. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Freak.” He chuckled and you felt as if you weren’t even in your own body anymore.

Were you enjoying this? No! You can’t be. You’re scared out of your mind and you want it to stop. So why are you wet? Surely a natural reaction, right? There’s no way you could actually be into this kind of thing, right?

“Look at that pretty pussy. All f’ me.” While you were lost in thought, he had torn your underwear away completely. He spread you apart with two fingers, watching as your wetness dripped from your core between your thighs. You didn’t think you’ve ever been more embarrassed.

He pressed down harshly on your clit, closely watching your reaction as your whole body jerked. His stare had you pinned, you felt like prey being stalked. But the lion had already caught you. 

“I hope you’re ready, herbivore. I’m done waiting.” He let go of your wrists and swiftly flipped your body around. Your face was now pressed against the mattress, support from your arms taken from you as he once again pinned your wrists, this time holding them behind your back. 

With one hand he pulled your hips up, leaving you face down with your ass up, level with his hips as he kneeled behind you. He removed his hand for a moment, and you heard the rustling of clothes before you felt his hard cock pressing against your soaked entrance. 

His hand came back to grip your hip, claws digging in and leaving marks on your skin. Your body involuntarily tightened up as it anticipated what would come next.

Leona pushed his hips forward slowly, groaning softly as he forced the tip of his leaking cock into your little cunt. 

“If you don’t relax this is going to hurt a hell of a lot more than it would have,” he grunted and continued to press forward.

You whimpered as you tried to force yourself to relax, your body not wanting to welcome the intrusion. He was huge! It hurt like hell, but no matter what, he wasn’t stopping, and you cried out as his tip stretched you out more than you had ever felt before. 

“That’s it. Take it, you little brat.” You moaned as his cock continued to stretch you out, the feeling burning more with each inch that entered you.

After what felt like forever, he finally bottomed out. He sighed as his hips pressed against your ass and you took a deep breath to try and prepare for what came next. You could feel him inside of you, pressing against the walls of your pussy, hot and twitching.

Without warning he pulled back and quickly slammed his hips forward, pressing you hard against his bed. He gave you no time to adjust, starting out with a quick and brutal pace, abusing your pussy with each harsh thrust.

“Fuck! You’re so tight~ So perfect for me, herbivore.” He bent himself over you hammering his hips into you as he spoke into your ear. His words were interrupted by his own moans, matching the sounds you made as you cried and drooled into the pillows. 

He nipped and licked at the back of your neck, working his way over your shoulders as his cock hit that perfect spot inside of you. You gasped and felt him grin against your skin. You weren’t supposed to like this! So why did it feel so good?

“That feel good, huh?” He readjusted to continue hitting that sweet spot that made you see stars, fucking you impossibly harder. He let go of your wrists to get a better grip on your waist and your hands fell limply to the bed. You moaned loudly, losing yourself to the feeling of his cock deep inside of you, letting yourself enjoy the moment. He bent his body over you once more, licking at the shell of your ear, making you shudder. “Cum for me, baby,” he whispered to you, “Cum. For. Me.” 

Each word was punctuated with an insanely hard thrust, sending you hurtling over the edge. Your vision blacked and you screamed, falling completely limp in his arms as your orgasm hit you hard.

You tried to catch your breath, but Leona didn’t let up. He continued his harsh pace, fucking you into the mattress as he panted and moaned in your ear. The wet sounds of his hips slapping against your thighs echoed through the dark room. 

“Almost there, fuck!” he moaned loudly, his claws biting into your skin as he held you in a death grip. 

“Leona~ Leona, please, stop it hurts, please!” The sensation of overstimulation had you sobbing again, repeatedly chanting Leona’s name and begging for him to stop, to just give you a break.

“Shh, shh~ Shit! I'm almost there! Fuck, just a bit more baby,” He moaned directly in your ear, face pressed into the crook of your neck. “I’m gonna fill you up, yeah? Fuck you full of my cum, everyone’s gonna know you’re all mine- fuck! My own personal little fuck toy. My mate.”

His words sent you over the edge again, screaming out his name as you clenched down on his cock. He followed right after you, biting down hard on your shoulder, breaking the skin as he pumped you full of his hot cum. You could feel it inside you, hot and sticky as it filled you up while he rode out his high. 

When his hips finally stuttered to a stop, he collapsed on top of you, trapping you beneath him. You were both a sweaty, panting mess and it was a while before he finally lifted himself off you.

He slowly pulled out, watching as his and your cum gushed from your cunt, staining the sheets below. Using his fingers, he scooped some up and pulled your head back by your hair, shoving it into your open, panting mouth.

You closed your lips around his fingers and sucked and he sat back to watch as you licked his hand clean. He removed his fingers with a pop, drying them off on the sheets before giving you a quick pat on the head.

“You'll be a good little mate.”

hi there! if you made it this far, thank you! sorry if this was a little rocky, it was my first time writing smut/dark content. i'm a little rusty with my writing >_< but i tried my best!

if you enjoyed this, please like and/or reblog! interaction is very much appreciated! <3

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland smut #twst smut #twst x reader smut #leona kingscholar smut #leona kingsholar x reader #leona kingscholar x reader smut #mine

[toxic3mmy]

prompt: alex comes home drunk and confesses his love for you

no warnings! just fluff <3

[sorry abt it being so short! just wanted to write a quick drabble]

you were sitting on your bed late on a friday night. it was around 2 am when you suddenly heard a loud crash coming from your living room. you jump up and creep towards the front door with a bat in your hand. your body shook slightly as you walked closer to the door. a dark figure was on the floor laughing. you realized you knew this laugh like no other. it was your idiot roommate alex.

“alex? are you okay?” you ask as you put the bat down and flick on the lights

alex didn’t answer you with his words and instead he responds with uncontrollably loud laughter and at the sound of it, you couldn’t help but smile.

“where have you been, idiot?” you rolled your eyes teasingly as alex finally answered you with coherent sentences

“i was out with the guys… just drinking and stuff ya knowww no biggie”

you steadied his wobbly body as you replied,

“i can tell you’ve been drinking… how much exactly did you drink ‘lex?” you ask a bit worried as alex was falling asleep while standing right in front of you

“i love it when you call me lex *hiccup* it’s so cute y/n/n”

your face began to heat up and you swatted him in his arm playfully as you repeated your question

“how much did you drink?”

“well…. i stopped counting after *hiccup* six? or maybe seven? dunno…”

your eyes widened at his response, realizing that not only was alex piss drunk, but he definitely is going to deal with a terrible hangover the next day.

“okay, c’mon borrachito… let’s get you to bed okay?”

you laugh softly as you carefully lead him up the stairs of your shared home. halfway up the stairs, alex stops in his tracks and looks at you.

“you smell really good… like soooo good”

you roll your eyes again at his drunken words and simply continue to take him to his bedroom. you open the door and lead him into his bed. you bring some water and a few aspirin for him to take when he wakes up and you hear alex mumble something as his eyes were closed.

“hm? what did you say ’lex?”

“i said… can i tell you a secret?”

i laughed at his small almost childish voice and nod before saying,

“yes, im listening”

“but… promise me that you won’t tell y/n, okay? let’s keep it between me and you”

you gulped as you didn’t know how to respond. what if he said something really deep and personal that was meant to be said when he was aware and sober? would he be angry at you? but what if it’s just some dumb secret that isn’t really a secret? it most likely was the latter, given that alex had a history with making jokes at all times no matter if it was inappropriate or not.

“okay… i wont tell y/n”

“PINKY SWEAR!!!” he sleepily held out his pinky and you hooked your pinky to his.

“okay… i really really like y/n… and i think im going to marry her one day, do you think she’ll say yes?”

you froze a bit after hearing what he just said. you continue to tuck him in silently before asking,

“why do you think you’re going to marry her someday?”

“because i love her. she’s my best friend and my other *hiccup* half” alex smiled with his eyes closed

you felt your heartbeat from head to toe. did he really mean this? maybe he was just talking out of his ass, being so drunk and all.

“okay mister romantic, it’s time for you to get some rest ‘kay?” you slowly get up and begin walking towards the door but alex tugged on your sleeve

“stay, please? i wanna cuddle my wife” he mumbled

“okay ‘lex, im here. i’ll stay, but only to make sure you don’t drunkenly choke in your sleep” you chuckle lightly

you take off your shoes and slide into bed next to him. you draped an arm over him and played with his soft hair, watching him smile as he had his eyes shut

“goodnight corazóncito mio” he cooed as he got comfortable and fell asleep rather quickly

“night alex” you whispered

you definitely were having a talk about this with alex tomorrow.

#alex quackity #alexis quackity #quackity #quackity x reader

[lulublack90]

Prompt 30 - Uneven

@jegulus-microfic January 30 Word count 995

Previous part First part

“James?...James?” Regulus’s voice was small. 

“Do you really mean that?” James was trying very hard to stomp down the feelings that were slowly beginning to bloom through him.

“Yes. James, I want to come home.” 

“Then come home, Reg.” He knew the words had more meaning behind them, but he couldn’t examine that right now. 

“Okay,” Regulus said, the hope clear in his voice. “I’ll call you when I have a date.”

“Okay, Reg.”

They’d stayed on the line, not saying anything until James had said goodnight, and they both hung up. James stroked Leo. 

“What am I going to do, boy?”    

———————————————————————————

“Is it because of me?” Barty asked seriously when Regulus went to him on Monday morning to ask about breaking his contract. Regulus shook his head. 

“Not in the way you think. You made me realise that what I really want is back home.” He waited for Barty to ask about it, but he didn’t. 

“I really don’t want to lose you as an employee.” Barty had recovered quickly, moving on to the next task. “Let’s spitball some ideas and see if we can figure this out.” Regulus hadn’t even thought of that as an option.   

They spent most of the morning agreeing on a compromise.

He and Barty had discussed him working remotely back in England and flying to New York every three months for a few weeks. It was a good plan. But at the end of the day, it was his father, Bartemius Crouch Sr, who had the final say.

He was called into Crouch’s office that same afternoon. He was nervous. This man was the one in control of his future. He knocked on the door and waited to be called in.  

——————��————————————————————

Sirius had told him the date that Regulus was returning two weeks ago, and Regulus had messaged him the night before to say he’d landed and asked if he’d come over for dinner this evening. He’d agreed instantly, only remembering about Lily when she got out of the shower and joined him in bed. 

He fretted over what he was going to say all night. He tossed and turned, eventually leaving the bed, worried he would wake her. 

The sun rose, and he hadn’t slept a wink. He heard movement upstairs as Lily woke. He put down the whisky he’d been nursing when he heard her coming down the stairs. She walked into the kitchen and went straight to the kettle for a cup of tea. 

“Erm—Lily—We need to talk.” He needed to get this over with. He’d been putting it off. Not quite believing that Regulus would come back. But now it was real. He was back in Grimmauld Place, and James had run out of time. He didn’t know what would happen between him and Regulus tonight, and he didn’t want to lie to Lily. She deserved better.  

He cleared his throat and continued. “Regulus is back.” She barely reacted. She just nodded slowly as she stirred the teabag around her mug. 

“For good?” She asked. Something flashed in her eyes, but it was gone so quickly James couldn’t tell what it was. 

“Yes.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.  

Lily nodded again. 

“Are you getting back together?” Her lips were pursed, and her shoulders had squared. James felt very small and found he couldn’t meet her eyes. 

“He wants me to go over tonight for dinner. So we can talk.” He still couldn’t look her in the eyes. She folded her arms across her chest, holding herself tightly. 

“I don’t want to upset you, Lily. But Reg he—” Lily cut him off. 

“James, I need to tell you something.”

———————————————————————————

Regulus looked at the table he’d just set. Something was off. He walked around it, scrutinising his place settings. His eyes narrowed in on the culprit. The knife and spoon on James's side were uneven.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we? It has to be perfect.” He told the offending cutlery as he carefully rearranged them. He smiled down at the now beautiful table. 

‘Knock, knock.’ His eyes flashed in horror as he looked at the clock and realised he’d lost track of the time and James was here. 

He hurriedly removed the apron and smoothed down his shirt. The door sounded again as he jogged up the steps out of the kitchen and towards the front door. He paused for a moment to check his reflection in the hallway mirror. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and his eyes were too wide, but he doubted James would care. 

He took a steadying breath and opened the door.

James stood there illuminated by the porch light and looked just as mouthwatering as he always had. Regulus had to concentrate to not jump into his arms and start kissing him.

“Hi,” He breathed. 

“Hi,” James replied just as breathy. 

They stood and stared at each other until Regulus realised they were still in the doorway and he hadn’t invited James in. 

“Come in. Dinner’s nearly ready. I made chicken Kievs. Hope that’s alright?” He babbled as he led James down into the kitchen. 

It was warm and cosy in there. Regulus busied himself with opening a bottle of wine while James shuffled from foot to food behind him.    

“Reg. Somethings happened.” He froze, hand hovering over the wine bottle. He looked up at the devastated expression on James’s face. 

“What is it, James?” His voice came out quiet and cracked. He could have sworn the temperature of the room had dropped. 

James swallowed repeatedly, wringing his hands together. All manner of scenarios played in Regulus’s mind. “James, I need you to talk. My imagination is going wild here.” His heart was thundering in his chest. He could feel it in his ears. 

James finally looked him in the eye and took one last shuddering breath before he answered. 

“Lily’s pregnant.” Regulus felt the blood drain from his face. “I’m the father.” 

Next part

#January 30 #james potter #regulus black #james fleamont potter #regulus arcturus black #regulus and james #james x regulus #regulus x james #jegulus #jegulus microfic #lily evans #sirius black #uneven

[feyhunter78]

Pink Pastels Pt 23

Description: You and Gabi wait and try to work through what just happened, while Miguel faces his ex-wife.

Pt 24

You sit on your couch, Gabi fast asleep, her head in your lap, as you stare at the ring on your finger. It’s beautiful, Miguel’s grandmother’s he said. Cushion cut diamond, set in a sturdy silver band, it’s got to be two, maybe three carats? It’s a rock, and you’re flattered that Miguel wanted you to have such a beautiful piece of his family’s history.

It catches the low light as you turn your hand side to side, your TV playing some random sitcom at a low volume.

You look down at Gabi. You helped her wash her face, the tear tracks gone, and she clings tightly to her stuffed bear, her breathing soft and even. Poor thing tired herself out crying.

You let out a slow breath, trying to banish the lingering terror from your veins. You almost died, well maybe not, but if Miguel hadn’t been there…no, it won’t do you any good to dwell on what could have happened. You’re safe, Gabi’s safe, Victoria’s safe, and you’re engaged.

Holy shit, you’re engaged. To a man you’ve been dating for not very long at all. Sure, you’ve known Miguel for much longer than you’ve been dating, but still…

“Mamá, tengo miedo.” Gabi mumbles, tossing and turning, her brows furrowing. Trsl: Mom, I'm scared.

“Gabi?” You call softly, carding your fingers through her hair.

“¿Mamá?” Gabi begins to cry, burying her face in her stuffed bear.

“Gabi, honey, it’s okay.” You whisper, brushing away her tears, waiting for her eyes to open. You don’t want to startle her awake, it’ll only make it worse.

It breaks your heart to watch Gabi cry in her sleep, and you wish you could just take all her fears from her, but you can’t. “It’s okay sweetheart, I’m here, you’re safe.”

After a few more moments, Gabi jolts awake, her eyes scanning the room before they fall on you. Her big brown eyes fill with tears, and she flings her arms around your neck, burying her face in your sweatshirt covered chest.

“Oh, honey, did you have a nightmare?” You ask, rubbing her back soothingly.

She nods. “Papá never came to get us, then the bad man took you.” She cries, her finger bunching in the back of your sweatshirt.

“Sweetheart…it’s okay, we’re safe, the bad man is gone.” You reassure her, hugging her tightly.

“Okay.” Gabi sniffles, snuggling into you.

“Everything’s okay, and soon your dad is going to be back, and then we can all talk and get all this figured out.” You tell her, smiling when she begins to fidget with the ring on your finger.

“¿Mamá?” Gabi asks after a while of the two of you sitting in silence watching the TV.

“Yeah?” You bit back a smile, your heart feeling like it could burst at the sound of Gabi calling you, mom.

“Can I be the flowergirl at you and papá’s wedding?”

This girl has a one-track mind.

“Sure sweetheart.”

“Okay yay.” Gabi says tiredly, snuggling back into you, her eyelids drooping.

“Good to sleep, baby bug, I’ll be here when you wake up.” You promise, pressing a kiss to Gabi’s forehead.

You’ve taken to referring to Gabi as ‘baby bug’ in your head ever since you found out Miguel was Spiderman, you never wanted to overstep. But now…

“Goodnight mamá.” Gabi whispers, already half asleep.

You’re her mom, you’ve been her mom since the day she stepped foot in your classroom, you don’t want to pretend that’s not the case anymore. You’re not going to.

Miguel drags a hand down his face, preparing to face Ava. He hasn’t seen her since Gabi was a baby. Well, he has never seen this Ava, she was already long gone when he replaced this universe’s Miguel. He runs through the recordings and journals the other Miguel left behind, trying to remember every detail about this heartless woman.

She left Miguel when Gabi was a baby, ran off to California with some surfer dude named Kyle, told Miguel she never wanted to see Gabi again, that she never wanted a child, never even loved him.

All daggers to the other Miguel’s heart, but he isn’t here. Miguel isn’t worried about any emotional attachments, any guilt-tripping, he loves you. Only you. No woman could ever come between that.

He opens the door and Ava steps in.

Her hair is shorter than that of the Ava he knew, but besides that, she looks the same.

“Miguel.” She says, raking her eyes up and down his form.

“Ava.” He replies, his face set in a neutral expression, his tone betraying nothing but contempt.

“Where’s my baby?” Ava asks, looking past him and into his darkened apartment.

“My daughter is with my fiancée. You won’t be seeing either of them tonight, or ever.”

Ava rolls her eyes. “You can’t keep Gabriella from me, I’m her mother.”

“You relinquished your paternal rights, I can and will keep her from you.” Miguel crossed his arms over his chest, staring her down.

“Miggy, come on, you know I was just kidding.” Ava goes to put her hand on his bicep, but he takes a step back.

“Don’t call me that.”

Ava takes a step forward, then another, until she’s got his back to the wall, a sliver of light coming in through the half-closed door. “Come on, let me make this up to you.”

“I have a fiancée.” He reminds her, his jaw set.

“So? I won’t tell if you won’t.” She says teasingly, trailing her hand down his chest, his abdomen, then settles over his cock.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Miguel, come on, I know you love it when I do this.” She smiles teasingly, squeezing his cock.

He grabs her hand and wrenches it off him. “I said, don’t touch me.”

She huffs and her eyes go cold. “You’re such a dick, Miguel, this is why I had to leave.”

He scoffs. “Because I won’t let you sexually manipulate me?”

“You always twist my words around!”

Miguel laughs humorlessly. “Sure, Ava, that’s exactly what I’m doing.” He glances around. “Where Kyle? He didn’t want to come on this pointless venture of yours?”

Ava rolls her shoulders back. “Kyle and I are on a break.”

“Let me guess, he found another married woman to fuck.”

Ava’s lips turn into a thin line. “We’re working out some issues.”

Miguel shakes his head and pulls the door fully open, motioning for her to exit. “And I don’t want your issues to affect Gabi, so go Ava. I respected your wishes, I didn’t bother you, didn’t beg you to come back, and I stopped asking you to see Gabi, like you wanted. So leave, now.”

Ava throws him an angry look over her shoulder and storms out. “You can’t stay away from me, Miguel; you’ve never been able to. You’ll see.”

You ease Gabi onto the couch when you hear a knocking at your balcony door. Miguel is standing there, his perfect lips pulled into a frown.

You pad over to the glass doors and slide them open. “Everything alright?”

Miguel sighs and massages his temples. “Ava wanted to see Gabi, I told her no. She relinquished her parental rights years ago, she has no leg to stand on.”

You smile sadly at him. “I’m sorry, that must have been hard.”

He shakes his head. “It’s good she’s not in our lives, besides, she tried to persuade me with her hand on my cock.” His eyes dart to Gabi who is still sleeping peacefully.

An ungodly amount of rage flares through you. “What?”

Miguel cups your face. “Don’t worry mi vida, nothing happened, I stopped it immediately.”

“Okay, good.” You huff, biting your lip when your eyes meet Miguel’s.

“My pretty fiancée, were you worried about me?” He teases, his eyes dropping to your lips.

A shiver rolls through you at the word fiancée.

“Were you worried someone could steal me away? No, cariño, no one could take me from you.” He kisses you gently, teasingly, a smile on his lips as he says the words.

“They better not.” You grumble, wrapping your arms around Miguel’s neck and pulling him back down to kiss you again. And if a few murderous thoughts run through your head, Miguel doesn’t need to know that they’re just thoughts, right…?

Tag list: @miggyoharaswife, @badbishsblog, @imisshim2much, @wanderlustingcastaway, @lynn-9703, @sleepyamaya, @erensbbg, @sweetea85, @ilovemiguelohara, @natthernandez, @stxrrielle, @ihateuguys, @jenniferdixon05207, @blep-23, @minimari415, @emerald-09, @violet-19999, @kenchosaikuo, @groovycass, @youcantseem3, @lovefks, @nightshxdex, @dusstory, @munsonssecretblog, @kirke-is-my-name, @starbearieee, @chatoicboy, @needsleep3000, @witchy-lizard, @cxmeiloorun7, @justrandomlolidk, @chimpkinnuggies, @alicefallsintotherabbithole, @loser-alert, @wwwellacom, @ryantryan6969, @lollipopin, @youcantseem3, @a-cult-leader, @verexi, @purpleskiesandroses, @they2luv1naia, @sophiaj650, @idolautism, @rheannajrs, @merakiq, @rexs-wife, @sukaretto-n, @twilight-loveer, @f1shb0nez, @callsign-blue, @marcelineormars, @sxnasbitch, @111gltzpzy, @lucilavenxoxo, @ray-rook, @elizamelody

#meg's writing #miguel’s pastels #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x you

[callsign-dexter]

Nightmares

Request: hey love I just saw your angst starter sentences list and I don’t know if you are still doing it so if you aren’t just ignore me lol I have a few so you can pick and choose(or if you don’t like any of them you don’t have to do them no pressure)

Maybe with Hangman and daughter you could use this one

-shh, it’s okay. it was just a dream.

Starter- Shh, it's okay. It was just a dream.

Pairings: Jake Seresin x Daughter!Reader

Warnings: angst

Masterlist

miscellaneous angst starters

A/N: Thank you to the person who sent this in! The same request from the same requester that had three different starters. The other two fics can be found here: Maverick x Daughter!Reader and Tim Bradford x Daughter!Reader

It had not been a goodnight in the Seresin household. You, Jake’s 6-year-old daughter, had not been sleeping through the night and Jake couldn’t figure out why. Almost on the hour, you would be getting out of bed and padding your way to your father’s room. There you would crawl into his bed and snuggle up with him and at first, he didn’t say anything just simply pick you up and take you back to bed and stay with you until you were asleep and then he would be going back to bed. It was like this for a week. It had been a Thursday night when you had crawled into his bed and he just let you stay there, you seemed the calmest when you were with him but still you would be waking up tossing and turning and waking him up in the process.

Friday morning rolled around and he was tiredly getting up to the sound of his alarm and getting ready before going to wake you up and get you ready for school. When it was time, he began the gentle wake up process that he had always done with you and each time it was success but not this time. He really needed the sleep because a new round of Top Gun cadets was rolling in and he needed to be on his A game. After the mission was completed successfully everyone was promoted to Lieutenant Commander and had been assigned a permeant station as The Dagger Squad under the command of Admiral Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell. “Sweetheart, it’s time to get up. We need to get you dressed and ready for school. I promise to get you whatever you want afterwards.” He said hating to go to bribery but he was desperate and it was really the last resort.

“You promise?” You asked him opening your eyes and rubbing them and he smiled a soft smile. He could see the bags under your eyes and they weren’t as bright as normal.

“I promise.” He said

“Chick-fil-A?” You asked tiredly and he hated that sound coming from you.

“Anything for you, Sweetheart.” He said and you nodded and then hugged him around the neck and then he picked you up and you both began the process of getting you ready. It didn’t take that long, thankfully.

“Will you do my hair?” You asked him and he nodded.

“How do you want it?” He asked standing behind you as you ate.

“French braid on the side and pulled back in a ponytail.” You said taking a bite of your waffle that he had made along with coffee and getting it ready to go while he was getting ready and letting you sleep.

“You got it.” He said and began his work by brushing your hair and then beginning to braid. It didn’t take long and he was done by the time you finished breakfast and then you both were out the door and into this truck. You had fallen asleep on the way to school and he allowed it just wanting you to get some sleep even if it were for 20 minutes. 20 minutes came by fast and he was waking you up once again and helping you out of the truck and walking you to the entrance of your elementary school. He bent down to your level as he put on your backpack. “Remember be good for your teachers and be nice to everyone. I’ll be back to pick you up after school.” He said and you nodded. Usually, he would have your babysitter pick you up but he decided he would due to wanting to be with you especially with you having little sleep, which sometimes messed with your mood.

“You got it, Daddy.” You said and he smiled and kissed you head as you hugged him and then your teacher was leading you as you both released each other. He and your teacher both said their greetings and then he was on his way to his truck and to work while ignoring all the mom’s staring.

Jake made it to his truck and got in he quickly sent a text to your babysitter letting her know what was up. Then started his 20-minute drive to base. He was lucky that he was able to get a house that was 20 minutes away from your school and 20 minutes away from the base. When he arrived and parked in an empty spot next to Bradley’s Bronco he got out and grabbed his stuff for the work day and started his trek inside while taking sips of his coffee every now and then. He sighed when he sat down in his chair when he got to his office. He closed his eyes for a minute before there was a knock on his door and he opened them to find Javy standing there. “You look like hell.” He said and Jake nodded.

“I feel like it. What’s up?” He asked

“Everyone is meeting in the rec room before classes start and while introductions are made. Figured you wanted to join.” Javy said

“Ok.” He said and got up while grabbing his thermos of coffee and they headed that way. They hardly talked while making their way to the room. When they got there everyone greeted them and they greeted them back.

“You look like hell.” Natasha said and Jake rolled his eyes.

“That’s what Javy said.” He said

“Everything ok?” Bob asked and Jake smiled sweetly at the WSO.

“Y/N hasn’t been sleeping well. Waking up on the hour. She’ll crawl into bed with me and then toss and turn which ends up waking me up.” Jake said taking another sip of his coffee. When they learned about you, they were shocked but it made sense as to why he wasn’t taking women home and drinking much. They were also shocked to learn that Jake had been married to a Naval Officer that was KIA and became a widower and he still wore his wedding ring. They had been married for 10 years and just right after you had turned 5, she had been deployed and then Jake was getting the notification that she had been KIA. He had been raising you for a year on his own and it hurt but he put on a brave face and powered through. You both still talk about her a lot and you both keep her memory alive. She was the female version of Jake.

“Do you know why?” Bradley asked and Jake shook his head.

“No idea.” He said and then Warlock was walking in ushering them to the classroom. Introductions were made and the training began. Jake was sluggish going out to the tarmac and Maverick took notice of this and pulled him aside.

“You ok?” Maverick asked as he walked next to the blonde hair usually cocky pilot.

“Not really.” He said and this worried the older pilot because usually he was full of himself.

“What’s up?” He asked

“Y/N hasn’t been sleeping the greatest and has been getting in bed with me and waking up on the hour. When she is in bed with me, she is tossing and turning waking me up. We’re just exhausted.” Jake said and Maverick felt sorry for him.

“Do you want to sit this round out? I’ll go up in replace of you.” He said and Jake nodded.

“That would be great thank you. Also, I need to leave early, I’m picking Y/N up instead of her babysitter.” He said and then turned around and headed back to his office to get caught up on some paperwork and maybe a little shut eye while he had his door closed. The time to leave to pick you up was quick to approach and he was booking it out of there. He barley said bye to his fellow team members and was on his way to get you and your Chick-fil-A. He arrived at the school and parked and went in to pick you up and then when he got back to his truck and buckled you in and then headed to Chick-fil-A and got your and his regular. When the both of you got home, he pulled his truck into the driveway and then killed the engine and got out and then you while grabbing your backpack and lunch box and the food. “Ok, Sweetheart. Let’s eat and then watch some TV.” He said and you nodded tiredly. He sat you down at the table and then you began eating supper was quiet and he could see that you wouldn’t last long. Once supper was done and trash was thrown away you both headed to get changed into more comfortable clothing and then headed to the living room where he opened Netflix and then you both settled on a kid appropriate movie. You snuggled up to him and he wrapped his arms around you. You made it through 3 movies and 20 minutes into the fourth movie you were out and it was 10 PM, he tended to let you stay up later when the weekend was approaching. Jake headed into your room and laid you down and tucked you. He turned on your F-18 nightlight and then kissed your head “I love you, Sweetheart.” He said and then walked out to watch some TV of his own.

Jake got an hour into his show when he heard whimpering, crying and then shouting. He was quick to pause the show and then rushing to your room from his to find you tossing and turning. He rushed to you and sat on your bed and took you in his arms “Shh, it’s okay. it was just a dream.” Jake said soothing until he had you waking up slowly with sniffles. “You’re ok. Want to tell me what it was about?” He asked in a soothing voice looking down at you.

“You went up in your jet and then something happened and you crashed and died with Uncle Bob and Aunt Natasha.” You said and Jake’s heart broke.

“Oh, Sweetheart. Nothing bad is going to happen. You know why?” He asked and you shook your head.

“Why?” You asked

“Because I’m the best of the best and your aunts, uncles, and I will always protect each other.” He said and smiled and hugged you tighter as you sniffled. “You think you can go back to sleep on your own or do you want to sleep with me?” He asked.

“You, Daddy.” You said

“Ok, Sweetheart. Let’s go.” He said and picked you up and you snuggled into him. He carried you to his room and sat you on the bed. He got in and you snuggled into him and once he felt your breathing even out, he resumed his show. After a while, he turned it off and then settled down to go to sleep. You both got a full night’s sleep and were well rested to started the weekend.

Tag list:

@kmc1989

@els-marvelvsp

@atarmychick007

@nyx2021

@grandstrangerphantom

@angenu01-blog

@talesofreading

#jake seresin x daughter!reader fandom #jake seresin x daughter!reader imagines #jake seresin x daughter!reader fanfiction #jake seresin x daughter!reader fic #jake seresin x daughter!reader #top gun x daughter!reader imagines #top gun x daughter!reader fanfic #top gun x daughter!reader fandom #top gun x daughter!reader fanfiction #top gun x daughter!reader #top gun maverick x daughter!reader imagine #top gun maverick x daughter!reader fanfic #top gun maverick x daughter!reader fandom #top gun maverick x daughter!reader fanfiction #top gun maverick x daughter!reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun x reader #daughter reader top gun #daughter!reader top gun #top gun fan fiction #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick fic #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick x reade #r #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun fandom #top gun maverick

[luvring]

WANNA GET BREAKFAST?

time skip + gn!reader | fluff (?), mutual pining w no resolution. Lol.

the first time atsumu shows up at your house this week is for a movie marathon. he moves through your home as if it was his own—no hesitation in opening cupboards he knows have bowls and cups, grabbing his go-to blanket from your closet, and taking up more space on the couch than you until you shove his legs away.

he falls asleep during the third movie, head on your shoulder and arm across your lap. when he wakes up, he denies your claims of him snoring and drooling on your shirt.

the second time he shows up is the morning after, 30 minutes after calling to ask if he left his charger in your living room.

you open the door to find him wearing pyjama pants and a shirt you bought him years ago as a birthday gift, hair still messy in a fluffy, you really want to reach out and touch it way. “mornin’.”

“good morning.”

otherwise wordlessly, you offer his charger and he wraps it up to fit nicely in his pocket. he thanks you, and you shift on your feet to lean against the door frame.

a beat passes where neither of you move to say goodbye.

“do you wanna grab breakfast together?” he asks suddenly.

“you want to spend another day with me?”

“woah, i never said that. just breakfast.”

it isn’t just breakfast. though you guessed as much hours ago.

you’re back in your room that evening laughing over things that happened years ago—things you’ve talked about a dozen times but never seem to grow tired of. your head is on his chest, and you can feel his laughter run through you while you reenact a god awful sex ed class that haunts you to this day.

atsumu stays until your eyes droop and you keep yawning, and he figures he should head home to make sure nothing somehow caught fire while he was away.

you manage to walk him to the door, and his hands find their way to pull the blanket tighter around your sleepy figure. “you sure you can make it back to bed?” he teases.

“goodnight, ‘tsumu.”

the third time, again, the morning after, atsumu doesn’t bother calling to check if you're home before you hear the doorbell ring.

“‘tsumu? did you forget something again?”

he doesn’t respond at first. he isn’t even looking at your face when he snickers. “yeah, actually. the sweater someone that isn’t me happens to be wearing.”

looking down, you see the familiar MSBY logo on your chest and feel your face warm. it hits you then that when you reached for your hoodie, it had been in the laundry, not at the corner of your bed.

maybe that's why you fell asleep to the smell of his cologne.

“...shut up.”

you move a little too fast to take it off, if only to cover your face by pulling it over your head. “didn’t say y’had to take it off.”

you freeze, and just like the day before, the both of you stare at each other for a second.

maybe two.

your hands let go of the sweater edge, clenching and unclenching your fists instead. “good. it’s comfy.”

“mhm,” he hums. “it suits you.”

ignoring the compliment, this time you’re the one who asks, “do you wanna get breakfast?”

he shoots you a smile. “sure. you paying?”

the fourth time that atsumu shows up, you’re the one who called.

“are you missing something?”

“what? am i s'pposed to say you?” he answers, voice still groggy.

yes, a part of you thinks. “no, idiot. you left your headphones here.”

“...oh.” there’s shuffling on the other side of the line, and you imagine he’s looking around to confirm as if you weren’t holding the headphones in your hand. “guess i did.”

“i’ll come over then. breakfast after?”

the question makes you smile. “yeah, but i’m too lazy to go out. wanna cook something?”

“fuck no.” atsumu lets out a breathy laugh. “how is cookin' any less work than going to a café?”

“okay, baby, do you want cereal?”

“woah, woah, woah, baby?” he asks loudly. the grin on his face is audible. “i knew y’had a crush on me.”

“that’s not—god, i’m hanging up on you.”

you don’t hang up. not until he finishes laughing and you hear him confirm, “be there in 20.”

it’s the fifth time atsumu comes over that really confuses you.

“why are you here?”

“that's how you greet your best friend?”

“stop it, you know what i mean. i didn’t find anything you left behind, we even double checked before you left,” you point out, brows furrowed.

“yeah, i know. kinda ruined my plan.” he pouts at you.

you blink back at him.

“what plan?”

atsumu, jokingly aghast, softly says your name. he drags out the last syllable in that teasing, endearing way that makes your stomach do a flip. “you think i’d just forget things i use regularly at your house 3 times in one week?”

“i—well,” you start and sputter. it sounds stupid to say now but, “i mean, yeah, i guess?”

a laugh escapes your best friend and even as your face warms in embarrassment, it's a nice sound. he leans in slightly, tilting his head. “and you call me the idiot?”

looking at the grin on his face, witty remarks, statements, any words at all flash in your head, none staying long enough for you to figure out what to say. your eyes flicker between him and anywhere, everywhere else.

cute, atsumu thinks.

maybe if you weren’t looking at the tree behind him, you would have noticed his eyes flicker between yours down to your lips.

they stay there, on your mouth, a little longer than he expects. only by a second, but whatever confidence atsumu has falters as his face starts to go red. clearing his throat, he moves back a breathable distance away.

“nevermind, you'll figure it out. you, uh, still wanna get breakfast?”

@devilgirlcrybabiey @lordbugs @smiithys @xfangirl-trashx @passionateuchiha @scaramouchesfootstool @fifteenshadesofpinkk @lotus-sukimono @chloee0x0 @kenmaslov3r @bakugosgrenade @semifilms @sakusasdirtyragdoll @dai-tsukki-desu @thathoneybee3 @momoewn @aintgeluh @dazaisfavgf @simpforerenn @crystal-lilac @vhenis @omiigad @kur0-kawa @semispilledcoffee @ksyhmm @idontlikeyourjob @awkwardaardvarkforever @rory-cakes @prblmtic @dimslover @kuroaka @sunaslay @h0n3ysgh0st @lackey-laufeyson @bontensbabygirl @dira333 @Kamukayakmonyet @danyisapingu @isentsworld @lilithlunas @anime-ships-gay @todorokiskitten @kellesvt @curiouslilbeast @fiona782 @cvhenia @mitskiologist

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #bwah....my atsumu..hes so silly #smth abt leaving smth at their house as an excuse to come over is so cutesie 2 me #who gets me. whooo is getting me rn

[bitchinbarzal]

The fact that Bug is making Penny feel awful about herself and Mama and Quinn have not said anything to Bug just baffles me. Cause if the roles were reversed and Penny was making Bug feel like that Mama and Quinn would be on her case.

okay I’m gonna use this one to finally resolve for the family.

Penny had been at the Pettersson’s majority of the week and he’d presence was missed in the house.

You both had tried to give her space, with everyone telling you “she’s just being a teenager”

“I’m going to get her!” Quinn announced, a little after 12 and storming away from your bed to do so.

“Quinn it’s after midnight!”

“I don’t care” he states, pulling on a hoodie “she’s my little girl and I’m done with all this space bullshit I want her home, under our roof safe with us!”

You don’t fight him, simply watching him leave knowing he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

At the Pettersson’s, he’d phoned ahead to Elias as to not frighten everyone in the house.

“She awake?” He asks and Elias nods

“The girls are in Astrid’s room — Huggy be nice” he reminds to which Quinn glares, not that it’s unjustified really.

Quinn knocks on the door and opens it slightly when a “come in!” Is announced.

When Penny sees him she stands up and walks out as to not wake up Kai who had fallen asleep on the floor next to her.

“What’re you doing here?” She asks

“I’m taking you home” he states simply.

Penny frowns “No, I’m not coming home”

Quinn wants to argue but he knows that’s all anyone in his house has done for weeks. Instead he just leans forward, kisses her head and mumbles

“Ok, whatever you want. We love you Penelope”

And when he gets to the end of the hallway to leave she squeaks “Dad?”

“Yeah baby?”

“I’ll get you in the car, ok?”

She comes out a little over twenty minutes later with her bags and hers into Quinn’s car. On the route home he stops for mcflurry’s like they used to have after her figure skating lessons every Thursday.

She hasn’t said a word the whole way home, when he finally pulled into the driveway and Quinn parked the car he said

“This is your home Penn, you’re supposed to feel safe here”

“Dad I just- I don’t like it here anymore”

He sucked in a breath “well then I’ve failed horribly at being your dad Penelope and that’s my fault baby, that’s not on you at all. I’m so sorry”

When they get out of the car and into the house Penny follows him upstairs then when on the landing she looks between her room and her parents room.

Inside, you’re asleep but Quinn opens the door and says “You going to bed?”

“Um yeah Goodnight” and she disappeared into her room.

He was cuddled up next to you when the door opens again slightly and Quinn hears her

“Daddy?” Just like when she was a toddler.

“Yeah baby?”

“Can I sleep in here?”

“C’mere”

She slides in between you both and absentminded in your sleep you grab hold of her into your embrace. She holds onto your arms and Quinn sees her crying.

He doesn’t ask why but instead he wipes her tears

“We’re so sorry Penny, we love you so much — no matter what”

#penny hughes #bugs world

[wildemaven]

. . . The Rest

Paring: Frankie Morales x HairstylistF!Reader

WC: 2846

Warning: T; mentions of food, drinks, coffee, divorce, anxiety feelings.

A/N: This follow up is for the sweet @heythere-mel Because what happened after Frankie called?! I didn’t really have an intention of writing more but then Mel asked and my brain started spinning with more. And as I was writing this I was like, could this be the beginning of Weekends with Frankie and how they came to be (like if you squint just a little you can see it right??). Anyways, this isn’t beta’d and probably is a jumbled mess, my head feels like stuffed to the max, but thankfully on the mend. Enjoy.

Masterlist / Series Masterlist / Previous / Next

“It’s not— weird is it? It’s only been…”

His voice has a relaxed tone to it, shifting in his bed to catch the time on the bedside clock, its bright red numbers glowing against the darkness that is his bedroom— 12 am.

“Shit! We’ve been on the phone for 3 hours now!”

“Oh wow! Doesn’t really feel like it though. What were you saying about being weird?”

You immediately answered Frankie’s call on your drive home, picking up where you had left off at the sports bar. You both found you had an endless amount of things to talk about, never that awkward silence, each topic flowing from one to the next with ease.

“Oh yeah. You don’t find it weird wanting more time with someone you only just met? I don’t know what it is, but I just— I just feel so drawn to you in such a short amount of time.”

“Weird is someone not liking pineapple on their pizza.”

“That’s it— Sorry, it was nice knowing you…” You can’t help but laugh at his dramatics.

“Oh, shut up! I’ll eat your pineapple pieces Frankie!”

He’s right though, it feels like it should be a little weird how things are playing out, that you both hit it off so soon and can’t get enough of each other. And yet sometimes life has a way of making things work and it’s better to go with it than fight it.

“When can I see you again?”

A small yawn escapes before you can respond. “Hmm, when do you want to see me again?”

“Today.”

You laugh at that because it’s nearing 1 am and you can’t wrap your head around the fact that you went to work yesterday like any other day and now your talking on the phone like some giddy high schooler. It all just feels like a dream you don’t want to wake up from.

“Anyone ever told you you’re cute?”

“Yeah actually, my hairdresser said the same thing just yesterday.” You can’t see it, but you know that damn dimple has caved in just the perfect amount, paired with that incredible smile of his.

“Oh my god, Frankie! Are you going to hold that over my head forever?!”

“Forever sounds nice.” He says just above a whisper and there’s a soft emotion behind the way he says it..

“Frankie…” You feel dizzy, intoxicated by the affect Frankie is starting to have on you.

He says your name and your heart flutters at the way it falls from his mouth, a feeling you want to know for as long as you can.

“What is this? This thing happening between us? I mean— I like whatever it is.”

“Hmm— I like… whatever this is too. Feels— right. I haven’t felt this way about anyone in a long time.” You can’t help but smile at his confession, situating yourself further into your stack of pillows.

“So, you want to see me today?”

“Yeah, I’d really like too...” He tries to conceal his yawn. “Can I meet you for coffee? Say— 10:30?? I can text you the name of the place that has the best pastries in town.”

“That sounds perfect!”

“Alright, time for bed now beautiful.”

“You think I’m beautiful?” Your teeth catch your bottom lip, you definitely feel like a giddy high schooler.

“Yeah, I really do.”

“What am I going to do with you Frankie?”

“Let me take you to coffee— then we can figure it out.”

“Okay. Goodnight Frankie.”

“Night.”

You tuck yourself in, thoughts of today still running through your mind, Frankie at the forefront of them. Your limbs heavy as you drift off into an array of vivid colors, movie like imagery tickling your eyes with each breath you take in slipping further into a suspended realm.

*

Frankie already waiting for you when you pull into the parking lot of the cute little coffee shop he’d text you first thing this morning. Leaning up against his truck, his relaxed posture makes him somehow look more attractive. A comfy green shirt hugs his broad shoulders, his flexed forearms crossed over his chest— one sleeve pushed up just enough to see the pull of the muscles and tendons on display.

“Good morning beautiful.” He greets you with a smile as he pushes himself forward towards you, welcoming your arrival.

“Hey there handsome.” You’d practically skipped the rest of the way to him. All giggles and smiles when you finally got to where he’s standing.

Your arms around his waist, securing yourself to him, his hands clasped around your jaw as he leans in for a kiss. His lips tender and patient as they mold against yours.

“Mmm, I’ve been looking forward to that— it’s kinda becoming my favorite thing.” You smile against his mouth.

“Yeah??” Pulling you back in for seconds, savoring how you completely melt against him.

“Hi.” He says as his thumb brushes against your jaw, taking in your features up close in the morning light.

“Hey.” Your fingers find their way into his hair instinctually, he decided to forego his hat today, his effort in styling not lost on you. “Your hair looks good, I like it like this.” Combing a few strands off his forehead.

“Thanks. I tried to recreate what you did— I’ll get the hang of it eventually. Just know though, the hat will be making an appearance from time to time.”

“Hat or no hat— I truly like both.”

Frankie isn’t use to the heavy dose of compliments you keep sending him, but he likes the way he feels when you say them and finds himself feeling a sort of way about you when you do— he tucks the sentiment away for the time being.

*

You situate yourself into a little table near a window, the sound music and coffee-goers competing against each other. The baristas busy filling orders behind the counter— running through the motions of pulling shots of espresso, frothing milks and dishing out bags and bags filled with what look like delicious pastries. Frankie is in line waiting for the order— he insisted on paying, so you let him. From where you’re sitting you can see him among the waiting customers. Hands in his pockets, his profile on display for your viewing pleasure. He must sense your staring, glancing over at you and throws a wink your way— collecting his little gestures over the last day has you feeling a certain emotion, it’s starting to consume you in the best way.

Placing the two coffees, an oatmilk latte for you and rich black for him, on the table along with the freshly baked croissants he wanted you to try.

Frankie settles in his chair, his long legs barely have enough room to fit comfortably, his knee slightly knocking into yours. He goes to shift away as he begins to apologize, but your hand rests on his thigh as you tell him it’s okay. The contact is brief, but long enough to feel an electric shock of bliss zip through his body.

“So what are your plans for the week?” He asks, trying to break through the bustling noise of the coffee shop.

His question catches you mid bite. The buttery soft croissant nearly melts in your mouth, the flaky bits soft and moist paired with the crunchy texture of the caramelized sugar topping— a perfect balance of sweet and savory.

“Mmmm! This is so good!” Trying to wipe away the crumbs from your mouth before you answer him. “Not much really going on. Tomorrow is my usual day to get my week ready— picking up needed supplies and cleaning house are how most Monday’s are for me. Then a busy week of clients. What about you?”

He takes a drink of his coffee and you catch the way his adam’s apple shifts a bit as he swallows, the prominent features on his neck drawing you in as he begins to speak.

“Have a few flights scheduled throughout the week, that will keep me busy with prepping and air time. Then helping Benny at the gym a few nights.”

“You help him train?”

“I try. I’m usually just a human punching bag. But whatever it takes to get him a win.” He’s says so nonchalantly with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

“I’m sure he really appreciates it though. Having a friend like you supporting him inside and outside of the ring.”

“Yeah— I guess so.” Finishing off the rest of his coffee. “You’ll have to come sometime— catch one of his fights. There’s a few local ones coming up.”

“I’d like that. Thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for?”

“For inviting me into your life with out a second thought. Feeling comfortable enough to bring me into your circle of friends. I mean I already know the other guys obviously, but I appreciate you asking me to be apart of that space with them.”

“Of course.” His hand grabbing for yours, pulling you closer so he can kiss your temple— tender and soft. “Plus, the more people in Benny’s corner, the better he does.”

“Good to know. I’ll make sure to invite Hannah, she’ll lose her mind over a caged up Benny, I’m sure.”

The rest of the date is spent divulging more into each other’s lives. Sharing embarrassing moments as kids. your favorite of his being when he locked his little sister in the bathroom with wet cat food and crackers telling her it was tuna— you hadn’t laughed that hard in awhile.

Another round of coffee brought more questions and more stories from yours and Frankie’s past. He touched on his recent divorce, and you learned that it wasn’t due to one particular issue, they just grew apart early on and knew splitting was the best thing. Frankie had shared his apprehension to dating, worried he would repeat the same cycle if he was to fall in love and marry again, but he was working through it in therapy and finding that his thoughts were his worst critic sometimes— you could relate to that. You could sit and listen to him talk about anything, the way Frankie shares with so much heart and sincerity could hold your attention for an endless amount of time.

Nothing seems to exist around you as time passes. His presence envelops you in a bubble, makes you feel like you and him are the only ones in this space.

After coffee, you exchange goodbyes and a less than chaste kiss, your back against your car door as Frankie’s expansive frame cages you in as you grip on to him fearing you might just float away entirely. You both make a plan to set up seeing each other sometime during the coming week. You’re already dreading the time in between until you see him again.

*

Before you knew it, Monday rolled into Tuesday and it was back servicing clients for the week.

The day was steady, leaving ample time in between appointments for short breaks and quick text exchanges to Frankie.

Frankie: miss you. Hope you’re having a great day.

-Miss you too handsome. Hope this morning’s flight was great.

Frankie: It was. The sunrise was almost as beautiful as you are 😉

-Quite the charmer you are Morales.

Frankie: I try.

Finishing up a color service, you take your color bowls and brushes to the back room to clean and sanitize. Checking the time, you have 30 minutes before the next client arrives— a cut and blow-out.

You hear the familiar sound of the front door opening alerting the arrival of someone, knowing Hannah’s at the front desk you don’t bother to check, allowing her to greet them.

*

“Welcome in, how can I help you sir.” Hannah always does her best to welcome everyone with her cheerful voice.

“Hi, I’m Frankie. I’m here…”

“Frankie?”

“Y-yes?”

“The Frankie? The Frankie that my girl has been texting me about for the last several days?”

“If we are talking about the same person, then guilty.”

“Hi, Frankie, I’m Hannah.” She introduces herself after her barrage of questioning.

“Hannah?? So you’re the cute receptionist Benny has been going on about. Nice to finally meet you.”

“Benny talks about me?!” If she wasn’t already sitting, she would have fallen to the floor at the mention of Benny Miller thinking of her.

“He does.” Frankie chuckles at Hannah’s flustered state.

“I’ll go get our girl. Be right back.”

*

“Hey! There’s a guy up front, says he knows you.” She’s got this look about her as she says it.

You look at he, brows furrowed in confusion, you weren’t expecting anyone and you still had plenty of time until your next client.

“He’s very attractive… Goes by the name Frankie. You know him??” Her melodramatic tone is too much as she fans at her face with her hands.

“You are the worst!”

“But you love me!” Fluttering her eyelashes as she tries to play innocent.

“Sometimes against my better judgment.”

*

As you walk to the front, you can’t help but be captivated by Frankie. The light shining through the front window was the perfect radiant backdrop to his beautiful silhouette. You can feel the excitement start to come to life the moment he turns and you see that charming smile of his.

“Hey! What are you doing here?”

“I got off early and was looking for an excuse to see you.”

“What’s that you got there?” Pointing to the two coffees and what you can only assume is a bag filled with those delicious croissants.

“My excuse to see you. Thought you could use a little pick me up. Also wanted to see if you’re free Saturday evening to watch Benny’s fight.” He says holding up the coffees and pastry bag.

“You alone are the perfect pick me up. And yes, I’d love to go— it’s a date.” Grabbing one of the coffees before stealing a kiss.

“Uh, I wasn’t sure what you liked Hannah— so I just got two of the same thing.” Placing the second latte on the front desk.

Your heart swelled at the gesture. Stopping by to bring you a treat, to see you— a drive that’s out of his way. And then to bring a coffee for Hannah. What is this man doing to you??

“He’s handsome and brings coffee??” Hannah grabs the cup and begins to leave, but not before saying over her shoulder, “Marry him, now!”

Frankie and you laugh at the remark- but you’re teetering on the edge of insecurity. It was a silly thing to say considering your brief dating— if you could call it that and the thought of it didn’t sound like the worse thing either. But your previous partners were never at a point in their lives where marriage or serious relationships were ever a priority, always making you feel ridiculous and that you were the problem in every equation. But you knew it was something you wanted eventually, when the time was right. You just hoped that you weren’t forcing something on to Frankie to think about so soon.

You’re brain starts doing that thing where it’s already preparing for the worst. You just know he is going to be annoyed with what just happened and decide that this isn’t what he truly wasn’t. He’ll tell you this was only supposed to be a casual thing, it would never become anything serious. You can feel your chest clenched at the thought of him calling it off right here in the middle of the salon. Old feelings and insecurities bubbling to the surface, but you try to pull yourself together, you’ll deal with this problem later.

“Sorry about her. Uh, She can be a bit much sometimes.” You can feel your face becoming hot, picking at your fingers like you tend to do when you’re nervous.

“No— no it’s fine. I can see why Benny likes her. She’s— quirky.”

He can’t help but take in the mix of emotions dancing across your face. Sensing the nervousness stirring with in you after Hannah’s comment, and he can’t help but think it has you feeling fearful and unsure. He wants you to know he isn’t feeling flighty because of it either.

“Hey, look at me.” Pulling your attention back to him fully. “It’s okay, what she said. It doesn’t bother me.”

“Sorry, got in my head for a second. My damn self-sabotage rearing it’s head again.”

Relief washes over you. Sure it doesn’t mean anything is happening right now, but you’re glad to know that the thought of being serious moving forward isn’t something Frankie would turn down.

“Come here.” His arms become a security blanket to your uncertainty. Strong enough to withstand any threat against your own enemies. He feels safe and you like that he wants to be a part of what ever this growing connection between you becomes.

You nuzzle right into the crook of his neck, his skin warm and inviting. You want to stay wrapped up like this for as long as you can.

“Umm— if you and your boyfriend could wrap it up. I’ve got work to do and I’d rather not be front row to whatever is happening up here.” Hannah and her innate ability to make herself known.

“Hmm— Boyfriend??” Frankie says, as if he’s asking you for your opinion on the title.

“Boyfriend?”

“I kinda like the way it sounds.”

“Me too.”

Next

#Frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #Pedro pascal #wildemaven writes #triple frontier

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

No Comfort in Solitude

Summary - Part 13 in the Comfort series

Pairing - Dean Winchester x Reader, Reader x Sam (platonic), Reader x Bobby (father-figure)

Warnings - slight angst, mentions of pregnancy, 

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

A/N - G’day guys, I just wanna start by thanking you for all the likes, reblogs and follows since my last post, I really appreciate it. I hope you like this one too. And remember my inbox is always open for requests or even if you just wanna chat. Until next week, enjoy! 

When you finally pull up in the salvage yard you’re beyond exhausted. You call Sam again before getting out of the car. 

“Hey, I see you got there,” Sam says when he picks up.

“You can finally enjoy that PB&J you wanted,” Dean calls out.

“I’m too tired now. I don’t want it.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I promise I’ll replace what I eat and not put the empty jars back.”

“You will…you always say that and you always do it again.”

“I am sorry.”

“I know.”

“Okay, lovebirds break it up. Dean focus on the road, and Y/N go inside the panic room and get some sleep.”

“Fine. I’m going inside now. I gotta pee again first and then I’ll go down to the panic room. I’ll tell you once I’m in there.”

“Sweetheart, check the trunk!”

You grab what’s left of the groceries you bought, along with the knife and gun before quickly making your way to the back of the car. You open the trunk as instructed and find a bright blue duffle bag you pull it over your shoulder and lock the car. You quietly go around the back and pick the lock, letting yourself inside, locking the door behind you.

“You really prepared me for everything, huh?”

“You know I worry about you. I have accepted that I can’t protect you from everything, but I’ll never stop doing everything I can.”

“Thanks, Dean.”

“You can brush your teeth, shower if you want, and I’m not sure what you’re wearing but I put some comfy stuff in there for you. Along with more ammo, salt, a first aid kit, and cash.”

“I love you, Dean. I’m too tired to do much tonight but I’ll really appreciate it in the morning.”

“Go do what you need to do and let us know when you’re in the panic room,” Sam says.

“Alright. I’ll be quick.”

You quickly go to the bathroom and brush your teeth and wash your face before locking yourself in the panic room downstairs. You push off your jeans and slip out of your bra before laying down on the hard bed, pulling Dean’s flannel tightly around yourself and resting one hand on your stomach. 

“I’m all snuggled up in bed now. Safe and sound. I’ll talk to you guys tomorrow. Drive safe, I love you both,” you say.

“I love you too, sweetheart. Stay safe. Hopefully, Bobby should be back there with you by morning. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Sam says before hanging up. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You wake up in a relatively dark room; the skylight filters minimal sunlight into the room. You grab your phone and see that it’s 8 am. Your tummy grumbles so you push yourself out of bed and grab your bag and head towards the door. You crack it open listening carefully. You’re met with complete silence, so you open it wider and slip out and upstairs. You make yourself the PB&J you’ve been craving and then go for a much-needed shower after sweating in the hot, stuffy room all night. You’re mildly surprised and super grateful when you find your favourite shower gel, shampoo and conditioner in the bag. Once you’re sufficiently relaxed and fresh you get dressed into one of the comfy outfits Dean packed you: a sports bra, black t-shirt, black leggings and one of his red flannels. Just as you’re leaving the bathroom, your phone rings.

“Good morning, my love,” you say picking up.

“Morning, sweetheart. How’d you sleep?”

“As well as can be expected in that sweat box. But I feel better now that I’ve showered and changed into these clean clothes. You have no idea how grateful I am for this.”

“Anything for my girl. Anyways, Sam and I got to Lebanon around five. We’re back at the bunker now. We’ve checked everywhere for traces of sulphur and any signs that anyone was ever here, but there’s nothing. Everything looks normal, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry. I’ll always prefer that you be over cautious than under cautious, especially for our little bean.”

“Yeah, I agree. Normally I would’ve just gone in there and handled it, but I’m not just responsible for myself anymore.”

“Yeah…You know I understand what you’ve been saying about this cold, lonely bed. At least it smells like you. I can’t wait to have you back in my arms again. You have no idea how much I miss you and the things I want to do to you.”

“I think I can guess…I miss you too.”

“We’re gonna check out the town today and see if we can find that demon. Once it’s safe we’ll come and bring you home.”

“Just let me know when it’s safe and I’ll drive back. You don’t need to make the trip for nothing.”

“You’re never nothing. But I see your point, I’ll let you know.”

“Stay safe, baby, I love you.”

“You too.”

You lay back down on the hard bed missing Dean even more now. You rub your hand over your tummy trying to find some comfort in the lonely cement room. As you lay there staring up at the ceiling your mind wanders. Bobby should have been back by now…is something wrong? Is he okay? Did the demon find him? Why couldn’t they find the demon? I could’ve sworn someone was in the bunker. What about the cashier? 

Before you know it you’re hyperventilating and clutching at your chest. You feel someone shaking your shoulders. You can faintly hear a voice but you can’t make out the words through the fog in your mind at first.

“Hey, kiddo, breathe for me. You’re safe, it’s me.”

“Bobby?”

“Just breathe. Calm down.”

You take a few deep breaths until you feel your heart rate returning to normal and the tightness in your chest dissipate. Bobby just sits with you quietly until you settle down.

“So, what was that? What happened to you really? Dean said you thought you saw a demon but that was the panic attack of someone who’s been tortured.”

“I’m fine, I wasn’t tortured. I just started overthinking and panicking. Dean said there was no sign a demon was ever there. What if I imagined it all? What if it was all a trick or a trap?”

“They’ve walked into worse traps before, so have you, everyone’s gonna be fine. We just gotta do what we can to stay a step ahead.”

“I’m sorry you had to come home and see me like that. I’ve been doing so good to keep my anxiety in check, for the baby, but I don’t know what happened.” You run your hand over your stomach, it’s slightly tender but you put it down to hunger and your panic attack.

“You’ve been through a lot. Most of us drink away our anxiety and nightmares but you’ve had to be sober for a couple of months now, it’s gotta be taking its toll. Maybe you should ask for some pregnancy-friendly pills to help on the bad days. I honestly don’t know any other way to live with the memories and thoughts attached to our gig.”

“I guess more than anything right now, I just want Dean. Despite not managing his own issues well he always knows how to make me feel better.”

“You know he says the same thing about you? I really think you’re soul mates. Why don’t you come upstairs and take a nap in the spare room, that bed’s comfier. No need to stay down here now that I’m back.”

“Thanks, Bobby.”

“Anytime, kiddo,” he says as he pats your leg. 

You grab your stuff and follow Bobby upstairs before continuing on to the spare room. You lay down on the bed and your stiff muscles instantly feel better. It doesn’t take you long to drift into a light sleep, the panic attack really took the energy out of you. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You wake up to a dull throbbing pain in your abdomen, “no, no, no, no, this isn’t happening!” You sit up and throw back the blanket checking for blood, thankfully the sheets are clean. This could be normal, don’t freak out. Manage your stress. You try to calm yourself down before going downstairs to find Bobby. As you get to the bottom step you feel a sharp stabbing pain right in your uterus. The pain brings you to your knees as your groan.

“Bobby! Bobby!”

“Kiddo, what’s wrong?”

“It hurts. My stomach. Something’s wrong with the baby!”

“Grab onto me, let’s get you to the hospital.”

As you stand up you feel something wet between your legs. “I think I’m bleeding! Bobby!” You start to cry as Bobby helps you out to his truck. The pain comes and goes in waves all the way to the hospital. If you were further along you might’ve mistaken it for labour contractions, but you know pain at this stage can only be bad news. Bobby asks if you want him to call Dean, and you tell him to wait until you’re in the ER. After what feels like an eternity he finally pulls up in the emergency bay. He rounds the car in record time helping you out and into the ER. You do your best to explain the situation to the nurse while Bobby moves the car and calls Dean. The nurse takes you into a room and helps you up onto the bed. 

“I’ll check your vitals and a doctor will be in to chat with you in a minute.”

The nurse hooks you up to the monitors and takes some notes before walking out to fetch a doctor. She returns moments later with a middle-aged woman wearing a white coat labelled ‘Obstetrics’. 

“Hello Miss Y/L/N, my name is Doctor Lopez, nurse Spencer tells me you’re experiencing some pain in your lower abdomen.”

“Yes, it started about half an hour ago and comes in waves but it feels like someone’s stabbing me in the uterus. I am about eight weeks pregnant. I also think I’ve been bleeding, I haven’t checked but it feels wet.”

“Okay, well let’s get you something for the pain and an ultrasound and figure out exactly what’s going on.”

The nurse helps the doctor set up the ultrasound machine and instructs you to lift your shirt up a little. The doctor squeezes some cold gel onto your stomach and moves it around with the wand. You turn your head to try to look at the screen. You had been so excited for your first ultrasound but now you’re terrified. As she keeps moving the wand and looking at the screen the doctor asks you to slide your pants down a smidge so she can get a better look at your uterus and fallopian tubes. Once you do as she asks she puts the wand back on your stomach and moves it around some more. You start to feel dizzy and lightheaded and your vision goes black. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

A/N: I am so sorry about this ending, I swear I have a plan. But like in the show there's more heartbreak before we can get there. I guess I am an author like Chuck...sorry again for this.

Tag list: (Leave a like or comment on this post or let me know below if you want to be added to the tag list for this series)

@bitchwitch1981, @muhahaha303, @justrealizedimmascifygurl, @mcdowell-123, @leigh70, @marvelsmarauder, @losa12308, @tapedeck-hearts, @luvjaida, @peachtxa, @ambearsstuff, @shadow-of-a-cloud, @slut-for-buck,

#dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff

[coffeecat1983]

The Super Mario Bros short story (You Come First sequel) MOVIE SPOILERS AHEAD!

(please read “You Come First” before reading this piece. Thanks!)

  Mario stirred, a familiar sensation traveling up his spine and waking him. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock on the dresser. The glowing green numbers read three am.   In the faint light of the nightlight, he could see Luigi was sitting up. A bright flash of lightning revealed he was clutching at his head. Mario caught the sound of a soft whimper as thunder rattled the bedroom windows.     "Hey, hey Lu, it's okay." he said, getting up and going over to sit on the edge of Luigi's bed. "is it the storm?" He put his arms out and Luigi leaned against him, clinging to Mario's nightshirt.     "My h-head, it s-still hurts." Mario gently rubbed the back of Luigi's neck and he could feel the muscles were knotted up.     "It's been long enough, lemme get you more meds, okay?" Luigi reluctantly let go of him, curling back up with his knees drawn to his chest. He shuddered as thunder rumbled, louder this time.     "I'll be right back," Mario promised, grabbing the glass of now warm ginger ale from earlier. Going into the hallway, he headed first for the bathroom and to the medicine cabinet. As he measured out a couple of tablets, he paused, hearing what sounded like a hissing. Going to the main room, the sound grew louder. It was then he realized what it was. Rain was pouring down, slamming onto the roof and windows. Hurrying with his tasks, he went back to the bedroom. He could make out Luigi was trembling now at the sound of the rain.   Going to his side, Mario offered the glass and medicine.     "Got you fresh ginger ale, figured the other stuff would be nasty by now."     "Th-Thanks."   Taking the glass and setting it aside, Mario started fussing with the bedcovers.     "Try to lay back down. You want a heat pack or ice?"   Luigi slid down under the covers. "Heat please." he mumbled. -   Mario went back out to the kitchen and began digging around in one of the drawers. Finding the heat pack, he popped it into the microwave. He jumped, startled, as someone spoke behind him.     "Sweetheart? What has you up at this hour?"   He turned to see Marianna watching him. "Are you still hungry?" she asked.     "Oh, no, just getting the heat pack. Lu's still pretty sick. I didn't wake you, did I?"     "No, the storm did." Marianna came over and went to open the fridge. "Let me get Luigi some more medication while you get that."     "Already got those and gave it to him," Mario said with a smile. Marianna went over and getting out a clean, soft dishtowel, handed it to him. Mario took it and began to wrap the heat pack.     "How did I get such sweet boys?" she said, watching him.     "Ate sugar when pregnant with us?" Mario quipped, making her laugh.     "All right, smarty pants, get back to your brother. And come get me if you need me, okay?" she kissed his cheek.     "I will. G'night."     "Goodnight."

   After seeing Marianna back to her room, Mario entered his. A flash of lightning lit the windows, followed by a sharp crack of thunder. Luigi let out a small yelp as the nightlight flickered and went out.     "M-Mario?!"     "It's okay Lu, I'm right here." Mario blinked as he was greeted with a soft click and flash. His brother had grabbed the flashlight he kept on his headboard. Thunder rumbled again and the light trembled in Luigi's hands. Mario gently coaxed it from his hands and gave him the heat pack.     "Let's get you settled back and get rid of that headache."   Mario propped the flashlight upright on the headboard, giving the room a soft glow. "There we go, substitute nightlight." he joked. He could see a faint smile at the corner of Luigi's mouth. Curling back up, Luigi sighed with relief as Mario made sure the heat pack was neatly tucked against the back of his neck. Tucking him in, he returned to his own bed and laid back, listening to the rain as it hit the windows. He was also listening to Luigi's breathing, waiting for the shift in sound that would mean his brother had fallen asleep. Thunder rumbled again, not as loudly as before. He could hear Luigi's blankets rustle slightly, followed by a soft sigh.     "Mario?"     "Yeah?"     "I think... I think you'd be better off if I quit work." Luigi said softly. Mario felt a lump in his throat. "Don't say that. We've wanted to work together ever since we were kids."     "I know, but I keep m-messing things up. It's a good job, and I'm scared Spike will fire us both. If I quit then at least you have a chance."   Mario sat up. "I got a better idea, Lu. Let's both quit."   Luigi pushed up from his pillow, confused. "W-What?"     "I mean it. Let's both quit. We got enough set aside, we could get our own tools and start that plumbing business we've talked about."     "You think we could do it?"     "Sure we could."   There was a pause, punctuated by a roll of thunder.     "Why do you really wanna leave?" Luigi finally said.   Mario shifted. "Never could hide stuff from you." he muttered. Aloud he said: "I want to get away from Spike. He's driving me nuts and the way he treats you, you don't deserve that. I gotta look out for my lil bro."   There was another pause, longer this time, with only the now soft sound of the rain in the air. Luigi had closed his eyes and at first Mario thought he had fallen asleep, until he spoke.     "You'd d-do that, f-for me?" his voice was shaky with tears.     "Lu, I'd eat mushrooms if it meant keeping you safe." Mario deadpanned. That got the laugh he hoped for.     "Don't make me l-laugh, it hurts," Luigi said, still giggling a bit. His laughter was cut off by a yawn and Mario was the one to chuckle.     "Think you can get some sleep?"     "Yeah." Luigi sank back down on his pillow. "Thanks for everything tonight."   Mario smiled. "Anytime, Lu. After all, we're the Mario Brothers."     "The Super Mario Brothers." Luigi agreed sleepily. After a few minutes, Mario heard him begin to snore softly. Reaching into one of the little shelves of his headboard, Mario pulled out a pen and notepad and in the low light from the flashlight began to write.   'Super Mario Bros. Plumbing.'     "Yeah," he said softly, "that's us."

By 'CC'.

#Mario #Luigi #super mario bros #super mario movie #spoilers #sequel #fanfic

[slasherscrybaby]

I was wondering if you could write something along the lines of Bo having a secret hideaway where he unwinds from stress when everyone's asleep and his s/o or y/n finds it or follows him to it, and then the rest is really up to you, just thought it was a cute idea. I love ur story's so fucking much

My hideout isn’t complete without you~♡

Bo x reader gn

✦•··············•✦•···············•✦✦•················•✦•················•✦

Y/n usually doesn’t get in Bo’s business of how he acts. Yes, they loved him with all their heart. Bo had been leaving late at night yes, it wasn’t non of their business but, curiously got the best of them. It was genuinely non of their business; they had to keep reminding themselves, but what if something happened when he went out and never came back? They groaned at the thought as they looked up in the bathroom mirror; it wouldn’t hurt to make sure then again Bo could take care of himself. He got shot with an arrow. Y/n slapped a hand on the side of their faces. “Ya okay in there, Darlin?” Bo asked with concern, hinting in his voice, “Yes, I’ll be out soon” y/n made up their mind tonight; they were going to follow Bo to be sure he was safe. He turned off the bathroom light and stepped out and walked towards the shared bed, and slipped into the covers before the light went out and Bo's arms wrapped around their waist, pulling them to their chest and kissing their neck “Goodnight,” he said “Goodnight Bo” Y/n said. A second turned into a minute, turned into Hours as they both lay in the dark, quiet room. Y/n was wide awake, staring into the dark void, not wanting to fall asleep and miss Bo leaving. It was cold and dark. Y/n was a little iffy about following him outside, but they had to know he was safe.

Bo unwrapped his arms from their waist slowly, not wanting to wake them up. The small sounds of Bo working his way through his things in the dark before tiptoeing past the bed and towards the door. As he opened the door, there was a slight creaking noise as he walked through the door. Y/n was tired, one A.M. Instead of complaining, I just put on their robe and followed. Y/n tip-toed past them towards the door. As they opened the door, there was a slight creaking noise. They walked through the door. They were walking down the stairs peeking down and seeing the front door close. They walked down and opened the door, and it was dark outside. Blue-yellow light came from Bo's flashlight, pointing at the ground. Wind busted through the branches of the trees, making the leaves howl in their symphony—the leaves crunch under Bo’s and Y/n's feet with each step. The wind howls in their face. Bo was wandering far home. Y/n started to study how the trees cast shadows on the moonlit ground. Where was Bo going that was this far from the house? Y/n debated if they should follow, but even if they couldn’t go back since it was dark, they never were the fan of walking in the woods of an unknown area with no light. Y/n continued to look as Bo figured before he came to a stop, and so did they. “Ah know chur fallerin' me,” Bo said, turning around flashing the bright lights at them. They squinted. I’m sorry Ah wasn’t tryin' to be nosy. Ah, swear Ah was just worried bout you,” you said when he pointed the light toward the ground as he continued to walk towards you. “Awe, Ya was worried bout Little ol' me?” He cued, “Awe aren’t ya just the cutest, Darlin,” as he placed a hand on your cheek.

“I'm sorry,” they said “I know darlin', it’s fine, but it was real fuckin' stupid of ya to follow me,” Bo said “I know. I’m sorry it won’t happen again, I promise,” Y/n said, kissing the palm of his hand before he removed it. “I love you. I do, but you don’t have to worry bout me. I can handle myself. How bout I show you my hideout.” He said, “Hideout?” Y/n said in confusion, “Yeah, I go there when ’m feelin' stressed a need to unwind, ya know?” He said as he gave you the flashlight to hold. He took off his sweater and put it around you. Then his arm pulled you closer to him as they walked together to his secret hideout deep in the woods.

A small wooden hut. Bo pushed open the door, moving to the side and letting you go inside first before turning the lights on.

Your eyes widen. It was absolutely beautiful “It’s not much, but it keeps me from murderin' Vincent and Lester. He said before taking pause. “A from lettin' my anger on you,” he said as you turned to face him. As he closed the door, walked over to the couch, and patted his lap, Come here. Ah bet chur tired,” he said; you nodded before sitting around and laying your head on his lap. “I love you, Bo,” you said “Ah love you too darlin', an, if you tell Vincent or Lester bout thus, all this? I’ll hurt ya,” he said as he bent down, kissing your temple; you smiled. “I won’t” you said as you felt Bo rub your arm. “Good, now get sum sleep, okay,” he told you nodded before you realized your body relaxed and helped you enter sleep land as Bo rubbed your shoulders as smiled down at you. You were all his and nobody else's.

✦•··············•✦•···············•✦✦•················•✦•················•✦

I hope you liked this I tried to make it sweet. Well good night ~♡

🏷️ list:

@lilitharts @kalid-raven @rottent33th @iloveslasher @bluecoolr @slaasherslut @the-pinstriped-hood

#slashers #bo sinclair x you #ask box #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x y/n #bo x reader

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

bamboleo

“secretly, i borrow tomorrow.”

jamil x reader

gender neutral reader

synopsis: you were quick to take up jamil’s plea to date him for appearances, but little did you know that you would end up falling for him. as the farce comes to a close though, you can barely accept the reality until jamil sets things in stone. 

inspired loosely off of @tinyfantasminha​‘s april fool’s day post!

Jamil was a smart boy. Smarter than what you could dream of being, you knew he was someone who thought two, three steps ahead of everything he did. There was a reason as to why Kalim barely questioned him; there was no task too daunting for someone like Jamil. If he wanted something done, he would figure out a solution. 

Maybe that was why you didn’t bother questioning him when he approached you with a problem on his hands that he claimed only you could offer a solution. He said he would make it worth your time, if it was payment or compensation you were concerned with, but all you had to do was follow what he said. He promised he wouldn’t demand anything too strict or impossible of you, so what reason did you have to turn him down?

Looking back, it was clear as day that your naïveté was there from day one.

Only a fool like you would agree to fake date Jamil. You were nothing but a small mouse caught in the viper’s trap, and while he was furthering his ambition bit by bit, you were foolishly weaving your own emotional demise.

“Are you alright? You look like you’re going to be sick,” Jamil murmured. The hand that was holding yours squeezed your knuckles tightly, and your stomach churned with butterflies at how natural he made it seem. Every day you saw him, he reminded you strictly that the relationship you two forged was just a fake one for his own needs, and he had no need for you outside of this transactional facade.

But the way he looked at you with concern and fondness all over his face seemed so real. You could envision him next to you in every moment of your day: helping you do your homework, bringing you a snack in between classes, and whispering “goodnight” to you before drifting off to sleep. Well—ever since this began, he quite literally was in every waking minute of your life. 

You gripped his hand, forcing a smile onto your face. “I’m okay. Thanks for looking out for me though. I just had a moment.”

“Oh,” he whispered back. “If you feel weird though, let me know. We can always head in and rest.”

You shook your head. “We’re going on a date, aren’t we? I want to go through with it. Who knows when I’ll be able to go out on a date with you again?”

He chuckled bitterly, his long hair flowing behind him like rich silk spun from dreams. “Good point. I heard Kalim was going to be there, so I made it a point to bring you too. You know what you need to do, right? I doubt that he’ll pay too much attention since he’ll be with other people, but-”

“-You want to make sure,” you completed. “Don’t worry. I’ve done well until now. Today will be the last time, won’t it?”

“Precisely. Once we’re done, you list your price. If it’s money, a favor, grades, or whatever else you want, I’ll make sure you get it for helping me.” Jamil glanced at you, taking you closer towards the crowded cafe. Sage’s Island was filled with all sorts of these little areas meant to attract students, and you pressed yourself closer to Jamil as he navigated you through the crowd. You kept your focus on him, admiring the soft gaze on his face and his comforting hands as he led you to a table.

Much to his prediction, Kalim sat a few tables away, and the boy excitedly perked up and shuffled over to the two of you the moment you sat down with Jamil. You could make out a flash of orange hair and a high-pitched laugh; he must be here with his club members for an outing.

“Hi! Jamil, I didn’t think I’d see you here! You should have told me! Then we all could have one big hangout!” Kalim perked up, his eyes sparkling like diamonds. Jamil huffed to himself, keeping his cool eyes on you.

You mustered up a smile on your face, doing your best to play the role of a caring partner. “It’s nice to see you, Kalim! I didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

“I’m on a date here, Kalim. If I didn’t know you any better, I’d think you were trying to steal away my partner,” Jamil coldly remarked. “Only you would be as tactless as to barge in between two people while they’re on an outing.”

Kalim gave a small “eek!” and waved his hands. “It’s not like that, Jamil! I just got excited seeing the two of you here, and I thought I’d say hi! You know that I’d never steal (Y/n) from you! You two are too cute, and it’d be mean of me to steal your partner!”

Your gut twisted dangerously in your stomach. Kalim had completely bought the couple act, and Jamil smiled darkly, evidently pleased that he had something Kalim didn’t. The white-haired boy apologized to Jamil profusely before scampering off back to his own table.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Was that good enough?”

“As perfect as can be,” Jamil replied. “I’m impressed at how good you are at this. I could die laughing at how easy it is to get Kalim all worked up. I bet he didn’t see it coming, that I’d get a romantic partner before he did. I remember when I first broke the news, he nearly passed out saying congratulations.”

Your insides twisted again, sickened slightly at how casually Jamil could talk about using other people’s feelings. “Right. Kalim isn’t the type to get jealous, but…”

“I don’t want him to be the one getting everything sometimes. You understand, don’t you? I want a change of pace at times too, so he knows that I can get things before he can. If he can even get a romantic partner, that is.” Jamil sat back, grinning with poisonous intent. He drummed his fingers on the table, watching the crowd in the cafe thin out as orders were being served. “Do you want anything from here? Consider it my treat, since I’m your ‘boyfriend’ and all.”

“Maybe just a small drink? For appearance’s sake? It’d be weird if we came here only to sit around,” you offered, eyeing Kalim from a distance. Jamil nodded.

“I’ll get you your favorite.” He slid out of his seat, and your eyes trailed after him as he went up to the register. You couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying over the hubbub of the cafe, but what you could make out were the pangs in your chest.

You hated to admit it. You hated to know how weak you were in comparison to someone as hardened as Jamil. Even if you knew that every small thing he did was an act to egg Kalim on, to establish himself as the superior one between the two, you couldn’t help but want to be with him. You wanted him to hold your hand forever, to sneak kisses onto your face, to drop the act and confess his impossible love to you so that you would never have to part with him…

Great Seven. You had actually managed to fall in love with him.

“Here,” Jamil said, dropping down a cup in front of you. “Drink.”

“Thanks.” You reached out for it quietly, raising the drink to your mouth and taking a few tentative sips. You hated how cold he could be when he knew he didn’t need to keep the pretense up; you wanted him to be warm to you again and to lavish you with his attention. Jamil’s eyes flickered between your face and Kalim, keeping note of whether or not the Scarabia dorm leader was looking at the two of you.

The two of you sat in mostly silence, occasionally sharing some conversation whenever Jamil suspected that Kalim was observing the two of you. Soon enough, as you were nearing the end of your drink, Kalim skipped back up to the two of you to announce that he would be heading back.

“Come visit me, ‘kay? I know we’re gonna be going back home for break in a few days, but I still wanna see the two of you. You two are probably gonna be sad having to go long distance, right? Awww, you two are so cute!” Kalim gushed happily. “I’ll see you back in Scarabia, Jamil. As for you, (Y/n), make sure to stop by before I head back to the Land of Hot Sands!”

You promised to visit him, and Jamil made sure to reach over the table to grab your hand. Your mouth felt dry when he rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand, and you hastily slurped at the final remnants of your drinks. Kalim waved at the two of you before dipping out of the cafe, and then you were left alone with Jamil, knowing that the fake relationship that the two of you had forged for weeks was also finally coming to a close.

You didn’t dare meet Jamil’s eyes. 

“That seems to be it,” Jamil began, letting go of your hand. “Thanks for all your cooperation to this point. I can stay around for a bit and walk you back, but going forward, there shouldn’t be any need for the two of us to pretend to be a couple any more.”

You bit your bottom lip. “If I can ask something… Do we have to stop?”

He raised an eyebrow, and Jamil looked at you as if you had sprouted horns from your head. “What do you mean? It’s pretend—why do we need to continue?”

Shame and longing flooded your cheeks, heating up your skin. You cautiously raised your face to meet his, and your voice trembled. “I liked doing this with you. A-And you don’t know if Kalim will ask questions again, so it would be beneficial to you to maybe keep this act up…”

Jamil fell silent, and you curled your hands into fists in your lap. Your heart fluttered like mad against your ribcage. You knew better than to hope; this was a strictly business-like relationship, yet you couldn’t stop yourself from yearning to be with Jamil for even a second longer. You were nothing but a fool in love, but you still wanted to grasp for these last strands in the off-chance that maybe he would understand your sentiments.

“Look at me properly.”

You flinched, meeting his eyes. He lowered his gaze, and he reached over the table to grip your face with one of his hands. You squeaked when you felt him squeeze your cheeks, holding you in place so that you couldn’t tear your line of sight away from him. You really felt like a piece of prey caught in his arms, unable to escape the trap of your own making.

“You idiot,” he hissed, smirking at you as if he could unhinge his jaw right there and then to gobble you up. You didn’t dare to even breathe too loudly, your voice dying in your throat. He leaned in until his nose nearly brushed yours, cooing to you too closely to how a lover would for the terribly pointed words he was spitting at you. “Don’t tell me… Did you actually fall for me? Did you buy into the act a little too much? That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Y-You don’t understand, I only-”

“-You’re just as bad as Kalim. You’re a fool to think that I could ever fall for someone like you. No wonder this whole thing went too smoothly; I was the only one who kept my head straight the entire time,” he laughed sarcastically. Each of his statements felt like a blow to your heart. 

You couldn’t speak back. 

He let you go suddenly, rising from his seat to leave while you sat there, stunned and slumped over in your chair. He sneered to himself, looking down at you with unreadable darkness swirling around in his beautiful eyes. 

“Don’t delude yourself. I could never fall in love with someone like you.”

x

#twisted wonderland #twst x reader #jamil viper #x reader #my writing #weirdos dni or ill drown you in boba

[painsandconfusion]

Making A Dent

Waking Dreamer - Part Thirteen

(tw: nightmare mention? Wow thats it. I SWEAR the plot picks up after this, this is the tipping point - thank you for sticking with me through the dredge of a series-)

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Focus....

Focus and breath.

Aaron closed his eyes, feeling the warm, golden light tangle softly down his veins. It wrapped through his bones.

Focus...

Breathe...

His lungs pressed gently at his ribs, expanding to pull in the invisible light. Life. unbridled power.

Blocked right at the rips of his fingers.

“You stopped breathing…” Jeremiah murmured softly, gently prompting him to continue.

Aaron kept his eyes closed, pulling in another smooth breath.

The copper mug of water was only half full, but was already starting to better resemble lead. It weighed at his arms, pulling a tremor from his aching muscles.

He focused.

Warmth. Heat. Boiling…

It didn’t seem to be happening.

But of course it wouldn’t. He wasn’t in a dream, he wouldn’t be able to access The Core in the waking world. And as much as Jeremiah and Jessie worked with him, telling him that this would make it easier in the dreams, he still couldn’t quite bring himself to understand this ‘training’.

Wasn’t this just going to enforce the belief that he’d fail?

Aaron sighed, setting the mug back down on the counter, not bothering to even look at the pitiful, distinctly not hot, thing. 

“I don’t think it’s helping.”

Jeremiah frowned softly at him, tugging him by the shoulders away from the counter again. “It’s helping. You’re building neural pathways and strengthening the pull like muscle memory. Even if you can’t manifest right now, that doesn’t mean your efforts are futile.”

Aaron shrugged his hands away. Gently. He didn’t want to hurt the poor guy’s feelings. Not when he was trying so hard to help. “I think…something’s just…wrong with me. I can’t - it’s not helping the dreams. I’ve been having them every night for weeks now - I guess…I’m having fewer nightmares, but during the bad dreams, The Core is still just gone. I…I don’t know, Jer. I don’t know anything..”

Jeremiah nodded solemnly. “I think you just need some rest. You work yourself to death during the day, and you work yourself to death in your sleep. You need the practice - it’s important - but you need to rest, too.”

Aaron took in a shaky breath, letting it out again. He glanced around the coffee shop - the warm streetlights shining through darkened windows. Shadows. 

“..okay. Enough for today, then. Let’s j-”

“-no no, I’ll finish closing - you just go get some sleep.”

Aaron blinked at him. “...really? I don’t want you to have t-”

“No, I’m serious. You’ve had a much longer shift than me, go get some sleep.” 

Aaron smiled softly back at him. “You’re wonderful…” his eyes were already burning from exhaustion. He reached behind him and snagged his jacket off the counter, sleeves fwooshing as he slipped his arms into place. 

“You’re sure?”

Jeremiah chuckled warmly, giving Aaron a solid scoot toward the door. “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Aaron smiled, stepping back and toward the door. “You’re the best - thank you.”

“Mhm, now get.”

“Yea yea yea-” he shoved open the front door. “Goodnight!!” 

And off into the night he went.

Jeremiah watched him go. 

All the way across the street. Into the darkness.

His eyes finally turned back to the mug. Copper was a good idea. 

He picked it up gingerly. By the handle.

Scalding. 

No bubbling yet, but close.

He pulled up a tendril and wove the piece of Core to his fingertips, shielding himself from the heat as his hands wrapped around the mug. 

There was a slight indent that his fingers smothered - soft lines where Aaron’s hands once were.

The poor boy was running so hot, he didn’t even realize the liquid was as well.

Aaron had figured it out.

Finally…

[Previous | Masterlist | Next]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @mabledonut @whumpawink @heathenwhump @happy-little-sadist @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @wormwriting @cryptidhongo @villainsvictim @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @siren-of-agony @bandages-andobsessions @deltaxxk @rose-pinkie @whumpasaurus101 @warm-my-whumpee-heart @cursedscribbles)

As always, lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

#WE'LL GET BACK TO THE WHUMP IN THE NEXT ONE I PROMISE #THEN THE PLOT PICKS UP #I FUCKING SWEAR #IT JUST TOOK LONGER THAN EXPECTED TO GET HERE #HAVE A PLOT FILLER SCENE #waking dreamer #aaron #jeremiah #oliver #unlocking the secrets of the universe

[danifesting]

Getting two fic posts in one day from here but I am finally in a groove and feeling good about Streamers AU after a few weeks of feeling absolutely awful about it. Shoutout to @dm3rv for helping break me out of my writers block.

They’ve finally figured out a schedule for the F1 season, despite this stupid fucking plague and it’s a terrible idea but it’s not like Daniel can opt out. That’s his living and it’s what he loves to do so he’s gonna do it but it means missing a lot of Max’s streams. He opens his burner twitter account goes to Max’s profile. He studies the little picture of Max with his headphones on and a wide smile on his face. He finally, finally clicks follow. Max’s DMs are open so he presses the little envelope button and types:

Hey max it’s daniel

It takes a half hour but eventually Max responds.

Hey daniel! 

I just wanted to let you know i start work again soon

And it’s gonna be a lot of travel and i’m gonna miss a lot of streams

That’s okay! I don’t expect you to be at every stream

I’ll probably only be at tuesdays and maybe wednesdays

Well i will of course miss you in chat

Yeah maxy i’ll miss you too

But maybe we can message here?

I would like that

Yeah

Yeah me too

You can text me whenever you want

I will :)

The conversation drops after that but Daniel leaves it smiling. A way to talk to Max whenever he wants, it’s ideal. It’s better than talking on stream and now he can really get to know Max and Max can really get to know him in a way chatting on twitch doesn’t allow, especially now that Max’s streams are filling up and the chat is moving so fast Max doesn’t always see what Daniel says. He forces himself to put away his phone and reheat the dinner Michael made him earlier. He waits until he’s done before he texts Max again. 

So I know you said you have a job

What is it?

It’s only a few minutes before Max replies. 

I work at a coffee shop in the mornings

It leaves me time to stream in the afternoons but i have to be up very early

Not a morning person

I do not think anyone is a “wake up at 4:30” morning person

At least not voluntarily

That makes sense

I don’t think i would want to get up that early

It is worth it to stream though

I really like it

I can tell

And I like being in your chat

It’s a nice place most of the time

Lol i think the nature of twitch is that of course sometimes trolls exist

And they will always come when i play call of duty

I like it better when you play stardew valley

Haha me also honestly

It is relaxing

And I love Gianni but he is stressful to play with

Very demanding, always wants to win

I do too. I like to win

And that’s why you play fifa

Lol and that’s why i play fifa

I really like playing stardew most though

There’s a long pause with the three dots indicating the Max is typing and then finally:

It lets me talk to chat more

And i like my chat

I like your chat too

Daniel wants to be brave and say “I like talking to you” but maybe he doesn’t have to since they are DMing on twitter after all. They wouldn’t be talking there if they didn’t like talking to each other. And then Max says:

And I really like talking to you

I am glad you dmed 

Daniel smiles, takes a deep breath, and is very, very brave. 

Well I did make an entire twitter account just to talk to you

😊

shit, i have to go

I have to be up early tomorrow

Goodnight maxy

I’ll talk to you tomorrow

Goodnight Daniel

Daniel closes the twitter app and presses his phone to his chest. God, he likes Max far too much for someone he barely knows but he can’t help it. He thinks of Max’s smile, wide and happy when he reads what Daniel says on stream. 

Daniel wakes up to a new message from Max at 4:30 in the morning.

Good morning daniel

Good morning maxy

I hope you have a good day at work

#live in five #twitch streamer max #driver daniel #my fic #snippets #wips

[seidenbros]

Can I request a fluffy Eddie x Chrissy long oneshot where Chrissy wakes up and hears laughter and finds Eddie playing dolls with their 2 year old daughter and Chrissy just melts at the sight and how much of a daddy’s girl their daughter is and how great of a father Eddie is and their daughter is a spitting image of Eddie? Also, later that night, after Eddie reads their daughter a bedtime story and him and Chrissy kiss her goodnight, Chrissy surprises Eddie with the news they’re having another baby by giving him a present?

Requests are open | prompt lists for inspiration | Stranger Things Masterlist

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Chrissy Cunningham Word count: ~1905 Warning/Tags: fluff, pregnancy, married Eddie & Chrissy, domesticity (let me know if I missed anything Author’s note: This didn't end up being so long in the end, so I hope that's okay as well. Just a happily married couple expanding their family 💚

Life had turned out pretty great for Chrissy Cunningham, just in a different way than she’d thought years ago. But she was happy with the man she loved, had taken his name three years ago, the happiest day of her life. Or at least one of the happiest days of her life, because there had also been the birth of her daughter Janis - of course, Eddie had chosen the name, naming her after Janis Joplin, so that Chrissy was the one to name their second child. That was actually closer than she would have thought, she just hadn’t told her husband that yet. While they’d always said that they wanted more than one kid, they hadn’t talked about when, so Chrissy was unsure how Eddie would react due to the timing. She’d just started working again, and they needed the money, but still… her heart had swelled when she’d seen the positive pregnancy mere hours ago.

She hadn’t been feeling well for a couple of days now, thought she’d come down with the flu or something, but her gut feeling had told her something else. The test had just shown her that her gut had been right all along. Still, she needed to figure out how to tell Eddie, and she’d rather do it soon, because she hated keeping secrets from him. After all, they’d agreed that they wouldn’t keep secrets from each other, that honesty was important to both of them. Only when it came to birthday or Christmas surprises, they strayed from this promise, but that was okay. With important things like a pregnancy, that rule still applied. She hated keeping stuff from him anyway, and she wasn’t a good liar on top of it. Keeping birthday presents secret was really hard for her.

Once she’d come home from a run to the drugstore, she’d taken the test, and then she’d taken a nap because she’d felt so exhausted - and had needed a little moment to collect her thoughts and rest before she faced Eddie. Eddie, who had been worried sick about her these last couple of days.

When she came downstairs, though, Janis was asleep and Eddie was strumming quietly on his guitar. Her heart squeezed at the sight of him, and he must have heard her, because his head whipped up immediately.

“Feeling better, darling?” Eddie started to put the guitar away, but Chrissy stopped him.

“Yeah, just gotta head out for a moment.”

“Again? Don’t you want me to do it, so you can get some more rest? Just tell me what you need.”

“It’s alright. I think some fresh air will be good for me, so I’ll take a walk and get what we need for dinner.”

“Okay.” Eddie eyes her for a moment, before he got up and took a step towards her. Before he could ask her, what was going on, though, Chrissy gave him a smile and opened her mouth.

“I’m really okay, no need to worry, Eds,” she said, leaning over for a chaste kiss, before she turned around and got ready to leave the house. Eddie was still not completely convinced, but he knew that further questions right now wouldn’t lead anywhere, so he let her leave and got back to his guitar.

Not for long, though, because Janis woke up from her nap only a couple of minutes after her mother had left the house. Time for Eddie to put his guitar away for good, but he’d always do that for the two most important women in his life.

“Did you sleep well, princess?” Eddie asked as he picked her up. Janis nodded, but still rubbed her eyes. “Wanna cuddle a little with Daddy?” The way she pressed her head against his chest, dark curls framing her face, was answer enough for him. She was the female mini version of him, everyone said so, and Eddie saw it as well. Wayne had shown him all the pictures he had of Eddie when he’d still been a child, and there was no denying it, only that his parents had cut his hair off whenever they hadn’t been able to tame his locks. Eddie would never do that to his kids, only if they decided that they wanted to cut their hair off. Especially because Janis looked absolutely adorable with the dark curls and her big brown eyes that would get her everything she wanted.

Eddie carried her over to the big sofa in the living room and lay down with her, Janis splayed out over his chest, her face nuzzling into his chest. Soon enough, her even breathing filled the room, and Eddie couldn’t stop watching her. He was so proud of his little girl, and he always would be, because he loved her unconditionally. In her two years on this earth, she’d already filled his life with so much joy, making up for the time he’d had to spend in school as the freak.

Janis stayed asleep for maybe twenty more minutes, but then she was awake and needed to be entertained. Right now, there was nothing better than her dolls, so Eddie found himself cross-legged on the floor, playing with Janis and her dolls, letting her babble and tell him about what her dolls had done all day, what kind of great adventures they’d experienced, and how much one of them wanted to make music just like her Daddy.

He was so preoccupied with what they were doing that he didn’t even realise that Chrissy had come home. Only when he looked up did he find her standing in the doorway, a smile on her lips, because she was so happy with the picture in front of her. She’d always known that Eddie would be a great Dad, especially because he wanted nothing more than NOT to end up like his father, but the way he’d always been taking care of her and Janis, still made her heart swell.

“Mummy!” Janis squeaked and got up to give her Mum a hug, but went back to Eddie immediately afterwards, getting back to her dolls, because she still had a lot to tell him. Eddie couldn’t help but smile.

“Definitely a Daddy’s girl,” Chrissy said, shaking her head with a smile.

“Can’t help it. I’m rather lovable!”

“True.” She couldn’t argue with that, and to be honest, Chrissy was really happy that the two of them were so close. “I’ll get dinner ready, you two keep playing, alright?”

“Call me if you need help, m’kay?” Eddie looked up at his wife, before his attention was drawn back to Janis right in front of him. 

Chrissy quickly brought the little bag she’d gotten upstairs and put it next to her side of the bed, before she got busy in the kitchen.

The rest of the evening went by in a blur. Dinner was lovely, and Janis told her what she’d done with her father. Eddie’s eyes were on Chrissy pretty much all the time. He knew that something was going on, that there was something on her mind that she wasn’t telling him. He’d try again once Janis was in bed.

Only that Janis needed his attention for a little more time before Eddie said that it was time for bed. He helped her brush her teeth, before he tucked her in and read her a bedtime story. He couldn’t wait until he could read her The Hobbit, since it was technically a children’s book. Everything else would have to wait and he wouldn’t read her Alice in Wonderland for some time, because that had terrified him.

Chrissy walked in when Janis was already half asleep, leaned down and kissed her temple. Her fingertips danced over Eddie’s shoulders when she left the room again. Eddie stayed with Janis until she was fully asleep, turned on the night light, and then left to find his wife.

Chrissy was standing in the bedroom, holding the contents of the little bag to her chest, which Eddie couldn’t see. He stepped up behind her, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. He pressed his nose against the side of her neck, breathing in deeply, his hands both splayed out over her stomach.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on now?” he asked in a low voice, thumbs rubbing over her stomach, slipping beneath the shirt she was wearing. “I know something’s up, sweetheart and you have me worried.” And they’d promised not to keep secrets from each other, so he’d been even more worried about her.

“I just wanted Janis to be in bed first, and I had to… kind of think about a way to tell you.” Of course, she could have just come right out with the news of being pregnant again, but she’d wanted to do something special.

Chrissy turned around in his arms and quickly kissed his lips to reassure him that it wasn’t anything bad. Quite the contrary, at least she hoped so. Slowly she stepped out of his embrace and brought the gift she’d gotten for him up for him to see.

“I saw this a couple of weeks ago and thought it was cute, and so I had to head out and get it today.” She had gotten a black romper with Metallica in silver on the front. Nothing too fancy, but just the right thing for Eddie. She’d fallen in love with it the minute she’d seen it, but thought it bad luck to get something like this when she wasn’t expecting - and Janis was way too big by now to fit into this.

“That looks awesome, but it won’t fit Janis.” Eddie spoke out loud what she’d been thinking about.

“It’s not for Janis.” With a smile on her lips, Chrissy took his hand and placed it on her stomach. “I know we have never talked about when we’d extend out´r family, but we always wanted to have more than one kid, so…”

“What?” Eddie blinked a couple of times, trying to make sense of her words, and when it finally clicked, his fingers wrapped around the romper. “Are you serious?” He had to make sure, but when she nodded, Eddie pulled her against his chest again, held her tight, before his lips sought hers. He put all the love he had for her into that kiss, and when they parted again, they were both breathless.

“I take it… you’re happy?” Chrissy asked, giggling to herself, her hands resting on Eddie’s shoulders.

“YES! I mean, you’re right, we never talked about when we wanted to do this, but it doesn’t matter, because I can’t wait to welcome this little human being.” His right hand gently stroked over her stomach, a fond smile on his lips. “God, I love you, Chrissy!”

“Good, because I love you, too!” She kissed him once more, before she stepped back again. “You think Janis will be alright?”

“Considering she’d been asking me about a little brother or sister the last couple of days… I’m pretty sure she’ll be just as happy as I am right now.” 

That was Chrissy’s biggest concern, because she didn’t want Janis to feel like they were replacing her, like anything would change for her, but if the little one had been talking about this already, she would definitely be looking forward to becoming a big sister.

#chrissy cunningham x eddie munson #chrissy x eddie #eddie x chrissy #eddissy #eddissy fluff #eddie munson x chrissy cunningham #stanger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #hellcheer #hellcheer fanfic #staffi writes #hellcheer fluff #chrissy cunningham

[miekasa]

NICE.

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

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

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

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

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

+ word count: 19k. i’m sorry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, baby. I love you.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Get off my line.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no—of course not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was almost three thou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It wasn’t mine, I was—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what’s it matter to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not avoiding him,” you frown.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sound like you speak from personal experience.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“His parents?” Jean cuts you off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you… told Eren yet?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is… is that why you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles. “I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You—you, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah? What, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t taste any almonds.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I mean—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eren—”

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

“Eren—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you took it, anyway?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eren loves you, more than you could ever know.

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

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

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

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

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

“Mitchell, I have to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And if I asked you now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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