#yeah I know he's “technically” over a thousand shut up

[neatotito]

Seen people calling Simon a "gilf"

man's like 45 tf are you children on about

#I'm sorry this was just so funny #yeah I know he's “technically” over a thousand shut up #he's physically middle aged #youths

[fandoms--fluff]

Hey do you think, you could do one of the Mikaelson have a little sister like 2 years old and always what to stay with Nik and Elijah….. also she is so jealous that Camil and she do something to her and Nik tells that she is a mini me

Loathing

Flufftober, October 6th

Mikaelson little sister reader x Elijah Mikaelson x Klaus Mikaelson

Warnings: mention of blood

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

You're sitting in Elijah's lap, playing with two Chelsea dolls you got some years ago, while he's on the phone with someone. It's quiet except for the sound of your big brother's voice every now and then.

It's all peaceful until Kol comes crashing into the room and sits on the ground in front of you. You tilt your head and hand him one of the dolls. "Play!" You tell him.

Kol nods and plays with you, making a horrible high-pitched voice for the doll which makes you laugh, but Elijah cringes and hopes he stops soon.

It's been ten minutes, "What the bloody hell is that horrible sound?" Klaus walks in, he clearly just got back from wherever he was. Most likely Cami, but he never discloses that information, knowing you've openly shown your dislike for her.

"Our brother's wonderful voice for a doll" Elijah sighs, putting his phone down.

"Hey! My voice is amazing!" Kol exclaims, hearing the insult and sarcasticness in Elijah's answer. "Yeah!" You cross your arms like Kol is.

"See! Y/n knows what she's talking about" Kol says as Klaus picks you up out of Elijah's lap and places you on his hip. You wrap your tiny arms around his neck and relax your head against his shoulder.

"Y/n is also two, I think you need a better defense" Klaus raises an eyebrow. "Technically she's over a thousand like all of us... I'll shut up" Kol says, seeing the looks he's getting from the big brothers.

Kol, having both dolls in his hand, places them down on the coffee table before leaving the room. He plans to go into town and create some havoc that all of his siblings (besides from you) will have a fuss about, but it'll be fun.

Later in the week, there's a party being thrown in the abboiter. It's all vampires and humans for them to feed on. Some to kill and some to compel away.

"Well, this seems to be quite the turn out" Rebekah walks over to you and Klaus, who's carrying you tightly in his arms. "Indeed it is, sister" Klaus smirks.

"Look at you all dressed up" Rebekah coos, running a hand through your hair. "I did all by my'elf" you say excitedly. You're wearing a long sleeve dark purple dress that flows out under the bodice, and matching purple glittery jelly shoes that are put on the wrong feet. But Rebekah didn't want to tell you that and make you feel bad or make you upset at yourself. You also have a couple bead bracelets on your wrists and a heart necklace that Elijah gave you that you never take off. Your daylight ring is on your right pointer finger as well.

"Well good job, beautiful girl" Rebekah kisses your forehead before noticing Cami making her way over, and leaves to go back into the crowd.

"Hey Klaus," Cami smiles. "Camille, You look beautiful" Klaus kisses her. "Mmm, thank you" she says.

You make a disgusted facial expression before facing back the other way and laying your head back on your big brother's chest. You wonder how thus girl seems to be everywhere and why she always comes up to you and your big brother. Why don't they just make her go away like other woman they have before. You don't know what happens to them, but you assume it's fine.

Your siblings make sure you're kept out of all the killing and death during your existence.

As they keep talking, you try to ignore them to the best of your abilities. How much longer, you keep thinking. You try looking for Elijah, so your other big brothers can take you away from them, but no luck. You can't seem to find him anywhere from where you're placed on Klaus' hip.

As soon as you hear her chuckle at something Klaus said, your 2 year old self gets fed up. So, you take off one of your bracelets and throw it as hard as you can at Cami's face.

Now you may be biologically two, but you're still an original vampire, and with that comes a lot of strength. The bracelet made a great slash in her pale cheek, now blood running down her face.

Klaus quickly vamps into his room with Cami and you still in his hold. He sets you down on his bed as he bites into his wrist and offers it to Cami.

As she drinks blood from his wrist, Elijah comes into the room, noticing Klaus vamping out of the courtyard with the both of you.

"What happened?" Elijah asks. You stay quiet, as you sit crisscross apple sauce on the bed, happy that Elijah's here, and even though Cami is now healed, you did something for her to stop talking. You really don't like her.

"Um, I'm fine, though I think it's time for me to go" She sighs, glancing at you before walking out of the room to go back to her apartment.

"What happened was someone decided to get a bit violent" Klaus informs him, facing you. Elijah follows his gaze, landing on your face. You have a slight smile on your face. Yay! you made Cami leave.

"Why did you hurt Camille, y/n?" Elijah walks over and crouches in front of you so you're face to face.

"Bad Cami! Don' li'e her" answer front forwardly. Elijah raises his eyebrows. It's known you're not a fan of the woman, but you've never actually said it out loud up until now.

Klaus chuckles. Elijah turns his line of sight to him, "What do you have to snicker about?"

"Oh, just the thought of y/n is slowly turning into a mini version of me" Klaus smiles and holds a thumbs up at you. You have a big grin on your face. "Niklaus, do not encourage this behavior" Elijah sighs. It's going to be a long life if this is going to keep happening regularly.

A new rule is set in place to make sure that you're never in the same room with Cami with less than one of your siblings. And that one day they can hopefully get you to like Cami and not loathe her.

#klaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson x little sister reader #klaus mikaelson x sister reader #klaus mikaelson x female reader #klaus mikaelson x fen reader #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson x sister reader #elijah mikaelson x little sister reader #elijah mikaelson x female reader #elijah mikaelson x fem reader #mikaelson sister reader #female mikaelson reader #mikaelson little sister reader #mikaelson little sister #mikaelson sister #vampire reader #rebekah mikaelson #kol mikaelson #cami o'connell #fluff #cute #fanfic #writing #imagines #thevampirediaries #theoriginals

[mypoisonedvine]

Humbly requesting knotting with werewolf bill pleaseeeeee I’m thirsty 🥺

oh god oh jesus oh no oh god oh jesus this got out of hand quickly...

warnings: knotting and a few other a/b/o tropes but technically not a/b/o cause reader is 'normal', semi-werewolf bill (I don't get into the specifics it's porn), size kink and some pain, breeding kink, biting/marking kink

"I don't want to hurt you," he said, but his grip was getting tighter on your thighs; you knew he needed this. It's why you agreed in the first place— but the little fucker kept stalling.

Okay, actually, not a little fucker. That was exactly what was holding him back now: knowing he was anything but little.

"I would never forgive myself, really," he insisted, "if you— if it hurt you. If I—"

"Bill, it's okay," you promised. "I can take it."

You weren't actually totally sure of that; now that you'd seen his cock, and now that you'd read about werewolves and their... mating, you were a bit nervous that he really would ruin you. But you at least wanted to try— and you knew that whatever he needed, you could give. "But if you need me to stop—"

"I know," you sighed, "you'll be the first to know."

He sighed, looking down at you and tilting his head slightly. "You're too good to me," he breathed.

"Hey, just a favour between friends," you insisted, even though it was obviously more than that; he laughed a little, knowing this was beyond the typical bounds of a friendly offering. But you'd been the one to suggest it, when he explained to you how sick he could get if he didn't give in to his breeding instinct, and he had only checked that you really meant it about a thousand times before he agreeing to it.

His cock was already hard, of course; actually, it was throbbing, like it knew what was coming. He'd been struggling to control himself as soon as he smelled you— your cunt, your arousal, he swore he could hear your heartbeat. His body longed to fill you, breed you, claim you, and it was a little more than just his newfound werewolf qualities talking... but he wasn't quite acknowledging that consciously at the moment.

He laid his cock down over your stomach, pressing his base right up to where it would meet you if he was balls deep, and almost snarled at the sight of his tip surpassing your belly button. "S'how deep it's gonna be..." he whispered to you.

You swallowed thickly. "I can fit it. At least I'll try."

He shut his eyes, summoning a few more moments of patience, swearing to himself that he would be gentle with you even if it took more self-control than he felt he had at the moment.

"I-it's okay if you don't want to, with me," you added quickly, nervous with the way he seemed to keep hesitating. "It was just an idea..."

But he was so focused on admiring your body under him, your spread legs and the wet, waiting cunt between them— soft skin, a patient stare on your face; there was a sick little voice in his mind, shouting out from one of the deepest corners ruin, ruin, ruin. He needed you to be his. He knew how dangerous this was; but it nearly killed him last rut, not being able to fuck anything but his hand. He already felt the base of his cock pulsing, ready to swell and knot anything at this point. "I want you," he whispered. "Really fucking bad. Is that okay?"

You bit your lip. "Yeah, that's okay. I want you to do it, Bill— take me. I wanna help you."

He nodded a little, before he leaned down and kissed you. The kiss was gentle, shockingly so— that was the last of his human resolve, it felt like. It was the way he imagined he should've kissed you a long time ago, if he wasn't always too nervous to try. You kissed him back, reaching up to gently hold onto his arms. You felt... little. Smaller than usual. Maybe it was your shyness, or maybe it was just that he felt big in times like this.

He pressed his swollen head to your opening, and sighed as he plunged forward. Your nails dug into his skin, but he kept going; you whined against his lips, but he kept going, going going until he was flush against you and your eyes were rolled back in your head. "F-fuck, Bill— s'deep..."

"Fuck," he groaned, lifting you up, wrapping his arms around you, holding you close; he needed to feel you everywhere, as much as he could. "Is it hurting you?"

"No, fuck," you promised, holding onto him in return, "just move. I'm ready."

He tried to be slow, really, but it was hard not to just let his animal side take over. With all his patience, he managed to keep it not-quite-rushed but still not delicate either; you whined and hid your face in the crook of his neck, so he kissed the side of your head as he tried to remind himself not to hurt you. "It won't take me long," he assured, thinking that was a good thing in this case since you were probably struggling with it. "I— I haven't at all, since... since it happened. And I need it more than ever."

He saw your bare shoulder, and he shuddered with desire.

"You're so pretty," he breathed, "I want— I wanna bite you. Fuck, is that weird?"

"Do it," you pleaded, baring your neck for him; he was totally helpless to that, and he licked all over your skin before carefully sinking his teeth in. "Fuck! Bill, fuck, I like it— I like when you do that to me..."

He growled and did it again, on your shoulder; he wanted to mark you all over until you could never hide what he'd done to you. "Tell me it feels good," he demanded.

"It feels— oh god, Bill, it feels really fucking good... your cock is— fuck!" you moaned, and he could feel you shaking in his arms.

"I want you to come first," he whispered, "it might make it easier to take. I don't think I'll last much longer..."

He held your hips and tilted them just right, so your clit could grind against the spot above his cock— which was already just about ready to knot you, by the way, but he was holding it back somehow— and he hoped you wouldn't mind that he hadn't done much to tame the wild ginger hairs there.

He almost lost his cool when you started to rub yourself on him, rocking your hips just the way you needed, moaning louder in his ear. All he could've hoped for was that this would satisfy him, but clearly you loved it too, and that made him twice as desperate in an instant. "Fuck, it's coming— the knot," he warned with a gasp. "M'gonna breed you. Fuck. Gonna give you pups."

"Bill," you sobbed, but he couldn't stop talking as he fucked you faster and rougher than ever.

"Gonna be so fucking pretty— so fucking full," he groaned, "full of me. Gonna be mine now."

"Yeah," you panted.

"Gonna be so good for me, m'gonna breed you over and over—"

"Fuck!" you whimpered, and he could feel you pulsing, creaming around him; it was enough to make a growl echo in his chest.

"Mine," he insisted again, "my girl. Say it."

"Yours," you promised, "fuck, I want it— knot me, Bill, breed me—"

He already was, as soon as you said he was yours: the base of his cock filled and he heard your words break into a shaky sob as it pushed you to your absolute limits. He'd imagined he might pull the knot out of you before it got too big, to save you the pain, but now that he was here he had no intentions of keeping it anywhere but safe and warm inside you. "Good girl," he praised, "all fucking mine. Can you feel it? Feel me breeding you?"

You were speechless, just shivering and nodding; he could feel your tears, they were running down his chest as you pressed your face against him, and he should've felt guilty for how much he loved it.

Still, a bit of sanity was returning now that his knot was inside you, his come filling you— and not a drop of it would go to waste, with him keeping you plugged like this.

He held tighter onto you and laid you back on the beg again, kissing your tear-stained face.

"Tell me you're okay," he requested quietly, and you just nodded. "I'm sorry, I— not everything I said was— you won't get pregnant, there's a potion for it."

You smiled a little. "It's fine."

"It's fine, as in, it's fine that I said it, or... it's fine, you won't take the potion?"

Your wide, teary eyes looked up at him, and he figured he might have said too much, but he couldn't find the heart to take it back. "Would you... I mean, would you let me—?"

"Would I let you have my baby?" he chuckled. "It's your choice."

"That's... a pretty big favour for a friend," you mumbled, and he laughed before he nuzzled his face against yours.

"How about if I'm in love with you? What then?" he whispered. "And if you loved me to? Maybe we could..."

"Yeah," you breathed, "okay. Maybe."

He purred happily as he kissed one of your tears away. "Good," he said, "because I think when this knot goes down, we might have to start all over."

#30k sleepover #bill weasley x reader #bill weasley smut #request

[satoluv]

YOU ALWAYS HAD ME — synopsis: what would you do if your hot best friend agreed to fake date you to make your ex-boyfriend jealous? will it ruin your friendship or will it prevail into something more?

⤿ [ 11 ] timestamps do not matter.

One of your favourite things you did growing up to find solace outside of your rowdy home was sitting by the porch, drinking in the starry night above you. Usually, you had company; your Persian cat, Kiki who has found herself a new owner; Gojo Satoru.

“What’s going on that pretty little head of yours?” Your thoughts, are instantly broken by the low yet smoky voice of the man you were falling in love with. — your best friend, your fake boyfriend.

“Nothing”

“Lies. I’ve been searching everywhere for you but then your kind mother told me this is your favourite spot.” You felt the plank beneath you creak and found yourself a new company.

“You were looking for me?” Your voice came out barely a whisper.

Tucking away the strands of hair behind your ear, “Yeah?.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

So did the clock.

10 minutes till Midnight.

“Can we end this, Satoru?”

“What?”

"You heard me."

"So that’s on your mind? Is that why you invited me here? To break up with me in front of your family's porch? Or did Toji text you back? I-"

"Satoru, do you want to know what I dislike about you?"

"If it's me stealing your chocolates, I'm sorry. Please don't end this"

You cupped his face, the warmth from the contact of your hands and his face kept you alive. He looks so cute with his face being squashed. His bright blue eyes on you, pouting.

"Wrong. I don't like it when you cut me off and you’re so dramatic ‘toru! Toji hasn’t texted me since forever! But it doesn’t matter anyway because I love you."

His pout, was instantly replaced with a smile like a kid who got candy from his mother.

"Then will you shut me up by kissing m-"

You threw your body weight on him, snaking your arms around his neck, playing with the underside of his undercut. It's so hot. Supposedly a small fleeting kiss immediately turned into a passionate heated kiss, outside your family's porch.

You gasped in surprise at the sensation of his hands tucking underneath your shirt, pinching your skin.

The kiss that breaks apart, left you both catching for air.

Removing his hands that previously rested under your shirt, sliding in your palms, stroking your hands with his thumb.

"You're so cute. I like the taste of your lips on mine. And I love you too, YN. Always have been, ever since high school. We grew up together so technically, I watched you grow up heh. Watching you have your first boyfriend broke my heart, but if that was the price for me to pay seeing you so happy, I'd gladly break my heart a thousand times over. But a part of me wished it was me who made you smile. So when he broke your heart, it was as if the whole world just crashed on me. You, out of everyone deserve so much love."

Like as if that wasn't enough to tug your heartstrings,

"YN, can I be your boyfriend? I'll love you with everything that I have, I promise."

“Here’s a pen for you baby”

“What for?”

“Hmm? To tick off the the rest of your checklist sweetheart”

hiiii …. 🫣🫣🫣 imcoming fluff chapters enjoy it while it lasts. i love them sm omg. pls ignore the fact that it’s almost feb.. and im posting abt new years HAHAHA the nicknames!!!! i hope it’s not too rush omds..

💞 in the title means new years special hehe

taglist: @hexrts-anatomy @k4romis @soy-garbage @avatar-of-procrastination @lees-chaotic-brain @pastatata @maybe-a-bi-witch @vivi-loves-penguins @reagan707 @iluv-ace @dazaisfavgf @tiredflame132 @dreamxiing @inorixonline

feedbacks and reblogs appreciated! 💕💕 pls be kind to me

series m.list | main m.list

@ satoluv do not plagiarize, translate, or rewrite my writings without my permission !

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen smau #jjk smau #gojo satoru #gojo satoru smau #gojo smau #satoru smau #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader smau #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x y/n smau #queued to prime time! #reblog please! tq bbies #lily writes! ೀ⋆｡˚

[jpitha]

Between the Black and Gray 2

First / Previous / Next

"Next!"

The voice called out gruffly, and the line shuffled forward another step. Little by little, bit by bit, the line moved though customs as people tried to get into the station. Finally, they came upon a human, average height for the species, with dirty blond hair cropped short on the top of their head, wearing careworn clothes. He was carrying a large bag over his shoulder, and set it down as he approached the counter.

"Name." It was not a question.

"Gord Beaverbrook."

"Planet of origin?" The agent was bored and only half paying attention as they scanned the human's passport card.

"Earth."

At that, they looked up sharply. "Lying to an immigration officer comes with immediate expulsion. I must have misheard you. Planet of origin?"

The human's eyes widened slightly. The immigration officer - a Tylan - didn't notice the subtle change in body language. "Oh uh, my mistake. Orbital High Parvati."

They looked down at the passport card and grunted. "Colony Worlds eh? Leaving like the rest?"

"Something like that, yes."

One of their eyes flicked up to the human and stared just a moment longer than was comfortable. "Final destination?"

"Wait friend, is that required? Last time I came through, they just wanted to know where I came from and how long I was in town, not where I was going." The human looked back at the line and smiled - with his mouth shut - apologetically.

"Sapient, that has been the requirement the entire time I have worked here. If you are unwilling to divulge-"

"No no, it's fine. I've held up the line enough." He sighed. "My final destination is Lemilar Station."

"Lemilar? You're at least ten Gates away from Lemilar."

"Yeah, I have to ride the circuit. Can't afford to Flip over, and it's not like anyone is running a Flash. Transiting the Gates is the most affordable way to travel."

The terminal chirruped and the agent grumbled as they handed back the passport. "Damn refugees. Clogging up the place." They looked up at the human. "Forty third level is where the rest of the human and K'laxi refugees are if you want to see more of your kind." They looked past the man. "Next!"

Gord shouldered his bag, and walked past customs and into the promenade. It was wide and long, with shops on either side, and room for tables to be set out so that people could people watch. It was the same as any of a thousand orbitals, stations, and starbases he had been to in his long life. Sapients milled about, living their lives, going to work, meeting friends and living.

The thing that stuck out for Gord was the lack of humans. This station was far, far from the settled Colony Worlds and humans were rare here. He was used to being in the majority, even if he wasn't - technically - a human. These days one kept that kind of thing to themselves. Bouncing the pack to redistribute the weight, he started walking across the promenade, to look for the way up to the forty third level.

"Hey! Ape!" A Gren called out to Gord while was walking by. Gord didn't stop.

"I was talking to you, ape!" The Gren stood up from his seat at a restaurant, and approached Gord. Behind him two other Gren looked nervously at their friend, but didn't stop him.

Gord shrugged his pack off his shoulders and put his hand on it. Meeting the gaze of the Gren he sighed. "Yes, friend? What can old Gord do for you today?"

"That's an odd accent you have, Ape. You just learn Levinen?"

"No, I learned it a while ago, but I was taught by a Ivarr with a lisp."

At that, the two Gren behind the bully chuckled. Ivarr are insectoid species, they all speak with a slight lisp.

"Oh, a comedian. I see how it is." The bully turned back to his friends. "I mean, getting chased out of your own systems is pretty funny, so I do have to give you that." He tipped his head back and roared laughter, his mouthparts waggling along.

"All right then, I'll be on my way." Gord bent to pick up his bag.

"No, ape. You won't" The Gren put a large hand on Gord's bag. "You see, new arrivals have to pay an... administrative fee to get up to forty three. One hundred Stars."

Gord raised an eyebrow. "You know, if you hadn't been greedy, I probably would have just paid your extortion money." He looked around the large Gren at his two friends. "Thirty Stars? Would have paid it without any question. Even Fifty I would have grumbled, but paid so as to not cause trouble. But, one hundred stars? That's just too much."

The two Gren looked at each other for a moment. "Hey Tam, maybe the humie is right. One hundred seems like a lot to ask. Most of them are coming with the clothes they are wearing and that's it."

Tam turned back and raised a hand like he was going to cuff the Gren. Quit taking his side! I'm in charge here, I do what I want." He turned back to Gord. "One hundred Stars."

"Friend, I don't have one hundred Stars."

"Then you can't pass." Tam crossed his upper and lower arms. and glared at Gord.

"You see Tam - it's Tam? - You see Tam, that's a problem. I'm trying to get up to forty three where the other humans are, so that I can get my bearings and maybe work a bit so that I can buy passage through the next few gates. If you prevent me from doing that, then I'll be stuck here."

Tam took another step towards Gord. "One. Hundred. Stars."

Gord made a show of reaching for his wallet. "Look, I have Fifty on me - I was going to find a cot and get a bite, but that can wait-"

"Oh, you're going to pay, one way or another!" Tam roared, and his larger lower arms swung at Gord.

Faster than anyone thought possible, Gord had shuffled to the side of Tam, and the punches went wide. "Tam, really. I would wish you'd see reason and not do thi-" He ducked again as Tam wheeled around and tried to kick him with his strong, reverse articulated legs.

While Gord danced and ducked around Tam, he looked back at the two other Gren. "Look. I don't want trouble, fellas. Can I give you like ten Stars - just so you can say you shook me down - and I come back in a few demi cycles with a few more?"

The two other Gren's eyes were locked on Gord. They noticed how he was dodging every attack without seemingly putting any effort into it. "Uh Tam, maybe we should take the humie up on his offer. Do ya see how he's dodging you?"

"He's just getting lucky!" Tam was starting to breathe heavily as his swings got wilder and wilder. Gren had immense strength, but only in short bursts. They had almost no stamina. Finally all four of Tam's arms tried to roundhouse punch Gord. he side-stepped them and Tam spun around once and fell over, gasping.

Gord walked over and picked up his pack. "Uh, I'm just going to uh, go." He said to the other Gren. "Give Tam my regards, and I'll see you around eh?" Gord continued on down the promenade.

The rest of the walk he was very deliberately ignored. He found the lifts and went up to the forty third level. Here, if one squinted, one could think they were back in the Colony Worlds. Maybe Hyacinth, or Picaresque, or one of the other smaller starbases. Humans and K'laxi were around, in numbers Gord expected. He took one loop around the refugee level to get a feel for it, and sat down at a table outside an all-day breakfast place.

A busy K'laxi saw him, and waved. After a moment they approached. "Sorry! It's been a busy afternoon. My name is Ma-Ren, and I'll be your server today! What can I get you?"

Gord looked at the K'laxi and seemed to get lost for a moment. She was a spitting image. Ma-Ren's ears flicked nervously at the stare.

"Sir? Do you need another minute?"

"Oh! Sorry. I didn't mean to stare. It's just been a while since I've been somewhere with so many K'laxi. It feels like home. I'll uh, have the pancakes. Do you have any maple syrup?"

Ma-ren laughed. "My mother talked about maple syrup and how good it was. Something like that was probably left in the Colony Worlds. No, here you get regular sucrose syrup."

"Oh, okay, that'll be fine. Any chance of some coffee?"

"Sure thing. I'll bring you a cup now, while I put in the order for the pancakes?"

"That would be lovely, thank you." For the first time in months, Gord smiled widely.

#humans are deathworlders #sci fi writing #writing #humans and aliens #jpitha #humans are space orcs #humans and ai #humans are space oddities #Between the black and gray

[shutit-haha]

Kit-Kat | a baby Bakugo/reader

I know it's been done a thousand times before but I needed something meaningful and self indulgent. Sorry if this is a little OOC for him I'm trying to work out where exactly the line is when it comes to emotionally constipated five year olds.

You were exhausted when you had arrived at your shared apartment. It wasn't anything grand or luxurious, just some place you stayed with your boyfriend occasionally. (If the two of you were ever so lucky to be home at the same time.) Katsuki was hustling to become a hero and with the media having their eyes trained on him from high school he had to be mindful of the steps he took. Then there was you, trying your hardest to get to where you wanted to go in life. Slaving while you waited for him to start his own business. Once Katsuki's company was open you'd work with him in a partnership and all would be as it should.

Until then you entered your apartment with sagging tear drop shoulders. You hadn’t slept properly in two days and had ended up working overtime today despite having planned on leaving early. No matter, you were here now and if you were lucky perhaps Katsuki would be too. So with heavy limbs of lead you shut the door behind you and hung up your jacket. Spring was supposed to be arriving within a week's time however the winter chill was holding on for dear life.

When you bent down to slip off your shoes you noticed the living room light was on. It spilled into the mudhall where you were bent over your feet. Without a second spared you were bouncing off into the living room to greet your boyfriend whom you had only seen in passing lately. By the time he came home you were already climbing into bed. Each and every night you’d promise to wait for him to finish his shower and each and every night you’d fall asleep before he was out. Due to his late shifts you found yourself waking up earlier than him, something that was certainly odd for the two of you. By the time he would wake to start his day you were already long gone, your only trace a post-it left on your pillow.

He’d never tell you, but he loved how you kissed it as a sign off. Your perfume would always stay behind on the colorful paper right where you left a stain of puckered lips. Your heart ached for him and he had been dying to see that lipstick on some skin instead of just paper.

“Katsuki!” You shouted from where you stood at the end of the entry hall and the beginning of the living room. “Katsuki,” you called again. The kitchen was to the left of you a space far too small for your burly boyfriend and fully stocked with kitchen ware. You had decided to buy the cheap stuff in the meantime, glad you did since the two of you rarely ever used any of it. There was no dining room.

The living room laid right in front of your disappointed gaze. A low coffee table situated in front of the T.V and a single sofa that could sit three. The back of the sofa faced the kitchen where Kaminari was rifling through your cabinets in search of snacks. Mina bounced a baby on her lap, shushing and cooing at it in an attempt to keep it from wailing. Kirishima and Sero were debating on the best way to calm the baby down while a children’s show played in the background.

Their heads all swiveled to look at you, including the pale baby boy’s. Kaminari looked as though he had been caught, Kirishima and Mina seemed worried and Sero…smug for some odd reason. “Right feeding a baby is better than distracting it,” Sero placed his hands on his hips.

“Yeah,” you nodded absentmindedly. “Is Katsuki here?” You tried to listen for the sound of your bathroom shower, or maybe some kind of movement in your bedroom. No matter how hard you strained though it was obvious he wasn’t here. “Does he know you’re here,” a follow up question.

“Technically,” Mina spoke up.

“Found them,” Kaminari shouted from the kitchen bag of chips in hand. “I knew I left a family size here last time.”

“Get out of the way,” Sero shoved him to reach the fridge. Mina’s fluorescent eyes darted to look at Kirishima who seemed to be sweating bullets.

“Ok guys, there’s no way you can just stay in my house and keep secrets from me. Especially when they’re about my boyfriend so…”

“Well you know how he is, he gets into fights with people and-” Mina was the first to reply.

“That guy was looking for it though. He was being rude and then he wussed out when Bakugo stepped up.” Sero added from where he was cooking something in your kitchen.

“Like they said the guy was messing with him and then he got scared, and his quirk malfunctioned.” Kirishima continued, hands up to calm you.

“Who’s quirk malfunctioned?” You were worried now and this story was taking too long.

“The guy’s,” they all replied. All except for Kaminari who was stuffing chips down his throat and surfing channels. The baby on Mina’s lap had started fighting with the blonde over the remote.

“And well,” Mina said as she tried to keep hold of the baby.

“He kind of,” that was Kirishima speaking to you gently. The red head was walking on eggshells here and you really didn’t understand why.

“Where is my boyfriend?” You stalked further into the room, growing hostile with your tone.

“Bakugo man, just give me the remote!” Kaminari shouted at the baby trying his best to tug the control out of the baby’s pudgy hands. Your head whipped around to take in the baby’s blonde spiky hair, something you hadn’t paid any attention to at first. It seemed softer than it was supposed to be, less spikey and more curly. Instead of the ends shooting straight out they curved a little, giving his hair a bounce to it.

“I can track the guy down for you,” Kirishima spoke quickly. Sero snorted from where he was now hunched over a pot.

“Kami you idiot,” Mina screeched at the other blonde yanking the remote from his hands. You sunk down into the floor, slumping against the wall and laughing. What the hell were you gonna do with a child? You didn't even want kids right now, you still had work. Were you supposed to take a day off? Do you pay for daycare? Do you have money for that? Does his boss know?

“You broke them,” Kaminari shouted from the couch.

“I’m not broken,” you reached a hand up to wave it at him. “How old is he now,” you asked Kirishima.

“Five-ish.”

“Does he have his quirk?”

“No.”

You winced, taking a sharp breath in through your teeth. This sounded like some hellish nightmare for your boyfriend. He’s small and helpless, no quirk and no muscle. “Does his job know?”

“They’ve been notified.”

“Great,” you sighed, getting back up from the floor. You made your way back into the entry hall so that you could take off your shoes and slide on your slippers. With a heavy head you walked back over to the living room.

“I wanna buy him clothes,” Mina chirped, still bouncing him on her lap. He had those angry red eyes and what was supposed to be a scowl only looked like a pout on that face.

“That won’t be necessary, he'll be back soon.” You made your way straight for him, dragging your feet along the floor. You felt conflicted, just a moment ago you had wanted to spend time with your boyfriend and well here was your chance. Except that he was a child, one you had to care for and couldn’t just simply love. You couldn’t lay on him like you wanted to, sinking into his warmth.

“Well..” Mina handed him to you.

“We’re not sure, it's a quirk malfunction so it could last for more than 24 hours.” Kirishima sat on the armrest unable to find space on the crowded couch.

“Days?” You asked, staring down at Katsuki, his little red eyes stared at you in awe though he still tried to look mean.

“Could be a month,” Kaminari shrugged, shoving more chips into his mouth. Mina shoved him off the sofa and onto the floor, Kirishima was quick to take the now open spot.

“We’re all gonna stay with you tonight,” Mina quickly assured you.

“Yeah,” Sero added in agreement. He was going through your lower cabinets now in search of you weren’t sure what. You looked sound at your friends, they were amazing people. And you wanted them to stay truly, you just weren’t sure how they were all going to fit. Your sofa could fit two people if they really squished together. And well your apartment had never had to fit more guests than that.

Sometimes Kaminari gets wasted at a bar and Sero will have to go and pick him up. Somehow your apartment ends up being closer to them and in they come stumbling late in the night to Katsuki’s dismay. They’ll fall onto the sofa where you’ll find them sleeping in the morning. Sometimes you and Bakugo will go out to events with Kiri and Mina, and the four of you will wind up back here. They always end up giggling away on your couch while you and Katsuki collapse onto your mattress cracking jokes with one another.

You’ve never had the whole gang stay the night and staring at your small apartment you weren’t sure how it was going to work. “Mina can share the bed with me and Katsuki, or maybe we can go and buy an air mattress?”

The boys all stared at each other realizing only one of them would get the couch. “Air mattress,” they spoke in unison, already feeling the back pain.

“Ok,” you laugh and Katsuki’s heart hurts. He whimpers looking down at your pants. “You ok?” His big eyes glare at you before looking away, pink dusting his cheeks. You smile at him softly, taking it as him just being flustered. “You think he still remembers me?”

The room was silent. Sero kept on with his cooking, various spices open on your counter and a cutting board with nothing to cut. He made a face at that, opening your fridge to go through it for what was now the third time. Kaminari seemed to have finally found a channel on the t.v and sat down comfortably on the floor. Kirishima and Mina exchanged a look while you waited for an answer.

“Maybe,” Mina watches your face carefully.

“We hope but aren’t entirely sure,” Kiri then added.

“Oh,” you exhaled deeply, “ok.” You leaned forward then nuzzling the skin behind Katsuki’s ear with your nose. His hair was soft though very dry, and his skin was nice and warm. “It’s ok if you forget me,” you whisper to him softly. “I know you’ll remember me later,” you kiss his cheek before pulling away. “You all ready to go to the store, I need to get some sort of clothes for him and I think Sero is struggling to find food.”

“Already made a list,” he replied from where he was still scribbling on the counter.

“Alright then Katsu baby, ‘you ready to go?” You lifted him up into the air trying to get at least a smile from him, but to no avail. His arms were crossed over his chest, lip jutting out in a pout, eyebrows pulled down in a nasty little glare. “You’re gonna like me,” you place him on your hip. “I know you will. Did it once I can do it again,” you walked with him back into the hall.

💣

“These are cute,” Mina held up a powder pink shirt.

“Uhh,’ you eyed little Katsuki.

“I’ll pay for it,” she smiled brightly from behind the shirt.

“Put it in there,” you whispered to her. You tossed some black sweatpants in the kart, “we gotta get you some shoes little man.” You ruffled his hair, dodging the hand he swiped at you. “Come on little man,” you take his hand and lead him to where the shoes are. Of course he’s instantly drawn to the sneakers with heroes on them. You watch as his little eyes widen and then narrow to analyze the gym shoes. His attention bounces from shoe to shoe, comparing the colors and how the hero is displayed. Eventually he takes hold of two pairs; one with Allmight standing tall and another with him in the midst of a punch.

“One day I’m gonna have shoes of my own.”

“Yeah you will,” you smile at him.

He glares at you, still comparing the two shoes to one another. “I’m serious,” he sits on the floor to try them on.

“I am too. I know you’ll do it.”

At this point he has one shoe on each foot, rocking back and forth to get a feel of them.

“So which one’s the winner?” You’re amused by all this, he’s five and being far too precise.

“These are cooler,” he points to the one with Allmight punching. “These feel nicer though.” ‘Has good dialect too. Crazy how smart this guy is. “These,” he settles for the comfier shoes.

“Ok,” you nod. “You want another pair?”

His eyes sparkle, lips parting to speak before he suddenly reels himself back in. He scowls, shoving his shoes at you. “Yeah,” he then stomps off down another aisle.

“Ok,” you sigh, following him. “You know you’re bossy, and mean.”

He stops in front of a pair of combat boots, black ones similar to what he uses for his hero suit. “These,” he points, awe visible in his face.

You do your best to stifle your laughter trying not to embarrass him. The moment he realizes he’s making a cute face you know it’ll be gone so you keep quiet. You bend down to search for a box with his size written on it but are unable to find any. “Uhh,” now you gotta tell him. Great. You look again, maybe you just didn’t try hard enough the first time. “Baby,” you coo, still checking over all the boxes. “I don’t think they have it in your size.” You're kneeling down on one knee in search for these damn boots but can’t find any.

“What?” His mouth’s agape, eyes wide and glossy.

“These are big kid shoes, they don’t have any for you.”

His chest quickly rises and falls as he starts to breathe heavily, hands curling into little fist. You watch his features curl and fold into a deep scowl. Tears form in his eyes, welling up in his lash line while his cheeks go red. “But-”

“I know, I’m sorry.” And would you believe it, he cries. His bottom lip quivers while fat tears roll down his cheeks. His fist are curled so tightly you worry about his little hands. He hiccups and sniffles but doesn’t wail and bawl like other kids do. It’s silent, something you see but don’t exactly hear. “I know.” You pick him up, uncurling his fist as he wraps his arms tightly around your neck. He clings to you, clutching tightly while he sniffles and cries. “It’s ok baby, I’m sorry, I know you really wanted them. I’ll try and find you a pair ok?” You rub his back, rocking him back and forth.

He nods vigorously, still sniffling and hiccuping. Mina finds the two of you at the end of the aisle, Kirishima right behind her with the shopping kart. “Is he ok?” She whispers to you, approaching slowly. Katsuki clutches to you tighter, burying his face in your neck and hair.

“A little embarrassed I think,” you hand her the box holding his sneakers. “They didn’t have the other pair of shoes he wanted.”

“Oh you poor thing, I cry over shoes too.” Mina rubbed his back softly, laughing to you silently.

“Surprised he cried,” Kirishima said.

“Me too, I think he might just be tired. Or maybe missing home.” You followed them out the aisle and over to the self check-out.

“Missing home?”

“Yeah, maybe he knows he’s supposed to be big.”

Katsuki listened to your conversation carefully, face still covered by his hair. What you’re saying seemed right to him in a vague kind of way. He wasn’t sure that was what he felt but nothing else seemed to make sense. All the other feelings he knew didn’t fit how they were supposed to.

💣

“We bought clothes,” Mina sang, entering the apartment with bags in hand. She went straight into the living room, leaving the door open, and still wearing her shoes.

“I thought they were for Bakugou,” you heard Kaminari reply to her.

“They are,” she huffed.

You were the next to enter the apartment carrying a sleeping Bakugou in your arms. You sat him down on top of the wooden shoe rack, slipping off his sandals and putting them away. You then sat down next to him just as Kirishima came in through the door. The red head carried the groceries Sero had asked for and the air mattress your apartment so desperately needed. “Kami start moving the table!” Kirishima ordered, slamming the door behind him with his foot.

Bakugou jumped in his sleep and you placed him back on your lap. He rested his head on your breast while you rubbed his back soothingly. You waited a minute or two before sliding off your own shoes. You put your shoes back where they belonged, sliding on your slippers and then carrying Kastuki to the living room. Once again you found yourself stopping at the doorway.

The apartment felt so alive, Sero was cutting vegetables in the kitchen while the other boys worked together on moving your coffee table. Mina was pulling clothes out of the bag to show everybody and then folding it into a neat pile. She had offered to pay for the clothes and Kiri paid for everything else so you spent nothing. It warmed your heart to the point where you nearly wanted to cry. This was home, here with all these lovely people. “Here,” Mina handed you a pajama set.

“Wake him up so he can eat, I cooked something nice for him.” Sero smiled at you from where he was putting all of your spices back.

“Shower him,” Kiri said before yelling at Kaminari about scraping your floor.

“Will do,” you nodded and smiled at everyone heading off to the bathroom. The cutout that led to the bathroom was aligned with the hall to your entryway. The door to your left opened up to the restroom, the one opposite leading to your bedroom. You shut the door softly behind you, gently shaking Katsuki awake. “Gotta bathe you,” you speak softly to him.

The drowsy blonde sways where he stands in front of you on the cold bathroom tiles. His little fist comes up to rub at his eyes. “‘M hungry,” his stomach growls.

“You’ll eat right after this,” you tug off his pants slowly. Your nails graze his soft little thighs on accident and he winces. “I’m sorry,” you kiss where you scratched him.

“I like your nails,” his hand curls around your index finger. He keeps a tight hold of it while he steps out of his pants.

“Thank you,” you smile at him despite his eyes being shut. “Arms up.”

He yawns and reaches for the sky letting you take off his shirt. “Are you gonna shower with me?”

“What?” You laugh, tugging off his boxers.

“I want you to shower with me, I miss when you used to do it.” He yawns and steps out of his boxers. “Why don’t we do it anymore? Are you mad at me?” He finally opens his drowsy red eyes.

“What? No,” you shake your head, running the bath water. “We’ve just been busy.”

“I’m not busy anymore.” Silence falls while you check the temperature of the water. “Do you shower with your other boyfriends?”

“I don’t have other boyfriends.”

“Good,” he huffs. “I’d have to beat them up.”

“Katsuki you’re five.” You stand from the edge of the tub drying your hand.

“So you’ll shower with me,” he looks up at you.

“When you’re a big boy again,” you cup his cheek.

“But I’m not busy anymore,” he whines.

“I know,” you lift him up to put him in the bath.

“Are you gonna leave me?”

“What?” You stare at him.

“Are you going to work tomorrow?” He sputters, embarrassed by your intense stare. His face heats up, cheeks turning a bright red.

“Think I might just stay with you.”

“Can you wash me?”

“You can do it, you’re big enough.”

“But I like your nails,” he reaches for your hand. For a moment you look at him so sure that you can see your Katsuki somewhere inside. He wants you to shower with him, he likes your nails, he’s ok with you scratching him. He’s worried that you’re leaving him.

You wash him. And when you’re done you dry him. And when that’s done you feed him. The whole gang gets comfortable in the living room eating together and watching a movie. Throughout the film they rotate who’s taking a shower and by the end everyone’s clean except for you. The t.v turns black and you lay Katsuki down in the bedroom. He fell asleep about halfway through the film. You sneak off to take a shower and when you come back he’s up and waiting for you.

“I missed you,” he sniffles, reaching for you in the darkness. You take hold of his little hands, placing him on top of your chest. His little hands slid around either side of you just barely reaching your back. You rub in between his shoulder blades, scratching his scalp lightly with your nails.

“I missed you too,” you sigh drifting off to sleep.

When you wake in the morning, he’s still a baby.

#bakugou katsuki #x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha #bakusquad #domestic fluff #found family #baby boy #quirk accident

[staceymcgillicuddy]

Day 3: Candy Hearts

A #hellcheervalentinesweek ficlet in which Miss Chris is the delinquent, for once.

Chrissy sees her locker before Eddie does. Goes stiff as a board beneath the arm he has slung around her shoulders, which shuts him up. Turns off the ol’ conversational spigot entirely as they stop in the middle of the morning crowd and stare.

There are oversized candy hearts glued to the grey metal. Someone has overlaid their faded, pastel messages with Sharpie, though. One letter per heart, spelling S L U T and W H O R E and F R E A K. Because it’s Valentine’s Day, and this school is a cesspit. 

“Fuck me,” he mutters, stepping forward to lean against the locker, all casual like he can’t hear the giggling morons in pastel jumpsuits who’ve clearly been waiting around for Chrissy to find today’s means of torment. 

“It’s fine,” she says, and though her cheeks have gone pink, there’s something flinty and hard in her expression when she nudges him out of the way. “I need my Biology book.” 

“Chrissy…” 

“I said it’s fine. It’s just candy.” 

To prove her point, she scrapes a fingernail across the S in slut, and while some of the sugary substance sticks, most of it dissolves into powder. He takes care of the rest while she retrieves her book, and while the outline of the hearts is still visible when she shuts the door, the cruelty of the message has disappeared.

“Hiiiiii, Chrissy,” trills Kristin McCullough, the bleach-blonde ringleader of the bunch. Jason’s new girl, the new head cheerleader, the psychopath who stepped up to fulfill Chrissy’s prescribed high school role when she involuntarily took a step back. 

Well, sort of involuntarily. The breakdown hadn’t been her fault. The dismantling of her entire life that followed in its wake, though? That was all Chrissy. 

“Kristin,” Chrissy says coolly, then reaches for Eddie’s hand. “C’mon, Eddie.”

“Sure, yeah,” he says, and walks her to class, not fully understanding whatever girl code was just communicated in eyebrow raises and sneers, but knowing that a message was sent all the same. 

Eddie’s so fucking sick of that girl. Kristin’s taken it as her personal mission to make the remainder of Chrissy’s high school experience hell simply because she’s choosing not to conform to some arbitrary, preppy standard any longer. Insults and whispers and pranks and death by a thousand cuts. 

Three months until graduation. Eddie’s counting the hours.

The rest of the day passes without incident, and any weight on Chrissy’s shoulders lifts the moment she steps into the trailer. Technically, she’s not living there, but considering she hasn’t been home in three weeks… yeah. She kind of is. 

They do their homework—she’s as insistent as Wayne that he graduates—and watch a movie before going to bed, where they have sex that’s sweet and slow because it doesn’t have to be furtive and fast. A novelty and a gift, as far as Eddie’s concerned.

The following day, she’s up with the dawn, murmuring something about going for a run into his ear. Okay for some people, he supposes, as he hauls the blanket over his head and sleeps until Chrissy shakes him awake.

Things are already abuzz when they step through a side door and into the hallway. Whispers and titters and oh, God, he's gonna kill Kristin, chick or not, he really is. 

Only, there’s nothing wrong with Chrissy’s locker. The heart residue from the day before, sure, but no sewage dripping out the vents or spoiled milk left to rot over a weekend. 

As it happens, the source of the drama is Kristin herself, who’s weeping openly in front of her own locker, her hand on her heart, while her friends crowd around. 

“You!” Kristin shrieks when she sees Chrissy. “You did this! You and that freak boyfriend!” 

Stepping back, Kristin gestures, and Eddie sees it. A S S H O L E, larger than life, scraped past the paint and into the metal of the locker below. There’s no painting over that sort of damage; they’ll have to replace the lockers.

Everything gets kind of wild after that. Miss Kelly and one of the science teachers are the first on the scene. Though Eddie and Chrissy are interrogated separately, nobody can prove they did anything, despite Kristin’s screeched protests. A search of their bags and lockers turns up nothing, and since Eddie’s stopped bringing weed to school, his van’s clean, too. 

“Why don’t you search Kristin’s locker for candy hearts and Sharpies?” he says at one point, which gets him detention that’s less about what he said and more about Higgins being angry he can’t suspend him for vandalization. 

At last, they’re released with a warning and sent to class. Eddie suffers through his detention after school, and Chrissy waits for him in the van.

“You did it this morning, right?” he asks as he pulls out of the parking lot. “On your run?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Seriously?” It doesn’t take a genius to figure out; he keeps a sharpened pocketknife in his nightstand, and she has access. The rest is just details.

She looks down at her hands, and she's fighting back a smile. “Eddie, don't be silly. But I am sorry you got detention."

Tagging @amandaashplease for event visibility. Thanks for reading, friends, and if you'd like more fic, I have some work on AO3.

#hellcheervalentinesweek #fanfic #hellcheer #eddie x chrissy #chrissy x eddie #eddissy #edissy #microfiction #valentine's day #event #tumblr fiction

[sunnyie-eve]

15 | Royal Wedding

Series: No Prince Charming

Paring: Harry Hook x Original female character Princess!

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: none

| MASTERLIST |

"Do I have to wear this?" Harry complains to Bella as she helps him try on his suite for the Royal Wedding.

"Yes, you do. Not only because it's a wedding but it's your girlfriend's brother's wedding. Oh, and it's the King and Queen's wedding." She adds before giving him a kiss.

"Things I do for ya, Princess."

"Because you love me." She laughs at him. "Look at you. I say, I caught a big handsome one." She makes him face the mirror.

"You? I found the Heart of the Ocean. I say I win, Princess." He pulls her closer to him.

"Bella! Aren't you supposed to be helping Evie with the bouquet?" Audrey busts through the door.

"Oh, right. Umm, go spend time with Ben for me. Love you." Bella rushes out to go help Evie and sees how big it was. "Oh, my." She rushes over to help her. "Does it have to be this big?" She groans.

At the same time, Harry goes to find Ben, "Izzy told me to spend time with ya." He tells him once he finds Ben.

"Oh, she did?" Ben laughs.

"She did. Listen mate, you still seem to have a wee problem with me." Harry walks closer to him, "Why?"

"For starters you wanted to hook me and got upset when you didn't get to." Ben tells him.

"Oh, come on, King Benny. Your sister doesn't care." Harry rolls his eyes.

"You want the truth?"

"Duh." Harry gives him a look.

"I want what's best for my sister." Ben tells him the truth.

"I'm wearing a suit to your wedding to make her happy. If I had it my way, I wouldn't be." Harry laughs, "It's odd you have a problem with me but your parents love me with your sister. They know I make her happy."

"Just looking out for her."

"You know who you sound like right now? My younger sister, who did the same thing with Bella and I. Guess what... She realized the next day Bella actually cares for me." Harry tells him.

"I'm just more worried about her. The way she acts now and more vocal about not wanting to do things. And you encore her to do so. She has responsibilities, Harry." Ben huffs.

"What? She does those responsibilities. I give her pep talks for them. What I encore her to do is stand her ground and not get walked over." Harry says so Ben shuts up, "And who cares if she didn't want to do her royal responsibilities anymore? You're the King and when you and Mal have kids they will be in charge next. She's free to do whatever she wants technically."

"It doesn't work like that and I don't expect you to know that." Ben tells him.

"It can, look at me and other VKs... We're here now."

When Evie and Bella get to Mal with Dizzy the bouquet falls on with two. "Can you help us up please?" Evie asks the girls.

"Think the bouquet is big enough?" Mal asks.

"You'll need everyone to help you carry that or put a spell on it to move on its own." Bella gets off the floor.

"Fun fact. That bouquet is made up of every single flower grown in Auradon."

"Wouldn't be nice if people saw the dress too? Some people worked very hard on it. And I mean me. I'm some people." Evie walks up to Audrey.

"And the hair. Don't forget the hair." Dizzy jumps in.

"And some people have other things to worry about, like thousands of invites, food, flowers, seating charts, entertainment." Audrey starts to call about things that need to be done.

"Excuse me, Harry is calling me." Bella leave the room to answer her phone.

"Your brother hates me by the way and doesn't want me to be with you. So umm I left to finish getting ready." Harry lets her know.

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah, he's acting like CJ was with you." He laughs.

"I'll talk to him. Oh, speak of the devil I see him. Love you, bye." She ends the call, "What the hell, Ben?" She crosses her arms.

"Harry called you?"

"Yes, what's wrong with you?" She asks annoyed, "I really don't want t lo go through something I've already gone through with his sister with you now. So you can marry Mal but I can't date Harry?"

"Listen..."

She cuts him off, "No." She leaves going to see Harry and when she does he finds him chatting with her dad and mom.

"Hello, sweetheart." Belle smiles.

"I why aren't you two waiting for the wedding or with Ben?"

"Hades caused a little accident so... and Harry wanted to ask a question." Adam adds.

"Oh, did he add Ben doesn't want us together?" She walks over to Harry's side.

"He did which we told him to ignore since we adore him. He makes our baby happy." Belle smiles giving Adam a look.

"Yes, your mother is completely right."

"Okay, so what did you ask my parents?" Bella laughs looking up at Harry, "If they could put Ben in a time out?" She laughs more but Harry gets down on one knee.

"No, I ask for their blessing. Bella, the moment you stole from me, you stole my heart without knowing as well. Everyday I prayed for you to sneak over just so I could see you. I wanted that more than the barrier to come down. Back when Mal and Ben wanted to keep the barrier closed forever, I felt my heart break. I thought I would never get to see you again. I'm the luckiest pirate by finding the greatest treasure ever, you. Will you marry me?"

Bella was completely shocked never seeing this come anytime soon, "Yes!" She jumps up and down as he puts the ring on her finger then kisses her as her parents cheer. "Thank you two for giving him permission." She hugs her parents now.

"Of course, dear." Belle kisses her cheek.

"Anything to make you happy. And he obviously does and loves you." Adam hugs her tightly, "Do ignore your brother. He'll have to get over it since Harry will be his brother in law soon." He laughs.

"There's still plenty of time till the wedding so why do t you go share the news with your family, Harry." Belle tells him.

Harry holds his hand out to Bella so she takes it and they rush off to go to the Isle. When they get to his place Harriet was surprised to see them.

"Don't you have a wedding to attend to?"

"There's a little delay with things going on." Bella tells her.

"Dad, CJ, can you come here please." Harry calls out so they come into the room.

"What? I was watching this really good show and I can't pause it." CJ huffs crossing her arms.

"I just wanted to share that we are engaged." Harry says as Bella holds up her hand to show off the ring.

"Where the hell did you steal that from?" CJ rushes over taking Bella's hand to look at the ring.

"I didn't steal it, CJ. I had helping getting it. Oh, yeah, Evie said you would like this one the best." Harry lets Bella know.

"Evie helped you?!" She shouts taken back then looks at the ring, "She really does know me." She giggles.

"I'm so happy for you two." Hook walks over giving Bella a hug then his son.

"I thought he would take longer to propose." Harriet hugs the two as well.

"I wasn't planning on doing it today but Ben pissed me off so I did it early. I wanted to make sure he knows I love you and I'm good enough for you." Harry takes Bella's hands into his.

"And you are." Bella leans up to kiss him.

#thomas doherty #harry hook #descendants 2 #descendants #descendants 3 #descendants oc #descendants au #harry hook descendants #descendants mal #descendants evie #descendants carlos #descendants jay #descendants uma #descendants gil #dcom #vks #disney #villains

[chateautae]

I was justttt thinking right after finishing the latest MID drabble that, what if like you know lucifer JK and MID tae end up meeting someday like in fic universe. I mean lucifer jk can keep coming to meet his y/N right and what if like they're on a date and Tae and his y/N are on a date too hehe. In the same place. Not asking for anything major, you already spoil us by giving us so much of good content, thank you, but like how would this play out in your head? If it's okay to ask.

Omg this is so funny!! Please if luci jk and mid tae ever met I think it'd just be chaotic evil, mainly from luci jk's side 😭 why can I imagine luci jk seeing mid tae being extra careful with a pregnant wifey oc at a restaurant and jungkook being like "look at this guy, he's down so bad for his girl" "jungkook, shut the fuck up, you should be more like him" is what his y/n says while proceeding to smack Jungkook upside the head. Cut to luci jk and mid tae eventually running into each other outside the restaurant because they're both waiting on their women. Starts off with casual "heys" until luci jk starts asking about mid tae's relationship.

mid tae: "ah, she's my wife. been married for over 2 years now."

luci jk: "wow, that's really nice. and am I safe in assuming you're expecting as well?"

mid tae: "yeah, she's 7 months pregnant. a boy."

luci jk: "congrats, man. I can tell you're excited, and you guys seem fairly young too."

mid tae: "i'm over the fucking moon, honestly, and i guess, you look young yourself."

luci jk: "ah, trust me, i only appear young. i'm actually thousands of years old."

mid tae thinks jungkook's just joking and laughs, starts asking about jk's relationship.

luci jk: "she's my girlfriend. been dating for a few months now but technically, we've known each other much longer."

mid tae: "technically?"

luci jk: *laughs*, "listen... was it taehyung?"

mid tae: "yup"

luci jk: "what if I told you I'm actually Lucifer, currently visiting earth to meet my human girlfriend who houses the essence of the primordial demon Lilith that is my long-lost love?"

mid tae proceeds to blink in confusion, then blinks again. "that sounds like something my wife would watch on tv. are you fucking with me?"

luci jk: *laughs again* "yeah, dude, just messing with you." their ladies then come out of the restaurant and meet their respective man, each couple turning to eventually split. "nice meeting you, man, good luck with your wife's pregnancy."

mid tae: "thanks, hope you guys have a safe night."

just before mid tae turns, though, jungkook flashes him his Lucifer eyes over his y/n's shoulder with a devilish grin, and mid tae's eyes horrifyingly widen before jungkook completely disappears.

later that night, when the mid couple's getting ready for bed:

"babe, you're not gonna believe me, but I swear I met fucking Lucifer today."

"Lucifer? honey, i think you're working too hard these days, you need rest."

"no, princess, i swear i met lucifer! i'm not crazy, the man flashed me these eyes that looked like he was straight from hell and then he diasappeared! that's not normal!"

"baby, you're definitely sleep-deprived and hallucinating. nice story."

"it's not a storyyy. I swear it happened babe, right before you came back to me from the restaurant."

"tae, baby, I'll give you credit for having an imaginative mind. why don't I suck you off as a reward and then we can sleep?"

"well shit, don't have to tell me twice. but I swear it happened, I’m not crazy.”

“debatable, babe, you were crazy enough to marry me.”

“damn, you’re right, maybe I am crazy.”

and the night ends with wifey oc smacking mid tae with a pillow :)

#anon #sammy's inbox #fic: maybe i do #fic: hotter than hell

[blood-bound]

Haha, I like seeing your wall of text about Mark and his adventures! :D

Lanford has been really sheltered in their Chantry (and abusively controlled by their Sire) since their Embrace in the 70s! And they've actually never had an incident of losing control to the Beast. So I think they'd say "Individuals are not monsters, that's simply a way of categorizing things which frighten or confuse us. Clinging to the belief that Kindred are 'monsters' rather than understanding we are a new life form with different needs and behaviors is like drawing 'here be dragons' on every map. It's just ignorance." Lanny is very fun to play because they are analytical and condescending. They HAVE been punched in the face by a Brujah for not knowing when to shut up XD

They know about the history of the Tremere as mages but they consider thaumaturgy to be perfectly consistent with the prior Hermetic practices, or maybe even superior since it's using the capabilities of vitae to power it. They've never met a mage before but they would be super excited about that! :0 Lanford has met fey creatures and gotten super messed up on their blood though.

Can I ask about Mark's relationship with his Sire? You mentioned his Sire has very powerful blood? (Or, is a low generation?)

hi im feeling like more of a human so i cna finally finish this post and resurrect it from my drafts i am so so sorry for the delay.

-

GOOD sometimes tremere nerds have to get punched in the face that's just the way it is. Mark can relate to being abusively controlled by their sire or at least, he would if he really realized it <3

Hehe Lanny you don't know shit if you don't know about how much stronger mages are. Too good.

-

OK yes so Mark's sire is super old idk why the ST lowkey gave special snowflake syndrome but whatever he can have a sire thats over a thousand years old as a treat.

gasp. yes, that means he was around when the tremere went from a mage house to a vampire clan. that's nuts! he was already older than most humans because he was a mage trying to extend his lifespan. thats how he's so GotDamn old.

His name is Julius. I think he's technically 8th gen but he did weird blood sorcery shit to make Mark essentially an 11th gen as far as blood potency is concerned. He uses Mark as a spy/errand boy but Mark doesn't mind because, due to high level blood bond, he thinks Julius helps him a lot (technically does ig) and is really happy when he pleases Julius.

He is starting to recognize that, rationally, the only reason to help him would be out of fear, but the blood bond is still there oc which makes it complicated.

Julius keeps him financially stable, will fulfill basically any minor request Mark makes of him, and due to his high position in the Tremere keeps him safe politically just by being his sire.

In return Mark gives him weekly reports, does various spying things when requested, (largely against Julius's rival, Gaius, which is a whole nother' story), and is basically at his beck and call.

For his part Mark is mostly in awe of Julius, terror in the classical sense; sees him as super powerful, wants to please him; but at the same time recognizes that Julius is fairly like, inhuman and awful, so hides how much he cares abt humans and such, in fact he kinda feels ashamed of it, which is sad :(

Julius had Mark's ex spy on him before his embrace/while they were still dating - he didn't directly do it, but ordered another kindred to get info on Mark and thats how he did it. Basically ruined Sampson's life. So yeah. pretty fucked. A quote that lives in my head rent free is when Mark was concerned about sampson and asked Julius abt him for the first time Julius said "You can have many Sammys" so he clearly doesnt like. get it. lol.

#mark vtm oc #sorry i just NEEDED to get this out of my drafts so i just did stream of consciousness feel free as fuck 2 ask cliarfying quetsions #i hope this made at least a lil sense

[eijiroukiriot]

Can I geeettt- 11 for a kiss.

11. ...in joy.

“So the villain with the mud-making quirk, he was clearly starting to run out of stamina, but he pulled out every stop he had and tried for a finishing attack,” says Midoriya, so enthusiastically that his words bump into each other. “And he was jumping down from the second story when he let the attack loose, so he reached every single level of altitude in the alley. Not just Kacchan and I on the street, but Shouto up in the air, too.” 

“It was hard to get all of it off,” Todoroki adds. 

“It was even denser than the stuff from earlier in the fight. But after that, everything was sort of like the swamp terrain from third year training camp-” 

“The place we had the Mud Bowl Bracket,” Eijirou remembers. Aizawa might’ve made that marsh a the keystone of the obstacle course they’d have to clear in under two minutes by the end of that week, but he never could’ve anticipated his students blowing all their rec time on a no-holds-barred wrestling contest. At graduation, Tsuyu-chan was called on stage as not just Froppy, but Froppy the Swamp Queen. 

Emphatically, Midoriya nods. “Exactly! And he never could’ve known, but after that, we were able to capture and return in under a minute.” 

“Bastard thought he could wipe us out with one overshot blow,” Katsuki gloats, mostly into the fridge. From his seat at the kitchen counter, Eijirou can see how Katsuki’s smirk spreads across his profile. Emphasis on thought.  

“Isn’t that your philosophy?” Todoroki says, wholly matter-of-factly. “In most fights.” 

Katsuki glares at him and slams the fridge door shut like you’re next. “Shut it or you don’t eat.” 

Eijirou laughs and pats a hand on his arm as he passes. Even now, months after graduation, Eijirou knows Katsuki would claim a thousand times over that he only talks to their friends when pure obligation makes it necessary. But he still invites Midoriya and Todoroki for dinner after work at least once a week. 

continued under the cut + on ao3!

“What’s for dinner?” he asks. Eijirou spent most of the afternoon after his shift ended doing laundry and unpacking forgotten leftover moving boxes, and didn’t get to the grocery store, so they’re mostly down to the basics and scraps. 

“Hamburger steak,” Katsuki answers, as he starts to peel potatoes over the sink. 

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Eijirou says, but then, sitting next to him, he hears Midoriya laugh.

“Wow, that takes you back,” he says, like an old, old man looking back on days long passed. 

“I never liked it that much in the first place,” Todoroki chimes in. “I never thought I’d eat so many.”  

Katsuki shoots him a glare even sharper than the knife he’s holding. “I fed you for a month. Be grateful.” 

Eijirou looks between his boyfriend and their friends, and then back to Katsuki. “Is there a story here I don’t know?” 

Midoriya smiles and starts, “When Kacchan found out that was your favorite-” 

“Deku.” 

“No, I’m telling him. Kacchan made it for you for the first time around the end of second year, right? For the whole month before that, whenever you were out on internship, he’d make it over and over, trying to get it right. We were the taste-testers.” 

Eijirou feels himself grin, and whips his head back towards Katsuki. “Baby!” 

“Baby,” he hears Todoroki whisper to Midoriya, but he’s busy watching the way Katsuki intently keeps peeling. 

“Yeah, well,” he says, half-over-it in a way that’s gotta be fake and half-annoyed in a way that’s definitely gotta be fake. 

“Is that why you kept asking about my mom’s recipe?” Eijirou asks. The pieces are snapping together like supercharged magnets. “You weren’t bashing her cooking, you were trying to make it the same for me.” 

“I was trying to beat her.” 

“For me?” 

“Could be talking about any fuckin’ thing else,” Katsuki mutters. “Could be talking about one of the shitheads you fought today.” 

Yeah, they could, technically, but Eijirou’s still reeling thinking about how his boyfriend- more than a year ago, when they still weren’t saying boyfriend yet- dedicated time in the kitchen to perfecting his favorite meal- and told their friends, before they had even kissed in public, that he was perfecting it for him. And he doesn’t even want to take credit for it now. 

Holy shit he feels so lucky that he feels like he’s gonna grab Katsuki tight enough to knock the wind out of him. He’s on his feet before he knows it. But that’s a pretty big knife in Katsuki’s hand, so instead, Eijirou puts his hand on Katsuki’s jaw, just enough that Katsuki can tell where he’s going, and when Katsuki turns his face slightly in response, Eijirou leans in and kisses him hard enough to knock the wind out of him. 

He pulls away after a few seconds, and Katsuki’s looking back at him face all neutral but with the cutest self-satisfied look in his eyes. Eijirou can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him. That’s his boyfriend. He feels all tingly, and it only gets buzzier when Katsuki puts an arm around his waist and pulls him back in. 

“Um,” he hears Midoriya say. “Should we go into the living room for a while, or-” 

“You two get one more strike,” Katsuki says, his hand still on Eijirou’s waist. “And then you’re never eating here again.”

#and they're in love. and that's that #kiribaku #bnha #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #my writing #god those dudes are in love.... #as hard as writing is right now it's always fun to pummel one of these out bc they're just. in love with each other #also idk why but lately i have been thinking so much abt them calling each other baby #it's like a high commitment pet name #for a high commitment duo

[the-firebird69]

Kansas - Carry on Wayward Son (Official Video)

And our son here my son that is the saying this computer is a pain in the ass he says you're a pain in the ass you blabbing all this s*** and he said it's not me and someone else and he said oh yeah I guess so he says this personal responsibility and your responsible and then he didn't say anything and my son here said maybe it's a redhead then oh your hair is red and so the guy started laughing and laughing and the whole thing is like not a joke at all and doesn't seem like him it's Clancy Brown who hurt it and said oh s*** and he is military guy and sent himself the message and yeah he's got some red hair and okay my son is singing a song Rudolph the red-haired reindeer had some really red hair Rudolph with you guys Rudolph giuliani's sleigh tonight and he says no. Well those are some lines right there and that was Clancy Brown but really my son is off the reservation and I got bad news and Clancy Brown wants to hear it I'll say it like this the whole down there might go to Antarctica but it also went near the ship which he may have taken the whole thing and it went to your mind there's a whole up there and no it's not John Gallagher and it's near salt lake City and it's not really that huge we thought it was a geyser it's about 5 miles across and mine is not really huge but he dismantled it I have a personal grudge against him he's messing with my other son really badly he hadn't punched Jeff malhewish he showed up at Schwarzenegger and his helicopter and he's not Schwarzenegger and I'm so tired of that a****** he was such a dick now he has other people doing it and his Androids and man he's disgusting it looks like he's screwing around with the Max and we're not sure and he's he's in the tomb and even if it's his people doing it too he's doing all the stuff and introducing him to it all and he's it's worse so they're fighting and the guy won't shut up I feel really bad and I feel it's possibly my fault and he says no people are encouraging to make the tech they're encouraging Dave to go too far but it looks like he went extremely far and I do understand that and he can become massive and they did not believe it now there's a song and it's the birds and it's 8 Miles high and what you're saying is he was 800 miles high or a thousand and it may have made a depression 8 mi down and that's what I was thinking and BJ said it too did these huge lakes or something in South America and we have to go look at that and in the survey plane crashed and it became a movie probably just keeps happening but they would be probably about 20 or 30 miles long so I'm wondering what those might be

Camilla

It's about force and distribution of the load he makes his shoes no his feet are huge they're like 40 miles wide and about 80 miles long and the depressions are only a few miles and he fills them in as he goes it's something happened and he had to leave we think it was his wife. He threatened his father with depression so it may have been him and what's 8 Miles high might be a pile of the dirt then he left there that would make it about 40,000 ft high and although Everest is taller it's on a plateau it's about 20,000 ft and the mountain itself is 30,000 ft technically that pile of dirt is higher than Everest and it came up today because people knew about it no it's because of what we're talking about and 8 miles is nothing to sneeze at and he tried to spread the dirt out and couldn't do it and yeah it was his wife with a blaster

And she's the one who made the hole

Thor Freya

You know children with guns

Zues hahaha Hera

He's a grown ups are crying out loud just cuz he's your brother doesn't mean he's a child for Christ's sake this is a weird show already a weirdo says I can get bigger than him yeah we don't want to see that

Mac Daddy is Betty over and I'm New York or something he wants a hot dog that's 2 mi long had enough of this stupid s*** you better not be the dumbass song

Olympus

#Youtube

[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

[val-made-a-mistake]

❝do i gotta convince you you shouldn’t fall asleep?❞

(not my gif)

summary: you’re one of the most infamous illegal street racers in madripoor, all of the damage is covered by the power broker and your cars are supplied by the thieves guild. when natasha romanoff and maria hill come to shut down the guild on behalf of the avengers, natasha unexpectedly fraternises with the enemy.

warnings: street racing, reckless driving, car chases, alcohol, guns (bullets are fired) + madripoor in general, blood and injuries, my shitty take on the thieves guild from spider-man comics, smut, a stan lee cameo if you squint, technical “there’s only one bed” trope, reader eats a hotdog, also i don’t think this counts as an AU but it’s still unclear when this takes place in the MCU so consider yourself warned

word count: 5.3k

tag list: @emril-osvigne

a/n: just putting it here: all of my knowledge about street racing comes from the forza horizon games, this is most likely unrealistic. also, castillo and odessa drake are real characters from the comics, as is the thieves guild, but i pretty much threw their comic characterizations out of the window for this fic. madripoor is canonically in asia but a lot of the characters mentioned have spanish names, we’re pretending that makes sense lmao, we’re also pretending the flag smashers existed before the blip. i hope you enjoy!

PART TWO

//////

“Terima kasih,” you mumbled to the street vendor as he shoved the hotdog and a fistful of napkins into your hands, clearly annoyed that you, a customer, had bothered to ask him, a man who ran a hotdog stand, for a hotdog.

You were gone as soon as the money was exchanged, pivoting away from the setting sun in your peripheral vision and attempting to snarf down your hotdog as fast as you could without bumping into someone, or even worse, thinking about tonight’s race.

Castillo said he’d get the car ready, that the damage from last week was nothing to worry about. Queenie Blackfield was always easy to beat, you didn’t even know why you bothered with her anymore.

Always wanting to have the last laugh, Dess would say. Always rising to the bait, more like, but no one had the guts to say it.

Speak of the devil.

“Hey, girl!” Odessa Drake exclaimed jovially, coming out of nowhere and invading your personal space— she must’ve been alleyway drinking again, you could smell it on her breath. “How you feeling?”

“I’m good, I’m good,” you replied, unable to keep the annoyance out of your voice as you shoved the rest of the hotdog into your mouth, accidentally blotting ketchup on the corners of your lips.

“Bruno bet five thousand dollars on you tonight, there’s gonna be hell to pay if you don’t win,” she babbled as you rounded the corner: you were both practically flying past bounty hunters now, but she never lost her strut. You’d think Odessa Drake was the Power Broker himself the way she constantly sashayed around the flamboyant streets of Madripoor like she owned them.

“Oh, you’re gonna make me nervous,” you shot back sarcastically, daring to roll your eyes, and she grinned.

“Just playing, girl. Vermin like Queenie Blackfield ain’t got a chance going up against legends like you.”

“We doing the Corvette this time?” you asked as you curved into Castillo’s shop, ignoring the line of shiny Ferraris he had on display. The question was half aimed to Odessa and half to Castillo himself.

“Hell yeah,” said Castillo behind the counter. “It’s out back, if you wanna take a look. Gave it a new paint job.”

You nodded at him and he resumed cleaning his glasses.

//////

“I don’t like this place,” Maria muttered as the Quinjet passed over Hightown: this part of the city was considerably more detailed than the rest of the archipelago, which meant they were closer to the ground now, due to land any minute. Whatever form of government Madripoor had didn’t allow airplanes to come and go, much less did it have an airport, so this would be kind of tricky.

“I think that’s a new record,” Natasha replied, leaning back towards the cockpit. “Stan, what’s the record?”

“Three minutes after we landed in Dublin,” the elderly pilot answered, and she smirked. “Congratulations, you got yourself a new record.”

Maria sighed into her hands. “That doesn’t matter.”

“It’ll be fine, as long as we keep our heads down, we’ll be good,” she told her reassuringly. “We’ll be out of here in no time, I promise.”

There was an indescribable emotion in Maria’s eyes, but Natasha knew it wasn’t weakness. It kickstarted a fiery sort of confidence in her chest. Like hell Maria Hill, expert marksman and badass commander of SHIELD would ever be nervous about some pathetic criminal archipelago such as this. It could be much worse. So much worse.

Maria gave Natasha a tight-lipped grimace as she slung her leather jacket over her shoulders. “Let’s go.”

//////

“If you want, we could be runaways…running from any sight of love…”

“Turn it up,” you mumbled to Zara as she dusted bronzer on your cheeks, and she complied.

You always remembered your childhood when listening to this song, namely, when you first learned how to drive. It had taken place on the outskirts of Lowtown, when your father had unexpectedly thrust you in the driver’s seat during a car chase with bounty hunters. You’d been quite the desperados.

“Take the wheel!” Dad had cried, dragging you towards the driver’s seat with one hand while the other rooted around in the backseat, “One pedal’s brake, the other’s go, wheel’s to steer, figure it out.”

You took the wheel just as Dad collapsed in the backseat with the shotgun. Unsure of what to do and unable to think in such a high-speed situation, you yanked it left and the car obliged.

As though your situation couldn’t be terrifying enough, the sounds of bullets suddenly flew through the air, each piercing into the side of the car, and all the breath left your lungs as you stole a glance over your shoulder.

“Dad, they’re gainin’, they’re gainin’!” you screamed, slamming your foot on a pedal, and the car careened forward.

“Stay calm!” he shouted back at you, now firing his own rounds at the bounty hunters from the open window. “When you see a big green exit sign, turn, you’re gonna have to turn the wheel in a big cir-”

Bullets flew into the car and you screamed louder than ever: three of them had hit Dad’s chest, he flew backward into the opposite backseat and landed with a loud CRUNCH. It must’ve been that impact that had killed him, because when you had the chance to glance behind you, he was dead.

You’d nearly ran the Toyota off the highway.

“You’re gonna beat Queenie’s ass, I tell you that,” said Odessa, and reality suddenly flooded back.

You were at Zara’s apartment above Castillo’s shop, you were having your makeup done for the race, you were safe.

“Yeah, we heard you the first three million times,” muttered Lucia, somehow applying her eyeliner without flinching.

“Stay still,” Zara complained, grabbing your face to steady you, and you grimaced with your eyes closed. “Sorry.”

“There ain’t nothing here for me, there ain’t nothing here for me…”

“I been hyping you up,” Odessa continued loudly, smacking on her gum, and Juan suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Dess, can I talk to you for a second?”

It was wordless, somehow in unison: Juan glanced away for the smallest second, and you, Lucia, and Zara all raised your eyebrows at her.

She waved everyone off and started for the door. “Yeah, is it something ‘bout the car?”

“Uh, yeah, Castillo wants you to look at the oil…”

Juan and Odessa disappeared down the hallway, and Lucia sighed melodramatically. “That ship is never gonna sail.”

“No duh, Juan’s thick as bricks,” Zara replied.

“How many people are betting on me tonight?” you asked absentmindedly, groping around for your phone.

“I don’t wanna be alone,” Rihanna sang.

“I haven’t checked the numbers, but I’d say, like, most of Hightown,” Zara answered, finally laying down the brush and quitting the attack on your face.

“Meanwhile, most of Lowtown’s betting on Queenie,” Lucia muttered under her breath.

“Not like it matters,” she corrected herself upon seeing Zara’s look. “Listen, I saw folks on Twitter saying the Power Broker might be coming to watch this race tonight. If you’re gonna worry about something, worry about that.”

“The Power Broker?” You furrowed your eyebrows. “No one knows what he looks like, how’re we supposed to know him if he shows up?”

“I dunno, that’s just what I saw people saying.”

“Alright!” Odessa burst in, her chest uncharacteristically heaving. “We should start heading down near Craywick now, everyone ready?”

//////

“Right, what’s your identity?” Maria asked for the millionth time, raising her voice slightly over the crackling of the police scanner.

“I’m Jessica Warton, looking for my fiancé, who’s supposed to be hanging out near Castillo Drake’s dealership waiting for the race to start,” Natasha responded, twisting a strand of red hair around her finger. “With any luck, we’ll run into Drake himself, should have the mission over with by the end of the week.”

“And no one’s gonna deduce it’s Black Widow under those sunglasses,” Maria put in dryly.

“Nope,” she replied, then clicked send on her email, officially forwarding the update to Steve. “I’ve never seen street racing before, this should be exciting.”

//////

It did feel rather amazing, pulling your Corvette up to the designated starting point amid a bunch of cheers from the people packed on the sidewalks. You loved this atmosphere: Zara and Lucia were animatedly chatting with bystanders, Odessa was visibly alleyway drinking again, possibly to get more people betting on you, and Castillo and Juan were watching on from Zara’s balcony, nervous or not you couldn’t tell. There were at least three different languages flying through the air, people were spilling in from all sides, and for the briefest minute, Madripoor wasn’t completely miserable.

You saw the Porsche pull up beside you in your rear-view mirror, and your nostrils flared.

“Hey,” you called out of the open window.

Queenie Blackfield had a resting bitch face. “Let’s get this over with.”

Damn, alright.

“Angelo!” you yelled before rolling up both of your windows: you’d successfully gotten his attention.

“Alright!” Angelo shouted, “Y/N Y/L/N against Queenie Blackfield, let’s hear it.”

“Romanoff, you got eyes on Drake?” Maria muttered into her earpiece, dodging a particularly reckless pedestrian openly carrying an AK-47.

“Yeah, he’s up on the balcony,” Natasha replied, sidestepping away from the epicentre of the chaos. “I was just talking to his daughter, I think it’d be worthwhile to investigate Y/N Y/L/N too, apparently she’s really close with the daughter. I bet on Blackfield, just for fun.”

She paused. “Ten Madripoorian dollars won’t hurt, right? That’s like, seven dollars in the US.”

Maria sighed noncommittally and didn’t say anything.

“On your marks!” Angelo yelled, to screams on all sides. Queenie revved her engine and you did the same, keeping your hands firm on the steering wheel. If she wanted it, she could have it.

“Get set!”

You’re going down, Blackfield.

“Go!”

BAM!

You took off down the street and all conscience was lost to the wind: there was only you, the rippling road, the wheel, the gas, and most importantly, the Porsche in front of you.

Madripoor disappeared in a flurry of bright lights as you sped down the lane, close on Queenie’s tail.

“I’m near the shop, should I make a move?” Natasha muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

“Well, introduce yourself if you can, don’t arrest him,” Maria replied fairly. “Also, Steve emailed you back, he says good work. He also says he’s got an update on the Sokovia situation when you get back to the compound. Oh, and Clint sends his love. Hopes it’s not like Budapest.”

Natasha snorted. “Yeah, right.”

VROOM!

You were successfully ahead now, way ahead, tearing down Main Street, going so fast that your heart practically ceased to beat altogether.

“Are you seeing this?” Natasha muttered into the earpiece, now trying to edge her way into Castillo’s shop as naturally as possible.

“I just saw Y/L/N flying down Main Street, if that’s what you’re asking about,” Maria replied.

“No, I meant - is it normal for people to openly carry firearms here? Specifically black firearms with red handprints on them?”

Maria’s breath hitched. “I can’t see anybody like that on Main Street.”

Then, a lot of things happened at once.

A Corvette came out of nowhere, speeding directly for the finish line, at the same exact moment these men with the black and red firearms—

BANGBANGBANG!

—unholstered them and started shooting into the crowd.

“Get down!” Natasha shouted amid screams, automatically flying forward towards the nearest bystander and forcing her down onto the pavement.

The girl cursed in one of the few Asian languages Natasha didn’t understand and tried to get up.

“I know a place!” she shouted over the chaos, and even though it was technically breaking cover, Nat nodded wildly and allowed herself to be dragged away.

It was hard to keep track of everything while they were running at top-speed: at one point Nat saw someone fleeing the Corvette with a shotgun in hand, and the girl briefly slid into the alleyway to grab two other people, then they were running again— towards Castillo’s dealership.

The tan girl in front ripped the door open, and Nat had the common sense to tear her earpiece out of her ear as they flew across the shop and stampeded up the staircase. Castillo must’ve lived upstairs, she guessed.

“Where’s Y/N?” one of the girls shouted as they made it into some kind of bedroom.

“I dunno, I saw her running-“

BANG!

The door burst open again and you flew inside a tangle of limbs, your shotgun still smoking. “I’m right here!”

“Lock the door!” shouted someone. “Close the windows!”

“Where’s Juan?”

“Where’s Castillo?”

“Is everyone okay? Anyone hurt?”

Maria’s alright, Natasha reassured herself, even though she wasn’t particularly scared. Just rendezvous as soon as you can. She wasn’t even close to the shooting.

“Who’re you?” the tan girl asked, suddenly noticing her as everyone rushed around, bickering about Juan and Castillo’s whereabouts.

“Jessica Warton,” Natasha replied convincingly.

“Are you a bounty hunter?” the girl pressed, narrowing her eyes.

Hoping she was making the right decision, she defensively shoved her hands in her pockets and replied, “No, I was just watching the race.”

The girl audibly breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’m Zara,” she said. “This is Odessa. The one with the shotgun she told us she wouldn’t use is Y/N, but you probably knew that if you were watching the race.”

“I would’ve died if I hadn’t used it!” you exclaimed, offended, tossing the gun elsewhere now that it wasn’t smoking.

“I’m Lucia,” said the girl Natasha had tried to save, ignoring this. “This is Zara’s apartment. Sorry for just kinda dragging you outta there, I dunno what came over me.”

Natasha smiled, giving up on feigning nervousness. “It’s alright.”

Lucia turned to Zara and Odessa. “Juan and Castillo were on the ground, by the way. I saw one of their boys get shot, that’s probably why.”

“Was it the Flag Smashers that started shooting?” Zara asked.

“My best bet.”

“At least Y/N won,” Odessa put in, pulling out her phone. “Saw it with my own eyes. She smoked her.”

Natasha awkwardly cleared her throat, wondering if she remembered she’d bet on Blackfield to win, but Odessa seemed more caught up in her phone.

“I’m getting a drink,” you said, completely unconcerned, and ducked out of the room.

//////

One half-assed cocktail later, you and everyone else had seemingly forgotten about the race: Zara was helping Lucia redo her eye makeup, which had been smudged by this Jessica persona when she’d practically tackled her to the ground like she was John Wick or something, though you were sure your imagination was amping it up as you’d only seen it happen out of the corner of your eye, and Dess and Jessica herself were having a light-hearted argument. Dess was demanding the money she’d apparently bet, and Jessica was claiming she’d never bet anything in the first place. You weren’t sure how much you believed her: both fortunately and unfortunately, Odessa never forgot a bet she made.

“It’s just ten dollars, girl!” she exclaimed, but she was spoiling it by laughing.

“I don’t have any money on me,” Jessica shot back defensively, grinning, voice cracking.

“What, just like you don’t have your engagement ring on you?” Zara snorted, and the room got unexpectedly quiet.

“Me and my fiancé don’t have rings,” Jessica replied warmly, hardly looking like a deer in headlights light the rest of the room was and pulling a necklace out of her shirt, “We have necklaces.”

“Aw, an arrow, that’s so sweet,” Lucia piped in from the corner, and conversation resumed like nothing had happened.

“God, why do you have to be so weird, Zara,” you exclaimed, swigging your tequila.

Zara shot you a look. “I didn’t mean it in a weird way!”

“Whatever, I still want my ten dollars!” Odessa shouted.

//////

After Juan had come home half-collapsed in Castillo’s arms, blood gushing out of his leg, Natasha had taken the opportunity to leap into the bathroom while everyone was distracted. She had to contact Maria, it had been long enough, her internal clock told her it was nearing midnight.

Things got blurry after the shooting. I’m camped out at the dealership with two girls named Zara and Lucia, I don’t know their last names, as well as Odessa Drake and Y/N Y/L/N. Castillo Drake’s just come back and a man named Juan’s been shot. It’s gang-related. Send me your coordinates when you can :)

Natasha’s thumbs flew and she sent the message faster than the speed of light, then she was tearing out of the bathroom as soon as she got the burner phone back in her pocket, a convincing look of terror on her face.

“I can’t find a first aid kit!” she called as she ran over. They’d lain Juan in the middle of the floor, on Zara’s jacket.

“Yeah, Castillo keeps it behind the counter,” you responded, and maybe it was on instinct, but as “Jessica” knelt down in front of the scene, you grabbed her hand.

“Juan, baby, listen to me, this is gonna hurt like a bitch, but I need you to stay calm,” Odessa was saying, unscrewing a bottle of rubbing alcohol with shaking hands, “Dad, where’s the-”

“I got it right here,” Castillo replied, holding up the first aid kit, and Natasha nearly broke cover. He was feet away from her, and she still had this shotgun under her armpit, as well as the knife in her boot…

“Shh, shh,” Odessa whispered to a grunting Juan, then she poured the alcohol.

Everyone winced as Juan cried out in pain, and Natasha especially, seeing as she had to go through the whole process countless times with the KGB, but thankfully for everyone else, his screams died out quickly.

Even so, your hand tightened around Natasha’s, making her look up in surprise.

And…Natasha was expecting you to look away first, but you didn’t, so you just stared at each other. It was wildly unprofessional, but Natasha was willing to bet you’d just experienced the same zap of warmth she’d just felt in her stomach.

Jessica Warton was supposed to have a fiancé, for God’s sake.

Despite the situation, you shot a friendly, tight-lipped smile at her but returned your gaze to Juan.

“Who did this?” Odessa demanded, anger flaring up in her face, “I’ll fucking kill them, I swear, bounty hunters be damned.”

“Was it bounty-” Lucia tried to say, but Castillo cut her off.

“They’re already dead,” he replied smoothly. “I had the Guild take care of ‘em. They’re somewhere lyin’ at the bottom of Madripoor Harbour, made sure of it.”

“Did the Guild take care of my car?” you asked, and Natasha tried not to make her suddenly sharp intake of breath become audible. Finally, something that actually pertains to the mission.

Castillo grimaced. “Can I be real? The Flag Smashers fucked it up pretty badly.”

Everyone in the room groaned, except for Juan, who was still hissing into his hand.

“We’re gonna get ‘em back though,” he said quickly. “I got boys that’ll take care of it, already given ‘em the word.”

Steve was right, these guys are ruthless.

“Oh, great,” you said, apparently unperturbed, and let go of Natasha’s hand. In that moment, you seemed to remember the man on the floor.

“Should we get Juan upstairs, or-“

Zara made a face. “I literally just changed my sheets.”

Juan himself hissed out a breath, and spoke for the first time. “I can move.”

“Let’s get him upstairs,” Lucia decided.

Natasha shot a wary look towards you, which you pretended not to see.

//////

The night had been awkwardly quiet ever since Juan had slipped off into an uneasy, painkiller-induced sleep in the other room. Everyone suddenly didn’t feel comfortable with drinking anymore, instead reverting to talking about Guild affairs in low voices, and after Natasha had eavesdropped her fill, she started brainstorming ways to leave. She had Maria and that fictional fiancé to go back to, and with bucketloads of information about the Thieves Guild at that.

She glanced over at Zara’s digital clock. The blinking green numbers told her it was 2:07am.

“Should - should I be going now?” Natasha asked, elbowing Odessa.

Everyone seemed to remember she was there at the same moment.

“I mean, I wouldn’t, after that shooting the bounty hunters are bound to be rampant tonight,” you put in awkwardly.

“She can stay here!” Lucia exclaimed suspiciously cheerfully, bounding off the bed. “Juan and Odessa have the spare room, me and Zara have the master bedroom, but I’m sure Jessica can take the couch or something. It’s not like Castillo’s gonna sleep here tonight with all the shit that’s going on.”

“What about me?” you interjected.

“The Guild took the last of our sleeping bags,” Zara said, glancing warily between the two of you. “Figure it out.”

You shot a weary look towards Natasha. “Okay.”

//////

It took Natasha less than three seconds to concoct her plan: from the moment you disappeared down the hallway for the couch, as soon as you fell asleep, she’d use the knife in her boot to slit your throat, then creep back into Zara’s bedroom and assassinate everyone else. It had been fun, she supposed, but she was sick of being called Jessica.

Then rendezvous with Maria and work on destabilizing the rest of the Thieves Guild, said the reassuring yet also somewhat robotic voice in her head.

Infiltrate, assassinate, destabilize.

It was a habit leftover from the Red Room.

Natasha sent a courteous, artificial smile to Zara, who returned it, then followed you into the other room.

You were sat on the couch, removing your sparkly eye makeup with a wipe in one hand and gripping a bottle of tequila in the other, evidently ditching the idea of simply drinking out of a glass.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick,” Natasha told you, flopping down on the other end of the couch. She wasn’t actually going to go to sleep, of course, she never slept unless she was holding a gun.

“I can handle it,” you replied plainly, ditching the makeup wipe: the colour was still blotchy on your eyelids. “Fuck, gimme a minute…”

Natasha watched with bated breath as you disappeared into the bathroom. She heard water running and pulled her knees up to her chest, faking being casual. The blade was cold against the skin of her ankle, and the handle of the shotgun only dug deeper into her armpit.

A beat, after she realized you weren’t coming out for some time, Natasha pulled out the gun and hid it underneath the couch. There was no point in using it tonight, and used too soon, everyone would know, even with the silencer it was way too loud.

Natasha checked her burner phone, and sure enough, Maria had texted back.

Overhead a rumour that Castillo Drake might have made a deal with Ulysses Klaue.

She mentally cursed and tucked her burner phone away. Couldn’t rush off now, not yet.

Thankfully enough, you poked your head back into the room. “How do I look?”

The Jessica persona came up in an instant, she beamed at you. “You look beautiful.”

“Jeez, you’re gonna make me blush,” you said, pausing to take an enormous gulp of tequila.

“It’s true,” she shot back slightly defensively— flirtatiously? The colour and sparkle had disappeared from your eyelids and lips, your skin suddenly had texture, you looked good.

You apparently decided not to answer this and instead indicated the bottle. “Want some?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Alright.”

You promptly fell down onto the couch with a soft flump. “Night.”

“You gonna sleep like that?” Nat asked.

“Who said I was gonna sleep?” you shot back with a lazy smile.

The words hung in the air for a moment, and even though Nat knew you were only intending to be funny, a warm little feeling shot down her spine, similar to the warmth she’d felt in her stomach when you touched her hand.

“You need to get the lights,” she told you awkwardly, already wishing she could reach for the knife in her boot and get it over with.

This snapped you out of it. “Right, sorry…”

You reached over for the lamp on the table next to the couch, and with a small twisting noise, darkness completely flooded the room. You’d shut the door behind you, everything was pitch black.

Natasha wasn’t afraid of the dark, she’d spent most of her life in it. Darkness like this was often accompanied with her hand stinging, paralyzed above her because of the way she’d been handcuffed to the bedpost, or the anticipation of waiting for a target.

Right now, she was waiting for the right moment. Her hand was lingering somewhere near her ankle, around the bulge of the knife…

“Jessica?”

Natasha automatically pulled her hand away. “Yeah?”

Silence.

“What’s it like to have a fiancé?” you asked after a moment.

She contemplated for the longest moment. You were most likely going to die anyway…

“You have to tell me you’re not gonna tell anyone,” she said slowly, and your eye roll was practically audible.

“Of course, duh. I’ve lived with the Thieves Guild most of my life, I know how to keep a secret.”

Nat wanted to ask how you’d gotten involved with them, but instead she said, “Keep your voice down.”

“Is that your hand?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“…”

“…”

“I’m not really engaged,” Natasha admitted.

“I fucking knew it!” you whisper-shouted immediately. “Why’d you lie?”

She shrugged her shoulders, still not being quite truthful with you. “Panicked.”

You were quiet for a long moment.

“Does this mean I can kiss you now?”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“That was good.”

And Natasha’s lips crashed back on yours simply so she could do it again: the effect was immediate, you mumbled something incoherent and leaned into her.

Nevermind that her hands were naturally frozen all the time, she reached up and cupped your face, and you spread your legs to hook them around her, push her down. In the comfort of the darkness, you didn’t care about anything else.

“Mm…”

Quite frankly, Natasha forgot about slitting your throat and slipped her hand underneath your shirt, unhooking your bra with a flick of her hand. She reached higher to pull off your straps, and soon enough you were pulling a clump of fabric out of your shirt.

The noises you were making seemed to snap Nat into a kind of headspace she hadn’t been in for a very long time.

“Promise you’re gonna be quiet?”

“Always am,” you quipped, and the hand under your shirt automatically dropped lower.

“Lie back.”

You complied, and Natasha gently spread your shaking legs.

You swallowed your gasp as she teased you through your jeans. It was hard to fumble with the zipper of your pants when everything was pitch-black, and you were trembling.

Almost like she’d been programmed, the second your jeans and underwear were off, Natasha bent down to bestow a feather-light kiss on your thigh, which did nothing but drive you more crazy in the rush of cool air.

Sensing your need, her tongue enveloped your swollen clit, and it was like you were joyriding in the Corvette all over again, all conscience left you, you only barely swallowed your cry. Instead, your eyes snapped closed and you reached down to grab a handful of fiery red hair, pull her deeper into your pussy.

You tried your best not to writhe as her tongue prodded your entrance, but you tensed up nonetheless— despite your claim that you were always quiet, you weren’t even sure how you were choking down your moans and gasps at this point. Who had taught her this? How had she gotten so good at this?

The bursts of pleasure you were getting from the warmth of her tongue were practically shattering you from the inside: you were coming within a minute, wetness pooling in waves from your cunt.

“That was fast,” Natasha quipped, still swirling her tongue around your enlarged clit.

“Fuck, Jess,” you whimpered in the quietest voice you could muster, loosening the hand in her hair, it was too shaky. “Do that again.”

“Make you come?”

She tutted, and you bit down hard on your lip as you felt her forefinger breach your entrance: it went deep, deeper than you were expecting, especially as you’d only experienced your first orgasm thirty seconds ago, but you revelled in it, you were practically rocking yourself into the euphoria.

Fuck, it was good— so fucking good. Better than the last time someone had gone down on you, it had been a nameless Guild thug and the experience had been so terrible, you’d shot him after you were done.

Natasha slipped another finger inside of you with ease, and she found the spot that had your toes curling even easier, your eyelids fluttered. You still weren’t sure how you were keeping quiet.

“Fuck me,” you whispered.

Her fingers delved further, and faster. When you pulled her face up to kiss her, you could taste your wetness on her tongue.

Natasha seemed to understand what you were getting at, and pulled back to shuck her t-shirt.

As soon it was off, you eagerly latched your mouth around her nipple, sucking gently, and this time Jessica was the one who moaned.

“Good little slut,” she purred, twisting the fingers inside of you.

“Oh, god,” you mumbled.

You clenched hard around her fingers and you were coming again, the rush was almost lazy, fantastically drawn out, and sensing this, Natasha slowed her fingers to match your tempo, work you through it.

“I want you to do that for me,” she instructed, pulling back once more to undo her pants, and even though it was totally dark, you raised an eyebrow sarcastically. “What, make you come?”

“You dirty fucking girl.”

All of a sudden she’d put her beautiful pussy on display for you, and you leaned in to taste her— she was wet, of course she was, you savoured the sweetness pressed against your tongue.

It felt so cathartic to hear her barely repressing her own moans, it spurred you on to go faster until she was gripping the edge of the couch with one hand, and covering her mouth with the other.

Natasha came in the most fruitful burst, you forgot where you were again and gasped against her pussy like it was the most delicious thing you’d ever tasted.

“Fuck…” Natasha whispered, tilting her head up in the darkness. “Where’d you learn that?”

You smirked. “I dunno, ask Dess.”

“You’re such a slut,” she said, so matter-of-factly your core burned.

Natasha slid off you, possibly to return the favour, but you got up. The pressure on your urethra was becoming unbearable.

“I - I need to go to the bathroom.”

It was impossible to know if she was taken aback in this lighting, but she paused and said, “Okay.”

While you were gone in the bathroom, Natasha sent another quick text to Maria.

Change of plans. I’m staying here for the night.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x reader smut #natasha romanov #natasha romanov x you #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanov smut #natasha romanov x reader smut #natasha romanova #natasha romanova x reader #natasha romanova smut #natasha romanova x reader smut #scarlett johansson #black widow

[shurisneakers]

harmless (vii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, existential crisis, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, lil bit of angst, clint barton being a lil shit

Word count: 3.4k

A/N: hey shoutout to @ugherik for suggesting a spin on the “A PLATYPUS!??!“ [perry puts his hat on] “PERRY THE PLATYPUS!???” thing. i used it in here, it’s a really small part and probably missable but i tried!! also i like the next chapter better than this one, i just wanted to put this here so it doesn’t seem abrupt <3333

here’s

my ko-fi

if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Bucky can’t stop staring at the mirror.

He wishes it was for narcissistic purposes. He had enough reason for it to be. His age may be a hundred but he had the youthful exuberance of a very drained sixty year old.

But no, it wasn’t because of the steel cut jawline or thousand gigawatt smile.

After last week’s mini-spiral, he does what almost half the videos on TikTok warn him not to do.  

He got a haircut.

Everyone’s reaction stopped him from following it up with an ear piercing, but he can’t confidently say he didn’t at least consider it once. Maybe a neck tattoo. 

He pulls at a lock of hair. It’s not even longer than his finger.

What did he do-

“It’s just a haircut, man,” he says to no one in particular, almost like he’s trying to reassure himself.

He runs his hands through his hair. It takes lesser time than he was used to.

Steve had told him he looked good. But then again, Steve wore a fugly costume 90% of the time, what did he know?

Clint acknowledged it and didn’t outright call him ugly, which he supposed was a compliment. Wanda simply smiled at him.

“FRIDAY?” he reaches out.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?” comes the automated reply.

“How are you?” It took him some getting used to her, given that she was constantly listening to everything, and in general seemed to go against the universal idea of privacy. 

But his therapist told him he needed to form friendships. 

She didn’t mention it had to be human ones.

“As good as ever. Is there anything I can help you with?”

He wants to ask her what she thinks of his hair until he realises fashion advice from a faceless AI is a new low for him. Maybe ‘Do you think I should crawl into a pit and die?’ would be more appropriate. 

“Never mind,” he dismisses instead. “Any messages for today?”

“A reminder to buy a harder bed because you can’t keep sleeping on the floor.” Ah, that was on Sam’s recommendation three months ago, but he wasn’t going to stop any time soon. “And a text from a contact named Nuisance saying to meet them at the attached location in thirty minutes.”

“Where is the location?”

“The local sports centre.”

“Isn’t that closed today?” 

If he had to go out in public looking like this, maybe he could wear a cap and sunglasses and no one would recognise him. Unfortunately, as he was reminded several times before by anyone with an iota of common sense, it was a stupid disguise. 

Beanie it was, then. Bare minimum. 

“It is, yes.” Fewer citizens to worry about.

“Okay.” He hesitates in front of the mirror again, adjusting the hat on his head. “Thank you, FRIDAY.”

“You’re welcome, Sergeant.”

He stares at the little tuft of hair at the front that refused to stay down no matter how much he shoved it back.

“Come on, man,” he exhales in slight despair. “Whatever.”

____

The lock of the door leading to the pool is easy enough to pick. He can see how you got in without a hitch even though it was closed. 

The deck around the pool was absolutely drenched in water. No one was using it, there was no reason for water to splash out unless it was deliberately kept like this.

He catches sight of you easily, being that you’re the only two people there. You were standing at the end of the hall, head ducked as you scrolled through your phone.

The door closes behind him with a soft thud.

You don’t look up from your mobile when you start talking, “What do you think 6 year olds like?”

Because James Barnes, carbon dated to 1917 and therefore certified young person, would definitely know the answer to this question.

“I don’t know. Lego?”

“Just how much money do you think a teacher makes-”

You stopped mid-sentence, finally lifting your head to catch his eye. He stares back at you, steps faltering when you don’t move.

"Who are you?" you squinted.

What

"It's me," Bucky says, tugging off the dumb beanie and using it to gesture vaguely towards himself. Fuck, he shouldn’t have worn it, it was ridiculous anyway-

"You sound like him..." You narrow your eyes. “You don't look like him.”

Great

He rolls his eyes before putting on a mock scowl. Can't have Bucky Barnes without a sense of eternal disgruntlement.

"Oh hey, that is you." You grin. "You got a haircut."

“I did.” He suddenly feels the awkwardness increase. His fingers fidget with the beanie.

“Nice.” You nod in acknowledgement.

He wants to hit himself at the words that just spill out before he could think about it. “You hate it.”

“I never said that,” you snort. “And since when does my opinion matter?”

“It doesn’t.” But now he wants to know what you think since he didn’t trust anyone else to tell him honestly.

“Must cut down on time in the shower, huh?”

It did.

He shrugs. He shoves the beanie into his back pocket.

“Was it a crisis haircut?” How did you kno- “Are you going to get bangs next time?”

“Shut up,” he says lamely, a dull burn in his cheeks. 

“I know a place where you can get hair dye for cheap. Not technically FDA approved, but I think purple streaks are a good place to start-”

“What are we doing here?” he interrupts, sighing.

“Skinny dipping. Take off your shirt, Barnes.” 

“Funny,” he says dryly, eyeing your shoes when you straighten up.

Ice skates.

“Fine, pants then.” You don’t make any effort to move from your end so he does, walking closer to you. 

“What are those for?” He doesn’t hide the annoyance from his voice when he points at your feet.

“Oh, these?” You look down at them. “Yeah, I’m going to freeze the pool.”

That seems... mild compared to the shit show you wanted to do last time.

“For?” He halts where he is. 

“’M gonna take my friends ice skating.”

“Is that all?” He wants to make a comment about the fact that you have friends but bites it back.

“Today is just a trial run. Tomorrow I’m gonna go freeze the East River.” There it is.

“The East River is not your personal ice skating rink.”

“Not yet it isn’t.” You lift up a middle finger.

It was too early for you to flip him off, even by your standards.

He raises an eyebrow.

Your face scrunches in confusion. You follow his gaze to your finger. “Oh yeah, no, that’s a freeze ring.”

Only then he notices a ring around the finger. From where he was standing he could make out the blue stone that adorned it.

“Joy.” He rolls up the sleeves of his black bomber jacket. “Let’s get this done with, then.”

“No no, wait.” You hold up your hand and he complies, having nothing to lose anyway. You pull out your phone and press a few buttons before shoving it back into your bag and tossing it aside.

The soft sounds of a piano start playing from a boombox near the corner of the room. A child starts singing following a series of knocks.

His eyebrows furrow. “What the fuck is this?”

“The Frozen soundtrack.” You beam at him. “I thought it was fitting.”

He doesn’t know what that is and at this point, he’s too afraid to ask. He can vaguely make out the lyrics being about a snowman but he isn’t too concerned.

He takes one step forward. You immediately point your fist at the ground in front of him, forcing him to jump back when a blast hits right in front of his shoes. Suddenly he gets why the floor is covered in water.

It sounds like a series of cracks as the water starts freezing over, a layer of ice now separating him and you.  

"You ready?” The mischief was woven in your voice as the blasts continued throughout the deck, effectively turning the entire floor into ice.

Bucky takes a step tentatively forward. Not bad. He takes another. Okay.

The third one is when shit starts to hit the fan. His hands shoot out to hold onto his balance when his footing slips from beneath him.

His Nike sneakers aren’t used to snow. They’re used to well manicured lawns and pavement trips to Starbucks and marble floors of the compound. Not swimming pool decks covered in ice.

He can hear you singing in the distance and every time he looks up you’re a little further away, making sure every inch of space is frozen.

It takes him a while to get over the initial fear of breaking his skull and just move forward swiftly with short steps. A goddamn penguin is what he looked like.

“There you go, you’re getting it,” you chirp as you whiz past him. He reaches out to grab at you, only to miss by an inch. He staggers, arms flapping wildly to regain his stability.

He hears crackling beside him. He gets a second or two to watch ice crystals spread through the water before turning it completely solid. You step onto the now frozen pool, testing your weight with one leg before cautiously getting on.

A triumphant smile emerges on your face. “Awesome.”

He manages to press himself against the wall as a form of support. 

There is no point to this whole thing. He knows this. It’s been well over 6 weeks and there is genuinely no point to this.

He realises it again when he moves from side to side, body erupting into a waddle. 

Why is he doing this. He doesn’t get paid extra. He doesn’t get any kind of compensation. All he gets is more wisecracking geniuses, embarrassment and the mortifying ordeal of getting caught imitating a penguin.

The song changes to a woman singing about doing something for the first time, forcing him to pay attention to it. He hears something about ball room and balls and tunes right back out.

Bucky manages to find his way to the actual pool since that’s where you’re twirling around, opting to land on his mental arm in case things go wrong. He takes a sliding step forward, followed by another. Maybe he can do this. 

“If a 200 pound super soldier can stand on this, I suppose it’s strong enough,” you muse, watching him slip and slide as he tries to invent makeshift ice skating.

Unfortunately, his method doesn’t have any brakes, so while he’s too busy trying to move forward, there’s no way to actually stop. He finds this out very soon when he almost launches himself off the edge of the pool.

Something yanks him backwards and back onto the ice.  

“Honestly, this is utterly useless since you can’t really do anything but it’s the most fun I’ve had all week,” you admit when he goes sliding towards the middle, arms flailing.

“You had to pick fuckin’ ice of all things.” He thinks that maybe he’s getting a hang of this. He can definitely move faster than what he was doing like, 10 minutes ago. It’s not like you were going anywhere, anyway. 

“I like to keep things spicy.”

He stays where he is to glare at you. You mouth the words to the song, watching his every move whenever it interested you. 

Okay, change of plan; a temporary distraction till he figures out how to actually get the ring from you. He settles on skating towards the edge of the rink slowly, taking a step off, slipping almost immediately when his foot comes in contact with the deck. 

“Where are you going?” you yell over the music initially but immediately break into song when it ends in a crescendo.

He takes a knee, lifting his metal arm up before driving it into the ground. It shatters magnificently, leaving small shards of ice at his disposal. 

He picks up one of them, waiting for you to complete your dumb twirl. He takes aim, and-

“Ouch, what the fuck?” You stop your off key singing to rub your shoulder where the ice hit you.

He wordlessly picks up another piece to throw at you, hitting you squarely in the leg.

“Stop that!”

He may not be able to move as fast but he can definitely throw. 

“Give me the ring,” he commands, stretching his arm behind his back before releasing another piece to hit your forearm. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” There’s nowhere you can skate to avoid his stupidly good marksmanship. 

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” He shrugs, breaking another patch of ice to replenish his ammo. “Hand over the ring.”

“Over my dead body,” you shriek when a particularly big piece lands next to your feet. You knew he missed that shot on purpose.

“I feel like I’m finally acting my age,” he says casually, finding your darting about in order to avoid him more fun than he initially thought. “Can’t throw pebbles at meddling kids so this is the next best option. Thanks.” 

“If you acted your age you’d be in a casket, Barnes,” you hissed, finding that skating in zig zags helped your cause, but not by much. “I’d be- you bitch- I’d be more than happy to help you get there.”

You raise your arm, ready to send another blast to freeze the water that was starting to melt around him, hopefully, keep him where he was if it froze around him. 

He flinches. You notice immediately, hand dropping slightly when you realise what it looked like.

“I’m not gonna freeze you,” you say, softer than you intended. From what you knew, he had enough and more experience with that and you weren’t going to contribute to it. 

He swallows thickly, giving himself a little shake of his head as if to jolt him out of his train of thought. 

Another piece of ice hits you in the leg. You let out a string of curses at him.

“The more ice you make, the more I have to throw at you, Y/N.” He waits for you to regain your balance when you nearly take a stumble. 

“Shut up, you’re so immature.”

“Remind me whose plan this was again?” No point waiting for you to regain your balance when you fall over only a few seconds later. 

He gathers a few shards in his beanie, tucking it into his belt like a little makeshift rucksack just in case before venturing out on the main rink again. 

It’s more difficult for you to stand without railings to guide you, giving him enough and more time to make his way towards you, staggering and skidding. 

Both of you looked ridiculous. 

“Stay away, fiend.” 

“Ring first.” He holds his hand out in front of you. He even considered pulling you up if you just made things easier.

Next thing he knows he’s on his ass on the ice beside you. 

“I hate you,” he groans, watching as you inch away from him on your knees.

He doesn’t really have any other options so he shoves aside the humiliation and gets on his knees, using his arms to drag him along the ice.

“For the love of Christ, none of us are winning here. Just give me the ring.”

The bitch from the soundtrack sings about letting it go but he won’t. 

“Never,” you shout, sliding away from him as fast as possible. 

You make use of the fact that the top layer of ice is starting to melt, using the ring to freeze it again. His knees and fingers get stuck as the water freezes over but he has super strength. It barely takes him a second to free himself. 

“Great,” he huffs, just settling down on the ice, ignoring the sting of cold that was spreading through his limbs. Running after you wasn’t going to work; he needed a way to get the ring. 

“You won last time, I’m not letting you win again.”

“Are we seriously keeping score?” He watches as you scramble towards the edge.

“No one likes a loser, Bucky.” You use the pool stair railings to pull yourself up.

“Explain why you have friends then.” He can’t help himself this time. 

“Hardy har har.” You roll your eyes. 

He doesn’t make an effort to move. Instead, when you take a step back into the rink, he raises his arm and pummels it into the ice, just to annoy you. 

The ground damn near shakes, pushing you dangerously towards losing your balance again. 

“Are you crazy?” Your arm shoots out in front of you to keep you from falling headfirst. 

“No.” He does it again. This time there’s a crack in the ice. “I’m just very tired.”

“If the ice breaks we’re both gonna be underwater, you moron!”

“Fine by me.” He shrugs. “Freeze it again. I’ll just find different ways to ruin it for you.”

You glare at him. He raises his arm above his head again.

“Fine! Fine, stop.” You eye him as he lowers his arm. 

He reaches for his stash of ice pieces from earlier, throwing one at your shoulder again.

“Boy, I swear if you don’t stop doing that-” you duck when another one comes at you. You had no idea he could be this annoying. 

It suddenly hits him, like a lightbulb going off in his brain. He wipes his hands off on his jacket, getting on all fours before slowly managing to pick himself up again. 

He looks at you, tilting his head slightly like he was studying you.

“What?” you ask suspiciously, eyeing as he starts inching closer towards you. “What are you thinking?”

It’s like watching a newborn deer stumble its way through the world, albeit more gracefully, until he starts picking up speed. The motherfucker was going to mow you down.

The skates are useful but not so much when an extremely determined bumbling oaf is barrelling towards you, his speed beginning to match yours even without equipment. 

You don’t know why you’re running, you don’t know why he’s chasing after you but when you see the end of the pool you take a sharp left only to have him knock right into you, sending you both sprawling.

You land half on top of him, breaking your fall but it doesn’t stop the very loud groan that escapes your mouth. He’s already in the process of sitting up straight, giving you less time to analyse what just happened.

“What the fuck was that for?” you speak through gritted teeth. “Fuckin’ acting like the both of us have free healthcare.”

“You refused to give up.”

“So your plan was to tackle me like a quarterback?” You threw your hands up.  

“One part of it.” He drags himself to the edge, away from you. 

“There's more to your monkey brained plan?” He doesn’t look at you. The ice around the pool has more or less melted, letting him gain proper footing on the floor before he stands up. 

“Oh, yeah.” He turns to you. “The other’s a trick I stole from Stark.”

Bucky holds up the ring. Your jaw slightly drops, eyes searching your finger for the now missing piece of tech. 

“Suppose that’s two points for me?” 

You’re impressed. You also want to stab him. So you do the next best thing.

“When I imagined you holding a ring in front of me, the circumstances were very different,” you comment.

“Bye, Y/N.” He spins on his heel, not even giving you a second’s worth of reaction. You found it amusing.

He heads towards the door, clothes all wet. He empties out melted ice water from his beanie before stuffing it into his pocket. Just when he’s about to leave, you remember something. 

Do you mean it genuinely or just because it has an effect on him? 

“Just for the record, Barnes, about your hair-” you call out, earning his attention from over his shoulder. “I think you look really good either way.”

The world may never know. 

You swear you can see the corners of his lips quirk upwards before he turns around again. 

He slips on a block of ice, cursing and clenching on to the door to keep him upright, quickly yanking it open and leaving before he has a chance to embarrass himself further.

Smooth.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

[k1ng0fn0b0dy]

Baby Brother 💛

(TransMale Reader but it's technically not an important detail)

(He/They Pronouns)

(1000+ Words)

Description: You're bored so you randomly decide to visit your baby brother. How were you supposed to know George was streaming?

[Read the rest under the cut]

{《☆》}

You were hanging upside down on the couch, scrolling through Tumblr. Today was a slow day. Nothing fun was happening, not even anywhere else.

Twitter was dry, Tumblr was the same as always, no one cool was on Snapchat, and so your boredom had you practically one foot in the grave.

Scratching under the edge of your binder, you spotted a brilliant piece of artwork that sparked an idea.

It was George, with those streamer friends of his, watching a movie and cuddling.

Oh, you were so ready to rewatch all of the Harry Potter movies. George was such a nerd about them too, so he'd probably be fine with you barging into his apartment with no warning as long as you brought food.

Grinning, you got up. It was a shaky start since your head was now pissed at your previous upside-downness. Picking up your keys, you picked up an old hoodie off the coat rack you barely use and started driving to Taco Bell.

{《☆》}

Maybe you should've thought it through. That thought only hit you after you broke into your baby brother's home. (Was it really breaking into if you had a spare key?)

Or, more accurately, the thought came to you when you opened George's door and came face to face with a camera and computer that was showing, what you assumed, was tens of thousands of people your face.

"Oh shit," You backtracked instantly, shutting the door behind you. George was still staring in dumbfounded shock, his previous shrieks tampering out.

"I'll be right back." He rushed out of the room after double-checking he muted and shut his camera off.

"Y/N! What the hell!" George yelled. He wasn't angry, probably. Just concerned. (Or maybe both)

"I-I'm sorry!" You stammered. "I didn't know you were streaming. I-,"

George groaned, annoyed. "You should have called if you wanted to come over. Now everyone knows about you!"

"I know! I just-," You hesitated, frowning down at your shoes. "I wanted to spend time together. I didn't mean to interrupt or-, yeah... I'm sorry."

"I-, it's okay." George sighed. "I'm sorry too, it's just, the stans aren't always the nicest. They can get, weird. I don't want that happening to you."

"I don't want that happening to you either," You said. And wasn't that just the sweetest. Your baby brother wanted to protect you. You opened up your arms for a hug, which George happily gave.

You were taller than George, actually. By multiple inches. He was practically burrowed into your chest. It was painfully obvious when you two were hugging. You set your chin on his brown mop of hair.

"So," You started. "I had come over for Taco Bell and movie night but since I interrupted your stream, how about you go finish that. I can wait here."

George hummed, frowning when you tried to pull away. Your baby brother's face twisted pathetically, guilt-tripping you with his puppy eyes. "Or you could come with me when I end it? They already saw you and I don't wanna let go."

Smiling, you held him for another few seconds before starting the awkward shuffle towards his room.

{《☆》}

"Hello," You say into the mic, glancing over at the words flying by in all caps. "I'm Y/N."

"HOT VOICE"

"PRETTY MAN FROM EARLIER???"

"DEEP VOICE HOT"

"I AM SIMPING"

"AWOOGA AWOOGA AWOOGA"

"FACE CAM???"

"Chat, give me a second to get my camera back on." George said, briefly moving away to reveal you both to the stream. Withing seconds, your nervous face is smiling at the stream. "So this is Y/N! They're my older brother and if anyone says anything weird about him I will ban them from chat.

"Protective 'Gogy'?" You laugh, reading out chat. "What the hell is a 'Gogy'?"

George flushes, swatting the back of your head.

"Hey!"

"Anyways," George smiled innocently, still leaning on you fully. "We should probably unmute and undeafen on Discord, Dream and Sapnap will be worried."

"What the hell kinda name is Sapnap? Or Dream?" You laugh, teasing George, who rolls his eyes. "I didn't pick their names, Y/N"

"Okay, so-,"

"GEORGE!" Someone yells. "Where the hell were you?"

George sighed, giving you a pleading look. Grinning, you leaned closer to the mic.

"Hello, boys."

"What the hell?" Someone shrieked loudly. The previous guy seemed so startled that they knocked multiple glass bottles off their desk. "Who are you!?!"

"I'm Y/N," George settled next to you, resting his head against your shoulder. "And I'm George's kidnapper-, ow, sorry, I'm his brother."

"Oh,"The first voice says, embarrassed. "I'm Dream."

"And I'm Sapnap," The other confidently cut in. They both sounded so American. "You have a hot voice."

"Sapnap!" Dream laughed, an odd wheezing noise that you think you remember George telling you about. "That's his brother."

"And?" Sapnap defends himself, "Am I wrong?"

A pause. You can't help but laugh. George is just reading chat, picking apart the conversation as the public reacts. "Y/N, tell them we're leaving. I want to watch the fourth Harry Potter movie first."

"Of course, bubba," You smiled, ruffling his hair. "Alright fellas, while I'd love to stay and be flattered more, me and George are gonna go have a movie night."

"Oh, bye!" "Byeee!"

{《☆》}

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" George grins up at you, holding the bag of Taco Bell in his lap. You just nod, chuckling as he splays onto his couch and watches you set everything up.

Maybe you spoil him too much...

"Y/N! Hurry up! I'm getting bored." Your baby brother pouted.  Yeah, you definitely spoiled him too much. But then again, it wasn't like your parents were going to.

"Alright, alright," You sat down on the couch, instantly getting an armful of George. He was scrawny enough not to be too uncomfortable though.

As the movie started, you were glad that you came. At least now you have the discord of a hot Texan man and Taco bell, things couldn't have gone better.

{《☆》}

[Hello, I am going to go burn a house down, go be gay and do crime!]

[-L0v3, k1ng]

Masterlist

#x reader #x male reader #x nonbinary reader #mcyt x reader #x trans reader #x trans male reader #dsmp x reader #georgenotfound #platonic georgenotfound x reader #platonic georgenotfound x male reader #sapnap #dream smp #dream #dreamwastaken #george dsmp #dream team #dsmp x male reader #dsmp x you #dsmp x y/n #mcyt x male reader #mcyt x you #mcyt x y/n #mcyt x platonic reader