#you’ll probably get punched in the face but it will be a wake up call

[hidingoutbackstage]

I fucking guarantee you that the people who made the death island renders do not know what the toothpaste flag is because they are people who have jobs

#sid rants #sid bitches #‘chris’ death island render background is the colors of the mlm flag!!1!1’ chris’ death island render background is the color of his uniform #i hate this guy lmao #literally go outside. interact with real gay people #you’ll probably get punched in the face but it will be a wake up call

[andvys]

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | Epilogue

Warnings: none. this is just pure fluff. possible allusions to steddie x reader but don't tell roe I said that

Pairings: Previous Steve Harrington x fem!reader | Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: This is the end. Or the new beginning.

A/N: @hellfire--cult thank you for working on this story with me, bestie. It would have never been the same without you, you really helped me create something great. The last line? Perfection bby, thank you so much🫶🏻 i love u

series masterlist

-

2 years later

Hawkins, 1987

Sunlight peeks through the blue curtains in the large bedroom, the sound of cars driving through the streets fills the silence in the apartment, the smell of paint, fresh bed sheets and the vanilla candle that was lit for the first time last night, all mingle together. Both opened and unopened boxes are all across the room. Most of the clothes – jackets, sweaters and flannels are already in the closet. The dressers are decorated with books, pictures and a lone mug that was forgotten yesterday morning. A diary and a new lamp are decorating the bedside table. 

Silent tiptoes echo against the hardwood floor before they disappear again and reappear on his thick blanket, the faintest purr and the softness against his skin pulls him out of his deep sleep. 

A smile tugs at his lips when the little ball of fur snuggles against his bare chest. 

“Hey there… Cat,” Steve mumbles, groggily. 

The black kitten meows at him. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs, opening his tired eyes. “You’ll get a cool name soon, don’t worry, dude.”

He strokes his back, gently. Smiling when he starts to purr as he moves closer to him. 

A yawn falls from Steve’s lips, he runs his fingers through his hair, he looks over at the clock. He raises his eyebrows in surprise, it’s 6:46am. 

“Look at you, I don’t even need an alarm anymore,” he mumbles. 

Cat meows at him, standing up on all paws, he suddenly digs his nails into his chest as he stretches. 

“Ow!.. Yeah, no, we don’t do that on humans, buddy,” he mumbles as he picks him up, giving him a kiss on the head, before he puts him down on his pillow. 

Steve throws the covers off himself, stretching his arms out before he gets up and walks over to the window, he opens the curtains and takes a look outside before he walks over to the closet, picking out some clothes for the day. 

“Gonna take a shower and then make breakfast for the princess,” he says to his new buddy, as though he would answer. He looks back at him to find him staring with his head tilted. Steve chuckles, “yeah, don’t tell her I called her that, she’d probably punch me.” 

After a long shower, he makes his way into the kitchen, he feeds his cat before he gets started on the breakfast that he cooks for Robin and himself every morning. He sips on his hot coffee, bobbing his head to music that plays from the radio that he bought a few days back as he stirs the scrambled eggs. 

Robin walks out of her room moments later, with messy hair and a very tired look on her face, she makes a stop in the bathroom before she joins Steve in the kitchen. 

“Morning Dingus,” she grumbles as she pushes past him. She grabs her favorite mug from the cupboard and pours the freshly brewed coffee into it. 

“Morning, Robby,” he chuckles. “How’d you sleep?”

“Like shit,” she mumbles, walking over to the fridge, she opens it and grabs the creamer. “I need coffee so so bad.” 

Steve scrunches his face up at her, watching her pour tons and tons of creamer in.

“I don’t know how you can drink that, it’s too fucking sweet, Robin.” 

She rolls her eyes at him, taking a sip from it, she closes her eyes and nods. “No, this is exactly what I need. Flavored goodness to wake me up in the morning.” 

“Yeah, it’s the overload of sugar that wakes you up, not the coffee in there,” he chuckles as he points to her mug. “It’s bad for your teeth.”

“It’s not an overload, you’re just a grandpa.” 

“Why? Because I don’t like creamer?” 

“No, because you don’t like sweet stuff.”

“Not true, I got sugar in my coffee.”

She snorts, leaning against the counter, she holds her mug against her chest, “yeah, how much? A sprinkle?” 

He takes a sip of his coffee, shaking his head at her, “nope, two teaspoons.”

“Oh wow!” 

He rolls her eyes at her, placing his hand on his hip, he turns back to the stove. 

She chuckles at his pose, “you know, you’re like a real mom – cooking breakfast for me, telling me to be safe even though I’m dating a girl, telling me that sugary stuff is bad for my teeth.” 

He waves her off, “yeah yeah.” 

She laughs, walking over to their kitchen table, she sits down and reaches for the newspaper, “hey, where’s your little buddy?” 

Steve uses the spatula to point at the couch, “buddy is sleeping.”

Robin straightens her back, looking over to where he’s pointing, she finds the tiny kitten sleeping on the fluffy blanket she left there, last night. 

Her eyes soften and her lips pull into a pout, “he’s the cutest little thing I’ve ever seen – I’m so happy you kept him.”

“Not like I had a choice,” Steve snorts, though his eyes are soft as he looks at his little buddy. “Dustin forced me to keep him.” 

“Don’t act like it wasn’t the birthday present you ever got,” Robin says, glancing at him. 

Dustin and Max thought it was a great idea to adopt a kitten for his 21st birthday. He didn’t exactly have a choice but to keep him – besides, Steve fell in love with the cat the moment he held him in his hands. 

“Yeah, I love him. I don’t have a name for him yet though.��� 

Robin shrugs, “you didn’t like any of my suggestions. I guess he will stay ‘Cat’ forever.” 

“No, he won’t,” Steve shakes his head as he walks over to the table, placing both plates on the table before he walks back to the counter to get his cup of coffee. 

“That smells good,” Robin smiles at him, pulling the plate closer and reaching for the fork, “thanks mom,” she teases him. 

He flips her off as he sits down across from her, making her chuckle. 

She takes a bite of the toast and digs into the eggs, getting lost in her thoughts as she chews her breakfast. 

Steve looks at her, watching the way she raises her brows before she holds her finger up, like she does every time whenever she remembers something important. 

“Oh! I just remembered, Lizzy told me that someone’s moving in next door!” 

“Really?” He asks, furrowing his brows at her. 

“Yeah, some couple.” 

Steve frowns at her words, dropping his fork, he reaches for his mug. 

“Damn, let’s hope they’re nothing like the couple in the last apartment building,” he says in disgust. 

Robin and Steve lived across the street in the old building for almost two years and almost every night, they’d both have to wear earplugs to avoid hearing them moan and scream. 

“They were horny rabbits,” Robin laughs in amusement as she continues eating, totally unfazed by those memories. 

“Yeah, like you and Chrissy,” he mumbles, glaring at her. “I hope the walls here are thicker than in the last apartment.”

Robin blushes at his words, though she keeps the teasing smile on her lips. Excitement rushes through her when she thinks about her girlfriend, who is currently away for college. 

“You’ll find out next week.”

“She’s coming to visit?” 

“Mhmm.”

“Cool,” Steve nods, smiling at her. “Alright, I’m gonna clean up the kitchen and you should start getting ready for work or the manager will kick you out.” 

She snorts at his words, rolling her eyes at the teasing look on his face. 

“You’re the manager, Dingus.” 

“Not yet, Robs.”

“Yeah, well you’re almost the manager.” 

“Almost, yeah.”

-

It’s the beginning of September, the last days of summer are going strong. It’s not as hot as it was in July or August, but it’s still very warm. The afternoon sun shines into the store, the soft breeze from outside touching his skin as he passes by the open door.  

It’s a slow day at Family Video and Steve spent most of his time stacking up new tapes. Frowning every time he passes by Pretty in Pink, he came to hate the movie, simply because he gets asked about it at least five times a day – and because Robin and Chrissy force him to watch the movie with them, all the damn time. 

He’s organizing the shelf in the back aisle, fixing all the tapes that have been put back unevenly. 

He furrows his brows when he hears Robin’s whispers as she seemingly talks to someone at the front, though he doesn’t take a peek to look who it is, he figures that she’s using the phone to talk to Chrissy as always. Keith almost caught her during one of her phone calls – she came up with a lie and he of course had her back, Keith didn’t seem to believe that she was talking to a customer who was asking for a very specific movie, he also didn’t believe Steve when he told him that said customer calls all the time, but he brushed it off, surprisingly. He must have had a good day, otherwise he would have fired them both probably. 

He almost flinches when he feels someone tapping his shoulder – he didn’t even hear the footsteps. 

“Excuse me? – Can you help me find Pretty in Pink?”

It takes him a moment. 

He almost groans in annoyance at the mention of that movie but then his eyes widen and his heart leaps to his throat. For a second he thinks that it’s his mind playing tricks on him but when he turns around, his eyes widen even further and his lips curl into a big smile. 

The same eyes that were filled with tears after the last goodbye two years back, now stare at him with happiness and excitement in them. 

You are here. 

You came back. 

“I– Dolly?!” He gasps as he looks you up and down, like he can’t believe that you are truly here after being away for so long. 

“Hi, Stevie.” 

You’re looking at him with a smile on your face as you take in the sight of him too. 

It’s almost been two years since you had last seen each other. 

Two years since you have left Hawkins. 

You look happy, you look beautiful, even more so than before. Your hair is even longer now, styled perfectly, long bangs are framing your face. Your lips are cherry red, it suits you well. You’re wearing a short sundress, your sun kissed skin is glowing beneath the sunlight that shines into the store. He can smell your perfume, it’s a new one. 

You look amazing, healthy and at peace. 

Snapping out of it, he drops the tape he was holding, not caring where it lands. He takes a step forward, he wraps his arms around your waist and picks you up, twirling you around as he holds you tightly. 

A squeal falls from your lips before you start laughing, you wrap your arms around his neck. Hugging him back just as tightly.

“I missed you so fucking much!” He exclaims, squeezing your waist. “I’m never letting you leave again.”

“I missed you too, Steve.”

He missed your voice too – you called him on his birthday but this is different. 

You giggle, letting go of him when he puts you down again. 

He squeezes you one more time before he pulls away from the hug, still smiling for you, unable to tear his eyes away from you. 

“Hi,” he whispers. 

“Hi,” you smile, giggling again. 

You take in the sight of him. He changed, somehow he appears even taller to you than before. His shoulders are broader, his hair is longer, a light stubble on his cheeks. He looks older, in a good way. But most importantly, he looks content, he looks happy and that makes your smile even bigger. 

He blinks, he opens his mouth to speak again but he is stunned, completely caught off guard. 

He takes a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair before he puts his hand on the shelf next to him. 

“I– wow, I can’t believe you’re back,” he says, shaking his head. “And you, you look amazing.” 

You look down at the floor, smiling at his words. 

“Thank you. You do too, Steve.”

Your eyes meet his again when you look back up. 

“Thank you,” he smiles as his eyes soften.

He gets excited, too excited at the thought of seeing you around town again. Hawkins hasn’t been the same since you left. It was weird at first, places that you have always gone to, suddenly seemed so lonesome and lifeless, despite the people around them. You were just gone and he hated it. 

“W-Wait, are you back for good or are you just visiting?” 

You shake your head, “no, we’re back, for good.”

Steve can’t begin to describe how happy he feels to hear these words. He missed you, he missed his best friend. 

There are so many things he wants to ask, so many things he wants to tell you but he is just too stunned. 

He looks over your shoulder, “where’s Eddie?”

“He’s talking to Robin, wanna go say hi?” You smile. 

“Yeah, let’s go,” he nods, putting his hand on your shoulder. “So, did you guys plan to come back here or was it spontaneous.” 

“Both. We just kinda made that decision spontaneously, back in July. It’s been nice to live in a big city and travel around whenever we had the chance to but we missed everyone here,” you pause, smiling when your eyes meet Eddie’s as you and Steve make your way to the front desk. “Even Eddie, can you believe that?”

He chuckles, knowing how much Eddie always cursed about this town. 

“Do you have a place here already or are you staying with your mom?” 

You shake your head, “no, Wayne helped us find an apartment and Enzo was happy to offer Eddie a job again.” 

Steve nods, smiling. 

“And you?”

“Oh, I got an interview tomorrow at the new coffee shop here!” You explain, excitedly. “We checked it out earlier, it’s so cool! They sell books and records!”

His eyes light up, his lips curl into a smile, “it’s a good place, they make good coffee there.” 

“Do you go there often?” 

He nods, “yeah and so do Max and Lucas, they go there to study – like every afternoon,” he chuckles. 

“Really?” You ask, your eyes lighting up. 

“Yeah!”

“Cute,” you smile. “But uh, let’s not get too forward, maybe I won’t get the job.”

He pats your shoulder, giving you a soft smile, “nah, you’ll get it. You love coffee, books and music. They gotta give you the job. – But hey, if you wanna stack up VHS tapes all day, this place will look for a new employee soon, so if you’re interested,” he offers as his smile grows wider. “I’m gonna be the manager soon.” 

You both stop at the counter and Steve places his hand on his hip, smirking a little. 

Your eyes widen at his words, “no way! That’s amazing, Steve!” 

“What’s amazing?” 

At the sound of his voice, Steve tears his eyes away from you and looks over at Eddie. He takes him in just like he did with you – it’s almost odd to see him without his signature leather jacket or his vest, his skin a little less pale than usual. He notices the new tattoos on his left arm and how his hair is slightly longer than it was when you both left. Unlike the last few times they had seen each other, there’s not a single negative emotion lingering in his brown eyes – no insecurity, no jealousy, no fear. Eddie looks happy, just like you do. 

“Hey man,” Steve nods at him, not even needing to force a smile this time. 

“Hey Steve,” Eddie nods, smiling back at him and offering his hand to him. 

They shake hands, taking in the sight of each other. There’s no tension between them, not anymore. 

“Steve is gonna be the new manager here soon!” 

Eddie’s eyes widen, he chuckles at your excitement and smiles at Steve, “congrats, man! That’s nice.”

“Thanks, Eddie.” Steve smiles. 

Robin looks between them as she leans against the counter with her arms crossed over her chest, smiling at the two men. 

Eddie wraps his arm around your shoulder once he lets go of Steve’s hand. Giving you a smile when you press yourself against him. 

“Well, this is nice,” Robin snorts, clapping her hands together as she looks between both men. “You finally got a guy to hang out with, Steve,” she winks at him. 

He snorts at her, rolling his eyes. “I got a guy.” 

“Who, cat?” 

You snap your head towards Robin before your eyes lock with Steve’s, “Cat? You got a cat?” 

He chuckles at the excitement in your eyes. “Yeah, Dustin and Max got me a kitten for my birthday.”

Your eyes widen as a gasp falls from your lips, making both him and Eddie chuckle. 

“Yeah and he still doesn’t have a name!” Robin exclaims. 

“Oh my god! A kitten?” You pout as your eyes soften. 

“Yeah, he’s really cuddly too. You’re gonna fall in love with him,” Steve smiles. 

Eddie chuckles at his words, looking down at you, “she falls in love with all the cats, Steve.” 

“Yeah, that’s why she fell for you,” Robin snorts. 

Eddie furrows his brows, “what?” 

“You give off cat energy, Eddie. Always hungry, hissing at everyone and clingy with just that one person.” 

Eddie’s lips part, confusion flashes in his eyes but he’s amused by her words. He wraps his arm around you tighter and kisses your cheek in response, making you giggle. 

“See,” Robin chuckles. 

“Oh.. yeah,” Steve mumbles. “You’re onto something, totally reminds me of Cat–”

“Cat is the poor kitten he hasn’t named yet, by the way,” Robin interrupts him, glancing at the both of you.

Steve rolls his eyes but continues, “cat waggles with his tail when he hears Metallica on the radio.” 

“You got a rockstar cat!” You laugh. 

“Can we meet the little rockstar?” Eddie asks, surprising Steve. 

He was unsure of how Eddie would react if he tried to be your friend again, fearing that he would have a problem with that or try to keep you away from him out of fear that he might try to get you back. He didn’t expect Eddie to be the one to make the first move though but it puts a smile on his face. 

“Yeah, of course! You two should come over tonight so we can catch up.”

“Yes!” Robin says, excitedly. “You can tell us all about your fun adventures!” 

���That would be nice,” you smile. “I missed hanging out with you guys.” 

“Yeah, me too, surprisingly.” Eddie snorts. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t cry over us every day, Edward,” Robin teases him, looking between you two. Her eyes suddenly flash with curiosity. “Hey wait, where are you two staying?” 

You and Eddie share a look, smiling at one another before you turn back to her. 

“Wayne helped us get an apartment! We moved all the boxes in and some of the furniture from our old place earlier,” Eddie explains, moving his hand to the small of your back. “The place is just around the corner.”

“It’s cool, we love it. And the landlord is a really nice lady.”

Robin and Steve slowly turn towards one another, sharing the same look as realization dawns on them both. 

Lizzy, the really nice old lady, told Robin about the couple that was moving in next door just last night. 

Steve purses his lips, slowly looking back at you, “w-wait..”

“Umm, your landlord doesn’t happen to go by the name of Lizzy?” 

Eddie raises his brows at them both, nodding. 

“Yeah! She was sweet and she complimented me – oh! And she told me how much her husband looked like Eddie when he was young!” You giggle. 

Steve’s lips part in surprise and Eddie almost wants to laugh at his expression until Robin opens her mouth. 

“Wow, she must’ve had two husbands then because apparently Steve also looked like her husband!” She says, chuckling as she takes in the confused looks on your and Eddie’s faces. 

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, mumbling something under his breath as his cheeks flush red at Robin’s comment. 

“W-Wait what?” Eddie stutters, tilting his head at her. “How do you – huh?”

While your boyfriend takes longer to realize what is going on, it only takes you a second to understand that your landlord is also Steve’s and Robin’s landlord. 

“So.. you are the couple who’s moving in next door?” Steve waves his finger between you and Eddie. 

“Next door?” Eddie mumbles. “Didn’t you – wait, I thought you still lived in that apartment next to Radio Shack?” 

You nod at his words, you thought the same thing. 

Steve and Robin share a look, both sighing at the mention of their old place. 

“Yeah, we moved out of that one two weeks ago, it was a shithole, honestly.” 

Robin nods with her eyes wide. Tapping her fingers against the counter, “yep.” 

You and Eddie chuckle in confusion, taking in their ‘traumatized’ faces. 

“What was wrong with that place?” 

“Oh, it’s a long story!” Steve laughs, scratching the back of his neck. “We’ll tell you all about it later.”

“Yes! We’ll order some takeout, have a couple of drinks and you two can tell us all about Chicago!” Robin smiles. 

Excitement rushes through you. You missed your friends, you missed Robin and Steve. 

Eddie squeezes your arm, he looks down at you. 

You meet your boyfriend’s loving eyes, he nods at you. 

A smile tugs at your lips, you lean your head on his shoulder and turn back to your friends. 

“We’d love to.” 

Steve’s eyes light up, he smiles at you, clapping his hands together. 

“You’ll get to meet cat!” He chuckles.

Robin chuckles at his excitement, she runs her fingers through her hair, “Steve and I are gonna order the food!”

“And we’ll get the drinks,” Eddie winks at her.

She clicks her tongue, winking back at him.

Steve chuckles at them, he looks back at you, “alright then, neighbors,” he says with a funny look on his face. “I’ll drop by your place after work, gotta see and make sure that you didn’t get the better apartment.” 

A laugh falls from your lips, “we totally did, Stevie.” 

“You wish,” he smirks. 

“The place is a mess, we gotta get some stuff done.” 

“Like what?” Steve asks, looking at Eddie. “I can help.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I got it,” Eddie smiles, though he appreciates the offer. 

“I’m off this weekend, so if you need anything, let me know.” 

You’re pleasantly surprised to see them getting along with each other. 

Time has passed, things have changed, feelings have changed. But nonetheless, you expected more tension between them – you are happy that it’s not the case. 

And as they fall into a conversation, you and Robin smile at each other, knowing that things will be different this time. 

-

Steve’s and Robin’s place is a little bigger than yours and Eddie’s. It’s colorful, not overwhelming though, it’s comforting and cozy. String lights are hanging from the ceiling, posters of Indie bands on the living room walls, pillows and blankets on the couch, you remember seeing those on Robin’s bed in her old room at her parent’s place. 

Boxes of takeouts, drinks and snacks are all across the small table. Music plays in the background. 

You’re sitting on the floor, a box of polaroids in front of you, a smile lingering on your face as you look through the pictures that were taken in the past two years. 

Robin is next to you, telling you the stories behind every picture. 

“He is such a cute little thing,” Eddie coos at the kitten in his lap, chuckling when he digs his claws into his shirt, using it to crawl up on his chest. Cat purrs as he rubs against Eddie’s face. “Damn, you’re making me want a cat too.”

Steve takes a sip from his beer, leaning back on the couch, “you should get one, they’re adorable.” 

“Can’t believe you didn’t name him yet.” 

“Yeah, everyone has been suggesting names!” Robin exclaims, looking away from the picture of her and Chrissy. “He hates every single one!” 

Steve rolls his eyes at her, “they just don’t fit, Robby!” 

“I fear he’s gonna be Cat forever,” Eddie pouts as he pets him. 

You put the last picture back in the box and stand up, smoothing down your skirt and Eddie’s shirt that you changed into after your shower earlier. You sit down next to Eddie, snuggling against his side – the moment you do so, Steve’s cat makes his way towards you, jumping into your lap and looking up at you with his green eyes. 

Your eyes light up, your heart soars in your chest as you pick him up and pull him closer, setting him down on your chest. 

“Hey there, little buddy,” you whisper, smiling as he snuggles deeper into your chest, purring as he digs his claws into your shirt. “You are such a sweet little angel.” 

Eddie chuckles, reaching his hand out to pet his head. 

“You love those boobs don’t you, Cat?” He smirks. “I do too. They’re so fun to play with.”

“Eddie!” You gasp. 

Robin laughs at his words and at the flustered look on your face. 

Steve shakes his head, snorting. 

“He is a very innocent little thing,” you coo at the kitten, scratching the spots behind his ears, he keeps purring, closing his eyes as he lays his head on your chest. “Oh my god, I love him.” 

Eddie smiles down at you as you lay your head on his shoulder, he wraps his arm around you.

Steve leans his elbow on the headrest, looking between you and Eddie, the way you are so natural and comfortable with each other – it’s nothing new to him, you have always been like that with one another, maybe slightly less touchy. 

The look in Eddie’s eyes as nothing but pure love and adoration as he laughs when Cat licks your nose. 

You giggle, scrunching up your nose and closing your eyes. 

He can’t describe the feeling in his chest at this moment, but seeing you so happy, seeing the love between you and Eddie makes him feel at peace.

Two years ago, he let go. 

A part of him will always think back to it, back to you and to what you both had. 

But he let go, and it’s good like this because he still got to keep you in his life, maybe not like before, but he is happy with what he gets to have now. 

You left and you both lived separate lives. 

But you came back and you’re here again. 

And maybe, you both can go back to how things were before you crossed the line and left behind a friendship that you both mourn. 

“Hey Dolly?” 

You turn your face towards him, looking into his warm eyes, “yes?”

“Do you have some name suggestions?” He asks. “You always named the stray cats so..” 

A smile pulls at your lip, “hmm.”

Robin reaches for the bowl of popcorn on the table, placing it on her lap, she begins snacking as she shoots you a look, “I’m warning you, he’s gonna hate all the names.”

“Shut it, Robs.” 

She flips him off, causing Eddie to chuckle at their interaction. 

You hum as you look at the black kitten on your chest, “void.” 

Eddie snorts, “that’s a good one.”

Steve sighs, shaking his head. 

“He rubbed off on you,” he mumbles, nudging Eddie’s shoulder. “What would the child, innocent and pure 10 year old Dolly name this cat?” 

You giggle at him, turning away to look back down at him. 

“Hmm… Stevie!” 

Robin and Eddie laugh at your name suggestion. 

“What?” 

You look over at Steve, who’s staring at you like he’s waiting for you to continue. 

“Not you. The cat! Call him Stevie – he gives off Stevie energy.” 

Steve scrunches his whole face up, “I am not naming the cat after me! Seriously, do you guys even try?” 

You all laugh at the disapproving look on his face. 

“Ozzy,” Eddie shrugs. 

“Huh?”

“Ozzy Osbourne,” Eddie says to Steve. “You know, from Black Sabbath?” 

Steve stares at him with furrowed brows and downturned lips. But as he watches his cat claw his way out of your lap and jumps over Eddie to get to him, he looks up at him, yawning as he settles in his lap. 

“Ozzy,” Steve murmurs, petting him. Steve smiles when he starts purring. “Yeah, I think he likes that one.” 

“Is that a yes?” 

Steve’s eyes meet Eddie’s, a smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah, shit.. you got a name, buddy,” he chuckles as he looks back down at Ozzy. 

Robin claps her hands, “finally!” She cheers. “Wow, I can’t believe you let Eddie name the cat.” 

“Does that mean you’re both his parents?” You ask, giggling. 

Eddie snorts, pulling you closer as he smirks down at you. 

“Sure, but I got full custody of my child,” Steve jokes.

Two years back, Steve would have rolled his eyes at your joke but now he just laughs and plays along. 

You have noticed how much he changed. 

Your last moments with him, before you left, weren’t the happiest. He was sad, heartbroken and lost. But now he seems content, happy. Even after his failed attempts at dating again, he doesn’t seem sad or heartbroken over it. He told you about his horrible date experiences with Heidi and Amanda – and he didn’t seem pained while he was talking about it, he was amused, that’s all. He tried dating and he gave up, not because he wasn’t ready but because he is just not looking for love or a relationship – ‘It will happen when the time is right.’ He said. 

He is more relaxed now, calm and he seems more confident with himself. You like seeing him this way, he deserves to feel comfortable with himself. 

“A cat is good training for kids someday,” Robin says, leaning back as she throws popcorn into her mouth. 

“Oh really? Do you want kids?” Eddie chuckles. 

Robin shakes her head with wide eyes, “hell no. I’m not Steve, he’s the one with a car full of kids.”

“Do I look like I have a bunch of kids?” Steve mumbles, confused. 

“Yeah.” All three of you reply in unison. 

“You have six kids already.” 

He rolls his eyes but chuckles, “they’re not even kids anymore!” 

“Maybe you can babysit their kids soon,” Robin wiggles her brows as she nudges her chin at you and Eddie. 

“Oh my god,” you groan, shaking your head at her. 

Steve suddenly frowns, blinking as he stares at you and Eddie, “wait, where’s your bedroom again?” 

“Huh?” 

“Your bedroom, what side is it on? Cause our last neighbors were fucking like rabbits!”

“Yeah it was disgusting!” Robin mumbles. 

“You’re one to talk!” Steve glares at her. “I have to wear earplugs every time Chrissy comes to visit, they’re fucking rabbits too.”

She grows red, rolling her eyes at him. 

You laugh at the flustered look on her face. 

“Yeah, I hope you still have those earplugs,” Eddie chuckles. “Our room is right over there.”

Robin groans loudly as she looks at the wall he’s pointing at. 

Steve sighs. 

“We got kicked out of our last apartment because we fu–”

“Eddie!” You punch his arm, cheeks feeling hotter than before as you shake your head at him.

Steve and Robin stare at you both in disbelief. 

“No, I swear. They kicked us out cause we were too loud,” Eddie says proudly, while you continue shaking your head. 

“And you will get kicked out a second time if you don’t keep quiet,” Robin points at him with a glare. 

Steve laughs, shaking his head as he brings up his drink to his lips. 

“Time to use the ball gag, baby,” Eddie smirks. 

Steve chokes on his beer, eyes widening at Eddie’s words. 

“Jesus fucking christ, Eddie!” You gasp, burying your face in your hands. 

Robin laughs loudly, throwing her head back. 

“God damn,” Steve coughs, furrowing his brows at you. “I thought you were a good girl, Dolly.”

Eddie snorts at that, looking over at Steve to see him smirking. 

You glare at them both, but you can’t even hide how flustered you are. 

“Robin, help me out.”

“No, I’m having too much fun here.”

Rolling your eyes, you push Eddie’s arm off and get up with a sigh, “I need another drink,” you mumbled under your breath as you leave the living room in a haste. You hear their snickers even when you enter the kitchen, you can hear Eddie saying something that makes Steve groan and Robin laugh even harder. 

You shake your head but a smile tugs at your lips. 

You reach for the handle on the fridge when your eyes fall on the picture next to the many magnets. Your smile transforms into a softer one. It’s an old picture of Steve and you. 

You remember that day, it was his birthday, his sixteenth birthday. His dad had gotten him the BMW. The moment he had gotten those keys, you grabbed your polaroid camera, you wanted to take a picture of him and his new car but Steve had pushed the camera into his mom’s hands and asked her to take a picture of the two of you in front of his new ‘baby’. 

You were still best friends at that time. Steve's arm was wrapped around your shoulder, you were wearing a cardigan that was way too big for you, it hid the pretty dress you were wearing underneath. You looked so happy in that picture and so did he. You were smiling into the camera but Steve was looking at you with a big smile on his face, eyes that were still shining with happiness and love. 

“You looked so small standing there in your cardigan.” 

You flinch, looking back in surprise. 

Steve is leaning against the doorway, looking at you. 

“You scared me,” you chuckle, putting your hand on your chest. 

“I’m sorry,” he smiles as he walks into the kitchen. “My mom gave me this picture when I moved out.”

“Oh, that’s where it was!”

He nods. 

“Yeah. I remember how excited I was to go for a drive and forced you into the passenger seat,” he says, chuckling at the memory. “She put that picture into an album.”

You smile, looking down. 

“You ever miss those days?” He asks, leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed. “When we just got into high school, we'd just drive around, listen to music, go to the movies..”

“Eat junk food, gossip about the bad hair styles in the magazines,” you add, laughing. 

“Exactly,” he nods. 

“Yeah, sometimes. Cause back then things were simple and we were just teenagers who still lived in that safe little bubble.” 

“Yeah,” he sighs but he smiles at you. 

“I kinda miss talking shit about bad hairstyles,” you laugh. 

He nudges your shoulder with his, “hey, we can still do that. I mean with the addition of Eddie and Robin now,” he chuckles as his eyes soften. “Eddie is… kinda.. cool now. I think we’ll get along better now.” 

Your gaze softens, eyes shining with happiness. 

“That’s all I wanted,” you whisper. 

You wanted your best friend back in your life and you wanted your other best friend, your boyfriend to get along with him. But you knew that it might not ever be possible, because sometimes, time changes nothing – you hope that it did in this case, though. 

“You know, I’m kinda excited to have you as my neighbor.” 

Your eyes flash with surprise, your lips twitch. You weren’t sure how he would actually feel about this, having you and Eddie as his neighbors. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, I can bother you all day now,” he smirks. “And Eddie too. I’ll blast pop music every night.” 

A laugh falls from your lips, “don’t mess with Eddie, he will come over with his guitar,” you chuckle. “His electric guitar.” 

He snorts. 

“I’m not even kidding,” you giggle as you think about all the performances Eddie had given to you – sometimes wearing nothing but boxers while you laid in bed, watching him with a smile on your face. 

“I believe you,” he chuckles. “It’s Eddie we’re talking about, he always loved his dramatic performances.” He refers to all the speeches your boyfriend had held on the lunch tables in the cafeteria. 

“He really did.”

Steve watches the way your eyes glow with love as you think back to the times where you and him would watch Eddie jump around on the lunch tables. Had someone told him back then, that Eddie would end up being your boyfriend and he your ex boyfriend, he would probably have had a mental breakdown over it or maybe he would have laughed, not believing that you would end up with a metalhead instead of him. 

When you left, he spent a lot of time wondering what would have happened if he never left you. 

Would you have still met Eddie? 

Would you have been the one to leave him the way he left you for her? 

Was everything supposed to go this way because you and Eddie were always meant to be together? 

So many what if’s had haunted him for a long time after you left but not anymore. 

He made peace with everything, a long time ago. 

He loves you, he always will. 

You will always have a special place in his heart as he will have one in yours. 

And seeing you so happy and in love with Eddie, doesn’t fill him with pain anymore, it fills him with joy because this is what you deserve – to love and to be loved ten times more. 

And even if his wishes from the past didn’t come true, he is still happy because even after everything, you came back and he gets to have you in his life again. 

You still wear his locket and he still wears your wristband – you are still special to each other, you are still best friends. 

You left behind your first love but you never left your friendship behind. 

“You know, I was a little worried that you forgot about me,” you tease him. 

His eyes flash with sadness, a soft smile appears on his face as he takes your hand in his. 

“I could never forget you, Dolly,” he whispers, squeezing your hand. “You’re my best friend.” 

A breathy laugh falls from your cherry red lips, your bangs fall in front of your eyes as you look down for a moment. 

“You’re my best friend too, Stevie,” you whisper, looking back up. 

You both smile at each other, eyes filled with happiness and a love that you carried for one another as kids. 

As you stand there and look at one another, you know that everything is okay now, everything is good. 

There is no sadness between you both anymore, no tears, no pain, no heartbreak. 

You’re both okay. 

You’re both happy. 

This love will last forever. 

He lets go of your hand and brings it up to your face, pinching your cheek as 10 year old Steve would do. 

“Come on, Dolly,” he teases, laughing when you swat his hand away, just like 9 year old Dolly would do. “I’ll race you to the living room.” 

You roll your eyes at the cocky smirk on his face as he starts to walk backwards. 

“You know I’m faster than you.”

“Oh, are you?” He chuckles. 

“Yes, I am.” 

Before Steve can even react, you move past him and push him back a little before you run out of the kitchen, laughing loudly when he groans. 

He runs after you, reaching for your elbow but you push his hand off and bolt into the living room. 

“Eddie, help!” You giggle. 

Your boyfriend straightens up, watching you with an amused look on his face as you run past Robin and hide behind the lovechair. 

“No, help me! She plays dirty!” Steve exclaims.

“Is that true, sweetheart?” Eddie smirks, his brown eyes flashing with mischief as he stands up. 

You shake your head, pouting. 

Eddie chuckles at that, moving towards you, while Steve walks towards you on the other side. 

Your lips part as you watch them, eyes widening when they glance at each other with smirks on their faces. 

“You’re teaming up on me!? You’re my boyfriend, you’re supposed to protect your princess!” You giggle as you start walking backwards. Glancing at Robin who watches the three of you in amusement while Ozzy sits on her lap, looking between the three of you. 

“Are you good princess or bad princess, right now?” 

Steve furrows his brows, looking over at your boyfriend, “why do I have a feeling that this means something dirty?” 

“Because it is,” Robin gags. 

You and Eddie smirk at each other – but your smirk quickly falls when Eddie suddenly lunges forward, you turn around, trying to run but he wraps his arms around you, picking you up with ease, “got ya, baby,” he whispers in your ear and kisses your shoulder and then your neck, making you giggle softly. 

“She’s definitely bad princess, right now.” Steve snorts. 

Eddie pulls you back towards the couch, holding you tightly as his fingers dig into your waist, making you squirm beneath his touch. 

“Well, I captured the bad princess,” Eddie jokes, murmuring into your hair.

You giggle, your heart fluttering at the feeling of his hands on your skin. You place your hands over his, laughing when he pulls you down on the couch with him. 

“Hold on tight to her,” Steve chuckles, smiling at Eddie. 

Eddie tightens his grip on you in response, smiling when you turn around to face him, your smile mirroring his. His heart flutters in his chest – just the way yours does as you look into your boyfriends beautiful eyes. 

“I always will.” 

Robin looks between you and Eddie with a smile on her face. A strand of Eddie’s hair gets stuck on your eyelash, making you both laugh when he tries to pull it away. She looks up at Steve, he watches the two of you and for a moment, Robin fears that old wounds will be ripped open again, that even after two years, she will have to hold him again while he cries because he won’t ever get you back the way he had you before – but, the smile on his face isn’t faked, it’s very real and it isn’t a sad one. 

“Hey Steve?” 

Steve tears his eyes away from you and looks at Eddie. 

“Yeah?” 

“Do you wanna watch Pretty in Pink with us?” 

Robin laughs, watching Steve’s face contort into annoyance. 

“No!” 

Eddie and you giggle at the look on his face. 

“Anything but Pretty in Pink!” 

“Anything?” Eddie raises his brows. 

“Yeah.” 

“But what if I wanna watch Pretty in Pink with you, Stevie?” You pout. 

“Yeah,” Eddie chuckles, cupping your cheeks with one hand, he squishes them slightly. “Can you really say no to that cute face?” 

He sighs, tilting his head as he looks at you. 

“I can already tell, you two are gonna be menaces, even more so than Robin and Chrissy!” 

Robin scoffs, rolling her eyes at Steve. 

“Nah,” Eddie shakes his head, letting go of your cheeks, he pulls you closer. “You’re gonna love us.” 

Steve sits down on the loveseat, smiling when Ozzy jumps out of Robin’s lap and runs towards him, he leans down and picks him up when he sits down by his feet. He pulls the kitten into his lap, letting him snuggle against his chest. 

“Will I?” Steve asks, frowning playfully. 

“Oh yeah,” Eddie chuckles, kissing your cheek. 

“You definitely will, Stevie.” 

You lay your head on Eddie’s shoulder and you look around, happy to be in a room with your favorite people. Excitement lingers inside of you, to be back here with Eddie, to settle in for good this time, to see your friends again – to see Eddie and Steve getting along, to see Robin and Chrissy together again, to hang out with Heather and Argyle again. 

You place your hand over Eddie’s left hand, playing with the silver band on his finger – the one that matches your own, the one you put on each other’s fingers that one night in Vegas. 

And you look around the room again, the conversation as trivial as possible. Your boyfriend and your best friend getting along – when two years ago this would have never happened. 

It’s happiness, pure and absolute happiness and you are hoping that it will stay that way. 

“Dolly, tell Eddie that Fleetwood Mac is superior to Iron Maiden, please!” Steve says with a smile, and you can’t even answer as you feel your eyes burn slightly from the joy your heart is feeling. 

Yes.. now you are sure that this happiness will linger forever. 

Like a tattoo. 

-

@taintedcigs @mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @trashmouth-richie @corrodedcorpses @corrodedseraphine @take-everything-you-can @munson-mjstan @sherrylyn628 @somethingvicked @nemesis729 @succubusmunson @xxhellfirebunnyxx

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington series #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson series

[outofmydepthatapublicbeach]

Could you make one for phoebe??

hiii lovely!!! sorry this took me a few days, school has been very busy!! i hope this is what you wanted !! ❤️

A = Admiration (what do they absolutely adore about you?)

I think Phoebe would adore your smile the most. She would always be trying to get you to laugh or smile just so she could see your face light up.

B = Beauty (what do they find most beautiful about you?)

Phoebe would find your body the most beautiful. She sees your body as a temple, the thing that holds your soul and keeps you safe, she can hold your body and touch your skin, feel your warmth. I think it would be less like “their body is hot,” and more like “their body is what makes them, them, it keeps them alive.” 

C = Call (how often does she call/text?)

I could see Phoebe not texting as much as calling, I feel like she’d rather call you and hear your voice rather than just text. However she definitely sends you memes or just random photos throughout the day.

D = Dates (what does their ideal date with you look like?)

Either something more intimate like taking a walk and talking about deep topics, or going to a party and just dancing and having fun. No inbetween. 

E = Emotions (how do they express emotion around you?)

I could see Phoebe hiding her emotions, or bottling them up and then exploding, like after a long day she comes home and just breaks down. But I feel like she’d try and do it away from you so you didn’t see that side of her. 

F = Family (do they want one? If they do, when?)

I don’t think she’d really want one, especially not for a very very long time. She would probably only want kids if you really wanted them. She’d be fine with just having a bunch of dogs.

G = Gifts (how do they feel about gift giving? What are their habits when it comes to this?)

I think Phoebe would love receiving and giving gifts, I think she’d definitely buy you things that you see in a store that you want. I think it would be kind of random, it would go like this:

You’d come home from work or something and see this set of earrings you said you liked the other day on the dining room table. “Hey babe? What’s this?” 

Phoebe: “Oh those? You said you liked them the other day so I stopped by and grabbed them for you.” 

Anyway she would be very nonchalant about it all.

H = Holding Hands (when/how do they like to hold hands?)

Not as often as you’d think, she prefers an arm wrapped around your waist or a hand on your lower back.

I = Injury (how would they act if you got hurt?)

She’d get really mad, even if it was an accident where you give yourself a papercut or something, she’d get mad at the paper. Oh and if someone hurts you somehow, like a shove while you're walking on the sidewalk, you better grab her and hold her back because she is ready to throw a punch at a moment's notice.

J = Jokes (do they like to joke around with or prank you? how?)

I think Phoebe would joke a lot, maybe play pranks on you, but nothing too serious.

K = Kisses (how do they like to kiss you?)

Phoebe would totally be the type of lover to wake you up with kisses, like lots of little fluttery kisses all over your shoulder, neck, cheeks and face. 

L = Love (how do they show you they love you/love languages?)

For Phoebe her love languages are definitely touch and words, she loves to hold you and shower you with compliments. And she would for sure love to be on the receiving end of that too. I could also see her showing her love through doing things you have, like the dishes, or laundry.

M = Memory (favorite memory together?)

I think her favorite memories of you two would be when it's late at night and you both are in bed trying to fall asleep and just fall into conversation that never ends. Like talking about nonsense, and you're both so tired you’re delirious. 

N = Nightmare (what is their worst fear?)

Her worst fear is of you leaving her, she can be very doubtful of your true love for her and would be scared that one day you’ll realize her flaws and leave her (though that will never happen!!!1).

O = Oddity (what is one quirk they have?)

I could see Phoebe loving to try out intricate, detailed makeup looks on you.

P = Pet Names (what do they like to call you?)

I could see Phoebe coming up with some really weird ones to make you laugh like “schmukums” or like a combination of them that is really long like “my perfect sweet angel baby”. But in all seriousness she would probably use “honey”, “babe” or just a shortened version of your name/or just your name, oh and she’d call you “dude” all the time.

Q = Quality Time (how do they like to spend time with you?)

Y’all would spend your time together by just doing normal daily things, you both don’t need to be doing some crazy thing in order to have fun, just being in each others presence is

R = Rhythm (has she written any songs about you?)

Phoebe’s music is very deep and is very poetic in nature. I think instead of an entire song being about you, I think there would be mentions of you/things that represent you in all her songs. Like maybe a fond memory of a mention of your features.

S = Secrets (how open are they with you?)

Like earlier, I think Phoebe would try to be open with you, but ultimately hide certain things in fear of you leaving. For her to be completely open with you I think y’all would have had to have been together for a pretty long time.

T = Time (how long did it take you to get together?)

I think there was probably some pining done on your part for a while before Phoebe reciprocated feelings, and that might just be because she didn’t know how she felt for you.

U = Upset (how do they act when you’re upset?)

For when you’re mad I think Phoebe kind of stays close to you, she lets you take your anger out on her. But when you’re sad she stays as well, definitely being your shoulder to cry on and would consol you. 

V = Vaunt (what are they proud of? Do they like to show you off?)

Phoebe would definitely show you off at any chance to her friends, but might be a little hesitant to display you to the public, only because she knows how damaging social media can be and she wants to shield you from that negativity.

W = Wild Card (random!!)

Not as much about Phoebe but Maxine loves you and you are her second mom!!!1

X = X-Ray (how well are they able to read you?)

She is good at reading into you when you are upset, she knows your different tells. But she might struggle sometimes to differentiate from when you are mad at her or mad at something else. She would definitely ask “Are you mad at me?” A lot in these scenarios.

Y = Yes (how would they propose to you?)

I’m not 100% sure Phoebe would be into getting married, like she loves you and she wants to be with you for the rest of y’alls lives but do you need to get married? She would see it more as just a piece of paper that doesn’t mean shit, she’d probably value just being together more than a traditional marriage.

Z = Zen (what makes them feel calm?)

She loves to lay in bed with you and just hold your hand, it grounds her and keeps her calm.

#boygenius x reader #phoebe bridgers x reader #phoebe bridgers fanfic #fluff #abcs

[insidemymind19]

About you

Part 1

Warnings my first ever story so please bear that in mind and advice and feedback is more than welcome this story will contain swearing, mentions of abuse , substance use and mental illness

Thank you so much for reading

“You’ll find out, everything’s gone wrong” pulling her in by the jaw kissing her harshly the crowd going wild. “Matty wake the fuck up” George punching his arm as he lets out a loud groan, “fuck George what do you want” Matty says irradiated at his best mate for waking him up, pulling him back to reality, “Mate you were supposed to be downstairs 20 minutes ago, now we’re running late, you know we don’t have time for this just get ready” George says abruptly leaving Matty once more alone, something he’d become accustomed too the past few days.

“Hey Ellie, you ok” Ross asks her as he sees her approach him in the hotel lobby in whichever country they’re in, honestly she’s lost track at this rate. “Yeah just didn’t get much sleep last night was probably that espresso martini before bed I knew it was a bad idea.” She laughs softly to hide the crack in her voice. Obviously Ross knows her better than that to know she’s lying but decides to drop the subject. “Ready for tonight’s show think Matty talked about changing the set” Adam says making them both turn around, “where the fuck did you appear from” Ross asks not noticing him before. “I went to check we have everything on the bus because unlike you lot I actually like to be prepared and not loose all my possessions in hotels” Adam replies looking over at Ellie to see her rising from her seat not uttering a word making her way to the hotel door presumably for a smoke. “She ok?” Adam asks Ross “mate I really don’t know, I don’t know if either of them are ok” Ross says letting his thoughts free, “yeah mate me too but I think we just have to let them figure it out between them, let them tell us when they’re ready, us getting involved could only cause more problems” Adam speaks calmly. “I know but I just can’t stand seeing them like this all the years we’ve know them, all the years they’ve been together just” Their conversation being cut short as they see George appear Matty sluggishly coming behind him, walking past the guys and outside, George informing them that he needed a smoke.

Ellie leans against the hotel wall the early morning breeze against her face the nicotine filling her lungs more than welcome, closing her eyes just for one moments peace. “Hey��um y… you ok” the last voice she wants to hear at the moment stutters nervously beside her. Ellie opens her eyes and takes in his appearance, dark bags similar to her own circle his eyes, hair messy and disheveled almost like her hands have been pulling through it, how she missed those curls, his lips soft and beautiful as he holds his cigarette between them longing for her own lips against them, he looked exhausted, but still as beautiful ever. No stop it Ellie you can’t be thinking like this, “El”, she’s snapped out of her daydream to see him standing there… She can’t do this right now. “Yeah um sorry. I’m… I’m going to head inside now” she says quickly to avoid anymore awkward conversations.

Fuck I wish she’d just talk to me maybe we could figure this out, we’ve been through so much this can’t be the end, it can’t end like this Matty replays the same thoughts in his head over and over again trying to figure out what to do he can’t loose her, taking one last puff of his cigarette as he sees the crew making there way to the bus an indicator that it’s time to go to the venue, but no matter what he can’t stop these thoughts.

They arrive at the venue just in time for sound check, as Adam warned Matty has changed the set but it still works. Sitting in one the green room alone Ellie takes a look at her phone for the first time in days, since everything happened

Mum 12 missed calls

Mum 7 unopened messages

Charli 4 missed calls

Charli 6 unopened messages

Denise 3 missed calls

Denise: hi darling spoke to Matty last night he seemed upset so just want to check everything’s ok xxx

Grace 29 missed calls

Grace: I know Elouise but please just think about everything you two have been through you’ve faced bigger challenges than this please please call me back!!! I love you xxx

Ellie let’s out a straggled sob, Grace Is her best friend she knows Ellie better than anyone her and Matty have faced bigger challenges yes but she can’t shake it. Her chest heaves up and down struggling to get a breath. Her thoughts clouding her mind suddenly she’s transported back there, back to what she fought so hard to forget She can’t do this right now. She looks up as the green room door opens as Adam strolls in casually looking at his phone, “ah there you are was looking for you” he speaks not noticing the state she’s in. “Hey whats wrong” he finally noticing her sitting on the couch sobbing pulling her into him as she screams into chest. “Ellie big Breath” he speaks calmly but it does nothing for her “Elouise breathe in and out ok you hear my heart yeah I need you to focus on that.” But she can’t, she can’t focus on anything other than these evil thoughts in her head the smoke in her mind the burning in her chest. “Elouise listen I know I know this is tough but please.” Adams not sure how long her sobs continue but once they’ve subsided he glances down to speak and see how she is only to find her fast asleep on his chest, he moves gently from underneath her as not to awaken her, he can’t help but admire how soft and at peace she looks not troubled by her thoughts, he only wishes she could always be like this.

Ellie wakes up feeling extremely confused, her head pounding and her eyes stinging she quickly thrashes round the couch to find her phone realising that she has 20 minutes until they’re on stage she quickly fixes her appearance and throws on her outfit that Patricia had So kindly helped her pick earlier in the week. She hurriedly makes her way to the side of the stage where the guys are getting ready. Adam pulls her aside and tells her “I told them you fell asleep I didn’t think it was my place to tell them. But Matty knows somethings up.” Ellie nods silently not wanting to discuss what happened, forever grateful for Adam but still feeling that ache in her chest. just need to make it through this show.

As the opening chords to robbers starts Ellie feels her heart sink. This is their song the song he wrote whilst lying head in her lap true romance playing in the background her hands running through his curls. She still recalls him performing it to her for the first time using her acoustic guitar that sat proudly in the corner of her room, she remembers the exact words she whispered to him “that’s going to be the one love” and now years later here they are.

Will they be able to find there way back.

#matty healy #the 1975 #thoughts inside my mind #the 1975 x reader #matty healy x reader #ross macdonald #george daniel #adam hann #about you

[garbinge]

Graduation Day

Jax Teller & OC Joanne ‘Jo’ Teller / Opie Winston x OC Joanne Teller

Fic also includes: Gemma Teller, Clay Morrow, Bobby Munson, and Tig Trager

Summary: The eldest Teller sibling, Joanne Teller, graduates from college with some of the SOA boys and Teller-Morrow family in the audience to cheer her on.

Warnings: Light angst, but fluffy. All my fics are 18+ regardless of content.

Word Count: 2.8k words

A/N: A little slice of life fic for my girl Jo. A little prequel to Charming Life in a way but will still use that taglist!

Charming Life Taglist: @drabbles-mc @livingdeadblondequeen @justreblogginfics​

Jo knocked on Jax’s bedroom door, a small tote bag in her hand.

“Can I bother you?” Her voice wasn’t loud but neither a whisper either.

“Yea, come in.” Jax called out, clearly not eager to greet his older sister at his door. He clocked the bag in her hand immediately as she entered. “I thought I was supposed to be getting you something for graduation.” His smile was one that could earn him a punch to the face easily, and definitely has in the past.

Jo threw the tote onto his bed before leaning against his desk. “It’s just some things to keep you occupied during the ceremony tomorrow.”

Jax leaned over and grabbed the bag and looked through it. Mad libs, activity books, cards. His eyes looked up at Joanne. “I know I’m younger than you, but I’m not 5.”

Jo laughed before pushing off the desk she was leaning on and moved back towards the door. “Trust me, you’ll thank me tomorrow.” She went to close the door before peaking back in. “And I’m still expecting a graduation gift.”

_____________

Jax rolled over, his hand searching for something on his nightstand to tell him the time. 9:01.

“Fuuuuck.” He groaned before jumping out of bed and opening his bedroom door. His voice was calling out quickly. “Mom!” Silence. No one was home. He could have assumed that. The graduation started at 9, Gemma and Clay had probably left at 8, easily.

“Fuck.” Jax cursed again, thinking through what he was going to do. His bike was at Teller-Morrow, he was in the process of adjusting the suspension. Gemma and Clay probably took the escalade which left no way for him to get there.

His hands were quick to dial Opie, praying that he’d pick up this early. They were freshly 21 after all, so waking up before 1 in the afternoon was a rarity. But even though Jax might have started off his morning unlucky, things started to turn.

“Yea?” Opie answered, his voice groggy, probably just waking up.

“You wanna see Jo graduate?” Jax was multi-tasking as he spoke to Opie, moving around his room, picking up clothes from the ground looking for something presentable to wear to the graduation.

“What?” Opie perked up at that sentence, he might have been with Donna, loved her even, but a part of him would always be connected to Joanne Teller.

“I overslept, everyone’s gone, I got no ride and need to be at the Stockton Arena within the hour.” Jax threw his phone on the bed on speaker as he threw a flannel on.

“Alright, I’ll be at your place in 10.” Opie was doing the same thing as Jax now, scrambling to get ready.

“Aim for 5.” Jax said before hanging up and finishing getting ready. Throwing on cologne to cover whatever non-showered, stale cigarette smell he was giving off and then grabbing the black leather box that held the gift he had gotten his sister.

_______

Gemma looked over at the 5 empty seats to her right and then down at her watch. 9:35.

“They couldn’t be on time just this once.” She said under her breath to Clay.

“First, you drag me to this thing and now I gotta hear the complaints too.” Clay said, looking through the program booklet to occupy himself.

Gemma’s eyes rolled and before she could respond back to him, Bobby and Tig were making their way over to them, asking people to let them squeeze through as politely as possible for the two bikers.

“Hi, ‘scuse me, sorry, I love ya, congrats, ‘scuse me.” Tig said as he climbed over the last few people until he reached Clay who was at the end of the row.

“You’re late.” Clay gritted his teeth and spoke under his breath.

“Yea, Tig was indisposed.” Bobby spoke from behind Tig.

Gemma looked up and gave them both dirty looks before moving her legs over so they could take the seats next to them.

“She’s the one, Gem, tall, I’m talkin’ 5’11, easy, biiiiiiig rack.” Tig motioned to his chest to imitate breasts.

It earned a few dirty looks from the surrounding crowd who was trying to pay attention to the graduation.

“Just sit down.” Gemma waved them past.  Bobby plopped down next to Gemma and then Tig next to him.

“Did we miss it?” Tig asked, standing back up now looking at the group of graduates below him looking for Joanne. “Where is she? She decorate her cap with anything?” He pointed to his head as he looked through the rows for Joanne.

“Yea, she’s wearing red.” Clay sarcastically spoke.

Tig looked out and saw the sea full of graduates all in red caps and gowns and nodded before sitting down.

“You hear from Jax?” Bobby asked when he realized there were still empty seats.

“Yea, this morning when he was snoring.” Gemma said, staring at the Jumbotron waiting to see if her daughter popped up on the screen. Bobby snorted at Gemma’s answer.

“Who makes a graduation this early anyways.” Clay leaned over to Gemma.

Just as she was about to speak, Jax and Opie were right at the end of the row.

Opie was there, hair back in a bun, sporting a simple t-shirt and jeans, one hand had a graduation teddy bear in it and the other had a big bouquet of flowers.

Gemma was shocked not only to see Opie, but to see what he brought with him. Opie must have clocked it and spoke up. “Didn’t want to show up uninvited and empty handed, got some things at the stands outside.”

Gemma smiled, she was one of the few that could see Opie’s love for Jo over the years. “You can take Unser’s saved seat, don’t think the Chief woke up in time either.” Gemma moved her stare over to Jax. His hands moved up in innocence and his smile was growing.

“I need my beauty rest, what can I say.”

“Yea, save some for the rest of us you pretty motherfucker.” Tig smirked and greeted Jax as he made his way to the last two empty seats in the row.

Clay stared up at Opie, his brows furrowing, a little angry. The small bouquet of 10 flowers sat in his lap, his eyes moved to Opie’s bouquet, which held easily double the amount of flowers. Opie simply nodded and moved past him, making his way to the very last seat in the row.

“Did we miss it?” Jax asked leaning over to talk to his mom.

“No, apparently these things last hours. Not enough that they charge thousands in tuition but now they have to bore us to death for 4 hours.” She mumbled to her son who was taking out the handful of items Jo gifted him last night.

Bobby looked over at him with his face frowning in confusion until he realized what he was doing. He leaned over to whisper to Gemma. “Enjoy it while you can, not like your other kid is going to college.” He teased.

“You’re going outside the lines.” Tig leaned over and whispered to Jax.

“You’re crossing one.” Jax snapped backwards and pushed Tig away.

“Play nice children.” Bobby called down to them.

Time passed slowly, Clay managed to fall asleep, sunglasses on so no one really noticed. Gemma had contemplated moving to another seat in the arena while the other boys went back and forth but she powered through it.

“Bachelor of Arts? That’s Jo right? Business?” Jax leaned over and called out to Gemma.

“Yea, this is her.” Gemma stood up now, eager to see her daughter. There weren’t many moments in Jo’s life that she could count on her mom, she leaned more on her father and when he passed that void was never filled. Jax might have been the closest person Jo had from her family in her life but nothing could replace JT. But in this moment, Gemma was actually excited, and maybe one would even say proud. Jo knew it was probably more for Gemma than her but she’d accept it.

“Joanne Teller.” The announcer said over the microphone.

The whole row of them stood up and cheered.

Jax was practically frat boy howling, his voice was so loud that it would be a shock if half the arena didn’t hear him. Opie stood the most relaxed out of all of them, clapping but keeping his voice way lower than the rest of the crew.

Clay had clapped and whistled and Bobby matched him with his own whistle while Gemma clapped above her head.

“That’s it baby!!!!!” Tig yelled out as Joanne walked down the ramp and back to the hallway where the graduates all entered from.

Joanne looked up at her family and smiled, she was surprised to see everyone that came. She pointed towards the exit and mouthed a few words that no one really understood except Gemma.

“C’mon.” Gemma said, waving everyone back out on the other side of the row.

“Don’t we have to wait for them to throw up their hats and shit?” Jax frowned.

“You wanna wait for the 200 more kids that have to be announced?” Clay leaned over and asked Jax who turned to look at the large group of graduates that were left.

“Alright, yea.” He stepped out of the row behind Tig.

“Jo’s the one that mentioned it, she’s gonna meet us outside now.” Gemma said as the group of them trekked up the bleachers.

_________________

The Charming crew stood in front of the event center, near a fountain waiting for Jo to arrive except Opie, who had gone off to a kiosk close by to order a cup of coffee.

“They don’t make Irish coffees at graduation ceremonies, Winston.” Jo’s voice caused Opie to turn around quickly, coffee in one hand and graduation gifts in the other.

His smile grew as he saw her in her cap and gown, her one hand resting on her cap to balance it as she stood in front of him looking up.

“And I unfortunately didn’t sneak in any.” He stepped out of line so he was closer to the girl.

“I did.” She reached into her gown and into her dress pocket and pulled out a flask and poured it into his coffee cup before he could say another word.

“Well, uh, I’m driving so…” Opie extended his hand out, now offering the coffee to Jo who was getting red in embarrassment.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry I didn’t…” She began apologizing before Opie cut her off.

“Nah, don’t worry about it, truthfully it was just an excuse to get away from the group for a minute.” They both looked over to the group to see Tig staring at a statue of a woman very intently, Clay and Gemma arguing about something, Bobby downing a muffin from the other kiosk near them and Jax on the phone.

“Wait, driving? You drove here?” Jo said as she took in Opie’s words and her head snapped back to look at him.

“Uh,” Opie felt caught and didn’t know exactly what to say based on Jo’s tone.

“He overslept didn’t he?” She shook her head and looked back over at her younger brother. After a couple seconds she looked back at Opie, she wasn’t going to make him explain, he was a good friend not only to her brother but to her also.

“Those for me?” She grinned and nodded to the flowers and bear.

“Huh?” Opie fumbled, still a little nervous as a whole before looking down and coming to it. “Oh yea,” His hands extended forward and now the flowers and the bear were nestled in her arms. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks Ope,” Jo moved against his torso forcing an embrace on him that he was gladly willing to accept. “Glad you were here.”

The two of them walked over to everyone, Jo was showered with flowers and hugs and congratulations from everyone, even her mother who showed a rare act of appreciation towards her daughter.

“Got this for you.” Jax handed Joanne a black leather box.

She opened the box immediately and she felt her breath hitch.

“Took a piece of dad’s bike to get repurposed into a necklace. It’s not like expensive or anything but–”

“It’s perfect.” Jo cut him off, running a finger over the necklace.

The center of the necklace was the same teal blue as the bike, probably taken from a piece of the old gas tank, and what Jo assumed to be part of the old engine framed the outside of it.  There were small metal work details in it that framed the inside blue piece so perfectly. It was truly a piece of her dad with her on this special day.

“Jax this is,” Jo’s eyes widened as she shook her head. “I don’t know how I’ll ever top this.” She let out a laugh and looked at her younger brother.

“Well good thing I ain’t graduating college anytime soon.” He teased her. “Plus, everything you’ve done for me,” he shrugged, “I kinda owed you.”

Before either of them could continue their conversation, Gemma was interrupting them. It was divine timing and ironic how she knew the perfect time to interrupt.

“Alright, we’ll meet you back at the clubhouse, Bobby put together a little thing for you.” Gemma called out as she walked away with Clay, Bobby, and Tig.

Jax looked from Gemma back to Jo and changed the subject.

“Mom said you’re going home with Micky, so I’ll catch a ride back with them. Congrats!” He smiled at his sister and looked over at Opie, “and thanks, Ope!” Jax was talking as his legs sped up into a jog to catch up to the group, leaving Jo and Opie behind.

“I’ll, uh, let you ride back with Micky, see you back at the clubhouse.” Opie was about to walk away when Jo reached out and grabbed his arm.

“Micky actually,” Jo paused in her statement, embarrassed at what was about to come out of her mouth. “Micky isn’t here, we uh, broke up. But I didn’t tell anyone yet because well, you know how everyone gets.”

Opie wasn’t one to ask questions or pry, so he just simply nodded. “I parked around the corner, I’ll take you home so you can show up on your own, lessen the questions.” Opie said.

Jo let out a scoff, “That’ll never happen and you know it.”

Opie smiled to himself, because he knew it was true. Everyone at the clubhouse would ask questions no matter what. He went to say something to Jo, his head turning to look at her when he saw her holding out the teddy bear he had gotten her.

“This must’ve cost you a fortune, they always rip you off at these things.” She stared at the bear.

“I got a discount because of the lopsided eye.”

Jo laughed, “Gives him character. What should I name him?”

Opie looked at the bear and then at Jo and shrugged. No idea what to call the stuffed animal.

“Winnie. After the person who gifted him to me.” Jo beamed and held the bear out next to Opie.

“Not sure if I should be honored or offended.” Opie teased, pulling his one eye down to mimic the bear.

Jo pushed Opie, he might have towered over her, he always had and now that they were in their early 20’s nothing had changed, but she still was able to trip him up a bit which is when he let out a genuine laugh right before they approached the parking lot.

“$45 dollars for parking?!” Jo exclaimed looking at the sign at the entrance of the lot. “My graduation robbed you blind, I owe you.” Jo said to Opie. “Well Jax owes you more but I’ll collect for you and we can go out.” She teased.

He smiled and unlocked his truck for them both to get in, “Smart idea, look at that college degree paying off.”

“That was the first class I took, ‘how to ethically steal from your brother and reap the benefits with your friends.’”

Friends. It was one word but it gutted Opie. It shouldn’t have, he had Donna, but it did. Opie looked over at his passenger seat to see Jo, still in her gown but her cap now situated with the bear and assortment of flowers she received, her hand running over her hair to fix the flyaways and he thought that at least he got to be a part of her life. He’d take being her friend over nothing, especially if it meant getting to be a part of these big moments.

#sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fanfiction #sons of anarchy fanfic #soa #soa fanfic #soa fanfiction #jax teller #jax teller fanfic #jax teller fanfiction #opie winston #opie winston fanfic #opie winston fanfiction #jax teller x oc #opie winston x oc #jax teller x sister!oc #jax teller sister #teller sister #teller sister oc #oc Joanne #gemma teller #bobby munson #tig trager #clay morrow #charming life #charming life prequel #charming life fanfiction #charming life fanfic

[getosubaru]

𝑔𝓊𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝒹𝑜𝑔

ryomen sukuna x gn!reader

best friends to lovers drabble series; based on these prompts

wc: 639

tw/notes: small text only for description; no curses AU; sukuna & yuuji as twins; choso as their brother; violence (not @ reader); reader gets cheated on; everyone’s 21+; as fluffy as you can get for sukuna

prompt: punching the guy that broke your heart

He might scowl when others call him your bodyguard, but there’s an air of truth to it.

So when you burst through his door in tears, his previous guests flee with a look of terror on their faces.

Everyone knows better than to fuck around with you.

Everyone, it seems, except the piece of shit you’ve been dating for a few months.

Sukuna gets the story out of Yuuji, quick texts sent while you bawled into his ratty t-shirt.

The waste of carbon decided to cheat on you with the coworker he swore was just a friend.

You only found out because you stopped by his apartment to grab your gym bag.

Sukuna’s always been careful to keep his temper away from you, never wanting you to see him go off the deep end. You knew about the bar brawls, the street fights, the run-ins with the cops. But you’d never actually seen him strike anyone.

He locks all that away with you. Your calm, gentle presence humanizes him in a way that he had learned to crave. You bandaged his knuckles, paid his bail, and never asked for more than he could give you.

He wants to give you everything.

But never at the risk of damaging you with his own brutality.

Sukuna waits until you’ve exhausted yourself crying into his chest. Yuuji accepts your weight when his twin passes you to him, nodding at the barely contained bloodlust on his face.

“Choso’s got eyes on him,” says Yuuji. “I’ll text you when Sleeping Beauty wakes up.”

Their eldest brother flicks his finished cigarette away when Sukuna approaches, gesturing at the packed bar across the street. “Megumi and Maki are taking bets over who’s going to be the one to hook the fish.”

“What are the odds on Maki?” asks Sukuna, voice bored and at ease. The only sign of his building rage is his fists buried in the pockets of his hoodie.

“Good enough that Megumi will be paying for most of my back piece.” Choso holds out a collapsable baton, only for Sukuna to shake his head. “Tsk. You’re the one who’s going to have to explain your fucked up knuckles.”

True to form, a grinning Maki leads your ex out of the bar by the hand. He’s a dead man walking, but he hasn’t quite figured it out yet.

Sukuna is happy to catch him up to speed in the alley behind the bar.

“If I ever see your face again…” He punctuates the threat with a kick to the man’s kidneys. “If I ever have to even hear your name again…”

He’s idly aware of Megumi and Choso arguing in the background, his twin’s boyfriend more than a little put out about how expensive Choso’s tattoo artist is.

Sukuna draws your ex up by his bloodied collar and shoves him against the wall. The fucker probably won’t remember any of this, but he’s going to make his point.

“Death will be a mercy too good for you. Understand?”

His answer comes in the form of blood and booze vomited on his shoes.

Sukuna showers the night off, wrapping his hands once they’re disinfected. You’ll scold him if he just lets them heal without anything.

Yuuji’s washed your face and swapped out your tear-stained shirt for one of Sukuna’s old band shirts. The neon horror printed on the fabric is comically contrasted with the peace you radiate in his bed.

You roll over when he climbs in next to you, arms reaching out to pull him closer.

Sukuna thinks you’re still sleeping, still lost in a hazy dreamscape as you nuzzle into his chest and trace your fingers over scars you’ve long since memorized.

“Thanks, ‘Kuna,” you mumble.

He might be the one dreaming when you kiss his chapped, split lips.

“You always protect me.”

tagging a few friends ilysm: @73sorcerer @bunnaccino @satorhime @xo2dee @abberant-butler @muertasanta

a/n: i got way too attached to this little AU so i might come back to it. lmk what characters y'all wanna see next and throw me an ask if you wanna get tagged!

#ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #lo.writes #lo.bffs

[witchersmistress]

Battered and Broken

Hello my darlings, Happy Friday!!! Monster August and Walter are still in time out for being stubborn and no copperating.. bad bad boys

Trigger Warnings: the biggest one is going to be irritation with me, youll forgive me shorty i promise, blood, violence and masturbation

Word count: 7.6 K

its a long one so buckleup and hang on tight

August’s pov

The world comes back slow, like water gathering momentum. I hear voices and soft squeaks and a steady, monotonous beeping. It’s sickeningly familiar. It crashes in fast, like a wave that’s been building. I sit up, my heartbeat sending a machine into a frenzy. I start yanking at the tubes and wires in my face, my arm, my chest. So many fucking ties binding me to life. The squeaks come faster, and a hoard of nurses rushes in, shoving me back when I fight, pinning me to the bed, banging on the button to give me more meds, to sedate me. I don’t want to go under. There’s something important— And then it’s gone. When I wake again, I’m groggy, but I open my eyes this time. My brother is sitting beside me, scrolling on his phone, that damn sucker tucked into his cheek. “Where is she?” I ask. His head jerks up, his gaze flying to mine and then to the door, where our father is standing, his phone held to his ear. Baron takes his sucker out and puts a finger to his lips, turning his back to him so only I can see. “Who?” he asks aloud. Our father makes a ‘hold on’ gesture to us and then steps into the hall. “What the fuck am I doing here?” I demand. “You tell me,” Baron says. “We dropped you off at home and went out, and the next day when we woke up, we saw all these texts from Father saying you were in the ER with a concussion and a fractured skull. Again.” A little more comes back. Calling Dynamo. Meeting Colin alone at the Slaughter Pen. Throwing just enough punches to make him think I was trying. How right his fists felt connecting to my face, almost orgasmic. “When?” I ask, pushing up. I have to get her. The thought is quick and clear, a blow to the solar plexus. “A couple days ago,” Baron says, shoving the sucker back in his mouth. “Fuck,” I say, yanking the tape off my hand and jerking the IV free. Blood spurts from my vein, and my brain doubles back. Blood on Duke’s mouth. Blood on Baron’s dick. Blood on her thighs. “What are you doing?” Baron demands. “Chill the fuck out. You’re drugged out of your mind right now. Just go back to sleep.”

 “Where’s Harper?”

He glances at the door and lowers his voice. “Where we left her. She’s probably dead by now.” I shake my head. No. She can’t be dead. “I have to get her.” “You wanted her dead,” Baron reminds me. “You were going to kill her. I’m the one who told you not to. Remember?” I don’t want to remember that because then I have to remember what she did, the truth Baron showed me on her phone—hundreds of messages laid out over months, revealing the most personal, most shameful details of my life to a stranger on the internet. No, not a stranger. An enemy. She is an enemy. I don’t know why my body keeps fighting even when I remember that. But I have to get out, have to find her, have to know the truth, the reason. I yank the tube in my nose, but it hits the back of my sinuses and makes my head swim. Baron slams his chest down on mine, smacking a call button. “What the fuck,” he growls. “You’re intubated. You can’t pull that out. You’ll rupture your fucking esophagus or something.” I’m still fighting when the fucking army shows up, the nurses in pale blue scrubs that feature in too many of my nightmares already. I fucking hate hospitals. The drugs that cloud your mind, the helplessness, the way they keep you alive when you don’t want any fucking part of it. It’s all way too familiar by now. The way they think they’re saving you, but they’re destroying you. The way they keep you from saving her after you destroyed her.

Harper's POV

The first few days are hard. I don’t get out of bed except to use the bathroom, which is excruciating. There’s no point in objecting. What I want doesn’t matter. It never did. August kept telling me, but I didn’t understand. Now I do.. He never takes off the mask. He takes pictures of my face and body each day. I don’t protest. What’s the point? I sleep when he’s not asking anything of me. I appreciate, in some detached way, how little he wants, how little he bothers me, he asks for nothing, not even a response. I think if he demanded intimacy of any kind, I’d shatter completely. But he doesn’t. He barely touches me. He wakes me and dresses me and brings me to the table each day. He cooks fancy meals for me, but I don’t taste them. I eat, and when I’m done, he carries me to bed, where I curl up under the blankets. The lulling voices on Local News with Jackie fill my head as they drone on about the cost of gasoline and someone overdosing on a new street drug. I don’t hear anything about a missing girl. I fall asleep praying I won’t wake up this time. It’s around the seventh evening, as I’m slumped at the island eating some fancy herbed potatoes with glazed Brussel sprouts and salmon, when my savior and captor lays down his fork. “I have to go out for a while tomorrow,” he says. I don’t answer. I don’t care where he goes. I sleep most of the day. Sometimes the apartment is quiet, and sometimes I hear him exercising or clicking away at his keyboard in the big, open loft where he has a standing desk against one wall. I haven’t wondered where he goes or what he’s doing when he’s gone. It doesn’t matter. “Do you need to go home and get your clothes or anything?” he asks. I shrug. “I’ll buy you some clothes,” he says decisively. I don’t answer. 

“Where do you live, anyway?”

 “Mill Street.”

 My voice sounds creaky and unused. I clear my throat

 “Right.” He sips his wine and watches me for a minute.

 “I’m glad I wore a condom.” 

I don’t say anything. What is there to say? 

“Do you live alone?”

 “Yes”

He leans his elbows on the island, closing his eyes. “Thank fuck.” He always sits me on his good side, but I know why he hides under the mask. He’s a monster under the mask, disfigured and ugly. I push a bite of salmon into my mouth. It’s flaky and salty, but I don’t taste anything. The corners of my mouth have healed, and the angry red tracks across my cheeks from the ropes are gone when I look in the mirror. My body takes in food and water and heals itself. But whatever’s broken beneath the surface doesn’t change. At least you can tell, looking at him, that he’s suffered. “So will, ” he says after chewing and swallowing slowly. “Will anyone be looking for you?” I shake my head no, the only man i cared about left me for dead “Have you talked to anyone?

 “With what?” “Fuck,” he says, raising his hand like he might run it over his face. When he touches the mask, he drops his hand to his lap. “I’ll get you a phone tomorrow.” I shrug. I decide I’ll call him the Phantom, like the masked man from the opera.

 “Why hasn’t anyone called the cops?” “probably because of my job, i'm always gone for weeks at a time” 

“Oh.” He sits back on the barstool, working his tongue around inside his mouth. “That's slightly terrifying” I don’t argue.

 “I’m going up to water my plants before it gets dark,” he says, rising from the island to take his plate to the sink. “Why don’t you come? Get some air. It’ll be good for you.” He takes my plate and wine glass without asking if I’m done. I sit at the island while he cleans up. Each morning, he dresses like he’s going to an office, but every time I wake, I can hear him moving around his apartment, living. His closet is full of different shades of grey slacks and pressed dress shirts in every color. He rolls his sleeves up tan forearms before rinsing the plates and setting them neatly in the stainless-steel dishwasher. Everything here is immaculately clean and organized. I can’t imagine him getting his hands dirty. He opens a door and pulls a small tool bag from a shelf, then gestures for me to follow. I think about staying, but there’s no reason to disobey. He pulls down a drop ladder, and we climb up into a tiny attic space with exposed insulation and a door.  Opening it, he steps through into the blue evening. The door opens onto a flat roof that’s full of potted plants in different sized containers. Leaving me in the doorway, the Phantom unwinds a hose from a spool, turns on a faucet knob against the wall near the door, and starts spraying water over a rectangular box filled with curly purple and pink flowers. Their perfume lures me out onto the roof. I haven’t breathed outdoor air in a week. It’s moist and heavy, clinging to my bare arms like algae. I can hear traffic in the distance, but from the roof, I see only the same field that I can see from the huge windows in the loft below. The grass is tall and brown from winter, but green pokes up in small patches on the ground. I walk to the edge of the roof. I wonder if he’d stop me if I stepped over. There isn’t even a railing. It would be so easy. It would all be over.

I look back at the man who pulled me from the swamp, who went to such lengths to find me and bring me back. He crouches to poke in a big, round pot. His back is to me as he pulls on a pair of gloves from his bag. I could do it. It would be quick. “I got you an appointment at the women’s clinic on Wednesday,” he says. “To be tested for STDs. You can take my truck and bring it back when you’re done.” I step closer to the edge, until my toes are even with the end of the flat roof. I look down at the parking lot below. Try to remember why being up here is better than down there. I lift one foot, watching it hang suspended in the air, like a diver. He looks up when I don’t answer. His gaze moves to the edge of the roof and back to my face. Our eyes meet, and I know he can tell what I’m about to do. I wait for him to say something, to be angry or afraid. To demand to know what I’m doing, if I want to die. “I’ll bring a chair for you next time,” he says, unfolding slowly, cautiously, from his crouched position next to some sprouting plants. I watch him move, how comfortable he is in his body, how confident. He’s quick but unhurried; tall and slender, painfully elegant. He’s built like a dancer, all slim lines and measured grace. He’s at my side before I know what’s happening. His strong hands are gentle on my upper arms as they pull me back. “Good girl,” he says softly, drawing my shoulder blades flush with his chest. I know he’s thanking me for not jumping, for letting him pull me away, but in truth, I don’t have any more desire to die than I have to live. It’s not worth the effort. “You can come up here with me every day,” he says when I don’t answer. “You could use some sun.” We stare out at the overgrown lot next to his building without speaking. His breath is even, his hands barely holding on. But I can feel his heart thudding rapidly against my back with each heavy beat. I scared him. The thought registers in some distant way. He wants me to live. What I want seems equally irrelevant to both of us. There’s no point in telling him, so I don’t, and he doesn’t ask

August pov

“Where have you been?” I spin toward the voice, my hands fisting, adrenaline pumping. I don’t like being taken by surprise. “Out,” I growl. “What the fuck are you doing sitting in the dark?” Baron switches on the lamp beside the couch. Duke is sprawled across the loveseat, his eyes glassy, a tumbler of whiskey in one hand. “You’re going to get us caught,” Baron says. He picks up a sucker and begins to unwrap it slowly, his elbows resting on his knees and his eyes fixed on me. “This is a small town. It’s not New York. It’s harder to hide a murder when there are only a couple a year.” “We didn’t murder anyone,” I snap, hating that he’s the reason for that. He reminded me that death is too kind. That we don’t kill Darlings. “That’s right,” Duke says. “And I’m not afraid of the cops. They’re not NYPD. They’re hicks. What can they do to us?” “If we don’t get sloppy, nothing,” I say. “No one but the three of us know what happened.” The twins glance at each other, that fucking twin telepathy thing that pisses me the fuck off. “Right?” I grind out. “Right,” Duke says. “We didn’t say anything to anyone at work. We’re not stupid.” No, not stupid. They’ve just never done this shit before. Sometimes I forget how little blood is on their hands. And that’s by design. 

Protect our brothers. King would despise me if he knew what we’d done, what I’d let them become. I should have killed her like I wanted, kept them from her, kept myself from having to admit this truth about them—that I knew what they’d do to Harper when I finally let them have her after six months of denying them. It was both their reward for respecting my previous claim and her punishment for betrayal. But I can’t remember when they became the kind of people whose attention is a punishment. The twins look up to King, though, and I’m supposed to fill his shoes. I think of what he’d say, not because I want to be like him, but because it will comfort them. Duke needs that, at least. I’m not sure Baron has whatever it is that makes a person seek comfort. “We didn’t do anything the Darlings wouldn’t have done to us,” I point out. “We eliminated a threat to the family. That’s all. A man has a right to protect his family.” That’s not what she was, and we all know it, just like we all know Crystal’s blood is on my hands. Harper was no threat to my family. She was a threat to me. I finally, truly understand what they went through with Mabel. When it happened, I saw it from the outside, and I felt for my brothers, but I didn’t get it. I thought they were fuckwits for thinking of her as human at all. I didn’t think I was capable of caring about a Darling. But now I know what the Darling girls do to a person when they set their sights on you, when they decide to play. I know how they lie and twist everything until you start to believe that against every odd, even though you know it’s impossible, someone could give a fuck.

“Who was she talking to, though?” Duke asks. “Because he might figure it out.” “I don’t think we need to worry about him,” Baron says, sliding the sucker into his mouth. “She hadn’t talked to him in weeks. She cut him off. He won’t think anything unless it makes the news.” “So, it’s our job to make sure it doesn’t,” I remind them. Our eyes meet. He gets it. He may not have blood on his hands, but he’s got the stomach for it. “Exactly,” he says. He picks up the bottle of whiskey and pours a finger into a glass, then looks me over, his gaze taking in my wet jeans and shoes. “So, again, where were you? Because we’re being careful. But parking beside the road and walking across a huge-ass rice field into the swamp is going to get us caught a hell of a lot faster than anything we might say in the locker room.” “I was looking for her phone.” “Fuck,” Baron says, leaning back and closing his eyes. “She dropped it when she was fighting us.” I nod. Even a dead phone is easily traceable. It doesn’t matter if it is at the bottom of the swamp and will never work again. They can still track it. If the Darlings go looking for her, they’ll get the law involved. They don’t play by our rules, taking care of their own problems. They have no honor. Only a person without honor could do what she did, exploiting someone’s helplessness for their own gain. For a fucking scholarship of all things. Such a pathetic, pedestrian thing. All along, she was nothing but a gold digger. We thought she didn’t know she was Darling, but she must have known. Even if she didn’t, and she really didn’t know who she was talking to, he must have known. And if he gets the cops involved, and they suspect murder, they’ll get the FBI involved. And the FBI will find her phone.

 So we have to make sure no one else looks for her. “You didn’t find her phone?” Duke asks. “No,” I say, scowling at his drunk ass. “I didn’t find it.” “We should tell Father,” Baron says. “He’ll know what to do.” “No,” I say, holding up a hand. “If we need his help, we’ll tell him then.” “Okay,” Baron says, looking skeptical. “So, what now?” “Where’d you put her clothes?” “Shit,” Duke says. “They’re in my bag.” “That’s the kind of sloppy shit we can’t do,” I say. That, and letting her drop her phone in the swamp. If they find that, they’ll search the swamp, and they’ll find her. At least… I think they will. They’ll have a whole team, dogs and infrared gear and shit that I don’t have. I’ve been in that swamp exactly once before today, and it was night by the time we left, and I was… Not entirely present. I barely remember walking into the swamp. I was in survival mode, like those months after Crystal died that I barely remember, and the ones before that I don’t remember at all. I let the monster take care of me, take care of what needed to be done, of what I couldn’t. I was weak, and he was strong. Maybe if I put him in control, he can find her. I’ll have to go back again. But I have a good reason. I looked today, my first day home from the hospital, searching until after dark, but with only my phone’s flashlight and a vague memory of being there before, I couldn’t find where we’d left her. I couldn’t find her.

“What are you thinking?” Baron asks, sitting up straight and setting his whiskey on the coffee table. “Burn her clothes?” “Yes,” I say, stepping into the living room. “She was a Darling. We need to act like it.” I’ll burn everything that ever reminded me of her, all the random shit she left at my house, my notebooks where I wrote poems about her like some pathetic lovesick dog chasing after a bitch in heat. We should burn the whole fucking town to the ground with all the Darlings in it. “She’s one of the disowned Darlings’ kids,” Duke says. “They don’t care about her.” Duke isn’t good with the aftermath, the cleanup, the details. He’s there for the fun and games, but he forgets that after the games, it’s real. “One of them cared enough to find her,” I say. “Even if the grandfather cut them off, one of them reached out to her.” “Or he did,” Duke says. “Well, she’s an adult.” Baron says, trading his sucker for the whiskey. “And her dad doesn't give a shit anyway. Right?” “We need to act like everything’s normal,” I say. For a minute, we’re frozen in confusion. None of us have the slightest idea how to be normal. “No skipping work, though. Now that August’s back, we have to act like it was just about him.” Irritation flares in me, but he’s right. I can’t be the one to go off the deep end over this. Not when it means the twins will go down with me. I should have fucking left them out of it. What was I thinking? I could have done it myself, slit her throat and dropped her in the river. But I didn’t want her in the same river where Crystal drowned. That water is sacred. She deserved swamp water. “I’ll talk to her dad.” “What?” Duke asks, sitting up straight. “Are you fucking crazy?” “No,” Baron says, holding up a hand, his eyes on me. “He’s right. That’s what a normal person would do if his ex disappeared from work. Bring back her shit, ask her dad if she’s okay. Act like you think she went back to Faulkner High.” “And in the process, see what he knows,” I say. And see if Harper’s there. I don’t add that part aloud. I don’t want my brothers to worry. We left her tied to a tree somewhere in that snake-infested swamp. I barely made it out without being bitten by one of the vipers. She couldn’t have gotten away from the ropes, let alone gotten past the snakes and hiked twenty miles back to town without shoes or clothes. Could she? If there’s one person on earth who’s tough and resourceful enough to do that after what we did to her, it’s Harper. And she’ll be out for revenge. So, if she’s alive, why hasn’t she called the cops? And if she’s dead, why can’t I find her body?

#henry cavill #henry cavill x you #henry cavill characters #henrycavill smut #august walker fanfic #august walker imagines #henry cavill imagine #august walker fanfiction #august walker #henry cavill thirst

[theflowerofthecommonwealth]

Power Armor Punch Part Fifty

Heyo we made it!!! (Throws a bunch of confetti into the air and blows into a party horn) If you have somehow been keeping up, I salute you.

Masterlist

Lucille: *dead silent. Can barely hear the others over the sound of the ocean already*

Nick: *running diagnostics to see if he can get some mobility back into his face and neck at least. Being stuck like this kind of gets old after a while*

Gardio: *gently resting his arm on Teshteal’s hat*

Teshteal: *the pressure makes him feel a bit better so he’s not complaining*

Jasmine: (Picking at her side wounds while the words “Mistake” and “Pathetic” ring through her head over and over again in her partial trance, blood trickling out onto her fingers. The wind refreshingly blows through her loose hair, but she doesn’t seem to notice while she mutters to herself)

Lucille: *would make idle conversation if anyone joined her in the cabin but she’s alone, steering the ship. Kind of depressing but hey, not the first time everyone else was doing their own thing while she worked*

Teshteal: *smacks her hand away from her side with his tail* Stop that. You’ll lose your strength if you start gushing blood.

Jasmine: (Shrieks then snaps up, blinking as she mutters something under her breath that either directed at herself or Teshteal. She tucks her hands under her legs and goes back to laying her head on her knees, quietly humming a tune)

Teshteal: *keeping an eye on her, now*

Lucille: *already missing the Commonwealth as they near the island. Soft melancholic sigh, remembering the insanity that went on there* At least I can still get the weather satellite on my pipboy… *misses the weather station she calls home, too*

Gardio: *started to doze. Head sags but bobs just a little with the sway of the boat*

Jasmine: (Takes a sip of water from her bottle and pulls out that babydoll style of singing again) “Sing, keep your spirits high. Sing, pass the worry by. Sing, till the day you die. It’s good for ya…” (Takes a deep breath to soothe herself) “Sing, while your debts are made. Sing, till the bills are paid. Sing, don’t you be afraid. It’s good for ya….”

Gardio: *wakes to Jas’s singing but keeps his head low, knowing she’ll probably stop if he acknowledges it. It sounds so sweet and pleasant to the old ghoul*

Lucille: *about to pull into port in Far Harbor*

Jasmine: (It’s an insanely stupid and naive song to sing right now and in general, but she loved it when she was small) “When old gloom come around. You don’t have to frown. It wont mean a thing, just Boopy-Doopy-Doopy-Doo! Boop-Boop-Be-Doop! (Again she can hit the Boop parts perfectly and sweetly) “Sing, make the day seem right. Sing, so you’d be alright. Sing, and with all your might. It’s good for ya.” (Looks at the Island as she finishes her song, tightening her vest around herself. She glances up to the sky, noting that some dark clouds are on the horizon)

Lucille: *cheakily as she safely docks the boat* Land Ho! Thank you for riding the Good Ship Misery! Finest cruise ship in the world.

Gardio: *looks up and cracks a grin at the joke* I want a refund.

Lucille: *laughs* Sorry, transaction laws only stand on land but not so much at sea.

Teshteal: What kinda shady business are you running here?

Lucille: *tilts her head as she ties off the boat* The free kind. Expensive, right?

Gardio: *slings Nick over his shoulder. He’ll get him situated with some help as soon as he’s on land*

Jasmine: (Slowly rises to her feet, glancing at her Dad while doing so. She doesn’t want to be apart from him… She’s not ready yet, her heart is already pounding. Especially when the distance is so far between them on a dangerous island crawling with creatures and God knows what else)

Teshteal: *already scrambling to get off the boat*

Gardio: *simply steps onto the dock*

Lucille: *second to last to leave*

Jasmine: (Jumps onto the dock, looking out past the town and at the Island, noting the thick fog that’s covering post of the land, save for some spots here and there. There’s a small twist in her heart when she remembers something specific about this island…)

Dogmeat: *bumps Jas’s hand affectionately with his head*

Lucille: *already walking into the town*

Gardio: *strolling after his daughter, noting and dodging now terrified glances by the residents- they were happy when they saw Lucille but then everyone else other than Jas came in*

Teshteal: *forced grin- definitely doesn’t like the disgusted looks of the harbor people. Walking’s more exaggerated, too*

Nick: *managed to get some control over his eyes and is looking around* Just keep walking on. Don’t pay them any mind. They’re like this a lot around newcomers*

Jasmine: (Walks up to Teshteal and takes his hand with a gentle squeeze and hum so she doesn’t scare him, narrowing her eyes at Allen Lee who throws an especially mean glare at the group. The glares aren’t probably directed at her, she’s too pretty and innocent looking. But that doesn’t stop her from getting defensive of her family and friends)

Allen: *scoffs* She brought more of them with her… they just get weirder and weirder, too.

Lucille: *growls bitterly*

Teshteal: *nervous laugh but it comes out almost mockingly*

Allen: You mocking me, mainlander freak?! *pulls out his gun*

Teshteal: Oh no, Sir- never, Sir! I would only mock you if it it suits you, Sir! *his tone has defaulted to mockery, too. He’s not trying to but it sure sounds like it*

Allen: *cocks gun* Open your mouth one more FXCKING time, freak-

Jasmine: (Marches right to Allen with her dagger in hand when she hears and sees the threat, easily grabbing his arm and twisting it at an awkward angle so his gun is aimed at the floor while she points her dagger at his neck with her other hand) (Darkly) “Try me, you will see what happens.” (Leans in, pressing the tip of her knife to his chin while she twists his arm further) “They are not the monster you have to worry about, you ever wondered what a skinned human looks like?”

Allen: *pained cry* Help, I’m being attacked by a mainlander-!

Dogmeat: *growls*

Allen: AND HER DOG, TOO!!

Lucille: You wouldn’t be in this position if you didn’t pull out your gun in the first place, Allen. You know that, right? Now why don’t you shut up and go back to peddling your weapons? Or do I need to get Captain Avery out here to settle this?

Allen: Oh, I’ll have a word with Avery- I’ll make sure this is the last time you ever set foot in Far Harbor again-

Dogmeat: *barks at him bitterly*

Avery: What’s going on here? Allen Lee, did you open your blasted mouth again?!

Allen: *suddenly goes absolutely silent*

Lucille: *smirks under her helmet*

Gardio: *just happy this Allen guy isn’t barking like an angry dog anymore. Reminds him of the thugs that would get brought into the precinct shouting and making things worse for themselves*

Jasmine: (Blinks innocently with her big brown eyes piercing back at him, tilting her head while she looks up at Allen like a little kitten and smiles) (Angelically) “Sir, if you are being attacked why do you not just pull away? I am just a little girl, you are twice my size and a well seasoned harborman. Surely you can overtake me if you really wanted to…” (Subtly puts more pressure on his arm while she pouts her lips. He can’t move without hurting no matter how hard he tries, that’s the fun part with toying with him. He looks ridiculous getting overtake by a small girl with a knife)

Allen: *tugs but quickly stops because of the pain* I can’t-

Avery: What do you mean you can’t? You’re telling me you can’t get yourself out of the whole you dug yourself into? With a child, no less? *indignantly* Huh.

Allen: *tries to move Jas’s hand with his own but that presses the knife into his skin* What the fxck- this is a joke, right?! Avery, you’re just going to stand there and let this happen?!

Lucille: Let what happen? The consequences for your actions? All you had to do was keep to yourself. But no. You had to point your gun at my friend, here.

Avery: So that’s what happened? *to Allen* Is that true?

Allen: I was defending myself from a freak of nature-!

Gardio: He only laughed. That’s not a good reason to pull a gun on someone-

Avery: Okay. I’ve heard enough. Allen. Apologize-

Allen: But-

Avery Don’t question me- apologize and back off. We have enough troubles around here as it is without you raising hell. *to Jas* And once he does, let him go. This is sad enough to watch as it is. *crossing her arms*

Jasmine: (Nods her head, again blinking innocently at Allen) “It is not a joke, I will let go if you do what she says and do not bother us again.” (Lowly so the others can’t hear, her hand squeezing enough so there’s a small pop in his arm) “If you do, there will be severe consequences.” (Sweetly while smiling once more, batting her eyes) “Thank you for playing easy on me, though you really seem mad….”

Allen: Kinda hard to hit you when this knife is digging into my skin- *accident tugs on his trapped arm* OW-!

Gardio: We’re waiting, Allen.

Allen: Keep my name out of your mouth you-

Lucille: *murderously now* Hey. You want to die? Cause you couldn’t shut the fxck up and just apologize? Keep going. It’s not just the kid you’ll be facing if you finish that fxcking sentence.

Nick: *doesn’t like the death threat but he can’t do much about it*

Allen: *frustrated* Fine. I’m fxcking sorry! There! Now leave me the hell alone!

Avery: There. Was that so bad…? *to Jas* You can let go now. Hopefully. *glares at Allen for a moment* He won’t be bothering you again.

Jasmine: (Releases Allen and withdraws her knife, watching with seemingly genuine confusion as the harborman tumbles backwards because she was holding him with so much force) “You do not have to be a Drama Queen about it. I am just a little girl, remember?” (Walks off back to her group while still keeping her perception sharp, tossing her curly hair over her shoulders)

Allen: *leaps to his feet and scrambles away in shame*

Avery: Now, what can I do for you, Lucille? What brings you to the island this time?

Lucille: A few things. *tilts her head at Jas* A friend of hers- goes by the name, “Donovan”. Have you heard of him?

Avery: *pauses in thought* Hm…

Jasmine: (Watches Allen leave as she ties a bandanna on the top of her head to help keep it out of her face, turning to Lucille with interest when she hears her mention Donny)

Avery: I think so- does he look like that fellow? *gestures to Gardio* All wrinkly and corpse like? Cause there is a guy who looks like your glowing companion.

Gardio: So a ghoul. Do you know where he lives? If he’s still sane?

Avery: Well last time I saw him he was- it has been a while since he came down for supplies. He lives at the old lighthouse with a very kind woman. Honestly if it weren’t for them, we would have lost a few good souls to the sea.

Nick: Good to hear.

Avery: Huh. Last time we saw each other, Detective, you were on your feet and less… bare?

Nick: System malfunction. Going to get it fixed.

Avery: That explains everything.

Lucille: Let’s get back on track. You said he lives in the lighthouse? Does he run any sort of business out of the lighthouse?

Jasmine: (Standing close to Gardio, but only because she wants to be near Nick to help calm herself. It catches her attention to hear that Donny is living with a kind woman, though she’d be more surprised to hear if he lived alone)

Avery: They fish but lately I’ve heard rumors they’ve been running some sort of farm.

Nick: That sounds like him. We have a source that claims he works on the sea.

Lucille: So, your hunch might be right. Is this where we part ways?

Nick: Might as well. You, Jas, and Dogmeat- check out the lighthouse. Gardio, Teshteal and I will head on to Arcadia.

Lucille: Got it. *to Avery* Thanks for the help, Captain.

Avery: *smiles at her* Anytime, Lucille.

Gardio: *nods with a kind smile at Avery then starts walking to the hull*

Teshteal: *follows him*

Jasmine: (Keeps expressionless and quiet but on the inside shes screaming and panicking as she follows along. She takes out the piece of paper that contains the command words and gives it to Teshteal) (Quietly) “Give it to Nick when he is ready, before I change my mind…” (Points to her head, trying not to cry like a baby that needs her parent. She really rather not split up and wants to go with her Dad instead)

Teshteal: *takes it and nods. He’ll get it to him as soon as he’s fixed*

Gardio: *already outside the hull, glowing a bit more thanks to the fog* Are you coming, officer?

Teshteal: *spins on his heel with a grin, already pocketing the page* Yes sir, chief! *catches up to him and they start walking away*

Lucille: *turns to Jas after waving them off* Ready to go?

Jasmine: (Watches the departing group leave for a long moment before vaguely nodding at Lucille, trying to control her shaking while she pulls her hood over her head but opts out of putting on her mask)

Lucille: *isn’t going to press her about it- but it would be wise to wear it. She starts walking on to the lighthouse, following the route on her pipboy overlay in her helmet*

Dogmeat: *follows Lucille then stops to look at Jas to make she’s coming*

Gardio: *listening to Nick tell him how to get there*

Teshteal: *his horns and tail glow brighter in the fog, too… maybe something to do with the radiation.*

Jasmine: (Not wearing her mask because she can’t fucking breathe properly with how tight her chest is compressing. Nevertheless, she closely and calmly follows along with her hand near her gun and her focus on their surroundings as sharp as she can make it)

Teshteal: *does end up having to kill a couple of trappers along the way. They stick out like a sore thumb in the fog so they attract more attention*

Gardio: *still pretty handy with his pistol despite having to hold a synth*

Lucille: *luckily hasn’t run into anything yet. She keeps an eye out for enemies, though*

Dogmeat: *sticking next to Jas the entire time*

Jasmine: (Resisting the urge to scratch her sides to relieve the stress and pent up emotions, focusing on the scenery and taking deep breaths so she doesn’t faint instead. She’s staying quiet and small so she doesn’t draw attention to their little trio. Overhead the dark clouds have settled in over the island, getting a greenish tint to them)

Lucille: *sighs bitterly* Looks like a rad storm. I wish I could do something about that… probably better if we make a run for it. *considers the satellites but she only pulls that out if it looks really bad*

Teshteal: *having a field day slaughtering gulpers they ran into*

Gardio: *had to set Nick down just to help*

Jasmine: (Quietly) “I will be alright in the storm, but we can run if we need to.”

Lucille: I suggest we run anyway. We’ll get to the lighthouse faster.

Teshteal: Well that was fun. Back on the road, I guess. *stops when he sees Gardio* You okay?

Gardio: *spacing out but snaps out of it* Just a little overloaded on radiation. Give me a moment. *takes in a deep breath and lets out a concentrated burst of radiation through the cracks in his skin*

Teshteal: So radiation still hurts you in a way?

Gardio: It… can overwhelm me. I sometimes get this weird sense of something… *rubs his fingers together as he thinks* Otherworldly pulling at me when I absorb too much. I’d rather it not. I still want to go to Heaven after I die. *wry chuckle as he picks up Nick*

Teshteal: *doesn’t know if he should be concerned for his friend’s sanity or impressed he still ascribes to any religion after living through the bombs*

Jasmine: (Nods her head. She’ll adjust her speed to Lucille’s so she doesn’t end up bolting ahead. It’s actually something she’s good at, you can’t exactly play with other kids who have half your stamina and strength without adjusting, otherwise you just mop the floor with them every time)

Lucille: *breaks into a full sprint, charging forward down the path until she needs to walk again to build up stamina, then it’s another full sprint*

Dogmeat: *chases after them, tongue flopping out of his mouth and flapping in the wind*

Nick: You still believe in that sorta thing, Chapel?

Gardio: I do. Especially now. For so many reasons- especially Lucille. My sweet little Lucille… *smiles remembering a little girl playing with toy cars on the floor of their home*

Teshteal: … She’s so tall. And kind of mean.

Gardio: She… does have her moments. Don’t let that color your judgement. She’s always been a good and helpful kid.

Teshteal: *goes quiet*

Jasmine: (Maintains a good balance of not running too far ahead, slowing down whenever Lucille needs to replenish her stamina. She’s glad they are running now, it helps keeps her mind off everything else, running is what’s she does when she wants to get away from anything too stressful, wether it be physical or mental)

Lucille: *comes up on the lighthouse just as the thunder starts rolling overhead. Soon she’s knocking on the door*

Gardio: *strolling up the hill with Nick over his arms. Not much longer until they’re in Acadia*

DiMA: Hm? *gets out of his chair* Who are you? I don’t believe we’ve met- *notices Nick draped over Gardio’s shoulder like a sack of beans and runs up to the two* Brother? Is that you? What happened??

Gardio: *raises an eyebrow in confusion* Brother…?

Teshteal: *shrugs* I don’t remember if he had one or not-

Nick: I do. DiMA, these two are Gardio Chapel and Teshteal. Old coworkers of mine- or rather the original Nick’s. Either way, they’re friends. I wouldn’t have made it up here without them.

DiMA: Yes- well, you know my policy, Nick. Any friend of yours is-

Nick: Welcome? Yeah. I know. Sorry to cut to the chase but is Faraday around? I’m gonna need some dire maintenence done. I’m stuck in this… safe mode and I can’t move an inch!

DiMA: *confused at first* Faraday-? *nods understandingly* Of course! Of course! He’s in the room just over-

Faraday: *walks in, rubbing his neck* I heard my name. What’s happening…?

Jasmine: (Takes a moment to examine the lighthouse that may be her childhood friends home, glossing over all its details)

The Lighthouse: (Surrounding the main building is large handmade barrier with two exits, one main that the bridge is leading to and off one side that leads down a dirt path. The main gate that they walked through has a sign that reads, “Traders Welcome” is hanging over it. There’s a neat line of turrets rumbling along the guard posts to ward off anything or anyone that crawls out of the fog with malicious intent. The lighthouse itself seems to be well in the process to be restored to completion. Most of the holes in the walls have been patched up either fully or temporarily with layers of tarp and the roof is completely fixed with new shingles. Prewar times there used to be two porches that lead into the home, but now it seems that the inhabitants have turned the left porch into a new separate room by walling it off)

Dog: (Starts barking up a storm from the inside, not aggressively but to alert the household that they have guest)

Ghoul: (Opens the main door after a few minutes and gives a friendly smile at the small group on his porch as he leans on the doorframe. He’s well around six feet tall and sturdy built for the Wasteland, neatly dressed too in quality homemade work clothes. There’s a bandana covering his brown hair that he managed to keep, and a eyepatch is covering his right eye) “Hello! What can I do ya three for?” (For a ghoul, his voice is surprisingly smooth, could very well pass for human if no one took a look at his face)

Dog: (Curiously pokes her nose from behind the ghouls legs, trying to catch a whiff of the newcomers)

Jasmine: (Suppresses a whimper and freezes when she sees him, blinking slowly at the man from the bottom of her hood. Even though he’s a ghoul and so much older from when they were last together…. she can still recognize him. Somehow he still has that same goofy yet mature Donny look to him that she couldn’t miss from a mile away. Ah, he’s even wearing that stupidly dorky orange shirt under his jacket…)

Donovan: (Completely oblivious to the fact that his Rosalinda from years ago is standing right there a few feet in front of him while he stands there to keep the dog from barging out)

Dogmeat: *walks up and timidly sniffs at the other dog with a small wine, trying to get a good read on her*

Lucille: Hi, it’s about to storm and we need a bit of shelter until it passes. Would you mind letting us in until then? *is not about to lead with “Hi I brought an old friend. We don’t know each other so take my word for it!” That would be suspicious as hell*

Nick: Ah! Faraday! Could you help an old synth out?

DiMA: He says he’s in some sort of “safe mode”. Would you be willing to help him?

Gardio: Lucille said you know a thing or two about this stuff-

Faraday: Of course I do. It’s kind of what I do around here.

DiMA: Faraday, you know you do more than that. Why else would I consult you and Chase?

Faraday: *pauses then sighs* I guess you’re right… *to Gardio* Bring him to the back and we’ll get started.

Gardio: *does so*

Donovan: (Smiles even more warmly) “Hiya there pup.” (Steps aside to let the dog behind him out to greet Dogmeat)

Dog: (Borks happily when she’s free to start sniffing everyone with her tail wagging. She goes straight to greeting Dogmeat, her feet tapping with excitement at a new potential puppy playmate)

Donovan: (To Lucille as he gestures inside) Oh yeah, that’s perfectly fine! These storms sure do come in out of-…”

Jasmine: (Reaches up and pulls off her hood while raising her head, looking at Donny straight in the eye to test him. She’s not walking into a strange house with the chance the household will get hostile when Donovan see who she is)

Donovan: (Completely taken off guard by her sudden reveal of piercing amber eyes that bore into his soul, staring at the girl with his mouth partly open) “I- Wha-….” (Stands straight and slowly crosses the porch to the girl, lowering his voice to a whisper) “Rosalinda…?” (Reaches up and cups her cheek with one hand, checking to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him)

Jasmine: (Flinches at him coming close and when he touches her face but she doesn’t push him away, just gives a vague nod while she stares up at him expressionless other than a small glint in her eye)

Donovan: (Getting choked up at the realization that his childhood friend who was taken away from her loving family and friends is standing in front of him, over two hundred years since that awful day and the end of the world) “Rosie!” (Pulls her into a tight hug) “Oh my god…”

Jasmine: (Stiffens a little at the hug and looks at the ground. Ignoring the blaring alarms in her head and the tightness/pounding in her chest, she slowly lifts one arm to give him a half hug back, remaining expressionless)

Donovan: (Pulls back after a moment, gently tilting the young girl’s chin up so he can get a better look at her. His eyes roam her face, sensing that something is very wrong with his Rosalinda. She’s not lively, there’s not even a spark in her eyes) (Softly with concern) “Are you alright? What happened to you, Ro-Ro?”

Jasmine: (Drops her hands to her sides, silently shaking her head while she looks to the floor once more. Rain trickles down from the sky a little more, making the reunion more cinematic)

Donovan: (Raises his head to glance over at Lucille, silently asking who she is and why she’s accompanying a very depressed Rosie)

Lucille: Here’s the truth- we actually came here so she can see you. She’s been through hell- probably worse than that.

Dogmeat: *does the playful stretch with his rear to the air and chest to the ground to show he’s game for playing*

Lucille: I know it doesn’t look like it but her adopted father, Nick, has been giving everything he can to take care of her. And I do mean everything. *urgently* Now can we please get out of the rain? It’s not good for her wounds-

Donovan: (Looks up at the rain that’s starting to pour down like crazy, thunder clapping and the wind blowing strong enough to knock down some wimpy branches off trees) “Wounds? Hell? Oh- yes! Of course!”

Jasmine: (Frozen in place with wide eyes, unsure what to do with herself. She can’t even start to think of the right words to say, it’s all mumble jumble in her mind)

Dog: (Bolts back inside the house when the thunder starts)

Donovan: (Takes Jasmine by the shoulders and quickly guides her inside, closing the door behind Lucille and Dogmeat)

Dog: (Shakes herself out, rolling on her back on the mat that’s in the mud room to help dry off)

Ghoul Woman: (Comes in from the kitchen at the sound of new people in her home) “Donny? Who are our guests?” (Glances out the window and at the sky that’s really starting to drum up to a raging radstorm, lightening being added to the chorus) “And in this weather, are you two dearies lost? Do you need to stay somewhere warm and safe for the night?”

Donovan: (Looks at the ghoul lady, then down at Jasmine who’s trembling) “It’s Rosie, Mama… She’s alive, little Rosalinda made it through the bombs…”

Jasmine: (Initially confused because Donny’s mother lived away from Donovan and his father and also didn’t resemble this woman in anyway)

Ma: (Gets a quizzed look on her face while she crosses the large house to the group) “Come again? Rosalinda? Her? Right here?”

Donovan: (Senses Jasmines confusion) “Tía Evelyn, remember? She ran the cafe-…” (Doesn’t get any further because Ma is already standing by them and staring intently at Jas)

Ma: (Recognizes the teen and immediately drops to her knees and starts fretting over her like a mother would as tears well up in her eyes. She cups Jasmines face with both hands and frantically looks over her features) “Oh, oh! Rosita-linda! Baby girl, look at you! You’re so big now, and beautiful! Dear me- you’re wet and freezing!” (Shrugs off her thin cardigan that’s over her house dress and wraps the girl in it, frowning at how small her frame is) “Honey, how long have you been alone out there? You’re so thin and frail now, look at your pale skin. Sweetie, that’s not like you at all…”

Jasmine: (Getting teary with all the confusing emotions that are making her malfunction because of how familiar and kind these two are. But that triggers the alarms in her head, and those aren’t any fun to deal with while she tries to remain expressionless)

Dogmeat: *shakes himself dry as soon as he’s inside the house*

Lucille: Again, hard to believe but she looks a lot better than when Nick found her. *blinks behind her layers of helmet. She’s choosing to stay in her armor until she knows whether or not she’ll have to fight* Does Commonwealth news make it out here? He’s a well known detective there.

Gardio: *reaches the workshop* Why… is there blood on the ground?

Faraday: Because sometimes this doubles as an infirmary. *pats the operating table. Set him here and then we’ll start.

Gardio: *lays nick out on the table*

Faraday: Now let’s see what’s causing all this… *opens Nick up* Oh… that is a LOT of grime. I’m going to need you to shut down so I can safely clean you out. Can you do that, Nick?

Nick: I don’t like it but sure- anything to make me a real boy again. *chuckles at the reference before shutting himself off*

Jasmine: (Completely motionless while she stares up at the two adults, she looks like she’s both terrified out of her mind and confused)

Ma: (Rushes over to a cabinet to pull out several towels) “Ah, maybe so but I’m not so sure. We just settled down here after living down south for the past two hundred years.” (Puts down a pile for Lucille to use on a little table if she chooses to then goes back to Jas, blotting away the water from her hair and arms) (Worriedly) “Pobrecita…”

Jasmine: (Allows her to do this, barely breathing anymore while her heart roars in her ears. She might’ve started swaying if Ma wasn’t holding her shoulders)

Donovan: (Looks to Lucille with interest and maybe a bit skepticism) “But do tell us, you say this Nick character is her adopted father?” (Looks to Jas for confirmation on this claim)

Jasmine: (Not much help while she’s malfunctioning)

Donovan: (Frowns deeply at his childhood friends unnatural behavior, Rosie wouldn’t act like this. And this lady is claiming she was worse off earlier?)

Lucille: Yes. He’s a very kind man. Has a penchant for helping those in need who have no one else to turn to. *holding the towel awkwardly. She supposes she could dry her armor*

Faraday: *steadily working at cleaning out a Nick’s internals, grumbling things here and there*

Donovan: (Narrows his eyes slightly at this brief explanation) “Hm….”

Ma: (Reaches to help Jasmine take off her soaked vest and jacket so she can hang them up on the coatrack to dry) “Princesa….”

Jasmine: (Catches Ma’s wrist to stop her before she can reach the zipper, eyes glistening with tears while her bottom lip trembles) “Do not call me that…. Do not call me by any of that…..”

Donovan: (Goes back to being concerned for the girl) “Rosalinda?” (Steps closer, kneeling down on one knee to examine her while she shakes. He spots the faint strangle marks that are on her neck, fueling his turning thoughts)

Ma: (Softly) “Okay then…..” (Gently unties the bandana from her hair and strokes her damp curls, tucking them behind her ears. When she does this it reveals to them the bruises on her face) “Sweetie, You’re gonna catch your death if you stay in those wet clothes and shoes….” (Exchanges a look with Donovan)

Jasmine: (Swallows a lump in her throat and quickly zips down her wet vest and jacket, holding them in one hand while she kicks off her muddy shoes at light speed)

Donovan: “Whoa whoa, whoa! Slow down Rosie!” (Catches the girl while she sways and almost falls over from being off balanced, holding her by the shoulders while she flinches)

Ma: (Takes the clothes from her, hanging them on the coatrack before she puts Jas’s shoes on its own rack with the other shoes. She bustles over to a small fireplace by the staircase and starts tossing in wood to make a fire to warm up her guests)

Donovan: (Guide’s a trembling Jasmine out of the mudroom to be closer to the fire, glaring back at Lucille to see what she does as he sits Jas down on the sofa)

Lucille: *following them. She’s staying on alert- anyone that friendly and accepting off the bat without needing something in return is always a bit suspicious after roaming the wasteland for a while, specifically those living IN the wasteland and not somewhere like… 88, Goodneighbor, Diamond City, or even the Railroad or Minutemen’s larger settlements* I want to give you more answers, I really do, but I need to know more about you two first… I’ve heard you’ve helped Far Harbor by keeping them safe in dire situations and I can deeply respect that- they’re good people for the most part. Other than that, that’s all I really know about you, so forgive me if I seem on guard, especially for her sake.

Faraday: Does Lucille EVER do any maintenance on him?

Gardio: Wouldn’t know. We only reconnected a couple of days ago.

Faraday: Reconnected?

Gardio: Yes. You heard right. Reconnected- I’m her father.

Faraday: Interesting. You look nothing a like.

Gardio: *sighs* Imagine I have a full beard and all of my hair.

Faraday: … Still don’t see it.

Gardio: And human.

Faraday: Sorry, I can’t seem to picture it. Are you sure you’re her father?

Gardio: Am I sure- Yes! Absolutely sure! I was there when she was born! *tearing up at the memory of the news of his wife passing, then holding little baby Lucille with only a small tuft of purple hair on her head*

Teshteal: *climbs up like a monkey on Gardio’s back then perches on his shoulders with his hands on his hat with a giant false grin* Hey, hoo! Let’s go walk around the observatory! Meet the locals and have some fun! What do you say, big man?

Gardio: *looks up and sees the stupid look on his partner’s face. He almost writes it off as him being immature but the widened pupils and overall pleaful look in his eyes say otherwise. He cracks a grin* Sure, partner. Sure. Let’s leave him to his work.

Teshteal: *cheers* Yay! *bumps his head on the ceiling* OWIE! *crouches back over Gardio’s head and slumps off his back while clutching his own skull* I forgot how tall you are-!

Gardio: *as he leaves with the gremlin* Surprised- you’ve been staring up at me since your first day on the job.

Teshteal: *complains like a child* I couldn’t climb on you, then!

Gardio: *laughs* You could, you just needed help, which I refused to give.

Teshteal: *over-exaggerated pout*

Donovan: (Puts an arm around Jas as he sits next to her, ignoring Lucille for a moment) “Rosie, are you alright? Please, talk to me….”

Jasmine: (Just sitting there with her arms crossed over her chest, lightly rocking herself as she stares at the ground)

Ma: (Looks extremely worried as she rushes off to bring a blanket to wrap the girl in, carefully tucking it around her shoulders. She glances at Lucille, then at Donny, then back at Jazzy)

Donovan: (Glares back up at Lucille, holding Jas a little more protectively) “And we don’t know you, but we know Rosalinda. And our Rosie she doesn’t act this inanimate, not even in the most horrible moments.” (Rubs the girls shoulder, trying to get a sign of life. Last time he saw her, she was kicking and screaming like she was rage and fury itself, now look at her…) “Her mother was a good woman, she’d be rolling in her grave if we allow something-…”

Young Woman: (Opens the back door and steps aside as the wind blows behind her to let in a hoard of (strangely enough) prewar chickens and roosters into the house. In her arms is a large cage that’s filled with little chicks that peep in protest of being held captive) “Oh, we have guests.” (Looks to Donovan, then at the sopping wet flock) “You were suppose to help me, now they are all wet.”

Donovan: (Apologetic grimace) “Sorry Joyce, I was greeting our guests.”

Ma: (Sighs at all the mud and water the chickens are tracking in, cracking a small smile when when comes up to affectionately nuzzle by her legs) “We need to fix that coop.”

Joyce: (Momentarily sets down the cage of baby chicks and claps her hands, rounding up the flock into one temporary gated area in the living room by shooing them into place with a broom)

Jasmine: (Stares at the flock with wide eyes, getting more confused and overwhelmed)

Lucille: Aww… I haven’t seen prewar baby chicks in so long. Poor little guys… *realizes she’s getting distracted by the tiny chicks in the cage then back to Donny* You want to know my story? Fine. I was a lawyer before the war. I had a family with my best friend- a family I never knew I could have. I won’t bore you with the details, but… *sadly* They’re all dead. Died after the bombs- by one means or another.

Dogmeat: *sniffing at the chickens*

Lucille: *crosses her arms* I still miss when Diamond City was Fenway Park. When the subway lines were used for trains and not raider dens. I used to take them to and from classes at Cainbridge when I lived in Boston. Honestly, if I’m right, this whole island used to be a national park. *points at the floor of the lighthouse* I was frozen for 200 years- even now it still feels like yesterday when cows had one head and all their fur.

Dogmeat: *sensing her sadness, he trots over to Lucille and rubs his head against her leg*

Lucille: *smiles beneath her helmet and pats his head lovingly* Hey boy… *back again to Donovan* As for her being this way? Blame the people that took her, not me. They’re the ones that hurt her and broke her in unimaginable ways. They’re the ones who made eating- a basic necessity for survival- difficult for her and anyone trying to help her. I’m just fulfilling a promise to her father to get her here as safely as I can.

Dogmeat: *affirming bark*

Donovan: (Listens to Lucille’s story with his lips pressed into a thin line when he hears about her family and recount on how things used to be) “So you’re prewar, huh….” (Looks back down at Jas, holding her closer to his side) “And I’ll assume you both had been frozen to be able get here into the future.”

Ma: (Staring at Lucille with interest as she puts more wood into the fire) “And you say that you know people took Rosie. What do you mean by they “broke her”, is that why she’s not speaking to us?” (Rises back to her feet, again tucking the blanket around the girl to help her feel more secure) “What did they do to you, sweetheart?”

Jasmine: (Whimpers softly when she’s reminded of that terrible place, pulling up her knees to her face)

Donovan: (Doesn’t look that convinced, but he’s more worried about Jasmine at the moment. She’s a mere shattered fragment of the bright optimistic girl that he, Ma, her family, and friends adored so much)

Dog: (Proudly showing off to Dogmeat her collection of chew toys and soft dog bed that’s placed right by the fireplace, tossing a stuffed duck into the air)

Dogmeat: *runs up and again does the play stretch after seeing a toy tossed by the other dog. Playful bark*

Lucille: *sees Jas tense up at the mention of the vault. Finally decides to let her guard down due to how earnestly they’re trying to take care of the girl* Probably better if I wrote it down for her sake. Just mentioning that place probably caused a rush of traumatic memories to resurface for her, now. *pulls out a pen and paper from her bag and writes*

The note: “They broke her in every way possible- stripped her of her identity. They experimented on her, forced her to kill innocents, assaulted her- physically and sexually-, probably poisoned her food, and so much more. It was all to make the perfect soldier. The perfect weapon. The only reason I know any of this is because Nick’s been trying to figure out her past so he can better help her. He’s dived into her memories because she won’t talk about it openly and couldn’t at the time. That sounds like a breach of privacy- and in most cases it would be- but she was shutting down to the point it was life threatening.”

Lucille: *decided it would be best to leave out the events that put Jas in that state in the first place. That’s not important right now, especially with them being so on guard around her*

Gardio: *Stops by Aster’s lab* Oh, hello. This is a nice horticulture lab.

Aster: Oh- thank you! It certainly gives me something to do around boring old Acadia.

Gardio: Come on, surely there’s other things that happen here.

Aster: There is but there’s not much to it. Some of us take up fixing things, others run the shop. I, as you see, grow and experiment on plants! *soft chuckle*

Gardio: So no art? Self expression of any sort? Is it prohibited here?

Teshteal: Does DiMA not like fun?

Aster: No- we just… haven’t figured out how to express ourselves beyond what we know how to do. It might be a few years before some of us break out of our old habits, you know?

Gardio: Ah. I see. *looks around at the plants*

Teshteal: *decides to eat a bloodleaf*

Dog: (Tosses the toy up in the air and over to Dogmeat, willing to share if he wants to play with her)

Dogmeat: *catches it and goes absolutely ham biting it and shaking the toy violently as dogs do. Playfully growls and pins the duck while tugging at its body*

Ma: (Takes the not from Lucille first and her entire face breaks into one of pure horror when she reads the note. She just stands there in shock, eyes watering when she thinks of the bubbly little girl who used to pop her cute head into her cafe with that beautiful smile she always had on) “Dear Lord above….”

Donovan: (Hasn’t read it yet) “Huh, what is it?” (Takes the note from her frozen fingers, quickly glossing over it. He doesn’t say anything, just pulls Jazzy close to his chest with both of his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head)

Jasmine: (Blinking slowly as she’s held, biting her tongue as her brain starts to sort itself out)

Joyce: (Silent as she watches the scene unfold, still holding the cage of chicks while she looks at her two friends grim reactions. She has no idea what’s going on, or who Jas and Lucille are, or if she should just back out of the room)

Fishermen: (Comes in from the door that leads to the lighthouse with a hearty laugh, stopping dead in his tracks when he reads the room) “Uh, is this a bad time?”

Ma: (Rises to her feet, plastering on a forced smile) “No, it’s fine. The soup is almost ready, you boys up there must be hungry.” (Rushes off to the kitchen mainly to calm down, wiping tears off her face. She motions to the fisherman to quickly follow her into the kitchen, to which he obeys wordlessly)

Lucille: I believe Nick hoped seeing you would help her open up. Maybe even bring some of the kid you used to know back, even just a little. He can only do so much…

Gardio: Say- have you considered making paints from the plants? You could make murals to liven the place up. *smiles kindly at her*

Aster: I… you know, I never thought about that. People used to use plants as dyes all the time. *nods* Thanks for the idea. *smiles* Maybe I can capture the beauty the aster used to have in a painting.

Gardio: There you go! Perhaps you’ll inspire others to make paintings!

Teshteal: You could paint stuff on wood and sell them to settlements!

Gardio: You’d be able to use trade for diplomatic purposes, build report among the other island residents.

Aster: Oh- I wouldn’t want to usurp DiMA when it comes to handling that.

Gardio: Who said you’d be handing those matters? Others would be making art, too.

Aster: Ah. Good point.

Dog: (Barks happily and starts playing with the other pup a game of keep away)

Donovan: (Speechless at the moment, wondering how severe and downright evil her situation was in order to get Rosalinda of all people to break down like this. God, he doesn’t even want to start imagining the possibilities)

Jasmine: (Blinks as she starts to catch up with all that happened and gets over the initial shock, the burning question that has been driving her crazy in her head for a years coming back. She pulls back from Donovan with more life in her eyes as she stares up at him)

Donovan: (Look down at her and notices this, opening his mouth to say something)

Jasmine: (Bluntly before he can speak) “What happened to them?”

Ma: (Raises her head at the sound of the girls voice and rushes back over to the living room, immediately knowing what she’s asking)

Donovan: (Only stares at the girl when she finally speaks and asks the question, straightening up) “What-?”

Jasmine: (Repeating herself, staring him down with kitten fire) “What happened to them?”

Donovan: (Sighs and shakes his head sadly, thinking of the right words to say to the delicate girl while still processing the contents of the note) “Rosie, hold on a moment-…”

Ma: (Leans on the wall that divides the living room from the dining room, tears on her face as she watches the teen)

Jasmine: (Firmly takes ahold of his wrist, pulling him closer) “They did not die during or after the bombs, I saw their graves. You know what happened to them, so tell me.”

Donovan: (Exchanges a glance with Ma, taken aback by her sudden burst of kitten fire. Still, this feels a little off from her prewar attitude, she still seems petrified about something)

Jasmine: (Quivers a little) “Please, I need to know. I could not figure it out and it has been so long….”

Donovan: (Heavy sigh as he taps his fingers on his knees) “You wanna talk somewhere else?” (Gestures around the crowded and chicken infested living space) “We can go to the attic, we’ve built a sitting area up there.” (Knows what he’s going to say will make her rightfully upset, but once Rosie wants to know something there’s no stopping her…)

Jasmine: (Studies him for a bit, trying to control her trembling as she swallows) “Fine.” (Release his wrist, glancing at her shaking hands as she stands and turns to the staircase)

Donovan: (Also stands to go with her)

@lucilleandherrobots

#Pfffft. Get recked Allen Lee! #My guy got owned by a small girl who was only wielding a knife #Lol Jas was having so much fun there. This is when she can appreciate her given skills #fallout 4 #fallout #fo4 #fallout original character #fallout oc #fallout roleplay #fallout rp

[potterandpromises]

if brokenness is a work of art, surely this must be my masterpiece

I finished Only Murders In the Building last weekend and these two have taken over my brain. Predictably, I needed to write the missing space between when Theo sees Mabel on the subway and when she wakes up in his bed ASAP.

As it isn’t clear whare Theo’s new apartment is, I choose to set it in the Arconia, because there’s something heartbreaking about the idea of him walking into a building full of people he’s known (of) his whole life, none of whom he can turn to for help.

The title is from Neptune by Sleeping at Last.

Also on AO3

Theo catches up with Mabel a block from the subway entrance. She’s stopped fleeing, stands under a streetlight pole, gaze unfocused, a bloody object griped in her hand.

He gets ready to bear hug her in case she turns and steps into traffic at the sight of him.

“Are you hurt?” he signs slowly, carefully mouths the words.

She looks up, looks right through him.

He glances over his shoulder. A few people are staring, but at least nobody’s whipped out their smartphones. Yet.

“That blood on your sleave isn’t yours, is it?”

She doesn’t react, doesn’t even look down to see what he’s indicating. It wouldn’t make a difference if she knew ASL. Not tonight. Probably, her reaction would be the same if he spoke English or Icelandic. He’s not even sure she recognizes him through her fog. That might be for the best.

He slouches, makes himself a little smaller, takes another step towards her.

“Let me take you back to my apartment,” he signs, “so you can rest.”

In his peripheral, some guy pulls out his phone. Theo takes a chance. He puts one arm around Mabel’s shoulder.

She lets him.

With his free hand, he pries what he realizes is a blood-covered knitting needle from her fingers. She watches his hand, face imperceivable.

He shoves the knitting needle into a side pocket, keeps his arm around her shoulder, and gently but firmly turns her around.

One foot in front of the other, he tracks the looks from strangers, the sidewalk before them, and Mabel’s face. 15 minutes, he pulls her along and she doesn’t open her mouth once, as far as he catches.

He guides her through a side entrance of the Arconia. It’s five flights of stairs to his new apartment.

She begins to shiver. Theo sweats under his coat.

He unlocks the door, leads her to his bed and pulls the comforter onto her lap. Belatedly, he wonders if she’ll get the wrong idea, maybe punch him in the face. He can’t say he wouldn’t forgive her. Immediately.

Her shaking becomes less violent. She looks around the room, bewildered. He turns off the overhead light and switches on the lamp. Without warning, she starts to pull at her coat as if it were strangling her.

He steps in, ready to help her out of it, and takes in her baby blue sweater. He triple checks that the blood really does belong to her attacker.

She stops struggling and glares up at him. Her coat still clings behind her shoulders.

“Sorry.” He helps her out of it, drops it in a pile on the foot of his bed.

Theo walks the few feet to his couch, tries to feel less creepy. This would all probably be easier if he had a female friend to call. Or anyone.

“I will sleep on the couch tonight.” He gestures to it, makes himself very clear. “Try to rest now, you’ll feel better in the morning.” Hopefully, anyway. “Goodnight.”

Mabel stares at him dully. Her head tips forward slightly and, to his utter shock, she flops backward into his pillow.

His chest is tight. He doesn’t care to examine why. Mabel rolls onto her side, adjusts a hoop earing, and goes still.

He’s still. For what feels like hours but must only be a few minutes, he is frozen in place.

Hot. He’s hot.

He takes off his coat and empties the pockets, leaves the Coney Island badge on the coffee table and washes the knitting needle clean under the tap.

Groceries. He’d meant to get groceries. It’ll have to wait, of course. Sleep will have to wait, too. He’s too wired.

He sits on the couch and pulls out his phone to occupy himself. He means to google tips on how to deal with a person in shock, just in case he’s missed something important, but he opens Twitter instead.

#bloodymabel is trending again.

#theobel #only murders in the building #theo dimas #mabel mora #fanfiction #my fanfic tag #fic: if brokenness is a work of art surely this must be my masterpiece #on the off chance anyone who hasn’t watched omitb wants to read this #please tell me what you think! #i’m so curious how this reads without context

[highviewsmoved]

(FINAL) chapter 3; guerrilla warfare (romcom, sfw)

This is the best tactic to take him down.

You wake up fuming, hyping yourself up ready to kick his ass. You brush your teeth rather aggressively, and you try to grab something to snack on before heading into work.

If he even comes by to see you, it’s going to be your fist in his face first before he can get to you. You come into the back of the break area of your work mumbling to yourself.

“Hey, kid! Shut up!” Your boss gripes from the other side, but not now. You’re trying your best to plot. Haitani Ran, being notoriously known for fighting, isn't going to just be easy. The best effort in getting him down is attacking him from behind. If anything goes wrong, you could probably bring a plastic bag filled with bars of soap to smack him. If you can just hit him just right, you can then pummel him into the ground.

You want to get back at him so good. You just want to teach him some manners and a lesson. He took your ID and made you play arcade games you didn’t want to, so now he’s going to realize who he should really feel scared of and it’s you. You’re the scariest thing as of right now.

You think ‌longer, pacing around. If the plan falls through, you need three other backup plans in case he tries to retaliate against you. If he brings his entire posse, then you’ll just have to gather forces. You could probably call up some of your friends, but they would be too chicken to even come. Who wouldn’t be? You go through your entire work shift thinking of something to get him back. When you ‌get your hands on him, it’ll be for the best.

This time, it’ll be your turn.

Your shift was over as you let your boss know before heading out. All of that work today and you almost forgot about the individual plan for when you see Ran.

Your boss waves you off to get out of her hair and you’re outside of the convenience store headed back home.

Then it’s there where you see him. Down the familiar alley, he is there, leaning his back against the old brick wall of the building. All you can feel is that seething rage returning. This guy has caused you nothing but trouble since that night. You take in a deep breath, trying to approach him with dignity. Instead, you decide on a louder approach.

You march over to him, while he looks entirely relaxed, resting. Of course he would look relaxed. He didn’t give you the one thing he promised to return. He made you do many things you didn’t want to do.

“Hey, Serpent!” You call out, getting his attention. Instead of being arrogant about the nickname, he looks more confused than anything. You do not note this. “You may ‌kick my ass, but I will kick yours first!” You ball your hands up into fists, raising them. Ran backs off against the wall, suddenly interested in what you’re going to do next.

“You didn’t give me back what you promised, so I’ll just take it into my own hands.” You move to make a punch and it goes right into his chest. You leave it there for a beat or two. When you look up at him, instead of seeing anger or resentment, he’s unsurprised.

He stares at your fist which is still on his chest. “Ouch?” He says, his reaction delayed. You realize quickly that he didn’t feel it.

“Seriously? I put a lot into that,” you say, feeling put out. You move your arm away from him. You had more to say, but now the fire in you disappeared along with that shameful entrance.

“Did you want to try again? I can give more of a reaction this time?” He says in some odd attempt at making you feel better.

You frown at him. “You–why are you hanging around here?” Totally ignoring the situation at hand. You opt to just change the subject. To at least cover ‌that this is embarrassing enough.

Ran leans back. “I was waiting for you to get off.”

“Why?”

He seems to take a moment to consider the question. So far you know nothing of the guy, other than he’s a notorious delinquent who torments anxious people‌. “Did your opinion of me change at all?” He finally says.

“Huh?” You echo out.

He stares at you, indifferent. It seems to be the best expression he can give. He’s ‌ unreadable and rather honest. Overall, though, he is calmer than what you thought to be a delinquent should be. Also, he hasn’t laid his hands on you once. He didn’t seem to have any intention of hurting you. Then why else would he be here? Why did he have to take your ID and not give it back? What’s the endgame for him, anyways? So many questions and you don’t think any of them could come out of your mouth. You’re afraid to ask them.

There’s no point in stressing out over something so trivial. “I don’t understand what you mean?” You’re lost.

He sighs then, his shoulders relaxing. “Do you still think I’m a monster who's going to kill you or whatever?”

You grimace. “A little, yeah.”

Ran places a hand behind his neck. “Damn, I really thought I could fix it.”

Now, you’re really confused. “Fix what?”

He responds with something you never thought likely. “Your opinion of me. I know when you saw me that night, it wasn’t my preferred way of being introduced to anybody. Especially someone like you.”

“You’re worried about my opinion of you?” You ask, dazed.

Ran shrugs. “Yeah.”

“I mean, but you could kill me.”

He glares at you then. The first time you see him genuinely distraught at your implications. “I won’t, I told you. I don’t hit cute girls.”

You really doubt it. You did just hit him, earlier. So at any point, it’s up to him if he sincerely gets fed up with the back and forth. “Look, I’m just trying to redeem myself a bit here,” he defends.

You snort at that. “I doubt anything about you is redeemable, at least, I think.” You’re acutely aware now that you’re insulting him. Is it really comfortable for you to poke fun at him like this? What if he turns around and throttles you for it? You should close your mouth before he gets mad.

He seems less irritated now. His eyes have a softness there. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look like that. You’ve only seen him don coy smirks and unfeeling eyes. It makes him look less scary and more like a young adult just seeking ‌acceptance.

Is that what he may have wanted this whole time? Just for you to see him like a person?

You slide down the brick wall, ignoring the fact that this alleyway is filthy with dirt and trash. “You win.”

“I wasn’t trying to win,” he says.

You rest your head between your knees, shielding your face. “I just now realized what an idiot I am.”

You don’t see it, but a smile appears on his face. “Hey, you said it, not me.”

“That’s messed up, even for you. You just let me go like some windup doll.” You’re embarrassed by the change in pace now. You came out here to fight him and now you’re vulnerable to a gang member.

Which makes you blurt out then. “Are you even in a gang?”

“No, my brother and I don’t respect authority like that.”

You laugh, a little breathless at his honesty. “That makes sense, actually.”

It makes you feel silly for over exacerbating everything you thought you knew. Ran didn’t seem entirely like a bad guy. If he was, he’d have already done something by now. You try to keep that as a comfort to yourself. Although, maybe he could see you finally relaxing towards him.

“And you? Do you always look at fights when they happen?” He asks, a sly smile across his face.

You feel yourself growing warm. “No! Not generally, ‌I was just trying to walk home!”

He doesn’t look convinced, and you’re realizing quickly he’s teasing you. Horrible. Foul. Awful. What right does he have?

“You shouldn’t have been having a fight regardless, what if you get arrested?”

He hums, pretending to take your wise words to heart. “I’ve already been to juvie. So I have nothing else to lose.”

You feel a prickle of fear at that. He’s already served. Good god, he is a scoundrel. You have nothing to say to that. He’s every single stereotype of a delinquent, but continues to prove you wrong and right. It’s odd how much dichotomy could be in one person. It’s life, after all. He’s a perfect example of every single wrong choice coming to terms with it.

He seems to wait for you to say something. Ran takes his seat next to you, not getting too close, but you know he’s there. “I want to say sorry,” you murmur. “It’s weird saying that I did nothing wrong. It’s more of an apology for my actions towards you.”

“I’ll take that. You know, I don’t want to kill you or anything.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

His rare smile appears again. “It’s endearing. Your attitude was insane, but you’re fun. You’re entertaining.”

“Yeah, and you’re not too bad yourself. You’re still scary though and–” You pause for a long moment, he raises an eyebrow at that. “You still owe me, like, 2000 yen and my badge.”

Ran lets out a laugh. He pulls it out of his pocket then, handing it over to you. You receive it and all you can do is stare at it, feeling queasy. “You didn’t use this to break into buildings, did you?”

He rolls his eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh absolutely, I robbed a corner store by breaking into it with it.”

You nearly swat him with your ID. “Don’t joke! I’m serious. You could use this for fraud, you know!”

Ran looks stupefied. “What’s the worst I could even do with an employee badge?”

You smack your forehead, having to explain to him as if he were a child. “Many things. You could use my information to make a whole new personality or use it to steal from the bank.”

He still looks doubtful. Of course, he would understand. He’s a literal ex-convict. He already knows, right? It’s like explaining rocket science to an actual rocket scientist.

“I wouldn’t have used that, anyway. I could do a lot more if you give me your school ID.”

Now, you actually swat him with it. “Not funny!”

The silence that settles over the two of you is comforting. In a weird way, it felt like the end of something that was special. After this the two of you could go down your separate ways and never speak of this. A little disheartening, but maybe it’s because he knows where you live and could always hunt you down. Yeah, that had to be it.

“Now what?” You ask, wondering what could be next. You just have to go home now and maybe work on some more school work. The exams were soon, and you still hadn’t studied.

“You wanna head back to my place?” He offers. The silence that hovers soon after the suggestion feels imminent.

Your brain whirls into overdrive. What does he want? Is it to show off more of his violence? Could it be an invitation to see if he can lure you back and finally actually kill you? The rational part of your brain is struggling to keep you in check. It couldn’t be as bad as you thought, right?

“Right now?”

He nods. “Yeah, it’s nearby here.”

You take a minute. “You live near here too?”

If you go with him, that means he may expect something from you, but if you don’t, go with him. Maybe he will actually threaten you or else. You could continue this odd dance between the two of you or you could actually do something about it. You won’t back down from a challenge. You will be brave and show him up. Just because he’s some tall, delinquent with fierce fists doesn’t make you any less scary. You’ll show him. You’ll prove it.

When he takes you to his place, you’re surprised by how nearby it is. It was a couple of blocks down and a left turn around some buildings. Odd, this whole time he was much closer than you thought. You’re also surprised by how much of a bachelor pad the interior looks to be. There’s an accumulation of things, but everything is normal. In that really off-putting way. There’s a DJ corner, which looks odd and a liquor cabinet. Everything in here you expected of a bunch of early twenty-year-olds.

“I ordered some food, do you care what it is?” He asks. He didn’t even bother to ask which was a genuine error, but since you don’t want to argue, you try to play it cool. It’s all a game here. You can win at this game of nonchalance. You can definitely show him up.

You shrug simply. “It’s fine.”

You sit on one couch, not wanting to move anything from it. You think this is the part where you’re supposed to make small talk. So you try it, but before you can, Ran talks anyway.

“My brother and I have been on our own since we were thirteen.”

Your eyes widened at that. What happened to their parents? Did they not have any immediate family members to care for them? It makes you feel a little sad. Weirdly enough, you don’t wish that sort of absence on anyone. To have no adults in your life and all of them cannot take care of you? Now, that could definitely lead someone down the path of delinquency.

He continues talking some more, picking up bottles of what you realize is beer and other various types of liquor. How much do they drink? “We do some side jobs here and there, Rindou DJs at some local venues and club houses. He’s pretty good at it.”

Speaking of which, where was his brother?

“Where is he? Your brother, I mean?”

Ran tosses the bag of garbage filled with glass to the side of the corner where there are already some more full bags in place. Hopefully, he throws that out soon. “He’s out right now at the lounge.”

“Oh,” you say. You nod carefully, trying to look everywhere else in the room. It’s a new feeling to be out of your element, but you don’t seem to mind it much. It’s kind of nice to shake up the routines now and then. “Well, why aren’t you there?” You question, suddenly curious. If he frequents those areas with his brother. Well, why isn’t he there today of all days? It could’ve been important for them. Maybe they’re a duo, but he said it was just his brother who does the music gig.

Ran responds so earnestly that it surprises you. “I came to see you.”

He holds your gaze, and then his glance slides over to the remote on the table. Huh? That’s weird, you think. Why’s he acting all shifty? “Oh, so that you can return my badge, right?” That’s it. That’s more of the reason ‌he was there in the alley‌. It’s why he’s missing his brother's set today. It’s the only plausible explanation. There’s no other ulterior motive, and the inner part of you nods sagely to yourself.

Ran’s voice impatiently cuts through. “No.”

You look up at him, weirdly nervous. “No?”

He huffs, which is also strangely out of character for him. “That’s part of it, that’s the excuse. The reality is I wanted to see you, so I had an excuse. You get it?”

Your eyebrows wrinkle together in thought. What? “What?” You say, dumbly. If that’s the reason, then there was an ulterior motive. Which means–

“I like hanging out with you. Even when you get all sweaty.” You freeze. Huh?

Your brain takes a minute to catch up. Did he just admit that you’re sweaty? “I am not sweaty! It’s called perspiration! I perspire!”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” He asks in disbelief. He laughs in that breathless exhale. “That is so not cute.”

“Hey, my perspiration and I can go if that makes you feel better.” You suggest.

Ran blinks a few times. He shakes his head. “Did you not hear what I said?”

“I absolutely did. And I take offense,” you cross your arms. You don’t make the move to get up and leave. Which you should’ve probably done, but you’re here and you’re going to prove a point. Whether or not he likes it. Also he bought food, which should be on him, anyway for that 2000 yen.

Like a sign, there’s a knock on the apartment door and Ran takes his cue to get the takeout.

He comes back with a bag full of goods. You kind of want to ignore his rude comment and eat, you’re famished. “It’s from a local stop my brother and I frequent. Their tempura is good,” he says. When he places everything in front of you, he turns the television on to some random game show that air in the evenings. You remember your mom likes to watch this one. You both eat in a comfortable silence, watching as contestants who can’t answer trivia correctly have to go through weird obstacle courses as punishment. You watch in awe as one person answers the easiest question ever incorrectly. “Idiot! The answer is 6,852 islands!” You shout out.

“How do you know that?” He asks, taking a bite of his tempura.

“You learn it in history. I could easily win this game,” you huff. You take a bite of your chicken katsu and the crunch of it is so satisfying that you sigh in happiness. You could get used to this. Maybe Ran should continue owing you money so he can keep buying good food like this.

When you turn to talk some more about trivia facts to Ran, he points out that you have something on your face. “You got something,” he gestures.

“Hm? Where?” You wipe your cheek with your hand. “Did I get it?”

“No, here.” He reaches over, touching the side of your lip. “There, better.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Couldn’t you just have used a napkin? Now your finger is going to be stained with sauce.”

Ran makes a disgruntled face. “You’re not a romantic, are you?”

You give him a skeptical look. “And you are?”

He grumbles something under his breath, continuing to eat.

The two of you finish up eating. You don’t realize it but it’s gotten late already. You’re still watching tv when a sudden thump to your shoulder catches your attention. You look, seeing Ran resting his head on your shoulder. You gasp, poking his forehead. “Hey, wake up. I have to go home soon and I can’t leave if you’re on me!” You whisper harshly.

Ran’s forehead smooths down, his breathing evening out. You stare at him. He seriously could just sleep that easily at the drop of the hat? You try to shake your shoulder to get him off.

“Move again and I’ll kill you for real,” he threatens. You gasp, this is what he scares you over. If you wake him up? He’s asleep on your shoulder. You poke his forehead one last time and sigh, looking at the tv with less interest. Your eyelids feel heavy, the food was good, and you don’t have anyway to move.

A little nap couldn’t hurt, right?

Rindou gets home at exactly four that morning. He comes in quietly, hopefully not to wake up his brother when he notices the tv still on. “Bro?” He asks, peeking over the sofa. He sees a sight to behold.

His brother is sleeping on someone he doesn’t recognize. Rindou stares at the two people before him. There’s more trash on the table than before and the tv is on some crappy channel. He goes to turn it off, rolling his eyes. “Idiots.”

He leaves the living area to head into his room for some much needed rest. He’ll worry about that trash later.

When you wake up, you feel heavy. Your neck hurts and everything is bright around you. You slowly open your eyes. You’re in an unfamiliar environment, with the takeout dishes from yesterday in front of you. The weight on you is none other than Ran, who is now laying on your lap.

He is sound asleep, comfortably content where he is. It’s not until the initial shock sets in. You stayed at a guy’s apartment overnight and you didn’t go home last night. You sit up then, Ran’s head bouncing on the floor. “Oh, my god! I need to go home!” You yell, gathering your things, you take extra care not to forget your badge. Shit, shit, shit. You run around in a whirl of chaos. Ran rises then, rubbing his head, looking grouchy.

“I need to leave. Bye!” You slam the door, shaking it off its hinges. You sprint downwards, heading down the block back to your house. It really wasn’t that far apart.

When you get home, your mother greets you, not looking as worried as you thought she may be. “Oh, sweetie, good morning! Where’ve you been?”

“I slept at a friend's house by accident,” you explain. Could you really call him a friend? Your mother softens then.

“I tried calling you but you didn’t answer,” she says.

You look then, checking your pockets to see if your phone had notifications. When you feel that they’re empty, you’re filled with dread. No, no, no.

“Honey?”

“Mom, did you ‌see my phone anywhere here?”

She thinks for a moment, then shakes her head. “No sweetie, I haven’t seen it here.”

You take a deep breath and then yell. “I left my phone at his house!”

“Him?” Your mother prods. “Who’s him?”

“Mom, that’s not what you should be worried about!”

You run up to your room then. Absolutely deflated. Not again!

Ran hears the vibrating coming from under him. What the hell? He rolls over to see the flip phone that he’s seen you have many times before. The caller ID read MOM.

This should be interesting, he thinks. He picks up the phone. “Yo, Rabbit.”

“You have my phone!”

He clicks his tongue. “Correction, you left your phone here.”

You make a disgruntled noise on the other end. “Will you please just give it back? Bring it or whatever, I don’t care.”

Ran, to get back at her for waking him up, plays hard to get. “Nah, I think you owe me some takeout.”

You shriek. “No! We’re even! That was you paying me back 2000 yen!”

He scoffs. “I never once mentioned that. You made that up.”

“No, we’re not doing this again–”

“You have to go on a date with me,” he decides then. He ignores your sounds of protest. “This weekend, 6:00pm, outside my apartment.” He hangs up your phone before you could even give your opinion.

Ran rolls back over and sleeps.

On the other side of things. You stand in the living room, squeezing your mother’s phone tightly. “I’m going to kill him!”

#ran haitani x reader #ran haitani x you #tokyo revengers fluff #ran x you #tokyo revengers x reader #ran haitani #tokyo revengers ran

[underburningstars]

Prompt fill up for the 'Multiverse' square of SFSummerBingo22 @starkerfestivals

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The first thought Peter has when he wakes up in a box – made of glass of all things – is that he’s in deep shit. He has tried to punch the glass, kick it, even head-butt it but nothing seems to work. Even with his super strength the glass is impossible to break.

Giving up hope on breaking the glass, Peter tries to call out to his kidnappers. He should at least know why he’s kidnapped. After what feels like hours, he hears a door slide open and then footsteps approaching him. Nothing could’ve prepared him for who greets him.

“M-Mr. Stark…” Peter’s breath caught up in his chest. His vision started getting blurry with tears. Mr. Stark was alive. But the thought was quashed even before it could properly build up. Because even if Tony Stark somehow resurrected, everything about him was wrong. The man in front of him was taller, younger and his eyes – goddammit his eyes – were not the wonderful honeyed shade Peter loved so much. No, the were the brightest blue Peter had ever see.

“No. No no no. You’re-you’re not Tony Stark. Who are you? Who the hell are you?!”

“I am Tony Stark, Peter. Just better. A lot better.”

“There is no way you’re Tony Stark. He would never do this to me. He would never cage me like this.” Peter was outrageous. He couldn’t believe the nerve of this-of this imposter. How dare he say he was Tony Stark. How dare he say he was better.

“Oh honey don’t worry. This isn’t forever. I’ll let you out as soon as you learn to behave.” The man crooned.

“You’ll never get me to play this sick game of yours. I’ll find out whoever you are. I’ll defeat you and get out if here.”

“Oh my feisty little toy. Wouldn’t I love to see you try.” With that the man left leaving Peter alone in this glass cage.

-

After sometime someone, a guard by the uniform, brought him food. He didn’t talk. Didn’t answer even when Peter screamed. He didn’t eat. Even though he was hungry he didn’t want the give that man any kind of satisfaction by complying.

Suddenly a piercing pain fills his body leading him to blackout for a few moments. Peter is panting for air. He can’t breathe, he can’t even think. After, what feels like hours, Peter gets a hold of himself and realizes that he was electrocuted. He touched the back of his neck where it hurt the most. There wasn’t any object or even a scar there. But Peter figure the machine was put there. Then a familiar voice fills the space.

“Eat your food, Peter. The more you comply, the better for you.”

“Wha-what do you want from me? Why are you doing this? I don’t understand.”

“You will honey. In time you’ll understand everything. Right now stop trying to use that pretty little head of yours and do as I say. Got it?”

“…got it.” Peter realizes that there is no going out of here if he dies if repeated electrocution. And he needs to gather all the strength he can to get out of something that is most probably the biggest mess of his life.

Peter has no connection with time here. He doesn’t know what time or day it is. No matter how much he tried he couldn’t keep the grasp of how long he’s been here after he woke up. The man hadn’t come back again, for which Peter was immensely grateful.

He is still unable to understand what is happening here. That man obviously wasn’t the Tony Stark Peter loved so much. He may have the same face, the same voice, even the same smug smirk that made him look so much more handsome. But in no way that man was his Tony.

Peter was trying to think of ways to get out of this box when the door slid open again. This time though the man was adorning an iron man armor made of sleek silver and blue. Then the armor melted away. But instead of going inside the nanobot housing like the beading heart armor all the particles went inside his body.

“You seem to like what you just saw. Want me to tell you about it?” The man sighed when Peter didn’t answer.

“We can talk about this later. We have a lot of time left. What I wanted to tell you was that you should forget about your previous life and get adjusted to living here. Although not in the glass box. I’ll take you out of here soon enough.”

“I’m not staying here. I’ll get out of wherever you’ve held me in. You can’t keep me here.” Peter’s voice was firm and steady even though he was starting to feel scared.

“Oh my darling. Even if you do get out of my facility – which you won’t, by the way – you can’t escape from me. You still can’t seem to understand Peter but right now you’re in my world. My Earth.” Peter tensed up but the man didn’t stop talking. “I’m sure you’re aware of that Multiverses exist. Right now you’re in mine.”

“N-no. You’re lying. You’re obviously just trying to trick me into submission. I don’t believe your bullshit.” Peter was proud that his voice only wavered a little.

“Hmm. Why don’t we see then. You try to get out of this facility, if this earth and each time you fail I’ll kill someone from your earth. Maybe it’ll be someone you know. Or maybe a stranger. I’ll let you choose.”

“What? No, you-you can’t do that. Why are you doing this?” Peter was starting to think maybe there was no way out of this. Because if the man was lying Peter could go home. But if he was telling the truth, then the risk would be too much.

“Your Tony had quite a liking towards you. He built a time machine for you. And then died for you. At first I was merely curious about you. But after watching you for a whole I understand why he was so fond of you. And I wanted you all for myself. So here you are.” He ended his monolog with a triumph clap.

“Please.” His voice was barely a whisper now. “Let me go home.”

“But darling, from now on this is home.”

#ao3 #starker #tony stark #fanfiction #tony x peter #tony stark x peter parker #the avengers #ironman #spiderman #mcu #mcu multiverse #SFSummerBingo22 #starker community #starker fandom #starkerfestivalsevents

[astral--horrorshow]

Incorrect quotes and one meme

Featuring oc’s from @kalu-luwa, @emizel, @linawritesocs, and @mpfuro-station​! oh and me lol. kinda ooc at some parts i’m sorry

Yumeko: Lol heads up if you try to make a candle with food coloring, the food coloring will just sink to the bottom of the glass, and when the flame eventually reaches the bottom all the food coloring will catch fire and become one giant tall flame that you cannot possibly blow out and the glass will start to crack and then you'll throw your tea on it in a panic and then the extremely hot food coloring will boil and sizzle horribly and then the glass will shatter. Please take my word on this lmfao Nephi: What did you do, Yume-Chan? Yumeko: A MISTAKE

Nephi: Sorry it took me so long to bail you out of jail Yumeko: No it’s my fault, I shouldn’t’ve used my one phone call to prank call the police

Someone: How many kids do you have? Nephi: Biologically, emotionally, or legally?

Ace: Wake me up… Yumeko: Before you go go! Deuce: When September ends… Nephi: WAKE ME UP INSIDE-

Ace, setting down a card: Ace of spades Deuce, pulling out an Uno card: +4 Yumeko, pulling out a Pokémon card: Jolteon, I choose you Nephi, trembling: What are we playing

*Everyone is standing around the broken coffee maker* Mortimer: So. Who broke it? I'm not mad, I just wanna know. Everyone: Yumeko: ...I did. I broke it. Mortimer: No. No you didn't. Kanna? Kanna: Don't look at me. Look at Neph. Neph: What?! I didn't break it. Kanna: Huh, that's weird. How'd you even know it was broken? Neph: Because it's sitting right in front of us and it's broken. Kanna: Suspicious. Neph: No, it's not! Hayden: If it matters, probably not, but Avery was the last one to use it. Avery: Liar! I don't even drink that crap! Hayden: Oh really? Then what were you doing by the coffee cart earlier? Hayden: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles. Everyone knows that, Hayden! Yumeko: Okay let's not fight. I broke it. Let me pay for it, Mortimer-Senpai. Nephi: No! Who broke it!? Everyone: Hayden: Mortimer... Eureka's been awfully quiet. Eureka: rEALLY?! *Everyone starts arguing* Mortimer, being interviewed: I broke it. I burned my hand so I punched it. Mortimer: I predict 10 minutes from now they'll be at each other's throats with warpaint on their faces and a pig head on a stick. Mortimer: Mortimer: Good. It was getting a little chummy around here.

[grayrazor]

“The Hardest Part of Learning to Fly”

I was having a picnic with Dasha in a wooded meadow near the eastern edge of Elysium Planitia. Even from this great distance the mighty Olympus Mons seemed to tower over us. The birds were singing in spite of our presence, flitting from tree to tree and engaging in little squabbles over love and food. Dasha’s hair and my beard blew in my face when the wind picked up. Though she was a year my elder, her hair was still dark and contrasted with her skin, though mine had long ago begun to turn grey. “You see, lyubovnik,” she whispered to me, her arm around my shoulders, her other hand daintily resting in my calloused and scarred glove of a hand, “You should have retired from the Fleet years ago. You don’t regret being here one bit, do you?”

I chuckled and held her tighter, “True enough, lyubimyy. I don’t miss those steely-eyed missile-men and their rickety tin cans even in my most delusional fits of nostalgia.” I turned to look her in the eyes, even as the wind blustered again and loose leaves and blossoms separated from the trees to cascade past magnificently and her hair blew back from her face. “To me, you are worth more than all those dead rocks and balls of ice they call ‘planets.’”

A bright light flared in my peripheral vision, and we both were driven by reflexive curiosity to see what it could be. “Lyubovnik, look! A shooting star!” Dasha had an almost childlike capacity for wonder.

“No,” I whispered at first, then in a fit of sisyphal frustration I roared “No!” as the light grew and brightened and the trees and birds and our skin flashed away into ash.”

Dasha’s scream echoed and distorted into a kind of high pitched wail--and then I found myself hitting my head on the ceiling of my bunk’s alcove. I rolled over, looked at my reflection in the screen set into the wall. My beard hadn’t been grey for years, and it’s length and whiteness often led my crew to call me Old Saint Nick behind my back. The intercom was ringing, its pitch irritating my tired ears.

I punched the answer button, and Commander Elizabeth Hartford’s face appeared. I took a perverse joy in the fact that she looked as disheveled at this late hour as I did, “Sorry to wake you, Igor.”

I grumbled and rubbed the bridge of my nose, “It’s an XO’s job to irritate their CO. You’ll learn that when you’ve been in the service as long as I have. Report.”

Hartford had always been a master of stiff-upper-lip, but her eyes sometimes betrayed her when she was really worried, “The skiff’s back ahead of schedule. They haven’t made any radio contact, and from the looks of it through our scopes they’ve been shot up pretty bad.”

“If they haven’t completed their mission, you know what that means?” I had already gotten out of my berth and was throwing on my uniform coat.

“I got the same briefing you did, Tsiolkovsky. I know what’s at stake,” Hartford had disabled the video part of the call, presumably still getting dressed herself.

“Then get started on the preperations,” I transferred the call to my wrist and continued as I pulled myself out of my quarters and into the corridor by the handholds. “Actually, scratch that. Get Takumi started on the setup, you meet me in the hangar and we’ll debrief the marines.”

***

As I reached the doors to the airlock I was a bit irritated to see that not only had Hartford beaten me there, but she was in full uniform and as presentable as a cadet up for inspection. She’d always had a way of making the basic duty jumpsuit look as formal as a dress uniform, but the way she had gone from bedhead to spotless with such a seeming lack of effort always got under my skin somehow. The airlock cycled and the marine team’s NCO, Forrester drifted through the dilating circular opening, helmet held under arm and drops floating loose from his forehead when he moved. It was probably sweat, no way a marine sergeant could be shedding tears. Some smell came through the doorway with him. It was horrible, made my eyes water, and was all too familiar.

Before I could open my mouth he grunted and raised his hand, “We failed, Captain. I’m so sorry.” He moved out of the way to let two other marines pass him, dragging some scorched and blackened thing between them that looked like it once could have been human. They passed it to the medical team that had been waiting, for all the good they could do. In the recycled air the stench would linger for days.

“What happened out there?” Hartford seemed unmoved, almost unsympathetic. “This was supposed to be the easy part.”

Forrester breathed heavily a couple of times, then looked up and spoke with an air of forced professionalism, “We came in too shallow on our approach. Skipped off the atmosphere. We were still confident we could pull it off after that mistake. We had enough fuel to pull it off and try again. But then some kind of orbital defense satellite came over the horizon. They tagged us with a laser before we could boost out of their line-of-sight. Skiff’s heat shield and port wing are compromised, I don’t think she’ll ever fly in an atmosphere again. Part of the beam clipped one of the cockpit windows. Murphy got burned to a crisp. Melted our antenna too, that’s why I had to make it back to tell you what was happening.”

I stroked my beard, “Are you up to lead your team in the backup plan?”

Forrester grabbed his helmet out of the air and put it back on, “I’ve been through worse than this. Only thing that’s different this time is the stakes are higher.”

I grabbed his shoulder, less to comfort or motivate him than to tell from his muscles how tense he was, “Get your men prepared, you know what we have to do.”

***

“Captain Tsiolkovsky on deck!” Hartford closed and latched the hatch behind me as I took my seat in the control room. Naturally, nobody stood, since they were all lashed into their gee-couches, set into alcoves around the cylindrical wall at the perimeter of the room like bunks, but they at least looked up from their workstations for a second, which I thought was a nice gesture.

“As you were,” I barked more out of tradition than necessity, since they had all already gotten back to what they were doing. “For any of you who don’t have the clearance or connections to know already, here’s the way it is: Sergeant Forrester’s team is back, but without the package.” I tilted the visor of my cap down to cover my eyes, “That means that, in order to complete this mission, upon which the outcome of this war may depend, we are going to have to land the Charles de Gaulle on Titan.

Takumi gasped audibly, “Captain, with all due respect, we can’t land a fusion-driven ship on Titan! Even if everything goes perfectly we could be looking at war crimes charges!”

I could feel my brow twitching involuntarily. I guess my chief engineer didn’t know me as well as I thought, if he didn’t realise that I had already been agonizing over the mere hypothetical possibility that we might have to do this. Maybe he was just making a jackass of himself for the sake of the crew, I don’t know, “For the sake of everyone we are fighting for back home, I consider that an acceptable sacrifice. The strategic value of the information we were sent for is absolute; failure of this mission might not just mean losing the war, but our extermination.” Several of the junior officers looked doubtful, whispered to each other, so I unzipped my jacket pocket and pulled out the letter I had received three months earlier, “Just so you know that I am not indulging in hyperbole, here are my signed orders from the Commander-in-Chief herself. She explained to me in no uncertain terms just what the enemy has in store for us, and it isn’t good. Based on the kinds of particles our telescopes have been picking up, they may very well be experimenting with antimatter weapons, as unlikely as that seems. Most of you have the personal experience, as I have, that they will show no quarter and will not hesitate to use such power, if they possess it, to annihilate us. For that reason, all measures necessary to retrieve the information on their research and production facility locations are to be considered not only acceptable, but required.”

Takumi grabbed Hartford as she passed by him on the way to her station, “You’re with him on this? You’re absolutely sure there’s no other way?”

Hartford pulled his hand away from her and continued to her seat, “The skiff got fried by a laser-armed satellite when they tried to land. That, combined with the fact that we’ve seen no civilian traffic entering or leaving orbit, tells me that the enemy has been tightening their hold on Titan after the attempted rebellion back in August. They hung that Sword of Damocles over the Titanites’ heads, probably wiped out their space-capable craft from above, to remind them who runs this part of the Solar System. A whole moon’s worth of hostages. If we are to get our guy out of there this ship is their only option. He couldn’t just broadcast the data, they’d pick it up and know we’re on to them, move their antimatter factory so we’d never find it again before it was finished.”

From the junior officers’ expressions, I felt it was time for me to step back in to the discussion, “The fact that we are fighting for survival does not mean that we will let ourselves become like them. All measures necessary and possible will be taken to minimize collateral damage. We’ll begin our descent over the far side so that our course will take us over the least-densely populated part of the surface when we’re making our braking maneuver with the Orion Drive. Because our guy is in a colony dome, and will have to make his way by ground to get to our landing site we’ll be landing near the city, using chemical rockets for the final stage of our descent.” I removed my cap, looked everyone on the bridge in the eyes one-by-one, “Does everyone understand what we need to do?”

They all nodded silently, and I turned to Hartford. She shouted, “You have your orders, get on it!”

Each officer and crewman lay back on their gee-couches and turned their full attention to the workstations that were now above them. “All hands to acceleration stations! This is not a drill! I say again…”

I noticed that a yeoman had left a bag of energy drink near my station and decided I had enough lingering tiredness to give it a go, even if it was warm. I wanted to be as awake as possible for what was to come.

“Radiators retracted to battle standard!”

“Shuttle and pods secured, get those hangar doors closed!”

I put the bag’s straw in the corner of my mouth and gave it as long a drink as I could bear, trying to keep it away from my tongue. It was times like that, when the orders had been given and there was nothing to do, when I started to get contemplative. It was a long and honored tradition, using drinkable chemicals to deal with your human failings. Archaeologists tracked the trading ships of Ancient Hellas by following their trails of discarded wine jugs. Wooden ships and iron men ran on grog. Steam-driven ships of steel had crews driven by coffee. Then came airplane pilots and astronauts and their myriad variety of stimulants, legal and illegal.

One thing had stayed a constant throughout history: the drinks may come labeled in different brands and flavors, but the best you can get for your choice is a different shade of vile.

“Orion drive loaded, ready to fire.”

“All decks report acceleration stations. Your orders sir?”

I buckled myself in, then pulled my hearing protection over my ears and plugged in the cord for its internal speakers, “You have clearance for main drive turn,” I said into the headset microphone, then produced my key from my jacket pocket. I turned to visually confirm that Hartford had hers. “Turn on my mark.” I inserted my key, “Three, two, one, mark.”

Naturally, no human being had the timing to execute the kinds of precision maneuvers we would have to perform. All we were doing was giving the computer permission to run the orders the crew had programmed into it. When the time was right the dispenser at the ship’s back end would expel a thermonuclear explosive. It would explode in a sphere of perfect white light, imparting momentum to the ship’s pusher plate. While the thick metal shield was still glowing another bomb would be dispensed and the process would begin again. No better way to travel, as long as speed was all you cared about.

The force of the first pulse shocked me in spite of my efforts to increase my alertness with the energy drink. There was never really any getting used to the experience of being blasted through space by atomic bombs. One moment you’re weightless, the next an elephant is stepping on your chest. Stomping on you, over and over again, trying to squeeze the air out of your lungs and pop the eyeballs out of your head.

Shock absorbers between the plate and the hull kept the acceleration from crushing us squishy humans like insects, but anyone late to take precautions against the gee-forces would be having a very bad day, deaf at best, concussion, broken bones, or ruptured organs at worst. There were no reports of any injuries so far, so at least the crew weren’t that green. Heavy cruiser Charles de Gaulle blasted her way out from behind the nameless small moon she had been using to hide from detection and expended just enough of her supply of nukes to set an orbit that would freefall past Saturn’s largest moon, Titan. With the drive no longer firing we were weightless again.

It would be a matter of hours before we needed to decelerate, but I was fully on edge by that point, and wouldn’t have been able to catch any more sleep that night even if I tried. It wasn’t the jostling of the Orion Drive, nor even the energy drink. I had been thinking about how sure we were that Forrester’s team would pull off their part of the mission. How landing the ship was a purely hypothetical last resort, we’d never thought we might actually have to do it. If the easy part of the mission had been a complete wash, how would it go when the enemy fleet inevitably spotted us on our way back out?

***

It would be only minutes now before Charles de Gaulle had to slow down in order to avoid overshooting Titan’s sphere of influence. After days of weightlessness, I felt like I needed to prepare myself mentally and physically for living in gravity again, first from the drive, then the real all-natural gravity of a moon. The Universe, however, was having none of that.

“I’ve got a hot spot on the hull plating, looks like a laser strike!” Takumi shouted.

“The satellite?” I grumbled in frustration. “Why didn’t we pick it up sooner?”

Hartford crossed her arms, “They must have risen over the horizon while we were making a course correction.” She twisted her neck to bark at Takumi, “Threat analysis!”

“I don’t think they’ve got the wattage to burn through our hull anytime soon,” the engineer was frantically flicking through tabs on his display to compare reports from sensors and damage-control parties.”

I stroked my beard contemplatively, “Flight control, roll the ship slowly on her travel axis. I don’t want to give them the chance to build up enough heat on any one spot to do us any damage.” I looked right at Takumi, “You’re sure this is all they’ve got?”

He scrolled up and down the sensor log one more time, “If they had more juice I don’t see why they wouldn’t have used it by now.”

I turned back to my own display and gave the data a once over myself, just to be sure, “I’m guessing the enemy must not have thought we’d send anything tougher than Forrester’s skiff. Our hull might be able to conduct this much energy, but any lesser ship, on a chemical or ion drive, would have probably been vaporized before they even knew they were being shot at. Forrester was damn lucky they didn’t get a clean hit on him; this would be more than enough to keep the civilian traffic on Titan locked down.”

Hartford chuckled crudely, “On the other hand, if the Admiralty had sent a proper battleship instead of just a cruiser they probably would have gone right by that satellite without ever noticing that they were being shot at.” She cast her eyes about the room, “Anyone have eyes on it?”

“Got it sir! Traced the angle of the beam back to it’s source. Eight marks off the ecliptic. Target locked.” a junior officer in the spotter department shouted back with enthusiasm.

I made a note to keep an eye on her, if she lived long enough for me to learn her name, “Let’s do the Titanites a little favor while we’re here. Open door torpedo tube one and fire when ready.”

“Torpedo away!” the call came from the gunners, then moments later, “Target hit, detonation confirmed.

“Target status?” out of the corner of my eye I could see that Hartford was switching rapidly between the various external cameras and LIDAR scopes on her display.

“Kill confirmed,” the same spotter smacked the hand of another in her department in celebration.

“Nothing out there but an expanding sphere of debris,” the other spotter added. “If you listen close you might hear them tinkling off the hull.”

“Just in time too,” I checked my chronometer and saw Takumi was already in the midst of delegating various tasks.. “All hands to landing stations,” I ordered, which was repeated by subordinates and distributed to everyone relevant.”

“Closing all missile silo and torpedo tube doors.”

“...I don’t care what they need on C-Deck, get those containers secured!”

“Radiators fully retracted!”

“Firing drive!”

Because of the speed we were moving we would have to push the limits and run the drive faster for the deceleration. Now it felt like a whole herd of elephants were running me over, and were it not for the gee-suit I had on under my uniform I would definitely have blacked out. I focused on my breathing, the exercises that had been drilled into me in training all those years ago to help keep your blood where it should be. In one of the lulls between pulses that young spotter tapped into my headset’s channel, “It feels wrong being this close to an atmosphere. Are you sure we can pull this off, sir?”

I chuckled in what I hoped would be a reassuring, grandfatherly tone, “Ensign, Orion ships are the best at getting through atmosphere as much as they are the best at getting through space. Why, the first of our sister ships to be built was assembled on the surface of Venus because they hadn’t finished the space construction yard yet!” A jolt punched the air out of me and I grunted involuntarily, “You didn’t think they built these cruisers and battleships bullet-shaped just for the sake of the angled armor, did you?” Unfortunately, that dredged up a memory of a time in my life I would rather have left forgotten, an Air Force flight instructor who repeated ad nauseum, “There’s no part of flying a plane harder than landing her when you’re coming home.”

Another light lit up on my console, this time Takumi requesting a private channel, “Sir, write me up for insubordination if you must, but are you sure there was no other way? Can you say that with absolute certainty?”

I let through all of the considerations I had been blocking out. The things I had been ignoring, because I knew they would crush my soul more surely than the acceleration was trying to crush my body, “I know the harm the fallout might bring. You know that there’s never a hundred-percent certainty when it comes to military intelligence. But if there’s even a chance that what we’ve heard is accurate, then the harm that comes to the people of Titan will be incredibly inconsequential compared to the slaughter that awaits billions if we fail.”

The engineer sighed bitterly, “I know you have set everything up so that the damage will be minimized. Shoot, in case of an emergency like this the propulsion charges had always been built to minimize neutron radiation and electromagnetic pulses. Nothing’s perfect though, with every detonation there’s a chance that an EMP will make the lights flicker in a hospital and a surgeon will make a mistake at a critical moment, and somebody will never go home to their family. Maybe a fragment of a bomb’s casing will become radioactive dust and drift down to the surface, to be tracked in by someone going out of a colony dome to do maintenance and a whole city’s air supply might be contaminated. I trust that we didn’t have the time to find a better way, but what would you say to a parent whose kids are all dying of radiation sickness or cancer because of our haste?”

I exhaled in weariness, “If nothing else, I can assure you that while this may not have been the right thing, it was the necessary thing. If God judges that I am due hellfire for ensuring that no one else gets stomped under the boot of our enemy then that is a small sacrifice by proportion.” Takumi did not reply.

Eventually the teeth-removing vibrations of the fusion-pulse drive stopped, only to be replaced moments later by the more continuous shaking of thick gases rushing past the hull at hypersonic speed. Instead of the stacatto pounding of the nuclear explosions there was the continuous roar of Titan’s atmosphere being set alight. Though I couldn’t see it I knew that the pusher plate must be heated to the point of glowing by the friction. Methane, nitrogen, and carbon dioxide were compressed into plasma and burned even without oxygen by virtue of the sheer amount of kinetic energy they were being forced to absorb. Something was loose near the base of my couch and it rattled rhythmically. The ship’s structural members groaned as they were slightly deformed by physical stresses and by the change in temperature. The sound was almost like whalesong, or maybe the creaking of an ancient tree being felled by the wind. It seemed to go on forever, until a small, solipsism-inclined part of my consciousness wondered if there had ever a time when there was not the roaring and the shaking. Then it stopped. After the strain of the drive and the aerobraking the relatively minor jolt of the landing rockets was like a mother’s comforting embrace, and only more so the little bounce of the shock absorbers rebounding as the plate impacted upon solid ground.

“Report!” I bellowed.

“Crewman on C-Deck injured by failed couch harness. Broken bones, minor concussion.”

“Steam pipe burst on F-Deck. Five injured, two with third-degree burns.

“Fuse blown in environmental…”

“Hey, Captain.” Takumi held out an empty ration bag and dropped it, letting it drift slowly to the diamondplate steel of the deck. “That’s gravity. We’re alive.”

I was already unbuckling my restraints. “The mission’s not over yet Chief. That was just the hard part. It’s all uphill from here.”

“You mean downhill don’t you sir? Sir?”

Hartford was already out of her harness and had walked over to the intercom by the door, “Armory, get gear ready. We’re sending out a landing party.”

She was still standing by the hatch when I walked through. She elbowed me in the side as I went by, “Don’t be cute. You’re crap at it and Takumi’s on the edge of a nervous breakdown already.”

#short story #sci-fi #space battle #space battleship #orion drive #military science fiction #space force #landing

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

Bucky Barnes | One Shot | Don't Spoil It

Spill It MASTERLIST

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus Size!Reader

Plot: Trying to make a smooth getaway, you make it look too damn good.

Warnings: 18+. Smut and fluff.

Words: 3,1OO

Humming softly, you curl back up into your duvet, burying your face into the pillow. An unfamiliar scent hits your morning senses and you bury into the pillow deeper. Body feeling heavy, yet incredibly light, the feeling of utter satisfaction bubbles under your skin.

Eyes are yet to be opened as you try to figure out the situation you’ll encounter once you allow yourself to fully wake up. Butterflies erupt in your belly as you remember the dream you had, an ache between your thighs demanding attention at the sensual memory. You sigh contently, mouth curving into a smile that you couldn’t stop if you wanted to.

But then you freeze. Because the comforting scent wafting from the cushion below you is the very thing that triggers the memory of the dream. It’s connected to the dream.

It wasn’t a dream.

Eyes fly open and immediately scrunch shut after being blinded by the bright, morning light pouring through the sheer curtains hanging from the ceiling all the way down to the floors. Fingers tightening into the puffy duvet, you slowly turn onto your back and turn your head to the side, biting your lip to stop a gasp from slipping out.

Bucky Barnes. The most gorgeous man you might have ever seen in your life is snoring softly on the pillow next to you. That’s when the so-called dream comes back to you in flashes. Hot, steamy and vivid flashes. Heat creeps to your chest and face at the memory and you find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from him, terrified that if you look away he’ll wake up and prevent you from making a quick escape.

Because that’s how this works, right?

Heated, dirty, world-shattering sex with a stranger means you have to get out in the morning before the homeowner wakes up. Right? You don’t exactly want him to wake up to you, realising he made a huge mistake and trying to reason with himself how drunk he must have been to drag you home.

He seemed so sincere last night and you truly believed him. It was so intense, so wonderful. You don’t want to give either of you the chance to ruin that illusion. Let yourself believe you’re one of the models he sleeps with and get out of here as soon as possible.

Peeking around the room, you dart your eyes around to find your clothes, realising that your underwear is the only thing here. You curse under your breath when you realise you’ll have to make you way home in a beer-stained dress that is on the floor near the bar in the living room. You’ll have to tip the Uber driver for tolerating the disgusting stench, you remind yourself before carefully climbing out of bed towards the thin sheet crumpled to the floor after you probably kicked it off the bed last night.

The soft carpet between your toes, the warm light shining in the room and the beautiful man laying in the bed you just crawled out of, all make it awfully hard to make your getaway. Reaching down quickly and grabbing the sheet to wrap around your body, you find yourself freezing when Bucky moves and mumbles softly. Circling over in your direction, all he has to do is open his eyes and he’ll see you.

You take a deep breath, thin sheet wrapped around your body and dragging over the floor, you lift your foot to take your first step away -and his eyes open.

“By all means, don’t let me stop you.” His hoarse voice grumbles as he hugs his pillow tightly, sleepy eyes squinting as they take in your frame.

Blood rushes to the surface of your skin once again as he takes you in, wanting him to just fall asleep and let you leave in peace. Spare you the embarrassment.

But Bucky is in awe. All he sees is your body wrapped in a thin sheet like the perfect wet dream, a bright morning glow emitting from the windows behind you, showing him a silhouette that doesn’t help his morning glory one bit. He wants to punch himself for thinking it, but you look ethereal in this light, like a goddamn angel. Your soft hair carrying a golden glow from the light and your skin exuding its own glow by his surprising performance from the previous night.

“I just… I was just about to leave.” You retreat to your spot on the carpet unsurely as you wait for his instructions. All he has to do is tell you to leave or stay and you’d follow his orders.

You remember how good it felt to follow his orders, to let go of that need to be in control all the time and put it in the hands of someone who made you feel calm, safe and cherished.

“Why?”

His question makes you chew your lip nervously. Why did you want to leave? It doesn’t seem like he wants you gone. But he might still be sleep drunk. But he is asking about you, not about him. But it doesn’t matter what you want.

You can’t stay over and bear the uncomfortable moments of him trying to be polite when he wants his embarrassing one night stand to just leave.

“Cat’s got your tongue?” He asks you, slowly sitting up as he quirks a brow at you.

Stretching his arms up to release the tension in his muscles, the sheet covering him drops to his hips and exposes his toned torso. You gulp at the sight, the heartbeat between your legs intensifying. You don’t know what to say.

Say something, just say something.

Bucky chuckles lowly, the sound triggering butterflies in your belly again and constricting your heart, and climbs over to the edge of the bed, facing you. There he is, three feet away from you and sitting at the edge of the bed in just his boxers as he leans back on his hands and looks up at you while you’re frozen to the spot.

His tongue sweeps over his bottom lip as he looks you up and down, shamelessly checking you out and drinking you in. This is when you’re starting to suspect the sheet does nothing to hide your body from him.

“Bucky?”

His eyes snap up to yours, the bright morning light shrinking his pupils until all you see is two sky-blue eyes piercing into yours “Hm?”

“I should go… I think.”

“You think so?” He questions and you note the slightly teasing tone, challenging you like he did last night when he caught you in the men’s room. He is testing you, trying to expose you for predicting his thoughts and opinions once again. Trying to call you out on the bullshit that the insecure little voice in your head comes up with.

You hate it. You hate how much room he gives you to screw up. Just as much as you loved him taking control last night, you hate him for handing it back to you now. You want him to send you off and awkwardly explain to you that you’ll never see each other again. That’s what you expect of him.

And he knows it.

“Don’t you want breakfast?” He cocks his head to the side curiously, his dog tags dangling between his pecks as he moves. The way he looks up to you from his seat on the bed, the way he puts himself below you quite literally gives you way too much power. Power you don’t want at all.

He slowly pushes to a stand, his eyes drifting down to stay on yours as he walks over in two small steps. His flesh hand grabs the edge of the sheet wrapped around you, tracing the seam up and down.

“Take off the sheet.”

Clutching your own hands to the fabric over your chest where you secured it tightly, you give him a pleading look, shaking your head faintly. Bucky tries to hide his disappointment and nods slowly, searching your eyes for something you can’t put your finger on.

“Have it your way. But this sheet isn’t keeping me from having my breakfast.”

“Huh?”

Bucky gives you a jaw-dropping smile before sinking to his knees, counting on the fact that you’re still frozen to the spot as he opens the sheet and crawls under it.

Briefly, the thought crosses your mind that there isn’t much he can do with your thighs in the way, but you let out a soft squeal when he grabs one of your thighs and drapes it over his shoulder, your hands flying to his other shoulder and his head to keep your balance as his hands grab a firm hold of your ass.

You don’t get the time to ask what the hell he thinks he’s doing when your feel his soft lips against your folds and you sigh softly. His warm tongue wedges itself between your folds and drags itself up all the way to your clit, the touch of his mouth to your bundle of nerves electrifying you.

When Bucky notices you visibly relax into his frame, he gives you a satisfied hum and wraps his lips around your clit, sucking it into his mouth with fervour.

A soft moan escapes your lips and your eyes drift shut, taking in Bucky’s desire to kneel between your legs first thing in the morning like there’s nothing else on his mind. His hot mouth works on you like magic, tongue swirling against you and lips engulfing you before sucking you closer to your impending high.

Your moans become more frequent and you part the sheet to bury your fingers in his chestnut locks and hold onto him for dear life. The feeling of your hands in his hair, tugging softly, eggs him on to feast on you with all the desire he feels in this moment, groaning against you as he drinks up everything you give him.

Hands having abandoned your sheet and your head thrown back in blinding, yet soft pleasure, Bucky smiles against you briefly before grabbing the white, cotton fabric in his hand and giving a light tug, the curtain falling from your body. Before you can protest and protect your modesty, one metal finger glides into you simultaneously with one harsh suck of your clit into his mouth and you keen,your knees wobbling.

Bucky has a firm hold on you, wanting you to feel completely safe to let go of your control one again as he adds another finger and curls them against a spot he realised yesterday is his favourite, because he won’t be far from pulling you apart from here on out.

“Bucky!” You gasp and grind against him.

A low chuckle reverberates through your body from below you and as if magnetic, both of you look at each other at the same time. The intensity of his bright blue eyes on you, his fingers dragging at your insides and his mouth tasting everything you have to offer, brings you so close to the edge, you let out something between a whimper and a sob.

When you start clenching around his fingers and he starts moaning against you more frequently every time you wheeze his name, he starts picking up his pace, his grip on your ass tightening as he desperately works you towards your high. He has completely lost his battle with patience, just wanting you to come apart and having decided he’ll just have you again if he wants to have more of this -which he will.

The knot in your belly tightens so much, you curl over and Bucky’s mouth chases your clit, not removing his mouth from you for a second and groaning against you at the realisation of how close you are.

That is when the tightness bursts apart and you throw your head back, clutching onto him as your orgasm surges through you like hell fire. The moans that drift from your mouth are pleading and praising, Bucky working you through your high generously before pulling away and steadying you.

When your vision reappears again and your breathing steadies slightly, you look down at a pleased man kneeling in front of you. When he catches you blushing again, he jabs at your knees and makes you buckle to the ground and into his arms. Letting out a gasp, he takes advantage of your parted lips and crashes his own onto yours, pulling you into him tightly and grinning mischievously against your lips.

You moan at your own taste and bury your fingers into his hair again, letting him pull you under with him. Laying down onto the ground and making you straddle his hips, you grind your wet core over the bulge straining against his boxers.

With every grind, his grip tightens on your thighs and a grunt pours into your mouth, making you smile against him. Trailing your lips away from him, you attach your mouth to his skin and suckle your way down. His breathing is shallow and ragged as he massages the skin of your thighs.

Letting you drift down his body, his eyes not quite sure what to latch onto, Bucky swallows hard when you look up from your position between his legs, your ass poking out from behind you. Peeling his boxers back, your mouth waters at the sight of him against his taut abdomen.

You lick your lips and close your eyes, flattening your tongue and dragging it up the underside of his hard length before taking him into your mouth and hollowing your cheeks. Wrapping one hand around his base and working your mouth up and down on him, you flutter your eyes open. The sight of him staring down at you with his pupils blown with lust has you pressing your thighs together harshly, clenching around nothing.

“Fuckin’ hell…” Bucky mutters under his breath, his eyes concentrated on you.

The heavy feel of him in your mouth makes you want to take him deeper and it takes all of Bucky’s will power to drag you off of him, sitting up on the carpet and moving you over his thighs again.

His mouth is on you in seconds, kissing you in a manor so heavy and overwhelming, you whimper against him. Mumbling against your lips, not wanting to pull away for a second, his voice sounds rough “Need to feel you. Now. Fucking now.”

You nod against him breathlessly and lift your hips up above him, your hand wrapping around him before feeling him throb against your palm. Lining him up with your core, Bucky finally manages to pull away, his gaze fixated on where you’re about to connect as you focus your sight on his face. Lowering yourself slowly and letting the tip of him stretch you nicely, you sigh deeply and watch his face contort in pleasure and frustration.

"Good girl." He almost whispers, the words melting through the blur of your hazy thoughts like scolding lava "Put me in. Put me all the way in."

His words sink into your skin and you lose all your composure, deciding this second you’ll follow any fucking order he gives you and lowering yourself until he’s bottomed out and his tip twitches against your deepest wall. Wrapping your arms around him and burying your face into his neck, you shudder and let out a long, breathy moan against his skin.

“I know… Fuck, I know.” He grunts and takes a few deep breaths, his large hands stroking up and down your back.

“Bucky, you’re so deep…” You whimper and he cups your face, pulling you from his neck and stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“Feel good, baby?”

You nod mindlessly and roll your hips slowly over his, a moan erupting from both of you at the friction. His hands guide you over him until you find a rhythm so perfect, you’re nothing but moans, heavy breathing and praises. It’s not long until both of you are sweaty and close, a rush rolling through you every time you clench around him and he gasps for air.

He’s holding you so tightly, you can barely move over him. His lips messily find every inch of skin he can reach, his hands covering the rest. All you can do is accept his generous touches and kisses and let yourself melt into the pleasure. Growing desperate, even though both of you want the pleasure to last as long as possible, your movements quicken and your vocalisations of pleasure turn incoherent.

Bucky tips you onto your back, locking your thighs under his arms. Rolling his hips into you with deep and filling thrusts, your vision starts to blur, your fingers weaving through the fabric of the carpet to dig your nails into something.

“Jesus Christ…” Bucky groans and all you can do is nod in agreement, the throbbing head of him hitting you so deep, your eyes roll away from you.

Bucky watches your face in awe and drives himself so deep with his next thrust, rotating himself against your clit so perfectly, you topple over the edge and arch up completely, your body shaking and convulsing through your high. Letting out a scream of pleasure, you sob his name over and over.

Bucky lets out a string of curses as he thrusts through your high and when your eyes open back up and connect with his, he loses his restraint and releases with one deep thrust into you, burying his face into your neck as he shudders through his high.

Laying on the carpet with him still buried inside of you and both of your sweaty bodies heaving as you catch your breaths, your mind slowly starts working again. But this time you manage to push away that strict voice in your head as Bucky’s praises echo through your brain.

“You were never going to let me leave…” You mutter with a newfound confidence.

Bucky shakes slightly from his chuckles, still resting on top of you and making you feel grounded by the added pressure on top of you.

“Not really. Not without making you come again anyway.” He admits with a voice so casual, it rings danger in your ears.

You sigh deeply and look up at the ceiling. Part of you wants to explain to him how heavy this feels to you, even if he makes it seem so casual. The rest of you wants to bask in the normalcy of someone treating you like a prize and doing that so casually.

Bucky pushes up from the ground and pulls you up with him. Taking a quick peek at your body before giving you a boyish grin, he presses a sloppy kiss to your lips and shoots you a wink.

“Take a shower. I’ll get you some clothes and make us breakfast.”

And that’s it. Now don’t spoil it.

PART THREE

A/N: Because Spill It blew up so fast, I kind of wanted to write another part to it. I love how good it made people feel and I hope to keep doing that too ! Thank you so much for blowing up that post and all your honest and wonderful comments on it. You guys are amazing.

#its not as long but its kinda nice i guess #sorry for letting u guys wait #im on it again #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes smut #marvel smut #oneshot #writing #bucky barnes x reader smut #smut

[moemoemammon]

So bear with me. MC sleeps like a rock. A bomb could go off next to them, and they don't wake up. Now, add shallow breathing, and they look like a corpse. You could mistake them for a corpse if you don't check their pulse.

How would the brothers (+ datables if you're not too picky hehe) react to the first time waking them up for school only to think they probably died in their sleep on day one??

Sleeping Like a Corpse!

(Feat. GN!MC and the Demon Bros)

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Lucifer

Lucifer didn’t think much of you when you arrived, now could he be bothered to personally make sure you peeled yourself out of bed in the morning. So naturally, he sent Mammon to go do it.

But when Mammon came back complaining about how you didn’t budge an inch, big bro realized he’d have to take care of it himself, like usual.

He figured slamming your door open would’ve done the trick, but you remain still. And as much as he wants to drag you out of bed by the ankle, he knows how fragile humans can be. He opts for giving you a vigorous shake, and.... you don’t budge.

He calls your name, nothing. He literally pulls you upright by the shoulders and jostles you around like a protein shaker bottle, but you don’t move, and- wait... are you breathing? MAMMOOOOOO-

“Haaah... It’s your first morning with us, and you’re already causing me trouble. If it weren’t for the warmth of your skin, I’d have thought you were dead. Perhaps I should give you an enchanted alarm clock, if you prove to be this difficult to wake every morning.”

Mammon

Tch, he seriously didn’t get why THE Great Mammon had to do this sorta grunt work! Why should he have to make sure a lousy human gets up for school? It’s not like he’s their babysitter! but we all know he’s a p*ssy so he’s not gonna say that out loud

But that means he’s gonna make sure you know how irritated he is! Mammon bursts into your room, calling you a ‘stinkin’ human’ at the top of his lungs, and... you don’t move a muscle. So his next step is to stomp over and rip your blankets off, and..... you still don’t move.

What the hell? It’s like trying to wake up Belphie! He leans in to try to smack you awake, when he finally notices how it...kinda...looks like you aren’t breathing.

Wait. Wait wait wait-! SURE he didn’t feel like having to watch you, but that didn’t mean he wanted you to die on the first night! Lucifer was gonna KILL him-! Did you die of fright or something?! He didn’t really mean all that stuff he said about eating you, you know?! Hey, snap out of it-!

“What the- You’re ALIVE?! I thought you died in your sleep, dammit! TCH! What’s the big idea, playin’ dead like that?! Ya tryin’ to get me in trouble?!” “-N-no I wasn’t worried about ya!”

Leviathan

Why does HE have to wake you up..? Sure, he has to go to school today anyway for the student council meeting, but what does that have to do with a human..? Couldn’t Lucifer have asked ANYONE else..?

Beyond annoyed when he enters your room. What’s he supposed to do?? Shake you?? Hit you with something???? Levi opts for awkwardly poking your side, and noticing how you don’t react. Great. Ugh... this sucked....

He tries again, then pokes the back of your head, tugs your sleeve, shakes your arm... then you roll over from the movement and he nearly has a heart attack. Not only because you surprised him, but because you.. wait, did you die?!

Stuck between “LMAOOOO ROFLMAO the human died on their first night! What a noob! #fail!” and “KDAKLFHLDSJFKL OH NO HELLO?????”

“WH- Ahhh... I thought you were dead. You know how long Lucifer would've lectured if if you died, right? He'd be so mad, i bet he'd even confiscate my D.D.D.! Normies like you are nothing but trouble. This is why a human shouldn't even be here..."

Satan

What a chore... This felt like more of a punishment than anything, and Satan hadn’t even done anything yet. Unless Lucifer already discovered the ink he dripped into his shampoo? Either way, he wasn’t the slightest bit interested in you.

But seeing as he got to hang around you in your most vulnerable state, wouldn’t it be funny if he put a curse on you? He was sure that whatever he chose would become a headache for Lucifer in some way, so the possibilities were endless.

Temporary blindness, backwards speech, rainbow colored skin, extreme bad luck, he didn’t know what to choose! Ah, and there were a few curses he wanted to use on Lucifer that needed to be tested out, so why not experiment on you?

He had plenty of time to pick the perfect one and- ah. Were you.. dead? Did someone beat him to the punch?

“Ah, so you’re alive after all. And here I thought I could harass Lucifer with knowing his human had died in their sleep. Well, it’ll have to wait, I guess...I was really looking forward to the expression on his face...”

Asmo

What? Lucifer was ACTUALLY letting him go in the cute little human’s room, completely unsupervised? What a bold move, dearest big brother~! There’s no way he’d pass up the chance to take a peek at your sleeping face! You were pretty cute, but he’d like to see if you were worth his attention.

That being said, Asmo creeps into your room like a sneaky toddler, and doesn’t hesitate to grab your shoulder and roll you over to get a good look at your sleeping face. Hmm... Not bad! 

So with that, he hops right into your bed unannounced, bouncing you around and giving you that innocent giggle of his. Aren’t you lucky? You get to be woken up by the endlessly charming Asmo-chan~! The first thing you’ll see is his gorgeous face, and you’ll be blessed with the perfect first school day! 

Why, there are hundreds and thousands of demons who wish they were as lucky as you were right now! He’s seen how they’ll fight tooth and nail for a chance to-..... hey, how come you’re not breathing..? Er, he’s not really into that sort of thing...

“Oh thank goodness! I thought you up and died before I had a chance to get to know you! You know how disappointed I’d be, right? Knowing I wasn’t able to explore the cute human living in our house... it’d be a tragedy!”

Beel

Surprisingly, he doesn’t mind that much. Having to go and wake you up reminds him of when Belphie was still around, so it’s familiar and feels kind of nice. What DOESN’T feel nice is that he’s missing valuable time he could be spending inhaling his breakfast, because you won’t wake up.

Hangry Beel enters your room with a bagel in his mouth, so you couldn’t understand what he was saying even if you were awake. Just know he’s calling your name and threatening to eat your breakfast. It’s your loss if you miss out.

Hm... You don’t wake up even after he shakes you, so he’s tempted to just leave. But he knows Lucifer will scold you if he returns downstairs without you, so he’s got to improvise.

It’s fine if he just carries you downstairs, right? He’s just tryin to eat man why can’t you- ...Beel is noticing a distinct lack of breath coming from you when he picks you up. Uhhh

“Oh, you aren’t dead. I was going to ask Lucifer if we could have you for breakfast too, but I guess that’s not an option anymore. He says hurry up and get dressed, and that you should give me your breakfast. Bye.”

Belphie

He’s in the attic, so same lmao.

Twins! Still gonna strangle and throw you down the stairs in the future tho

Couple goals amirite?

#obey me #obey me! #obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date? #shall we date? obey me! #shall we date obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me scenarios #obey me writing #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor

[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