#He doesn’t even have to give me any drugs or anything I just wanna hang out with him

[dead-man-walking245]

I’ve got a few issues right now but I feel like most of them would be solved if Graverobber from Repo! The Genetic Opera would drag me around doing crimes for a day

[stargirlinterludefr]

1 STEP FORWARD, 3 STEPS BACK: rafe cameron x fem!reader

Based off of the song 1 step forward, 3 steps back by Olivia Rodrigo

Synopsis: It’s always 1 step forward and 3 steps back with Rafe, until you’ve finally had enough.

TW: Toxic relationship, emotional & verbal abuse, drug usage, references to sexual relations but no smut, addiction, heavy angst, small amount of fluff, guilt tripping for not having sex (I do NOT condone any of this, you should never be made to feel guilty if you don’t want to sleep with someone!), Rafe being an arsehole

Word count: around 3,500

‘Called you on the phone today

Just to ask you how you were

All I did was speak normally

Somehow I still struck a nerve

You’re laid down on your front, hand mindlessly plucking at your lilac coloured blanket as your other hand holds your phone close to your ear, waiting for your boyfriend to answer your call.

“Hello?” Rafe’s deep voice rings through the other end, cutting out the ringing sound that you’d been listening to whilst waiting on an answer.

You smile softly, “Hey baby, just thought I’d ring, not heard off of you in a few hours.” You say, still plucking mindlessly at your blanket as Rafe sniffles down the phone before he answering.

“Uh yeah, been busy with Barry sorry, what’ve you been up to?” He asks, and while deep down you know he’s distracted and probably doesn’t even care about what you’ve been doing as long as you’re not out flirting with other boys or…out doing anything at all.

“Barry? I didn’t realise you were hanging with him today, is he doing okay?” You ask sweetly, kind nature shining through despite how much you disliked Barry for continuing to get Rafe involved with dealings.

“Why you sound so mad about me hanging with Barry, huh?” Rafe snaps back and your heart plummets to your stomach as you pause your mindless ministrations on your blanket.

“Wha- I’m not mad, baby, I was just asking-“ You start but you don’t have the opportunity to finish as Rafe is quick to cut you off.

“Well fucking don’t! I don’t wanna deal with your bitchy attitude, it’s like you- you’re judging me or something so just cut it out a’ight? Get enough of that from my fucking dad, didn’t know my girl would be all up in my business to.” He says, voice agitated and slurred making it clear to you he’d been snorting up lines like there was no tomorrow.

You stay still in your place, eyes laced with tears that were on the verge of falling if you didn’t swallow the lump in your throat.

“What, you gone mute or something?” Rafe snaps and you jolt slightly, clearing your throat as you answer.

“M’ sorry.” You mutter, voice strained and quiet as though he’d zapped every inch of energy and happiness from you in a matter of seconds.

“Yeah, yeah whatever.” He scoffs, the sound of beeping ringing through your speaker signifying that he’d ended the call and as you slowly lower your phone from your ear, silent tears stream down your face and instead of picking mindlessly at your blanket you bury your face into it.

You got me fucked up in the head, boy

Never doubted myself so much

Like, am I pretty? Am I fun, boy?

I hate that I give you power over that kind of stuff

Parties had become something you dreaded immensely.

Rafe would usually leave you as soon as you arrived, seeking out people to sell his stuff to and snorting so many lines of it that you’d be left to deal with either his raging temper or his raging boner.

Despite that fact, you made sure you looked your prettiest each time. At the start of your relationship, Rafe showered you in compliments each time you’d get all dressed up but now he’d simply complain about how long you took and then he’d go flirt with some other look or touron making you seriously question whether you were even pretty enough anymore.

And at this particular party? You felt the burning pit of insecurity like it was etched onto your skin.

You were sat beside Rafe, two other kook girls across from you who were alongside Kelce and Barry.

Rafe was pouring out some coke from a small baggie, organising it into lines as he glanced toward you briefly.

“You want some?” He asks, pupils blown as wide as spaceships.

“No, I’m okay.” You say immediately, you’d never wanted to indulge in things like cocaine as you’d drawn the line at weed and alcohol.

“Oh my god, you’re like no fun are you? Live a little, girl.” One of the kook girls hanging off Kelce’s arms says, making the surrounding people laugh in response as their eyes dart to you.

And the worst part? Rafe laughs along with them.

“Alright then.” You mutter quietly, making the same girl holler in excitement as Rafe smiles, gesturing to the lines of cocaine he’d organised.

“All yours, baby.”

And as you sniff up the line of coke, you wonder when you’d let Rafe have so much power over the way you perceived yourself.

‘Cause it's always one step forward and three steps back

I'm the love of your life until I make you mad

The next morning you woke up to a regretful Rafe, the boy showering you with a million apologies for essentially forcing you to do something you’d never been comfortable doing in the past.

You’d assured him it was okay but he still preached his guilt, continuing to spend the remainder of the day spoiling you with a shopping trip and ending it with a walk on the beach.

The day had you feeling hopeful, Rafe had promised earlier on that he’d atleast stop doing cocaine around you so you wouldn’t be forced to.

This was progress…wasn’t it?

The hope you felt quickly diminished when you caught sight of your old friends, JJ and John B.

And JJ would be damned if he didn’t say hello to you, while you never talked much to the Pogues anymore JJ’s loyalty was impossible to extinguish. If the Maybank boy cared about you, he wasn’t ever going to let those feelings diminish.

“Ain’t this a sight for sore eyes?” A voice calls from behind you, making yours and Rafe’s heads whip around as you come face to face with JJ who is lightly jogging toward you both. John B trailing slowly behind as he adjusts two surf boards under his arms.

“How you been, y/n/n?” He asks, head cocking to the side as his messy blonde hair moves softly with it.

You open your mouth to speak but Rafe quickly cuts you off, hand tightening on your own “She’s good.”

JJ’s face immediately drops as he narrows his eyes, “Don’t think I was asking you, bro.” He says dryly as Rafe clenches his jaw.

“You gonna answer then?” Rafe spits out, making you look at him with pleading eyes, knowing by the look on his face that he was going to end this in a fight with you.

He simply gives you a glare and you turn to JJ, eyes not daring to meet his.

“Uh yeah, I’ve been good, you?” At your words Rafe lets out a scoff and you bite your lip anxiously, praying to whatever god that whatever has him mad will be resolved quickly.

“You know me, I’m always a’ight, you should uh come by the Chateau soon so we can catch up with ya…we’ve missed you.” JJ says, eyes trained intently on you as he ignores Rafe’s looming presence.

“Yeah, that sounds real nice.” You say, smiling softly and before you can say anything else Rafe is tugging you away.

“Yeah, real good to see you JJ, always a fucking pleasure!” He shouts sarcastically, ignoring how the blonde boy calls out your name when John B finally makes it to his side. You send an apologetic smile over your shoulder as Rafe’s hand detaches from your own.

“That sounds real nice?” Rafe parrots your words, eyes wild with anger as he scoffs to himself continuing his rapid walk back to the truck.

“What else was I supposed to say?” You ask desperately, running slightly to keep up with Rafe’s fast paces as he refuses to slow down for you.

“Rafe!” You call out when he doesn’t respond, the two of you now all but five meters from his truck.

That’s when he spins back to face you, face scrunched in anger as he points at you.

“I’ll tell you what your fucking problem is, y-you can’t be happy with what I’m giving you so you put on the sad kicked puppy act when Maybank is around for what? Huh? You fucking him or something?” Rafe shouts in anger, now towering over you as you all but freeze in your place.

“What? No I’m not fucking Jay, Rafe. I haven’t seen him in months, ever since you told me to stop hanging round with my friends!” You say, voice trembling as you attempt to hold back tears of frustration not missing the way Rafe’s eyes flash with more anger.

“You might as well be fucking him, you got nicknames for him and shit?” He states mockingly, letting out a dry laugh when you go to correct your mistake as a force of habit from your childhood, he spins back toward his truck before you can even respond. “Go hang with Maybank for all I care, prove how much of an attention seeking whore you are.”

Your brows furrow as Rafe rounds his truck, clambering into it as you step forward.

“Rafe?” You call out, listening to him start his truck and rev the engine. You begin walking toward the truck but Rafe reverses so quickly that sand flicks up leaving you to shield your face when he spins the truck around,leaving you stood there.

It's always one step forward and three steps back

Do you love me, want me, hate me? Boy, I don't understand

You receive an abundant of text messages from Rafe later on in the same night as your pacing the small space of your room, nibbling anxiously on your nails.

Rafe 💜: am sory baby

Rafe 💜: Pogue get me soooooo pissed

Rafe 💜: I lobe u so moch ❤️❤️

You let out a groan of frustration at the words, your mind spinning as though you’d experienced whiplash. You didn’t know how to keep up anymore, you didn’t understand.

No, I don't understand

You: I love you too 🤍

And maybe in some masochistic way

I kinda find it all exciting

Like, which lover will I get today?

Will you walk me to the door or send me home cryin'?

Your sat reading on the dock at the back of your house, one foot dangling into the water when your phone buzzes.

Rafe 💜: coming over.

Your stomach churns with an excited sort of nervousness, mind reeling on how Rafe is going to be today.

His emotional imbalance had made such an impact upon your own that you didn’t know how to feel anymore, whatever you felt was never right in his eyes.

you: okay, on the dock <3

When you hear Rafe’s footsteps drawing closer you don’t dare look up, pretending to be engrossed in your book to see how he would react.

Whether he’d be his teasing normal self that you’d fallen in love with or the coked up angry Rafe that you’d grown to hate.

Rafe steps grow dangerously near and his voice comes along with them, “That book so interesting it mutes your hearing?” He asks, voice boarding on teasing as you look up at him a few meters from you.

You smile and shrug, “It’s a good book.”

Rafe cocks a brow, coming to a standstill in front of you as locks down upon you.

“That good book better than my presence?” He asks, and some part of you sighs in relief at his calm demeanour and undiluted pupils.

“Not a chance.” You say, holding your hands out for Rafe to pull you up and as he does he picks you up into a tight hug and spins the both of you around as you squeal in delight.

It's one step forward and three steps back

I'm the love of your life until I make you mad

It's always one step forward and three steps back

Do you love me, want me, hate me? Boy, I don't understand

“Come on baby, please.” Rafe pleads with you, hands tugging at the waistband of your pants in the country club bathroom as you give him a pointed look.

“Not here Rafe.” You say softly as he groans, head on your shoulder.

“We’ve done it here before.” He says in response, lips suckling on your neck as you laugh, gently prying him away from you.

“Yeah, when we weren’t at a business party with your father here.” Rafe then stands to his full height, his jaw ticking and your stomach immediately drops at the quick shift in demeanour.

“My father’s never seemed to bother you before.” He says, referring to the abundant amount of times the two of you have fucked in the house while Ward was just downstairs.

You sigh softly, “We’re at a business party, baby, I promise when we get home-“

Rafe withdraws his hands from you and runs one through his bangs, “Whatever.” He mutters, moving swiftly toward the bathroom door as you reach out for him.

“Rafe, talk to me, what’s wrong?” The boy in question turn his head and rolls his eyes.

“What’s wrong is my girl is more interested in my father than me.” He says simply, shrugging as he goes “I didn’t even wanna fuck anyway, you make it to much work.”

And like a child who’d been refused his favourite toy, Rafe leaves you stood there swallowing the all too familiar lump in your throat.

No, it's back and forth, did I say something wrong?

It's back and forth, goin' over everything I said

It's back and forth, did I do something wrong?

It's back and forth, maybe this is all your fault

Instead it's one step forward and three steps back

Rafe had been giving you the silent treatment since you’d gotten to Tanny hill, only exchanging a grunt in response to you when you placed a kiss to his head as you sat beside him.

Your mind was raking over whatever it is you’d done wrong as you sit on his bed, anxiously waiting for him to come off of the phone to see if he’d talk to you.

You’d be a fool to yourself if you said this wasn’t a regular occurrence, Rafe constantly gave you the silent treatment in response to something.

And then he’d act like you were stupid for thinking such things.

You’re mind couldn’t pin point a thing you’d done wrong nor could it pin point anything you’d said wrong.

You should know by now that this is Rafe’s way, when he’s annoyed at everyone else he takes it out on you. When he doesn’t want to face his own emotions he pushed them onto you so you can face them. Like his own personal punching bag, you should know it’s not your fault yet you feel like it is every time.

When Rafe re emerges from the balcony, he lies down on the bed beside you as you remain sat up trying to find the courage to ask him the question that often leads to him essentially biting your head off.

“Are you mad at me?” You blurt out, turning to look at Rafe who sighs loudly in annoyance.

“Not this shit again.” He groans, rubbing a hand over his face as you fiddle with your fingers.

“I- you just seem quiet today s’all.” You point out and you can predict Rafe’s response before he even says it.

“What? I can’t be quiet now? It’s all good when you wanna be quiet but when it’s me I’m suddenly mad at you?” He asks rhetorically as you shrug half heartedly, avoiding his gaze as he sighs again bringing himself to a sitting position as he places his chin on your shoulder.

“Stop asking me stupid shit, a’ight?” He says and all you can do is nod numbly.

And I'd leave you, but the roller coaster is all I've ever had

As youre walking out of Tanny Hill, face wet with tears due to another screaming match with Rafe, a voice calls out your name from behind you.

You’re quick to wipe your cheeks when you realise it isn’t Rafe, it’s Sarah.

You turn, forcing a smile onto your face as she approaches you, and by the look on her face you know she heard.

“Hey Sare, everything good?” You ask, voice hoarse due to the amount of shouting and crying you’d done.

“I should ask you that, are you okay?” She says softly, brown eyes so kind that your heart nearly breaks to think of how much anger her brother’s blue ones hold.

“You heard, huh?” You ask, watching as she nods, “Look, he- he’s just had a long day and-“

“Y/n, he’s always either had a long day or he’s had a fight with our dad, that doesn’t justify the way he treats you.” She states, deja vu hitting you remembering the similar conversation the two of you had but in that conversation she’d been cautious with what she’d said to you but it was obvious now that caution had gone out of the window.

You stand silently, biting your lip as you look at your former friend “But he loves me.” You whisper, as if that justifies anything.

Sarah’s face breaks out in so much empathy that you swear you can hear both of your hearts break, “Love isn’t supposed to be that hard.” She says and you suck in a harsh breath, “He does love you but…not in the way you deserve.”

Tears roll down your cheeks once more as you respond, “How am I supposed to know what I deserve? I’ve never known anyone else’s love apart from his.”

Sarah immediately brings you into her arms, hugging you so tightly that you have no choice but to let yourself fall into the embrace.

Yeah, it's one step forward and three steps back

Do you love me, want me, hate me? Boy

I don't understand

You and Rafe sit silently together at one of Rose’s infamous parties, your eyes trained intently on both Sarah and John B as the Routledge boy spins her around whilst watching her with such a lovesick expression that it makes your stomach churn.

You don’t think Rafe has ever looked at you in such a way.

Not even Ward argued with the fact that Sarah was dating a Pogue, JB was so fiercely in love with his daughter that everyone with eyes could see it. He worshipped the ground she walked on making you come to realisation that Rafe had never been that way with you.

Your head turns to said boy as you speak up, “Do you love me?” You ask, making Rafe slowly turn his head toward you in return, the motion slow due to how high he is.

You don’t think he’s been sober properly since you got together, and you know he won’t be sober any time soon.

You’d helped him in every way you could, he threw it all back into your face.

He needed to figure his shit out for himself now.

“You really asking me stupid shit again?” He asks harshly, yet this time, you don’t waver in your response and you chose to ignore the lump in your throat.

“It’s a simple question, Rafe.” You state calmly, eyes twinkling with such a small amount of hope for whatever thread is hanging on in yours and Rafe’s relationship.

Rafe simply stares at you, as though he can’t bring himself to say the words he’s always eager to say when he wants to get you into bed.

You nod, hope dying out as the thread finally snaps and you unlatch the necklace he’d given you, signifying you breaking free of the prison he’d had you in for over a year.

“I hope you get better Rafe, but I don’t think you’re ever going to do that when you’re with me, I don’t want to be the thing that takes on all your shitty emotions…you need to face them for yourself.” You say, gently prying apart his clenched palm and placing the necklace there before you stand up.

Rafe is quick to follow, calling out for you as you walk away, ignoring the multiple gazes on you and the attention drawn toward you at Rafe’s desperate shouts.

Somewhere in the crowd, Sarah and John B watch with small smiles, happy you’d finally made the first step for yourself.

No, I don't understand

Two weeks later and you’re sat on the front porch at the Chateau, hair flowing softly in the morning breeze as you watch the sunrise.

Rafe had been non stop texting you during the duration of your split, words of love and hatred that you still couldn’t begin to understand no matter how hard you tried.

You did come to the realisation that he’d never even allowed you to understand him, despite how hard you’d tried.

He’d attempted to come to your house but you’d made the wise decision to crash at John B’s, rekindling your friendship with the Pogues as they welcomed you with open arms. Eyes filled with immense guilt for not realising how bad things had gotten with you and Rafe but also with so much love that you’d felt overwhelmed, you didn’t realise such love still existed.

You smile softly to yourself, eyes dancing over the colours coating the sky and you decided things would be okay.

You’d be okay.

[fayesia]

Okay DONT JUGDE ME PLEASE but I have an idea for mike schmidt. Okay so basically she(y/n) gets these new meds for the two of them it was basically like had idk what it's called but sm that makes them horny af and yk what happens next and also they r just friends when this happens. U can fill in the details with whatever.

a/n: Ahh no trust me i’m not one to judge people ever about what they’re into and stuff like that, obviously it’s different when i’m asked to write about smtg i’m uncomfortable with or if it’s illegal, but nonetheless here it is, i apologise in advanced as i did rush to get it posted but ye enjoy!! 😭

warning: most of my replies to requests i get don’t include warnings but please keep in mind before reading that this will contain ⚠️drugs, taking of drugs, irresponsible drug use!!⚠️ other than that it’s just the usual smut stuff :)

“come on you’re not gonna pussy out on me now are you?” you jab at Mike knowing he was the one boasting about the drug being a placebo that wouldn’t work.

“of course i won’t since i know it doesn’t even work. whoever sold it to you just got a free 30 dollars.” he looks down at you kneeling in front of the living room table slicing the pill in two. You were told by the seller that it was a hormone enhancing pill that was basically just stronger weed, so you were being cautious about how much you both took.

“ok fine hurry up give it here” sitting down next to you, Mike grabs one half swallowing it down in one go, you do the same. After 15 minutes neither of you feel anything.

“see i told you, it’s a fucking scam”

“no no we must’ve not taken it right, come on one more chance pleaseeee” you whine looking at him with your hands clasped together.

“fine. only cause your my best friend” “mike..i’m your only friend but ok”

Taking out two more pills you grab a cup using the base to crush them into a fine powder, with your credit card you finely crush it and seperate the pile of white powder into two even lines. Meanwhile Mike neatly rolls up a dollar bill leaning forward to snort up one line, handing the note over, you sniff up the powder feeling a sharp sting in your nose leaning back against the couch to relax and let everything settle.

First there was nothing and suddenly so much was happening all at once. In two minutes you and Mike had gone from sitting beside each other dazed as ever to feeling heat all over your body. The sensation causing you both to remove layers of clothing to avoid any effects of what felt like heatstroke. “god what the fuck is happening y/n?” you hear Mike say as he removes his clothing leaving him in a pair of black boxers, “idk mikey everything’s so hot and suffocating” you respond back stripping down to just your bra and denim shorts.

You feel the heat rising especially at your core, the denim shorts getting increasingly more uncomfortable once you’ve soaked through your underwear. Raising your head you notice Mike sitting with a pillow on his lap, “Mike…is that what i think it is?” Before he can reply you’ve already removed the pillow, the sudden movement of his body attempting to hide his raging hard on shocks you as you fall on top of him. His arms support you pulling you on top of his lap as you straddle his thighs. Not even caring at this moment, you grind your pussy against his thigh the rough denim rubbing against your clit as more liquid gushes from your pussy. A dark spot forms on your shorts as Mikes hands grab your hips to push you down harder. He abruptly stops,unbuttoning your shorts and pulling them down, he flips you over on the couch so your legs hang off the edge while your back lays on the seats. Kneeling down between your legs he spreads your thighs apart, fingers digging into the soft squishy flesh.

“fucking soaked aren’t you”

“please do something please”

“say it i wanna hear you”

“please touch my pussy”

His nose brushes across your clit through the thin material of your thong as his fingers rub you you’re getting increasingly wet. He quickly rips at the flimsy strings leaving you bare to him, your folds glisten with your wetness as you feel it dripping down. His fingers enter your mouth as you suck on them like you would a lollipop, tracing down past your hardened nipples and to your clit. The first few seconds after contact has you writhing around on the couch, things only getting more intense once you feel Mikes mouth on you. His tongue explores every crevice, caressing your delicate folds and spreading your juices all over. He spits on your clit watching it drip down before collecting it with his index and middle fingers, entering your tight hole and watching it stretch. you moan at the intrusion finally being filled by something, his two fingers feeling like three of your own. You’re so close to coming, his fingertips rubs harder and harder against the soft sensitive spot inside of you, until he removes them. your eyes shoot open widening even more once Mike flips you over onto your front holding both your hands above your head, you’re barely able to turn your head due to the position of your shoulders. The tip of his cock is pulsing and red as it rubs between your folds, poking at your sensitive clit.

The gentle movements lulling you into a further daze, however that’s quick to end once his dick starts easing into your pussy. It’s a tight fit and you weren’t sure about how much would fit but Mike just said “gonna stretch you til’ we fucking make it fit”, his words have you moaning into the couch, spit dribbling from the side of your mouth the more that he enters. His cock is about three quarters in and you’re sure you can’t take any more, that is until he starts pulling out and pushing back in.

Finally he’s all the way in and you’re pulsing around him, your channel trying to fit around the girth of him.

“ok i think it’s fine, you can move”

his thrust start picking up speed, the sound of his hips smacking against your ass bounce off the walls of the room, his heavy balls slap against your clit adding to the pleasure.

“fuck mikey harder please, i’m so close omg”

He picks up the pace going faster and deeper into you, his cock pushes hard against your g-spot spurring you closer to the edge.

“baby i’m gonna cum, fill you up nice and full, fuck you everyday you want that?”

“yesyes please i need you, cum for me baby”

He continues ploughing into you, hips stuttering as he tilts his head back releasing a low guttural groan, you can feel drops of liquid releasing every time he pulls outwards. Finally a stream of Mikes cum pools inside of you, his groans grow softer the more that spurts out, your pussy clamps down on him and more of your come is leaking down his length the droplets staining the couch. Mike rolls over off of you to lay on the couch beside your panting body. The two of you are covered in a sheen of sweat, out of breathe and still coming down from the effects of the drugs you both took. After a few minutes you’re both still in your underwear, Mikes head resting on your lap while you stroke his hair, the two of you thinking about having a discussion on what this would change about your friendship but with the state of high you were both in that topic was for another time.

“well now that we’ve proven it works what do we do now?” Mike asks looking back up at you.

Reaching over to grab something off the table you simply smirk and wave a small clear packet containing two pills, identical to the ones just taken around and hour and a half ago.

~unedited~

[irisintheafterglow]

Need (college au!sakusa x you)

summary: passion is a passing thing, accidental chemistry. it's not what you two are at all. (or, you get wasted at a party and the only thing in your mind is him)

wc: 2.28k

cw/tags: childhood best friends to strangers to lovers, angst/fluff with a happy ending, mentions of drinking and parties including being drunk and vomiting, pet name (gorgeous), a tasteful amount of self-loathing (if you can call it that, it's just angst), swearing/explicit language, mutual pining

note: taylor swift lyric title cuz yk it's a signature at this point. also i was throwing around this idea with either suguru or bakugo but i could not get omi out of my mind for the life of me. hope you enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and feedback are always appreciated!

“Hello?”

“Remedy.” The silence from the other end of the phone is so suffocating, you think he hung up. The thought sends another wave of emotion rolling through your body and you’re shaking, again, in the corner wedged between the toilet and the bathtub. 

“What?” His voice is strained but just as smooth and low as you remember. Your empty chest aches even more. 

“Remedy,” you plead, head spinning from the fluorescent lights of the bathroom. “Remedy, remedy, remedy, remedy, remedy.” It’s the only thing you can repeat at this point, too overwhelmed to think of anything else. Everything was distorted and hazy, like your eyes were looking into two differently-patterned kaleidoscopes. His voice is the only thing keeping you grounded, at this point. 

“Where?”

“Party on 18th and 40th, in the bathroom. Can’t miss it,” you relay, incredibly ashamed at how easily your words slur together. He hangs up abruptly and your phone clatters into the mystery-stained bathtub. Disgraceful. The whole situation was embarrassing beyond belief–calling your childhood best friend turned stranger to tell him that you got wasted and the only thing you could think about was him. Part of you hoped he wouldn’t show up, hoped that he would confirm the theory in your mind that he hated you now. Minutes felt like ages while you continued to occasionally dry heave into the toilet and grimace through the blinding pounding in your forehead. He’s not coming, you realize as you try to stand on gelatinous legs. And why would he? He doesn’t know you anymore and you don’t know him. He’d never be found in a place like this, anyway. 

Or, so you thought. 

The bathroom door is shut with a forceful kick below the handle. “Easy, easy,” he cautions, grabbing your forearms to support you. Every nerve in your body can feel where his palms meet your skin and it’s intoxicating, more than anything already in your system; any fearful paranoia riddling your body dissipates when you register his presence. The sound of his voice murmuring your name floats into your ears like a drug and your knees give out at the sudden feeling of safety. He delicately sits you on the marble of the sink, careful to make sure you don’t lose your balance as he scans your face and body. Standing between your legs like this, he was in closer proximity to you than he had been in years. You’d forgotten how handsome he was in person, drastically different from the faded image you tried to retain in your mind. 

“Hi, Omi,” you drawl dopily, tilting your head to the side and smiling. He can’t help huffing out an incredulous laugh at your mood switch. 

“Hey, gorgeous. Are you hurt?” You slowly shake your head from side to side and he nods, eyebrows still drawn in concern. Even in your intoxicated state, you can tell how flustered he is because he seems to have no idea where to put his hands. They take turns disappearing as he crosses his arms, muscle flexing under his jacket, and then uncrosses them. He settles for putting them on either side of yours, gripping the edge of the counter. “Wanna tell me why you’re shitfaced in a frat house?” You hum in thought, rotating your neck carefreely and your face starts to burn as his fingers gently pull your chin back to face him. 

“Went with the roomies.”

“The same ones from first year?” You nod, your vision slightly starry. “They’re not good for you, idiot.”

“Oh, you think I don’t know that?” The corner of his lip turns down into a frown at your sudden attitude. “Where the fuck else am I gonna live?” His body abruptly pulls away like he was offended. He starts to make his way back to the door and another wave of dread sinks into your gut.

“Look, if you’re gonna make me come all the way over here just to–”

“He looked like you.” It makes his voice halt in his throat, your words. His hand is frozen as it hovers above the handle and he looks at you over his shoulder. Your face falls a little further, voice unsteady. “He didn’t act like you, though.” He stiffens like he wants to say something, but his jaw stays clenched while he takes you back into his arms and drapes his jacket over your exposed shoulders before guiding you out of the house. The warmth from his jacket and the lingering smell of his cologne continue to help ground you back into the present. While you’re navigating the raging crowd to the exit, he’s careful to stay as close to you as possible without hindering your movement, glaring daggers into any guy that approaches. It felt like a fever dream, having Omi at a party with you when he’d sworn off these kinds of scenes for as long as you’d known him. 

“I’m not that interested in slowly annihilating my liver. Probably isn’t good for Olympic prospects,” is what he said when you asked him if he was going to party in college. The sun was dipping below the neighborhood’s houses while you sat together on the roof of Omi’s, a tradition you picked up starting in middle school. It made your heart hurt a little bit, whenever he talked about going pro in volleyball. You noticed the change over the course of high school, how he canceled plans for a last-minute training camp or stayed so long after practice that you would just walk yourself home. You knew it made him happy and fulfilled the hunger of his competitive side, but it was still saddening to watch your best friend slip away little by little. “Why? Are you going to ragers every weekend?” You scoff and roll your eyes, taking another sip from your soda to avoid answering the question. Still, he’s watching you; you can tell from the corner of your vision and you shrug. 

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll try one just to get grossed out by it and then never do it again.” He gives you a rare chuckle, breathy and low. His smiles and his laughs, however stingy he was with them, were just as beautiful as the rest of him. It made your chest ache even more. 

“Well, in the event that you’re so wasted you can’t see straight, call me.” Your first instinct is to laugh but you fight down the urge when you see the thoughtful expression on his face. “I’ll come get you and make sure you’re not with some douchebag.”

“Mmm, my hero,” you tease and he gives you a lightheartedly annoyed look. “What if you’re, I don’t know, in practice or something?”

“We can have a code word.”

“A code word?”

“Yeah, so that I know if it’s really important.”

“You wouldn’t get me if you didn’t think it was important?” It’s supposed to be a joke, but something shifts in your expression that makes you feel guilty for asking something so unlike him. 

“I’ll get you every time, no questions asked.” 

True to his word, he didn’t end up asking a lot of questions. When you were through the front door, his hand covered the top edge as you ducked into the passenger seat of his car. You still felt like you were in a daze while he drove, leaning your head against the window and staring off at the passing streaks of yellow and white. The quiet between you two was stifling, nothing like the late-night drives you made him take you on when neither of you could sleep. It was unsettlingly cold and you pulled his jacket tighter around your body, sinking further into the leather seats. 

“I’m not taking you back to your dorm,” he states blandly. Tension riddled his body ever since he found you in the bathroom and all you wanted was for him to relax. How could he, though, if you were on the verge of vomiting again in his car? 

“I know.” It’s all you can muster out of the pure shame covering your body like a rash. You trusted him and knew where he was going, but it still didn’t give you relief. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are. You couldn’t get one of your friends to take you home?” His voice and expression are both unreadable, intentionally blank to not give away his inner thoughts. There it is, you think. There’s the loathing he feels toward you for being another weight on his back. You’re careful with your words and they barely come out as a whisper. 

“I didn’t want them.” His attention flicks to you for a moment, like he doubted the sincerity of your answer. His eyebrows raise in mirthless disbelief.

“But you wanted me?”

“I needed you.” He shakes his head; he didn’t believe you.

“There’s a difference.”

“Not to me.” 

The shame continues to rise around your body like water and you’re sinking in it, struggling to breathe while emotions threaten to spill from bloodshot eyes. But, even more, the shame is distorted by an unshakeable feeling of confusion. You didn’t know how he felt about you, nor did you really understand how you felt about him. The last time you spoke was months ago and yet you let go in his presence as if nothing had changed. It was driving you out of your mind, not knowing what he was thinking. The feeling stays stagnant in your body even after you shower at his apartment, in his bathroom with his body wash. He leaves one of his old jerseys for you to wear, saying his bed is yours for the night. Everything smelled like him, familiar and nostalgic. Everything was telling your brain that you were safe, so why weren’t you able to relax? 

His head pokes through a crack in the door to check on you right before you turn his bedside lamp off. You’re wrapped in his blankets and wearing his clothes, but everything about your situation just felt wrong. He can see it in your face, too, and respectfully has a seat on the edge of the bed next to you. 

“Talk to me.”

“I don’t know how anymore,” you mutter pathetically into his pillow. He exhales deeply, rubbing his eyes and you expect him to leave you right there. It’d be too much work for him to unpack exactly what was going on. 

“You said there was a guy that looked like me,” he offers. You merely hum in assent, still too disgusted with yourself to look at him. In contrast, his voice is a patient plea for you to keep talking. "Why'd he matter?"

“I kissed him and pretended he was you.” Sneaking a glance at his face, you find it completely blank, the only sign of emotion being the miniscule widening of his eyes. “His hands started to wander, though, and I just knew. I knew he wasn’t you.” 

“How did you end up in the bathroom?” His words are strained and shaky, but neither of you will look at each other.

“Threw up. It felt gross, kissing him.” Kiyoomi breaks for a millisecond, his face contorting in anguish before schooling itself back into blankness. “It felt gross to kiss him because he–”

“Because he looked like me,” he finishes, unable to mask his sorrow. Something clicks in your mind and you sit up pencil-straight, suddenly completely sober. 

“No.” You don’t attempt to hide the urgency in your tone while you slide closer and place your hand on his shoulder. He flinches but doesn’t pull away. “Because he wasn’t you at all, Omi. He wasn’t who I wanted, nor who I needed.”

“And who is it that you want? Is it the same as who you need?” He’s finally looking at you, eyes softer than you’d ever seen. Whether purposeful or not, both of your bodies had shifted closer to each other as if they were stuck in each other’s orbit. 

“It’s been the same for as long as I can remember, even when he disappeared for a little bit,” you confess and you attempt to give him a smile. He’s completely speechless at what you’re implying, and his reaction is enough to tell you that he feels the same. 

“And…would you let him stay with you for the night? To make up for lost time?” His knuckles hesitantly brush your cheek in question. You take his hand in yours and press a feather-light kiss to his fingers in answer. 

“As long as he promises not to disappear again.”

“He won’t,” he states with finality while he pulls you back into his bed, pulling you into his chest as naturally as breathing. He sighs into the top of your head when you’re flush against his body, the tension you felt earlier gradually dissipating. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you more.”

“That’s not possible. I fell first, after all.” You can hear the smirk in his words even as your eyes flutter shut. You pull whatever energy you have left in the tank to respond to his quick remarks. It doesn’t last for long when you feel sleep start to tug at your mind. 

“And I fell harder. Who’s winning now, hmm?” 

“I still am. Look who I have in my arms right now.”

“Your athlete is showing, Omi,” you murmur on the verge of passing out. His fingers tracing swirls on your skin through his jersey wasn’t helping your fight to stay awake. 

“Rest, then; we have a lot to catch up on in the morning.” 

“Promise you won’t leave.”

“I promise I won’t let you go.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[tangledinink]

Chapter Twenty-Five of I'm Sorry, Teenage Mutant What Now? is now up! There's a certain theme in this chapter you'll never guess what it is. Read it on ao3 or below the cut.

[ prev ]

“Alright. So,”

Mikey stared up at his older brother curiously, leaning against Leo slightly, the two of them settled down on the couch. Donnie was perched on the arm of the opposite side, slumped slightly and tapping away at his phone-- but also clearly listening to their eldest brother, stood up before them in the Lair as if he was about to give a presentation.

“About the whole… turtle thing,”

Donnie immediately sighed, making a face, and Raph threw up his hands in protest.

“I ain’t even said anything yet!” He cried, exasperated, and Donnie shot him a dry look.

“Yes, and I already dislike it.”

“Aw, come on, Dee, give him a chance!” Mikey protested, picking his head up so he could offer Raph an encouraging little grin. He knew this wasn’t exactly, like, a favored topic of discussion in the household, but it wasn’t like they could just ignore it, either! At least not all the time.

“Okay, so, I’ve been thinkin’ about it a lot lately, and don’t y’all kind of think that it might sort of be… safer?”

“No,” Donnie said.

“Donnie…!”

“He has a point!” Mikey protested, crossing his arms over his chest. “I mean, we have shells when we’re all turtley. If Raph had been a turtle on our last ninja mission, his ribs wouldn’t have gotten all messed up!”

“Exactly!” Raph said, pointing, seeming very pleased that at least one of his brothers was offering some support. “Look, I know you guys don’t like it, and that’s… fine! I mean, I’m not askin’ ya to like it! I just think, maybe, it’s somethin’ we should consider for at least, like… ninja mission stuff?”

Leo wrinkled his nose, seeming unconvinced to say the least.

“I dunno,” he said. “I mean. Yeah, sure, I guess, arguably, they’re a bit more sturdy, but… we’re not really used to even walking in those bodies yet. Let alone fighting! I know adrenaline is a kickass drug and all, but doesn’t it kind of seem like more risk than it’s worth?”

“You still can’t walk?” Mikey questioned, giving Leo a curious look, his brows furrowed.

Leo paused, slowly turning his head to give Mikey a long stare, his expression strained.

“... Excuse me?”

Mikey frowned, tilting his head to the side. “I can help if you want! It’s not that hard once you get the hang of--”

“I’m sorry,” Donnie interrupted, his head snapping around. “Are you implying that you have been spending your free time willingly futzing around in a mutant turtle body just for the fun of it?”

Now it was Mikey’s turn to stare, his head bobbing around from brother to brother, trying to see if either of them were joking-- waiting for someone to say psyche.

Wait, were they for real?

“... None of you have checked yourself out in turtle form at all?” He gawked.

“No! Why would we?!” Leo cried, throwing up his hands.

“‘Cause! That’s, like, us!” Mikey argued, throwing his hands up in turn, imitating his brother. “You’re seriously telling me you’re not even a little bit curious!? You guys are all just ignoring it!? We find out that we have magick mutant animal forms, like, freakin’ animorphs, and you don’t even wanna bother seeing if we have any cool powers or turtle abilities or anything?!”

“Have you actually read the Animorph books? Because if you did I’m pretty sure--”

“That’s not the point!” Mikey interrupted Donnie with a whine. “When I’m a turtle, I can, like, go inside my shell! If some bad guy was trying to, like, stab me or something, I’d be totally screwed,” he argued, crossing his arms firmly over his chest with a pout. “But if I was a turtle, I could just pop into my shell and I’d be totally okay!”

“I cannot believe what I’m hearing right now,” Leo muttered. “We find out that we’re secretly freakish mutant reptiles, and you think it’s a fun hobby--”

“I’m not saying that, Leo!” Mikey protested. “But what’s the point in just ignoring it? If you don’t check it out, you’re never gonna get used to it. Besides, Raph is right!”

“Thank you, Mikey,” Raph sighed. “You guys don’t have to do it all the time or anything! I just think… It might be a worthwhile option to explore. I don’t want anyone getting hurt,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes kind of sweeping over them all, as if he were making sure they were all still here and uninjured and accounted for.

“Plus, it’s kind of cool once you get over the whole, like, world-shattering parts of it!” Mikey chirped, moving to grab at his bracelet. “Here, watch, lookit what I can do--”

Both twins immediately slapped hands over their eyes, loudly protesting in tandem.

“Don’t you dare--!”

“I am not looking and you cannot make me--”

“Hamato Michelangelo if you take off that fucking bracelet right now I will murder you--”

“I am OPTING OUT, thank you VERY MUCH, we are so not doing this today!!!” Mikey blinked in surprise, and then absolutely scowled, releasing his hold on the bracelet. Oh, so Donnie could go have a breakdown in the Hidden City in his turtle form, but he wasn’t allowed to show them his shell thing!? So unfair… 

“You guys are being babies!”

“Nope! Nope, not today! I’m out! Fuck this!” Leo responded, hopping up to his feet and making a hasty retreat towards the Lair stairs. “You play turtle all you want, I am not involved!”

“Agreed,” Donnie huffed, and he was right behind his twin.

And then there were two of them left in the Lair.

Mikey sulked, sinking back down onto the couch and pursing his lips. “Aw, come on…”

Raph watched the other two go, laughing kind of nervously before he hesitantly moved to join the other, sitting down beside him. “Sorry, big man,” he said, ruffling his hair gently. “You can still show Raph if you want?”

Mikey sighed. “Maybe later,” he said, wrinkling up his nose. “I thought they’d at least be kind of okay with it by now! I mean, it’s been how long?”

“I think it’s just… a little harder for them than it is for you,” Raph said with a weak shrug, hesitating a bit, and Mikey frowned, turning his head slightly so he could catch Raph’s eyes.

“What about you?”

Raph laughed sort of nervously, looking to the side.

“Well. I mean. I don’t… like it. I mean. I ain’t you. But it’s… it’s… alright. I mean. I meant what I said! It might be good for us. Keep us safe ‘n all.”

Mikey raised a brow. “And…?”

Raph hesitated for a bit, and sighed. “I mean. Look, Mikey, it’s a little… scary. I’m a lot bigger than you guys! And… sharper!”

“Yeah, but you’re always bigger than us!” Mikey protested, leaning against his brother, burrowing up against him. 

“Yeah, I know,” Raph said. “And that was scary once, too. But it’s… It’s fine. I dealt with it,” he said, shrugging a little, frowning to himself. “So now I just gotta…” He broke off briefly, setting his expression for a moment. “Now I just gotta learn it again. That’s all.”

He sighed very softly. And Mikey frowned a little.

“I’m used to being big and scary. I’m used to people being afraid of me sometimes,” he said. “So. It’s nothin’ I can’t handle.” 

“Yeah, but…” Mikey began slowly, kind of shrugging a bit. “I mean. We’ve never been scared of you or anything. You know that, right? We don’t care if you’re bigger than us,” he pointed out. “We never have! And we don’t care if you’re spiky, either, I mean… all our turtle forms are weird.” 

Raph forced a small laugh.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” he said, sort of waving off his concerns. “That’s not… I mean. I dunno, Mikey, it’s just sorta complicated. I mean. There’s just kinda… there’s less things you can be when you’re big, you know?” He said slowly, resting his chin in his hand. “It’s… you know. It’s hard, sometimes. Being strong and careful at the same time. Even when people aren’t careful with you. And making sure you don’t hurt anyone and… all that.” His eyes looked a tiny bit far off for a moment, like he was remembering something. “And… you guys can kinda do whatever you want! You can be all… little or bouncy or feminine or cute or delicate or whatever the hell else, and you just… can’t really do that stuff when you’re big. Once you get big enough, you just kinda gotta… There’s just stuff you can’t do anymore.”

Mikey paused a moment.

This was… the first he was ever hearing of this.

Was this… really how Raph thought?

“Yeah, you can!” He protested, his brows twitching a bit, furrowing as he stared up at his brother. “Raph, of course you can be all that stuff! Why couldn’t you!?”

Raph scoffed, shooting the other this little half-hearted half-smile. “Well, I mean, I guess I technically can? It’s just not as simple as it is for you guys,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I mean, you guys can do half of that stuff without even trying! And no one would even bat an eye. But it’s just… It’s not really the same for me? It’s like…” he scoffed softly, seeming almost amused. “Raph can pick up the rest of ya, but none of you could pick up Raph! It’s a little different!”

Mikey pursed his lips, giving Raph a pointed scowl.

“Well, you’ve never let any of us try,” he argued. And Raph laughed.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’d hurt yourself!” He teased, and Mikey socked him in the arm without too much heat to it.

“You don’t know that! We’re way stronger than we look!” He insisted. “And all that other stuff! I mean-- you could totally do that stuff, Raph! Just because you’re bigger doesn’t mean you can’t be cute!!! What kind of--!? I mean!!! Raph!!!”

He jumped forward, grabbing onto his brother’s face so he could stretch and squish his cheeks angrily.

“You’re already cute all the time, idiot!!! You don’t have to be small to be cute!!! That’s stupid!!!”

Raphael scoffed, laughing loudly, trying to bat Mikey away, though Mikey was suddenly aware, in a way that he usually wasn’t, that he was taking care to temper his strength. He wasn’t just batting at Mikey the way Mikey would bat at him. Every movement he made was careful and deliberate and planned. He thought about every jab or swipe that he made at his siblings.

Mikey was almost ashamed that he had never thought about his before.

He was never gentle with Raph when he jumped on him or grabbed at him or climbed on his shoulders because it never felt like he had to be. Raph was over a foot taller than him. He probably had at least a hundred pounds on him. Mikey had always been the smallest, and while he certainly wasn’t weak by any means, Raph was a goddamn wall of muscle. An unstoppable force! He had never met anything that Raph couldn’t push and bend and sway if he tried hard enough. So every time they met an obstacle, they all just… looked at him and waited for him to take care of it.

He… Yeah.

He was big.

Mikey supposed he had always looked at his brother and came to that conclusion, and then never thought any further on the subject. He had always expected Raph to be big and strong and sturdy. He had never wondered if he wanted to be anything else. 

Why did he do that?...

Mikey let go of Raph, and he climbed back down off of him, sitting next to him on the couch instead of half on top of him. And he sighed deeply. 

“You’re not scary,” Mikey said after a second, blinking slowly as he slowly settled back down on the couch. “And you can do all that other stuff, if you want to. We would let you,” he pressed. And he frowned, and he kept quiet for a moment.

“... I’m sorry it feels harder,” he finally said, tilting his head to the side slightly. “And… we’re not always careful with you.”

Raph stared at him for just half a second, hesitating for only the slightest moment before laughing again and waving him off. “What are you talkin’ about? You don’t gotta apologize, none of ya’ did anything wrong! This is Raph’s thing. It ain’t your problem,” he insisted, but Mikey wasn’t so sure that that was exactly the case.

He would work on it. 

Because Mikey was suddenly so, so sure that this was something he wanted to fix. And something that he could do. 

This was still the something that he could give to them.

“Still,” Mikey finally said, shrugging a bit and taking a long breath before getting up to his feet. “Do you still wanna see me do the shell thing? It’s really cool!” He offered, wiggling his brows at his older brother, and he chuckled in reply, nodding.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure, big man, show me your thing,” he invited, and Mikey grinned.

---

“Raph!” Mikey chirped excitedly, spinning around on his heels so that his back was facing the older brother. “Here! Les’ play piggyback!”

“Okay!” Raph agreed easily, absolutely beaming at the invitation, wasting no time in scampering over to Mikey. Their trip to the zoo, which had so far been absolutely abound with all sorts of excitement, to Mikey’s absolute delight, had taken a short departure from the previous energy while their dad tried to calm a squabble between his other two brothers. This was a bit less to Mikey’s delight. He wasn’t really sure what they were carrying on about, ‘cause he hadn’t really be paying attention. Those two were always fighting about something. He thought maybe it was about hair? Whatever. The point was, just sitting here and listening to them whine was boring.

But playing piggybacks?! That was fun! They could make a game out of it or something--

“Jump on--”

Their dad paused from his current task in peacemaking, however, just long enough to grab Raph by the shoulder right as he was about to make good on his baby brother’s invitation and jump on top of Mikey’s back. Before it even began, the game came to a grinding halt.

“You’re too big for that, Red, you’ll hurt him,” Dad bit out quickly, sparing them the most momentary of glances. “Play a different game.”

And just like that, he was back to his previous duty, trying to talk the twins through their latest drama in between their protests and tears.

Mikey paused, blinking in surprise as he processed this. 

They couldn’t play piggyback? But…

“No fair…” He whimpered, his lower lip wobbling a little. He wanted to pretend he was a Jupiter Jim spaceship or something! And Raph could’ve been Jupiter Jim!

Raph hesitated visibly, glancing between their dad and Mikey, his brows furrowed. And after a minute, he sort of forced a smile, leaning over to grab Mikey and shake his arm a bit.

“That’s okay, Mikey! I don’t have to piggyback you,” he assured quickly. “You can just piggyback me, instead! Raph doesn’t mind. That way we can still play! Alright?”

And Mikey grinned.

---

Okay. Alright. You can do this. It’s not a big deal. You have this totally under control--

Donnie’s hand lingered over the bracelet on his wrist.

And then at the last second, he flinched away like he had just been bitten, a short, high-pitched whine escaping him as a full-body shiver ran up and down his body. Nope, nope, nope!!! He did not have it!!! It was a big deal, actually, ugh, no, no, no, just thinking about it felt gross. How the hell was he supposed to consider this when just the idea made his stomach flip!?

Donnie growled softly in annoyance, laying his head down on his desk with a solid thunk, glaring down at the polished surface as if it were personally responsible. 

God. It just felt so fucking alien.

Had they really spent the first five years of their lives like that? 

No matter how much evidence was piled up in front of him, Donnie still struggled to wrap his mind around such an idea. I mean, that was practically a third of his life! And he just forgot about it?! He had a near-photographic memory! How did something like that happen!?

Part of him wanted to not believe it at all. It would certainly be easier to be in denial.

But, much to his annoyance, far too many things just… made sense.

He had too many memories, some recently resurfaced and some long-ago explained away, to simply dismiss the idea. He felt pretty stupid thinking about it now, quite frankly. Yeah, of course normal kids don’t have memories of ‘playing pretend’ in sci-fi movie-magic high-def like that!!! Obviously!!! None of his other memories were like that, were they!? When they would pretend to be Jupiter Jim or Lou Jitsu or whatever when they were older, it was exactly that, wasn’t it? Just them-- just kids playing make-believe games.

And yet he had just accepted the easiest thing. The most logical, most reasonable thing was just to believe that memories were weird and leave it at that, and that their early childhood was probably kind of fucked up, but human the entire time, and go from there.

Because… of course it was. Obviously, it was. Anything else would have been insane!

It was still insane. Even if it was, apparently, the truth of the matter.

It had been so much easier to blame all the freaky things they did as kids on something else. He and Raph bit people like feral pomeranians as kids simply because they hadn’t had the chance to socialize with other children before, of course. Not because they were carnivorous reptiles, prone to bouts of hunting instincts taking over. And he and his siblings got so sleepy in the cold and adored their heated blankets simply because poor circulation ran in the family. Not because they were literally made of cold-blooded creatures! That would be crazy. And Leo and he’s penchant for communicating entirely in animalistic clicks and chirps throughout early childhood-- a habit that still lingered even now? It was a twin thing, obviously, and nothing else. Because that would be crazy!

Not them literally talking to each other in fucking turtle or anything!

‘Cause how the hell would that work?

How the hell else would Leo fucking squeaking at you make sense, dum-dum? He thought bitterly to himself. It had been years and years now since they had properly employed their ‘twin language,’ but Donnie was pretty sure that it had never been a proper language at all. It wasn’t like they had any words in it, or they ever discussed what certain noises meant beforehand, at least not that he could recall…

But they could still always understand what the other was saying regardless, couldn’t they?

Donnie groaned softly, lifting his head back up just so that he could rub at his temples. Christ, thinking about all of this was just giving him a migraine. He quietly asked the universe what he had ever done to it for them to make his life a fucking joke. What was this, a parody of some Marvel comic or something!?

He hated thinking about it.

But…

He reached for his wrist again.

He touched the little crystal, his fingertips just barely brushing the surface.

He quite nearly gagged, another horrid shudder running up his spine as he spiraled back into a retreat. Ugh, god, he couldn’t just not think about it, either! Every hair on his body was standing on end, and he grit his teeth, forcing himself to start reciting pi in his head instead. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. 

He ran his fingers across the seams of the compression sleeves on his arms, reminding himself that they were there before he quickly turned back to his computer, snapping open several files and syncing up his headphones with the bluetooth.

He smacked the play button, and whatever random EDM playlist he had queued up on Spotify immediately began blaring through his ears, drowning out everything else. 

Much better.

He sighed deeply, narrowing his eyes slightly as his gaze roamed over the screen. It was fine. He was fine! All he needed was a distraction for a little bit.

He had already made a decent amount of headway in trying to recreate Baron Draxum’s research, translating and decoding everything he could remember from the notes he had reviewed and documented in his lab. It was patchworked at best, but it was the only solid information he really had on the mutation project…

That, and himself.

Donnie set his jaw, scrolling his way through the data sheets he had compiled.

He had made some decent headway. But he could always make some more.

---

Quite frankly, Leo had felt, like… great recently? Which was pretty insane, given the general state of things, and also how fucking awful he had felt not the long ago. And, like, sure, things were still kind of rough and he wasn’t exactly tickled about the whole situation, but somehow, at the same time, everything was just…

So good.

He had really only been on T for a few weeks, so he was pretty much sure that nothing had actually changed yet and it was in his head, but he had literally never felt so fucking good about himself before. His brothers had taken the time to inform him of how fucking insufferable he and his ego had become, and Leo didn’t even care, because damn right he looked good and obviously everyone should know about it, too! He had started taking about eight million selfies every day because he wanted to document the process, Dee, it’s science, I’m coming for your brand, shouldn’t you be supportive of this kinda thing? 

But it was just, like… even if nothing had changed yet, at least not noticeably, it was… It was going to. It was an active work in progress and he was just so goddamn thrilled about it. And like, yes, okay, things were weird and kind of scary right now and he was spending a lot of time doing ninja training and trying to stop the actual literal end of the world, or whatever, and that was sort of a lot of pressure? But here was the thing-- and he would never admit it out loud--

But he sort of didn’t mind any of it.

Because yeah, all the ‘ninja training’ stuff was difficult and boring sometimes, but he got to do it with his family. 

And, like, yeah, some of the stakes here? Were a lot, and it was terrifying if he thought about it too hard.

But him and his siblings and his dad? They were all doing it together. 

If word that he was enjoying hanging out with his family ever got out, obviously his rep would be ruined, so he had to take it to his grave. But he was. He was, like… happy. Happier than he had been in a while, in between everything else, in between the worry about his dad and the concern for his siblings, sure, but he was also, like… 

Weirdly happy.

Was that bad?

Oddly enough, he was really, stupidly happy right now, and maybe he just didn’t…

Didn’t want to give that up…?

Leo frowned a bit, biting the insides of his cheeks as he spun his bracelet idly around on his wrist, his nose wrinkled up a bit. 

It was silly, really. It wasn’t as simple as “if you take it off, you’ll be miserable again.” Things were obviously different than they had been before, when they first got home, in a lot of ways! There was no formula, no clear cut-and-dry cause-and-effect, he didn’t know that that would happen, it was just… 

Well, what if he was?

What if he tried to do ‘turtle stuff,’ or whatever the fuck Raph had said exactly, and then everything was horrible again? What if everything just went back to the way it was? 

Right now, Leo was pretty sure that he, like, liked himself. Like, actually for real! Almost all of him, even! He could look at himself in the mirror again, he could shower without crying, he could post selfies on his instagram and stand to be filmed and looked at and wear make-up and nail polish without having a crisis-- all things that he loved to do! All things that he had missed so, so deeply when he had hated himself too much to enjoy any of it.

He hadn’t liked hating himself. And he didn’t wanna do it again.

But what if he took it off, and then he did?

What if he took it off, and then there was no solution this time? He couldn’t start T a second time. So what if he just got… stuck…? 

Leo groaned loudly, tilting his head back and burying his face in his hands, scrubbing at his eyes.

This is so stupid! Raph is right and you know it! And none of this shit even makes any sense! Why would you go back!? It wasn’t the turtle thing, it was-- it was everything, it’s not that simple, and even if it was, you still need to get over it…!

“Did something happen?”

Leo jerked in surprise at the sound of his father’s voice-- he hadn’t even heard him passing through the hallway, and yet now here he was leaning against the doorframe. Ahhh, stupid ninja father…!

Rapidly righting himself, Leo straightened his back and cleared his throat, attempting to wave his father off. “Oh, they just kicked Dean off of the Bachelorette, which is obviously messed up because he’s clearly the hottest one there? I mean, I know it’s all, like, the producers, or whatever, but come on--”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Dad said, nodding thoughtfully as he slowly made his way into the other’s room, leaving him the time to chase him away if he wanted to. (But Leo himself was surprised to find that he didn’t.) “And…?”

Dammit, usually Dad always fell for Bachelorette based lies. Leo hesitated a second, staring up at the ceiling and tugging at one of his own curls-- straightening it out and then letting it go, feeling it bounce up against his cheekbones.

(He loved his hair. He loved loving his hair. He had come so close to cutting it off, and if he had, he would have been fucking devastated now. What if he ended up hating it again? What if he did cut it off…? He didn’t want to cut off his hair!... He loved his hair…!)

“Do you think we’d be, like… better fighters as… turtles, or whatever?”

His dad hummed thoughtfully, sitting down at the edge of his bed and seeming to consider this for a moment. “Well. I don’t know about that. But I suppose there could be advantages,” he finally said. “Though there could be drawbacks, as well. Why do you ask?”

He sighed deeply.

“Well. Raph thinks-- I mean. Raph said that he thought maybe it’d be, like… safer, or whatever. And we’d get beat up less if we had, you know, shells and body armor and stuff? And…! I mean, he’s right, we probably would be, but I don’t… we’re not used to it, and, and it’s different, and it’s, you know, it’s not stealth, obviously, so I’m not--” 

He frowned deeply, wrinkling up his nose.

“I still don’t… like it. I guess is the problem, actually,” he admitted. 

Dad sighed thoughtfully.

“Well,” he finally said. “That is certainly understandable. I don’t like what I look like without the bracelet, either,” he admitted, looking slightly to the side, his eyes dancing away for just a moment before he managed to herd them back. “I do admit that being safer and less prone to injury does sound very nice to me…! But that is just me being selfish. And your father,” he laughed. “... I do not want any of you to get hurt. And I… I would like you to be safe. But no one will force you to be in any body that makes you unhappy, Blue. That’s not safe, either, and I suppose I can’t…” He sighed a bit, sounding almost frustrated. “It wouldn’t be fair for me to prioritize one over the other.”

Leo frowned a little, wrapping his arms around himself. 

“But you do think we’d be safer, don’t you?” He pressed.

Dad kind of floundered for a second. “I don’t want to tell you what--”

“Yeah, yeah, our bodies, our choice, you love us, other quotes from parenting books, blah blah blah. I get it, Dad,” Leo scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Like, thanks, or whatever. But I want your actual, honest opinion, okay? Do you think we’d be safer if we were turtles when we fought and went on missions and stuff?”

It took his dad a little bit to respond, and Leo did his absolute best to his patient, only fidgeting a tiny bit.

“It is… not simple. I think there are situations where you’d be better served as humans, but I… I do think there are situations where you might be better off as turtles, too,” he finally admitted, and then gave a short, somewhat strained laugh. “Thank goodness you were all turtles when you were little. I think you may have all ended up with brain damage otherwise with how often you threw each other around…! I was always shocked by how resilient you were, even when you were tiny, but I was certainly grateful for it, as well!...”

Leo kind of screwed up his face for a moment, tilting his head to the side.

“Well, then how come you don’t fight without your bracelet? We don’t want you to get hurt either, you know.”

Dad seemed almost surprised for a moment, staring at Leo for a second, and then, to his quiet surprise, he laughed.

Leo scowled, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest, waiting for his Dad to stop snickering.

“Okay, let me in on the joke already, Pops--”

“Blue,” he finally said, shaking his head a tiny bit. “I am not a turtle. You know that, don’t you…?”

Now it was Leo’s turn to stare at the other for a moment.

“You’re not!?”

“No!” Dad laughed. “I-- I’m sorry. I should not…! I suppose you would have no way of knowing, it just…!”

“Why the fuck aren’t you a turtle if we’re turtles!?” Leo cried. “Why wouldn’t I think you’re a turtle!? The rest of us are turtles!!! Obviously, you should also be a turtle!!! If you’re gonna do a bit, then commit to it!!!”

Dad just laughed, wiping a few tears from his face.

“If you’re not a turtle, then what the hell are you?!” Leo cried. And it took a second, but Dad’s laughter died back down.

And then the two of them were just sitting in silence. Leo looked at his dad. And his dad looking at his own feet.

Leo winced, immediately backpedaling.

“Sorry. Forget I said that. You don’t have to--”

“I’m a rat,” Dad said, before he could even finish his sentence. “I was mutated with a rat.”

Leo stayed quiet for a second, slowly processing this.

He hadn’t actually expected his dad to… answer him.

A rat. Their dad was… part-rat.

For a second, he just sat with this new information, turning it around in his mind a few times and considering it. And to his quiet surprise, all of a sudden, when he reached back through his memories, he could feel soft fur on his skin. And he could recall whiskers tickling his face; a sensation long forgotten, but suddenly paired quite definitively with the feeling of being wrapped up in his dad’s arms, back when he was still tiny, or having a good-night kiss pressed onto his forehead at bedtime as a toddler.

A rat. 

That… made sense, actually, now that he knew it.

That felt right.

But still, the next thing he said was, “Why the fuck are we turtles and you’re a rat?”  

Dad chuckled, shaking his head. “I could not tell you, my son.”

“Who the fuck was in charge of this!? Turtles and a rat? Seriously?! Wait, is this why you have eight million snacks hoarded away in your room!? And can always tell if we snuck snacks or didn’t brush our teeth and stuff!?”

“Well, I don’t think the rat thing was really planned--”

“Good! Because, uh, lowkey, I’m just saying? Kind of fucking racist!” Leo exclaimed, throwing up his arms, and Dad nearly choked this time on the absolute snort of laughter that erupted from him, bowing his head to cover his face with his hands, his shoulders absolutely trembling with barely contained hysterics.

“You know what, Blue?” He finally got himself together enough that he could bite out a reply through wheezy breaths. “You are absolutely right.”

--- 

“Daddy,”

Yoshi sighed softly at the sound of the quivering, sobbing cry of his youngest son, reluctantly pausing in his current task of attempting to clean up the kitchen area and turning to instead meet the child, running to him on toddling little legs and wiping the tears from his face.

“What’s the matter, my son?” He questioned, kneeling down to meet him. Mikey came crashing into him at full force, throwing himself into his chest, and Yoshi grunted softly at the impact, just barely managing to not lose his balance and remain upright.

“It’s n-not f-faiiirrrrrr…” Mikey wept miserably, grabbing fistfuls of his fur and curling up in his arms, hiccuping pitifully as he looked up at him with wide eyes. 

“What’s not fair? What happened?” He questioned, his brows furrowed slightly with concern at the absolute distress his child was in.

“I--” He broke off for a second to sob, snuffling loudly and huffing to try to catch his breath, needing a moment before he was able to continue. “I w-want a tail, too…!”

Yoshi blinked slowly.

“Orange, you have a tail.”

“No, I don’t!” Mikey shrieked in distress. 

“Yes, you do! You have a little tail right on your butt under your shell right here! I can see it!”

“That doesn’t count!” Mikey wailed, and Yoshi sighed softly.

“What do you mean it doesn’t count? It’s a tail!”

“But it’s little!” Mikey sobbed. “I w-want a long tail, like Donnie and Raph and you! It’s no fair!!! I can’t even see mine!”

Oh, for god’s sake…

“Orange, I cannot give you a different tail.”

“But it’s no fair!” Mikey shrieked. “I want a tail like your tail!!! It’s no fair!!! How’s come you get’ta have a long tail!?”

“Michalangelo, I have a rat tail because I am a rat.” He couldn’t believe he was explaining this. “And you have a turtle tail because you’re a turtle.”

“B-but Donnie and Raph are turtles and they have long tails!”

“Well, they are different types of turtles,” Yoshi said with a shrug. Mikey sobbed.

“B-but-- But I want one too!”

Yoshi resisted another sigh. 

“I know. I am very sorry, Mikey. I would give you my tail if I could,” he tried to soothe, and goodness, would he. He knew that his children took great joy in grabbing onto it and hanging on while he dragged them around, (one of Yoshi’s least favorite games, quite frankly,) but he despised the thing. It was annoying to lug around, always pulling at his lower back, and just a constant reminder of every way that he was wrong now. He didn’t think he would ever be able to quite adapt to having an additional limb.

There were many things he had grown used to by now, though he still didn’t like them. He had learned to tolerate the absolute power that scent ruled over his life now. He had reluctantly grown to accept the blurriness of his vision. He had adapted to the odd teeth in his mouth and how they grew, doing his best not to allow them to get out of hand and became painful (though he was not always the best at this,) and had grown to accept the whiskers on his face and how they twinged when they brushed something, the fur covering his body, the claws on his hands and feet and how his legs bent in a different way now.

But the tail? The tail he still couldn’t quite accept. It was just too different. Maybe with some more time, he would, but… He wasn’t exactly convinced.

Mikey continued to sob, and Yoshi huffed a bit, slowly easing himself back to his feet, keeping the toddler tucked up against his chest while he cried. He got the impression that it might take a bit before he was ready to accept this fact of his life and calm down again…

So he supposed he would just have to figure out how to finish cleaning the kitchen and carry a sobbing toddler at the same time. 

---

Raph was the biggest brother. The brother who was the biggest. It was his job to keep an eye on all his little siblings and make sure everyone was okay and following the rules, and he was pretty good at it, too, he thought. In addition to this, he was captain of the school’s football team-- he had been shocked when the votes were tallied up in his favor, because he was only a junior, after all, not a senior like the captain usually was, and were they sure!? But evidently, they were, and the honor had gone to him-- and Raph thought that he actually did a pretty okay job at that, too. It had been a really good season last year. They went to states and everything!

Not only was he captain of the football team, but he currently held the title of captain of the swim team, as well, and the basketball team, and the wrestling team. And quite frankly, he wasn’t sure why in the world he kept ending up in the captain’s chair? He had never really thought of himself as a leader before, and even now, he was hesitant to wear such a title…

But if he had learned one thing about leading people so far, it was that you had to lead by example.

And it wasn’t fair for him to ask Donnie or Leo to tolerate being in weird, alien mutant forms if he wasn’t willing to stomach it too.

Which he could do! He knew he could. He just…

Needed some practice. That was all.

He had been down here for about twenty minutes now, just lazing about in the Lair and trying to get used to being like this. He had spent quite a bit of time pacing and wandering around before he had finally ended up here, plopped down in the middle of the room on his stomach, his arms curled up under his head as he took quiet note of his tail and how it felt sliding back and forth behind him-- just trying to memorize the weight and the movement of it, listening to the soft noise of scales on concrete.

Shhhh shhhh.

He had just been starting to think, yeah, okay, this isn’t actually so bad when he heard telltale footsteps coming from the stairs.

And when Donnie looked over from the stairwell and saw him, he froze. And Raph froze, too. He certainly hadn’t expected Donnie to tear himself away from his projects to come down here. He had opted to take advantage of the open space in the Lair rather than the privacy of his own bedroom, fearing that he might knock stuff over or ruin them in his turtle form, but now he was suddenly kind of questioning that decision.

And for a long, pregnant moment, it was just quiet between them. And he stared at Donnie. And Donnie stared at him. And before Raph could figure out what the hell he was supposed to say, Donnie began moving again, finishing his descent down the stairs into the basement.

“I need a break from the Lab,” he muttered, sort of absently, almost nonchalant, kind of gesturing to the laptop that he had under his arm. “Is it cool if I hang out in here for a while?”

It took Raph a second to actually process what Donnie was saying and formulate a response. But then eventually, he nodded. 

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Okay, cool,” Donnie said, and after a moment of kind of looking around, seeming to consider things, he went over to the couch. Grabbing one of the many spare blankets that lived there, he carefully spread it out over top of Raph-- arranging it just enough so that he could kind of climb half on top of his brother, both of them curled up beneath the soft fabric, any sharp edges or points from Raphael’s shell covered well enough that Donnie could snuggle up against him. 

It was rare that Donnie was interested in anything even vaguely resembling cuddles. He hardly even liked people touching him. Certainly, he wouldn’t allow strangers to touch him. Or anyone that he didn’t completely trust. A majority of the time, it was just his family that could expect the possibility of any kind of physical closeness-- and only when he felt safe enough to allow for such things.

A comfortable, warm weight pressed up against Raphael’s back, soothing and pleasant. He could feel the familiar sensation even through his shell. Raph kept still for his little brother as he felt him get comfortable against him, snuggled up close and settling in to relax. 

“Is this okay?” Donnie asked after a moment.

“Yeah,” Raph immediately responded. “This is okay.”

“Cool,” Donnie said.

Raph’s tail kept on waving from side to side behind him, though at a slightly quicker tempo now as he settled, allowing his eyes to slide shut.

Shhhshhhshhhshhhshhshhh.

---

Donnie stayed like that for about two hours, with Raph dozing in and out for much of it, before he finally took his leave. He had accomplished just about all he could from his laptop out here, and though he had, in fact, needed a break from the Lab, he didn’t wanna spend that much time away from it. 

His research called. 

He was pretty sure Raph was still asleep, so it was easy enough to very slowly, very quietly creep his way off of him, rearranging the blanket to ensure he was still covered up properly before making his way back up the Lair stairs. And while he knew that Leo had gotten home, (he had popped down at some point to grab something, and given him and their oldest brother a very odd look that Donnie couldn’t quite interpret,) he was somewhat surprised to find him camped out in the kitchen, bent over the island and reading something on his phone. His head popped up as soon as Donnie emerged from the basement-- and if he had been waiting for them.

“Finally finished with your cuddle sesh?” He teased in an almost sing-song tone, tilting his head to the side. Donnie huffed, rolling his eyes.

“Die,” he muttered in response, carefully closing the basement door behind him and beginning to make his way to the stairs. Leo was chasing him, however, much to his chagrin.

“Oh, come on! You barely ever want anyone to breathe in your direction. It’s an event whenever you’re in the mood to actually, like, cozy up to someone,” he pressed, pocketing his phone as he trailed after Donnie, hopping up the stairs right after him.

“Why would I want anyone to breathe in my direction?” Donnie scoffed, shooting the other a glare. “That sounds disgusting. And I’m allowed to have the occasional special exception and be in the mood, thank you very much,” he growled, hunching his shoulders slightly. “Besides, it was…”

He pursed his lips slightly.

“Mutually beneficial.” 

“Uh-huh…” Leo said slowly, quirking a brow slightly, looking Donnie up and down for a moment like he was trying to figure that out, and then seemingly deciding that it wasn’t the priority right now. “But so, like… it is a special occasion, then?”

Donnie frowned a bit, giving the other a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

“I mean. Like,” Leo shrugged a bit, sort of crossing his arms over his chest. “Like. Yeah. You’re allowed to not wanna be touched and then have special exceptions when you do wanna be touched and, like, you’re down with cuddles, and all that, so, I mean…” He sort of trailed off for a second, his eyes wandering away, before they snapped back over once again. “But like. This is one of those times? When you, like… are down?”

Donnie blinked slowly.

“Leo, what the hell are you--”

“Can I hug you?” Leo bit out, cutting him off before he could get too far, and Donnie sighed deeply. Ah. That’s what this was, then. Jesus, why couldn’t he just open with that?

“Yeah, Leo, you can hug--”

He didn’t even get through the words before his brother was crashing into him all at once, nearly costing him his footing with how he jumped for him, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing him so tightly that Donnie was pretty sure his compression sleeves were jealous. They had to kind of grab the wall to catch their balance again, stumbling slightly. 

“Jesus, Nardo, could you--!?”

“You scared me so fucking bad,” Leo hissed out, his voice pinched tight and muffled for how he had buried his face in Donnie’s shoulder, absolutely clinging to him. 

Donnie blinked in surprise, taking a moment to process this, wondering if he had misheard the other. “What…?”

“Never, ever disappear like that ever again,” Leo continued, tightening his grip on him slightly, which Donnie hadn’t even thought was possible. “I was so fucking scared, you bitch. I thought something really bad might’ve-- and it was my fault, too. I’m sorry. I’m-- I’m really sorry I was such a dick then. I didn’t mean it. I was just upset and I know that we already did this but I couldn’t fucking touch you then and-- I didn’t--”

Oh.

So that’s what this was about.

“Leo, it’s okay--”

“Shut up,” Leo mumbled, his voice trembling a bit, and Donnie didn’t really have a good refute for that. So he looped his arms around Leo instead and hung onto him back. He didn’t usually do that. Hugs from his family members were overall acceptable, but he didn’t always enjoy hugging back, at least not for long, but… 

You know. Special exceptions and all that. In that same vein, he kind of wrinkled up his nose at the wetness against his neck, but he could tolerate it.

It was fine. He could tolerate it for this.

Even though they were still halfway up the stairs, the two of them eventually, slowly sank down until they were both sort of awkwardly bundled up together on the stairs, half on top of each other, half flopped down the slope. Donnie kind of had to stick out a leg so he could brace his foot against the wall and keep them from sliding, but that was okay. He didn’t really wanna try to move the two of them anywhere, even if this would be easier if they were literally anywhere else in the house.

“I’m really glad we’re twins again,” Leo sobbed, and Donnie nodded a tiny bit.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“I-- I really w-want us to stay twins.”

“We’re going to, Nardo. Calm down.”

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’m not leaving, Leo,” Donnie said, and actually? It kind of felt really good to get to say this next part out loud. 

“I’m not going anywhere. Are you?” 

Leo sobbed weakly in response, shaking his head a tiny bit. 

“Okay. Good. Then we’re gonna be okay,” Donnie mumbled, squeezing him slightly. Wait, was he actually tearing up a tiny bit…? God dammit. Leo knew he hated crying, this asshole…

“I’m sorry I was a bitch before.”

“Yeah. You were kind of a bitch,” Donnie agreed, laying his head down, allowing himself to rest his cheek against his twin brother’s curls. “But there were, admittedly… Extenuating circumstances. And I… suppose I am also sorry. For running away. And scaring you,” he muttered, sighing a little. “... I just didn’t know what else to do.”

“Don’t do it again.”

“Not currently planning on it,” Donnie mumbled, pressing himself closer to the other. 

“I love you.”

“Yeah, okay. I love you too.”

“... I like it when we’re twins,” Leo hummed. “‘Cause then we’re not fucking basic bitches. We’re twins.”

“Yes, we are, of course, obviously a cut above the average citizen,” Donnie agreed easily, trying to discreetly wipe at his eyes.

“Yeah,” Leo sniffled, hiccuping a bit, and then finally, slowly, his iron grip began to loosen a bit. And after a bit longer, the two untangled themselves slightly. Leo kind of scrubbed at his face with the sleeves of his hoodie, flushed bright red and still slightly teary-eyed.

“Hey,” Donnie finally said, after watching him for a moment, sort of raising a brow. “Are you… like… good…? Or…?”

Leo snorted softly, a watery little chuckle escaping him.

“I-- I’m actually, like… really good, lately? So… Yeah?” He laughed weakly, brushing some of his hair from his face. “I actually think I’m, like… Really good right now, which is, like, stupid, and weird, and probably doesn’t make sense? But… yeah.”

Donnie gave the other a look.

“This is good for you?”

“... Yeah?” Leo laughed. “I just. Fuck,” he sighed deeply, swiping away a few more tears. “I just. I just really wanted to hug you and shit. Like. Before? Uhm. But I knew you didn’t want to, and touching and shit has been weird for you lately, so… You know,” he kind of shrugged weakly. “... I just… waited.”

Donnie blinked slowly. And Leo scowled, rolling his eyes.

“Do not tell me I need a therapist right now, or I swear to god, I will unplug everything in your room while you sleep--”

Donnie raised his hands to sign.

‘You should really--’

“DO NOT SIGN IT AT ME EITHER, JESUS CHRIST--”

---

The cool mist that accompanied his ancestors anytime they manifested themselves into the physical world tickled at the curves of Michelangelo’s cheeks, soothing the sting of the hot tears sliding down his face. He hiccuped softly, watching as the Hamato Spirits twisted into the world before him; one by one curling from the open scroll like smoke until he was surrounded by them.

“Good afternoon, young Hamato,” Ghost-Sensei spoke, and somehow, his voice seemed gentler than it usually was. Mikey choked on another sob at this alone, drawing his knees up his chest and bowing his head down. “What troubles you?”

Mikey sniffled softly, wiping at his face a few times and drawing in a deep, shaking breath.

“I-- I think I fucked up really bad,” he croaked, and he hated how his voice shook. He took several more long, purposeful breaths, but it did little to soothe the tremble in him. He hated how little say he had over his own body. Over his own thoughts and feelings.

He was trying so hard. Why wasn’t this working?

“Our purpose is to listen and offer guidance, Michelangelo,” Ghost-Sensei reminded.

“I--” Mikey hesitated for just a moment, staring down at his own feet, tightening his grip on himself slightly. “I. I was-- I thought I-- I was g-getting better, but I--”

He hiccuped miserably.

“I got too excited and I-- I burned Sarah,” he whispered. “We were-- we were w-working on a project together, at school, earlier, and I, I was holding onto one of the papers we were sk-sketching on, and I-- I didn’t mean to! It just-- it just happened! I wasn’t trying to--”

“Does she know that the fire started because of you?”

Mikey sobbed, shaking his head a tiny bit. “N-no, I don’t th-think so--”

“Then it will be okay,” they said.

Mikey swallowed hard, his brows furrowing as he glanced up to them. 

“But I-- I hurt her--”

“It was a mistake,” Ghost-Sensei said. “Sometimes, mistakes may happen, and people may get hurt. It is very unfortunate. But it happens in life. And if you train,” they added, their voice pressing ever-so-slightly. “Then we can ensure that it does not happen again.”

Mikey swallowed hard.

He kept quiet for a second.

And then he nodded.

“This is why we train,” Ghost-Sensei explained gently. “There is great power in the Hamato bloodline. But that is not something that can be taken lightly. There is a reason for each and every one of the Hamato Clan traditions, Michelangelo. Even the ones that we may not always enjoy,” they sighed. “There is a good reason. The mystical energy you wield is very special. But if you cannot learn to control it,” they warned. “Then you are a danger. Not just to yourself. But to the people around you as well. Do you understand?”

Mikey took a few more long, shaking breaths. And he nodded again.

“Good,” Sensei said. “... It will be alright. We are your family, Michelangelo. We can help you. And none of this is your fault. You should have been taught all of this a long time ago. You have a great destiny,” they said, their tone almost fond. “... It’s a shame you have not been set up for success. But we can still change those things. And we can teach you everything you need to know.”

Wiping away the tears from his eyes, Mikey sniffled softly. 

“Okay,” he whispered. 

“But this needs to be your focus, Michelangelo,” Sensei continued. “Not anything else. This is not something that can share your mind with other things. There are many people depending on you now. You are the last descendant of the Hamato bloodline.”

Mikey faltered, frowning as his shoulders hunched slightly.

“No, but-- my brothers are--”

“They are not like you,” Sensei pressed. “They don’t understand the weight of this power like you do yet. And they don’t feel the world’s energy like you can, do they? You are the one who wears the mark of our clan in your spirit. And you are the one who must protect the world. The potential you have…! You can already do so many things that they would struggle to bear,” The spirit drew back slightly, his eyes sweeping over him a few times.

“But it’s different for you.”

Mikey stiffened as he felt a shiver curling up his spine under their eyes.

“The Hamato Clan will always be here to guide and support you. And you will always have your family to lean on,” they said. “But you have been given a great gift, Michelangelo.”

They dipped their head slightly, lowering themselves just enough so that they could catch Michelangelo’s eyes with their own. It seemed to cut right through him. There was ice in it. But the cold didn’t hurt to touch, somehow.

“To be a Hamato is a great sacrifice,” they whispered. “It is a difficult destiny to bear. We were not put on this earth for ourselves, or to live an easy life.”

Mikey took a breath in.

“But you have the chance to spare them from so much, Hamato Michelangelo. This is a beautiful gift you can give to them.”

And again, they said,

“Do you understand?”

And Mikey let the breath back out.

And he nodded.

[ next ]

[simphornies]

Hi lovely! Can you please do a one with a platonic angel dust X reader where the reader has a contract with Vox and the two of them bond over their shitty “bosses?” And the reader works as Vox’s bodyguard! I think it’d be so cute if they walk to vee tower together whenever their bosses call them in and never leave without each other! I’d imagine at first Angel soundly really care much for the reader, but after he joins the hotel they become great friends!

A/N: This one isn't really long so I'm sorry! I did my best 🥲 Writing a platonic story was harder for me than I thought </3

Word count: 831

Platonic! Angel Dust x Reader

You worked at VoxTek under Vox and you absolutely hate every second of it. You get the shorter end of the stick considering his hypnotism doesn’t work on you so you saw him for who he really was. You stayed at the hotel after finding a loophole in your contract with Vox. Every single day was more so annoying than anything. Considering you’re his bodyguard, you would have to go everywhere with him and catching up with Vox, the overlord that can zap into any electric device and teleport away, wasn’t really the easiest thing to do. You looked forward to getting out of work and hanging out with the hotel staff everyday.

One specific day, Vox decided to meet up with Valentino for the day during one of his shoots. There you met the famous Angel Dust. You two clicked as soon as you met, constantly talking about your contracts together and finding loopholes. You didn’t fail to notice how he held himself back from you a lot of the time, not really opening up and keeping up a mask. So you decided to try and get him into the hotel.

“Angel!” You called out to him. He just finished his shift, looking more tired than usual. “Rough shoot?”

He laughed and elbowed you, “Yeah. Rough.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed with him. “Okay that one was on me.” The two of you started walking home, chatting about your day.

“Hey so. I’d like to say we’ve been…y’know…friends for a while but I don’t even know where you stay.” You looked at him, “I’d wanna come over for drinks some time.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, “Ah. I don’t know…I live with Valentino.”

You choked on your own spit, “You live with him? Where have you been going every time we get off of work?”

“To the bar. Clubs.” He shrugged, “Anywhere with alcohol and drugs, honestly. I hate living with him so staying away for as long as possible is ideal.”

“You know…” You began, “I stay at the Hazbin Hotel. It’s really not that bad.”

“Y/N where are you goin’ with this?” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“You could crash with us, y’know?” You suggested. He was about to protest against it but you quickly stopped him. “Think about it! We get to be roommates, they have a bar and we can drink together and we get to go to work together!”

You shook his arm, “C’mon Angel! Pleaseeee?” You whined, giving him the best puppy dog eyes you could.

“I…I don’t know. Val wouldn’t be too happy with that.”

“Fuck Val. Fuck Vox. Fuck the Vees in general!” You exclaimed, “It’d be nice to have you around. You can’t have drugs there though.”

He groaned, “What? No drugs?” He whined, “Where’s the fun in that?”

“You trust me, don’t you? It’ll be plenty of fun. They got a bartender that I think is just your type.” You winked, elbowing his side.

“Hmmm…I don’t know, Y/N.”

“Angel I will get on my knees in the middle of the sidewalk and start screaming, crying, sobbing and begging.” You threatened him. He looked at you dumbfounded but the look of determination was clear in your eyes.

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, “Ah fuck it. Sure. Take me to this hotel. I don’t got stuff like that anyways.”

You squealed in excitement, practically dragging him to the hotel. As soon as Angel got there, it didn’t take long for him to get used to the place. He definitely liked Husk, the bartender you mentioned earlier, as soon as he saw him.

You helped Angel practically move out a box of things he had at Valentino’s along with his pet, Fat Nuggets. It was fairly easy sneaking around the blind moth for you. After moving him into the hotel, you took notice of him getting happier by the day.

He still had to work with Valentino as you did with Vox. It wasn’t long for you and him to grow closer everyday. So much so that you two had a system going on in the morning.

Your daily routine with Angel would be getting up and getting ready at the same time, him helping you with your makeup for the day and the both of you going to work. Every shift sucked but it sucked a lot less ever since you two stayed together.

Angel confided in you more and you’d do the same. You would help him stay sober, drug wise. Every now and then the two of you would go out with Cherri Bomb, causing mayhem in the city and fighting in turf wars.

Hell wasn’t easy but with your new best friend by your side and a surprisingly good support system at the hotel, everyday gets easier.

You just wished you could get the both of you out of the contracts that bind you to the Vees one day.

[wolfstrong]

You guys probably don’t want to look under the cut just the most pathetic rant in the world holy shit spiraling spiraling

My life fucking sucks my life fucking sucks. It sucks. IT SUCKS THIS SUCKS THIS IS STUPID IT DOESNT MAKE SENSE JTS LIKE. it’s like. If you knew how much I cared about you you’d want me back. Like if you could understand and feel how I’m feeling you’d want me because it’s like. It’s like who feels this way about you you know it’s like I really really care. Don’t you want someone to care about you. Doesn’t that feel good. Don’t you want someone to understand you. Like. How could you not want that too. We could be that for each other you know. Like. You know. It just doesn’t make any sense l. It’s like it shouldn’t even be possible. We shouldn’t be created like this it’s like if you care this much there should be an understanding between the two do you and it should just work out. I KNEW THE SECOND I SAW HIM OKAY. THE SECOND HE TALK TO ME AND I TURNED AROUND AND SAW HIM OKAY. I JUST KNEW there wasn’t anything I could do and nothing else even needed to happen. I just looked into his eyes and i was already completely extremely obsessed. In that moment. It’s not like it got worse or got better it was like this from moment one. I couldn’t eat the first 2 weeks after I met him. I COULDNT EAT. he wasn’t even around we barely texted I would just think about him all the time and get so nervous I’d loose my appetite. It wasn’t real. Ouch my head hurts. It shouldn’t be like this. Why’d he ever talk to me why’d he kiss me like that why’d he reject me then hang out with me again why’d he get upset when I couldn’t see him why’d he come up to me when he saw me in public I remember he said to me if I didn’t wanna see you I would have avoided you at the club then later I tried to avoid him and he came up to see me. It’s like am I ever gonna run into you again. Why’d I stop trying to be your friend why’d I cut myself off I don’t even care that there were ups and down and you made me so depressed when you wouldn’t text and I’d think about how you probably didn’t care and about how you were too busy thinking about your exs and how I wasn’t your type it hurt so bad thinking about all those things but then you’d give me attention snd it was completely worth it it was like doing drugs it was the only thing my mood was dependent on. Holy shit. Jesus Christ. I hate this

[declanscunt]

do you have any headcanons about kenstewy post-finale?

BOY DO I‼️‼️‼️ THANK U FOR ASKING STRAP IN

okay. in alignment with the shows values and characterization (as in, if we continued observing these characters post gojo sale), i think stewy would fully ignore kendall until he called. he might text him a couple times to make sure he was alive or whatever but he’s gonna be partying and living his best life. also, to stewy this is the best outcome ever. he gets his money (i don’t know enough about business to know if he stays on as a shareholder but either way i think he doesn’t lose anything from this. except for a few years of his life thanks to roy shenanigans) and KENDALL GETS OUT. which is what he asked him to do way back in season 1. stewys so happy and content post-finale literally cat that got the cream. AND he didn’t alienate kendall bc he still voted with him. anyways, kendall’s gonna ghost (schrödinger’s suicide) and go off the rails! for sure!! because this is not something he can come back from, there’s no more pretend demons to fight—logan’s dead and the company’s out of family hands forever there isn’t anything he can do. but colin is not letting another roy die on his watch no way so unfortunately for kendall he’s gonna live. and eventually he will find his way back to stewy and stewy will offer him sex drugs whatever to fill his time and the logan shaped hole inside of him. the end.

alternatively. NOT in alignment with jesse armstrongs vision. kendall goes to stewys place immediately after the events of the finale and becomes his best boyfriend whose new purpose is to make stewy feel good forever and ever and ever. they go on vacation and make pancakes and waffles and kissssssss. kendall and stewy sitting in a tree. k i s s i n g.

my personal headcanons include: they get caught out by paparazzi who have lots of fun speculating about them until they literally just start making out alll over the place which ppl r into for a very short period of time before they get annoyed. and then mostly nobody cares anymore except a subsection of insane gay people who wanna see old men yaoi as they should. i think kendall starts up a flop rap career which stewy wholeheartedly supports and indulges, and then he starts a record label and signs a billion flop acts but somehow lucks out with one really talented musician who manages to boost kendall’s reputation even though his job at the label is literally Do Not Do Anything Or Say Anything Or Touch Anything just let the professionals work Please. eventually a producer convinces him to record and release L to the OG which blows up. kendall records an album that’s mostly covers with some originals (that are actually kind of good) and goes on tour. the tour flops because he runs out of steam halfway through and becomes manic again but we can’t have it all. stewy is there the whole time enabling him of course.

also i wanna believe kendall would patch things up with his kids and they all hang out with him and stewy. my pipe dream headcanon is that sophie and iverson somehow become radicalized and vow to give away all their generational wealth and become nepo baby activists or whatever. all the roy children turn out to be gay. etc. this got away from me it was meant to be kenstewy whoops

[kirk-says-wah]

𝐃𝐢𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐄𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 - 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒

Pairings: Kirk/Lars

Tw: torture, murder, blood, gore, violence, kidnapping, drugging, cannibalism

You can also read it here

James isn’t naive. 

He’s not, as much as some people think he is. He knows Dave wouldn’t have stood him up like that. At least he wouldn’t mean to. And he would have at least called. 

What they have going on is leading to be the best relationship James has ever had. Dave is sweet and kind, even if it does take a while to break through the ice because Dave can be snarky too, but he’s always put James’s needs first. Over the past few weeks, he’s all James can think about, every time he closes his eyes he’s graced with a view of red hair and a wide smile. 

So, no, he doesn’t want to believe that Dave stood him up on purpose. 

James sighs, knocking back his beer as he dials Dave’s number again. It rings out, but James still holds it to his ear hopefully until Dave’s voicemail sounds. 

James clears his throat, and waits for the beep. 

“Hey Dave, errr.. it’s James. Call me when you get this.” 

He hangs up quickly, feeling a bit stupid. If Dave did stand him up, then he probably doesn’t want to have to deal with a voicemail from him. 

But James can’t help it, he can’t settle without closure, even if it’s something he doesn’t want to hear. 

He swallows, brushes the hair from his eyes before eyeing the keys thrown on the coffee table. 

He could just go to his house. He knows where it is, he’s been there a few times now. It’s the fastest and easiest way to get to Dave and talk to him, even if Dave doesn’t want to see him. It at least would give him the opportunity to express his feelings. 

He thinks on it for a moment before saying fuck it, and grabs his keys. 

— — 

“Are you still with us, Dave?” Lars asks, reaching up to pat Dave’s cheek. 

The resounding whimper that responds is muffled by the gag in Dave’s mouth. 

Lars snickers, brings the knife up to trail over Dave’s lips. Dave’s eyes widen, trying to shake his head, and Lars pulls a mock concerned face. 

“Don’t worry,” he says, standing back up, let the knife dip against Dave’s bottom lip. “I won’t cut them off yet.” 

Kirk clears his throat, and Lars turns to see him hunched behind the computer making a come hither motion with his hand. 

Lars sighs, lets the knife drop to his side as he moves to stand by Kirk. 

“They’re wanting to see how long we can keep him alive,” Kirk says, gesturing to the chat box open on the screen. 

“Really?” Lars whines, glancing back at the red head sat in the chair. He’d rather just get down to it than have to wait. And he’s never been very good with orders. 

Still, he sighs dramatically. 

“I guess we actually have to try and keep him alive then.” 

Kirk cocks his head, glancing at Dave. 

“Should we feed him?” 

Lars shrugs, presses the knife into the palm of his hand. 

“May as well. He’s got to keep his strength up if we wanna drag this out.” 

Kirk nods minutely before standing up, a gentle hand wrapping around Lars’s waist. 

“I’ll go and get something,” he says, pressing a kiss to Lars’s cheek. “Just-… don’t make him any worse.” 

Lars salutes, dropping into the chair Kirk had vacated. 

Dave’s eyes watch him from across the room but Lars pays him no mind, instead shifting to cross his legs and watch the chat on screen unfold. 

— — 

Kirk really doesn’t know what to feed Dave. 

It’s not like they have a lot of food as it is, and he can’t give Dave anything to bite into because Lars had more than likely broken his jaw. 

He sighs, rummaging in the cupboard before he comes away with some instant porridge. 

He guesses that will do. He drops it in a bowl with some milk before putting it in the microwave. He doesn’t leave it in long though, just enough for the oats to get a little thicker, because he doesn’t want it to be too hot for Dave to eat. He knows Lars would say it didn’t matter, but Kirk wants to at least be a little bit nice. He doesn’t know if that makes him more twisted, knowing what he did to Dave earlier, but he can’t help it. It’s Lars’s fault he’s in this mess anyways. 

If it hadn’t have been for Lars, Kirk’s mostly sure he would never have killed anyone. Mostly. 

He takes the porridge out of the microwave and grabs a spoon and a glass of water before making his way back down the basement steps. 

Lars is still where he left him, but he’s starting to doze, head falling to rest on the wall behind him. 

Kirk kneels next to Dave, removing the gag from his mouth, placing the glass on the floor. 

Dave frowns, looking at Kirk inquisitively as Kirk holds up the bowl in his hand. 

“You need to eat,” Kirk says, dipping the spoon in the porridge. 

“So you can keep me alive longer? No thanks,” Dave grunts, turning his head away from Kirk. 

Kirk works his jaw, and instead clamps a hand around Dave’s chin, pulling his face back to look at him. 

Dave cries out at the movement, hands balling into fists. 

“You’ll fucking eat it, got it?” Kirk hisses, letting go of Dave’s chin. 

Dave doesn’t answer, but Kirk takes his silence to be compliance. 

He scoops a small amount onto his spoon before bringing it to Dave’s lips. 

Dave tries to open his mouth, but it’s a difficult task, and after a few moments, Kirk loses his patience and shoves the spoon in all the way. 

Dave chokes, throat moving before Kirk takes the spoon out. Dave swallows the porridge quickly, eyeing Kirk warily. 

This time, when Kirk brings the spoon to his mouth, Dave tries a little harder, managing to open his mouth enough for the porridge to slip inside. 

Kirk hums, feeding Dave gently until most of the porridge is gone and Dave’s starting to tire. 

Kirk thinks half is good enough anyways, and instead grabs the glass of water. 

He doesn’t wait for Dave and instead starts pouring the water into his mouth. Dave scrambles, desperately trying to swallow the water, but a lot of it dribbles down his chin. Kirk tuts but pulls away eventually, swiping a thumb over the wetness on Dave’s chin. 

“Fucking hell,” Lars groans from behind him. “You don’t have to start babying him.” 

“I’m not,” Kirk defends, stepping away before picking the bowl up. “What do you want to do with this?” 

“Gimme,” Lars says, holding his hands out. Kirk frowns but complies, putting the rest of the porridge in Lars’s hands. 

Lars smiles at him before standing up, walking a few paces away from Dave. 

He gathers some of the porridge on the spoon before aiming and throwing it directly at Dave’s face. 

It hits his cheek with a dull smack, where it then starts to dribble down his face. Dave’s got his eyes squeezed shut, breathing uneven. 

Lars laughs, doing it again. Dave flinches. 

Lars gets bored after that, not really getting the reaction he was hoping for, and instead sends the whole bowl flying, aiming it directly at Dave’s head. 

It sends Dave’s head backwards, a wounded noise coming out of his mouth as the bowl breaks on impact, splitting the skin above his eyebrow before the fragments fall to the floor.  

Lars just laughs again. 

[hllfireclb]

Call me Valentine Munson | Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings: fluff, mention of smut, mention of drugs, Eddie smoking a joint, some hurt kinda? If I missed any please let me know!

Word count: 1.9k

A/n: I hate Valentine’s Day. I actually wanted to go into detail more and make this a longer OS but my absolute hate for that day is too big (sorry) plus I couldn’t handle even more soft/ hurt Eddie. I don’t wanna cry in the middle of the night lol. I‘m also still working on requests, please bare with me😭🫶

English is not my first language, so I apologize for any kind of mistakes in the story. Feel free to send requests and please read navigation or check out my masterlist! Feedback is always appreciated but please stay constructive! Don’t like? Don’t read! Enjoy the story!

Masterlist

You knew that Valentine’s Day would be new to Eddie, especially because he told you that he hates this goddamn day. 14th of February. His official "hate date“ how he likes to call it. He told you that he doesn't understand the concept of valentine's day, that he doesn't see the point in showing your loved one, all of your "love" for just that one day and that if it was up to him, he’d show his girlfriend love all the time. You gladly agreed with him, with the fact you both hate that day and will never be like the cheesy couples as soon as you got into a relationship yourself.

That was exactly one year ago when you and him were best friends only, nothing more. But now? Now you‘ve been dating the, number one Valentine’s Day-hater and even though the two of you agreed, that you will show each other how much you love the other every single day and that Valentine’s Day was complete bullshit, you‘re still sad that you won’t get anything on that special day.Well that‘s what you thought.

Why should he gift you something on the day he abhors the most? Why should he surprise you with something? He thinks you hate the day just as much as he does, right? So it‘s pointless to give yourself some hope for a small present or a rose.

So you started this day just like every other. Going to school, studying your ass off in the library during your break since your beloved boyfriend decided to stay at his trailer with the lame excuse that "he doesn’t want to see all the cheesy shit in the hallways" like he said on the phone when you called him from school earlier.So instead of hanging out with the only person that could brighten up your day a little, you sit here, alone, studying for the next biology test.

What a great Valentine’s Day.

The day goes by slower than usually. It‘s always like this when Eddie‘s not around you. The world gets grey and boring without him by your side. Minutes feel like hours and your lips barley form into a smile on these kind of days.

So when you stop your car in front of his dark trailer you should be on cloud seven, happy to be able to jump into his arms and give him a big hug, followed by a passionate kiss. But today‘s different. Of course you‘re happy that you can be by his side now, snuggle up to him on the sofa while watching a movie together and eat some popcorn…but the fact that you had to see all these happy couples together today did something with you.

You‘re disappointed. Disappointed that Eddie didn’t even think about showing up to school, so you at least were able to judge all these giggling, feet kicking couples together. It would have been a lot easier for you of he would have been by your side.

You shrug off all your thoughts before you step inside his trailer, not wanting to seem upset or sad so he’d feel bad at the end of the day. While you start to take off your shoes and jacket, you notice something very unusual. The trailer is quiet and all lights are turned off. The only source of light comes from Eddie’s room. Normally Eddie would stand in front of you already, wearing the cutest smile ever while he’d reach out for you, placing a soft kiss on your lips afterwards. Some music would be playing quietly in the living room because he knows you don’t like it, to get your ears blasted away after a long school day…but today there was nothing. No music, no hugs, no Eddie.

Did he forget that you wanted to come over?

"Hey Eddie! I‘m home" you say, your voice slightly raised, expecting him to hear you. When you don’t get an answer you start to worry. Maybe he‘s in his room? You think to yourself to calm your mind down from the instructive thoughts that start to fill your head. Taking a big, deep breath before you start walking towards your boyfriend’s bedroom, hoping that he’d be there. Exuberantly you swing open his door, expecting him to be sleeping on his bed or maybe writing something new for his upcoming D&D campaign with the boys. You were expecting anything but definitely not what you‘re seeing in front of you right now.

The dim lights of a few lavender candles being the only sources of light in his room. Filling the air with a pleasant smell, mixing together with the smell of weed, cologne and Eddie. His, usually very messy, bedroom is cleaned up. The clothes that would normally lie everywhere are hanging in his closet, the bed is freshly made, the random stuff and trash on his desk and shelf is gone too and it looks like he even vacuumed the room.

In front of you, you see your reason to smile every day. Eddie. He‘s holding a small bouquet of roses in front of his chest, his hair looks washed and fluffy just how you like it. He’s wearing a black jeans without any holes in it and his tattoo covered chest and muscular arms are hugged nicely, by a white button up shirt. As you step a little bit closer you‘re able to smell his scent, or how you like to call it, your personal drug since you can’t get enough of it. He‘s showing you the beautiful smile of his as he starts speaking softly.

"Too much?" His voice is barely above a whisper when you stand directly in front of him, the flowers being the only thing that keeps you away from pulling him into a tight hug. Your lungs feel empty and your mouth turns dry in the split of a few seconds. Like it was said, you expected anything but that. Your boyfriend cleaned up his room and got pretty flowers, for you.

That’s something that no one ever has done for you yet and it just feels so personal because you know Eddie hates this goddamn day…plus he cleaned up for you. If there‘s one thing he hates more than Valentine’s Day, it’s probably cleaning up. Especially because he‘s known for his Organized "Munson Mess“ how Wayne calls it. He even got you pretty flowers that look quite expensive and you know he‘s probably low on budget again. How could you still be mad at him for not showing up at school after all of this?

When you don’t answer Eddie it‘s his turn to feel worried. Maybe it’s too much you? Maybe you don’t like anything of this cheesy stuff? You‘ve agreed with him back then, when he told you that he "hates“ Valentine’s Day.

Truth is, Eddie doesn’t hate it. Yes, he gets annoyed by the couples at school every single time..but that was only because he used to be alone on this day for twenty years straight. He never got love from anyone expect Wayne, but you can’t quiet compare this love with actual love. So he decided to walk the easy way and hate on this one, stupid day of the year. But deep down Eddie Munson is, and always was, a hopeless romantic.

"I knew it would be too much…I‘m so sorry Sweetheart! I just- I just thought it would be cute to give you something..I didn’t come to school today just to prepare some things for you!" He starts to explain himself while putting away the roses. Before he can continue his small rant about how stupid that idea is, you stop him by pressing your lips onto his own. Soft but passionate. Confusion takes place on his face when you softly let go off him, smiling like an idiot.

"It‘s perfect Ed‘s. I Love it! I actually was kinda sad that you left me all alone in school today earlier but now? I couldn’t be happier right now." you whisper against his lips, before crashing your own onto his again. He happily joins the kiss, pulling you even closer to his chest as his hands find their way to explore your body. They squeeze the flesh of your ass and thighs, he even massages one of your boobs slowly to give himself some comfort.

A few moments pass before you pull away from him to get some air, still smiling like an idiot who‘s in love...and you are. After Eddie explained the whole situation, why he had to take a day off school, so he could prepare this whole surprise and get everything for it, the two of you sit down on the sofa like you usually do. Some random movie plays on the TV while Eddie feeds you with the food he ordered before you arrived at his trailer. It’s actually a miracle that you didn’t smell any of it when you walked inside earlier.

His shirt is opened slightly, just enough to present you his beautiful chest with it‘s soft hair on it. You‘re sitting between his legs, facing him with a smile on your lips as you play with the buttons of his shirt. "I‘m sorry again…that I left you alone at school today y’know? But to be honest, I‘m happy that I didn’t have to witness Jason Carver’s cheesy-ass speech for Chrissy. Most of the stuff he says, is probably bullshit" Eddie says while he places the empty plate on the small coffee table in front of the sofa.

His comment making you giggle softly. His eyes meet yours, the sound of your soft voice causing him to join you with a deep chuckle, while he teaches for the already rolled joint. "God we‘re just like these weird couples at your school. You know, the ones we always judged?" You offer him a smug grin but all he does is shrug.

"So what? Call me cheesy because I am. You made me this way!" He grins back at you, his fingers poking into your sides just enough to make you squirm under his touch, causing another chuckle of his to leave his mouth. "I will be your personal Valentine if you want me to be princess. I‘m going to shower you with kisses, love, gifts and a good fuck. Call me Valentine Munson“ he adds with another smug grin before placing the joint between his lips.

All you do is roll your eyes at him playfully evoke handing him the lighter. When he has finished his first drag on the joint, your lips immediately find his. They‘re just way too addicting to not touch them in any kind of way, Eddie doesn’t complain at all though. The smoke of the joint slowly fills your lungs as he blows it into your mouth, causing a soft whine to leave your mouth.

And just like he promised to you, he ends your day as your own, personal Munson Valentine with kisses, hugs, lots of love and a sleepless night ;).

[playersleft]

‘It’s not like I want to hurt myself...’

But look at him. Just look at him. Who would believe a guy like that?

For the most part, it’s become like this-- run to a game, grab a snack, back to room. He feels bad for it, but putting on a face- any face, became something exhausting to do. He can’t even make it to every game, these days.

‘Gracias, Salita-’  Muttering under his breath, he greets the lounge on such an occasional late-night visit. Nobody is here, so you can come out- Her whisper served as the final straw, breaking him out of the trance at this ungodly hour. He can’t express how grateful he is to her, but he whispers back, and strokes the wood as he settle into the barstool. Nobody is here... So.. it’s okay to ask the keeper for a drink.

You sure that’s a good idea? The flickering lamp to the right seems to say that- But he wouldn’t be able to sleep in the first place, and he doesn’t want to go back ‘there’. Besides, old habits die hard. He lulls her with a limply waving hand, and the flickering stops.

No... ‘back there’ s a no-go. He’s frustrated with the trance of it. At least like this, while he may end up somewhere ‘else’, it’s at least a more vivid and exciting kind of spiral-- And even if it’s the worst kind of exciting, being written off as drunk is better than anything. Besides, Boss, you can have this guy just carry me back, right? Pretty please~? But, the experience of being drunk is better, regardless. Right now, at least.

Right now... It’s always like that, swaying in and out of rationality. The desire to be present, to feel, and to think about where he is, what’s going on around him. Another hour’s him would say that it’s bad to drink, or to overthink, or to cut yourself, or any of it -- But that one had a bad habit of going on vacation every handful of hours or so. It used to be less frequent, at least... But no, that one would always leave when he got bored.

I don’t wanna be self destructive. Period. Stop accusing me of that. That’s the same guy who used to stumble into dead-of-night raves, fake ids ready to go and not a soul aware of where he was. Drugs, drinks and pressing up against strangers, the less caring they were the more willing he was. ‘I want to take care of myself’ -- This hypocrite dropped his corpse in the devil’s lap more times than he could count.

The memories of that are all gone now, mostly- But the habits never left. Yet this pattern of hiding and sneaking around with that ugly side-- Though it’s not like anybody bought it, anyway. The scars he wears are clear as day, and nobody believes for a second that they’re not... -- It’s not like it matters, though. It’s not like he even cares what they think. But that guy, that crappy guy who keeps preaching about love and life and whatever-the-fuck-else, keeps leaving him hanging with nowhere to go. And the more these ‘fellow players’ think about him, on any level...

It use to be easy. That’s what it is. It used to be easy, when that guy checked out, and his eyes got too blurry to deal with on his own-- He could turn to people who didn’t give a crap whether he lived or died. The feeling it gave him was weightless, in a different way than he was used to... A good way. A relieving way. ... Being grounded by way of floating-

There used to be people here who gave him the same kind of feeling.. The ones to drink with, smoke with, sleep with. Not many, not at all- but a reckless few, who did a better job keeping him at ease than anyone.  That kind of haven’s been gone for a long time...  And it make sense. It’s a miracle he’s still here, when he was probably worse than them.

But, damn... He’s not good at being alone.

So, he drinks. Alone. Late at night, quiet as can be to make sure it stays that way-- What a thinker! What a hypocrite~ But with any luck, he’ll pass out, and the keeper will take him back, and ‘that guy’ will be back by tomorrow’s game. And he’ll be able to keep saying that, ‘I don’t want to hurt myself’ -- as if anyone would ever believe it.

[itsoutrageouss]

- can i show you? || elliot

Pairing: Elliot x reader

Summary: You and Elliot have been good friends for a long time, but you start to feel neglected when all his time goes to hanging out with Rue and Jules - who you also feel like is trying to take away your boy. He doesn’t know about any of your feelings until you suddenly snap

Warnings: Hurt, angsty n’ comfort SEX, fingering in public, Jules be making a quick appearance, mentions of drug use, swearing

Words: 1,8k

A/N: y’all I love some comfort smut to make the pain go away.

—

Lexi is talking about the play she is writing while walking with you down the hallway. As much as you want to be supportive and listen, the sound of her voice is drowned out by the white noise of blood rushing through your body. He is right there, leaning nonchalantly against a locker with his bag slung over his shoulders. He looks adorable in the mornings, is your first thought. That is quickly disrupted by the sight of the two girls he was with, though. Jules is laughing at him, Rue smiling softly as she too leans against a locker. That used to be you, near everyday until a week ago.

“You should just go talk to him,” Lexi says, interrupting your train of thought. Her brows are raised at you. “It doesn’t matter. If he doesn’t want to be around me anymore, there’s not much I can do,” you shrug, looking intensely into your locker. Hot tears start to cloud your vision, your chemistry and math book blending together to one. “Fine, whatever you say. I’ll see you later” she squeezes your arm and leaves you to stare on your own.

A deep breath or two later, you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder. You grind your teeth at how you can recognize him from something so simple as a fingertip. “Mhm?” You ask, not trusting your voice to sound even. “Wanna smoke with us at my place? After school?” He asks casually, like you two hadn’t basically been strangers for a whole week. With us. Us, us, us, us.

Was he really that tired of hanging out with you? Or maybe he just liked them that much. The thought makes you tighten your grip on the door of your locker. “No thanks,” is all you can reply, hating how cold you sound. It’s not like you want this to happen, but you are too hurt to bother putting up a front anymore. Maybe he didn’t care for you as much as you thought.

“Why you acting like that?” He questions, now leaning against the locker next to yours, brows furrowed in question. “I’m not acting like anything, Elliot” you mutter, blinking up at the ceiling as not to let any tears fall. If he could just go away and take his stupid girlfriends with him. “What’d I do to make you so bitchy?” He snickers, like it’s a joke. Like your heart isn’t aching. He’s completely oblivious and it only fuels your frustration. “Fuck off,” you counter, before closing your locker and walking off to the bathroom.

——����

Usually you and Elliot would go get high on the playground at dark. You’d sing into the tube slide and push each other on the swings, sometimes putting some music on in the background. Now you were here alone, and for fucks sake you didn’t even have a joint - that was Elliot’s specialty after all. The playground seems only dull now, a stupid place for a teenager to be by herself.

“Having fun?”

You tense at his voice, hoping but not expecting him to be here. Your body aches to turn around and say something, but you force yourself to keep swinging subtly, kicking the gravel with the tip of your shoes.

“Not really,” you mutter. There’s silence as he places himself on the swing next to yours. “Gonna keep giving me the cold shoulder, huh?” He asks, puppy eyes looking over at you.

That was the final push.

“I’m giving you the cold shoulder? For fucks sake Elliot you are so fucking blind!” You don’t realize you are off the swing, looking down at where he is sitting with your hands making frustrated gestures. “I’m sorry I can’t be as pretty or exciting or fucking… fun as Jules but you didn’t have to do me like that.” Your lower lip is quivering, the expression on his face slurring into a bunch of colors.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He huffs, surprised at your outburst.

“You never talk to me, Elli. You- you don’t want me anymore,” you don’t sound angry, only almost heartbroken, your voice near a whisper. He tenses, hands flexing at his side as his chest sinks at the way you’re looking at him. Like you’re pleading. Begging for him to like you. He hadn’t realized.

You are right, he was a little blind, a little oblivious at times- the thought of you being jealous or feeling neglected never even crossed his mind.

His hand reaches for your thigh, and he pulls you to stand between his legs. He looks at you with heavy eyelids, his mouth half open. “You’re not Jules. I don’t want you to be Jules. Or Rue,” you’re not sure where he’s going but his words only makes your insides twist in agony, “I’m really fucking sorry. I got lost in it, figured you had better things to do.”

You shake your head at him, his eyes making you work up a fever. “You guys really seem to be hitting it off. I guess I just missed you but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter anymore,” you say with a bitter-sweet tone, tears dripping onto the gravel beneath you. His warm hand is still on your thigh, as yours are clasped anxiously together in front of you. He feels guilty. Feels it gnawing at him from the inside, knowing he has made you think you are unwanted. In fact, Jules and Rue had been a good distraction from his fucking confusing feelings towards you, but it seems like he’s dragged it out for too long.

“You don’t believe me?” He asks, getting up from the swing. He walks to you, invading your space with his body. The gravel crunching as you back away from him until you hit the main part of the playground.

“I’ll show you. I’ll show you what you mean to me,” he whispers, hoping his actions would convey what he can’t say yet. You gulp, feeling an odd rush of excitement curse through your gut. He is so close you can feel the warmth of his skin, the scent of weed still lingering on his clothes.

“Will you let me show you?” He asks as his hands find your hips, squeezing gently. You don’t know what his intensions are, only that you are at a playground in the middle of the night and that he is so close and you like him so much.

“Yes,” you let out, sounding out of breath even though you had barely walked. His right hand goes to the button on your pants, flicking it open and pulling down the zipper. Your small fingers grip his wrist as he caresses your lower stomach. Goosebumps erupt wherever he touches. “We’re outsi-“

“-Shh, no one will know” he whispers casually, as if he has zero care in the world. As if he is only focused on you, and god does it feel good.

His hand continues its path down underneath your panties. You let out a ragged breath when his fingers find your clit, pressing gently against it to test the waters. Suddenly his mouth is at your jaw. His lips. You love his lips so much, always scared he‘s going to catch you staring at them. They are so plush and smooth and you want to bite into them. You get your chance when they finally connect with yours. Gently you bite down and a breathy moan comes from Elliot. It makes you clench around nothing, the thought of you being able to pull sounds like that from him. Has he kissed Jules?

The thought distracts you, as he lifts you up to sit on the platform, pulling your pants down to your knees. He probably has, maybe more than once. Your jaw clenches, tears welling again. Why do you have to be so fucking emotional?

Elliot is lost in the feeling of your body under his hands, how soft you are between your legs, how warm the skin of your waist is. When he senses your body freezing, he looks up at you from where he is kissing your neck.

“Hey hey hey, don’t cry. It’s you, okay? It’s just you,” he assures, nodding softly as his hand gently holds your jaw.

“Did you kiss her?” You ask, hating how you’re risking your chance of finally getting him. How your voice trembles and wallows in insecurity.

“No. I didn’t kiss her. I never wanted to. Jus’wannakissyouallthetime” he mumbles in a hurry, eager to show you. To please you. You hum contently at that, his words finally warming up the ice he left inside you. He wants to kiss you.

His fingers move down to your slit, blushing at the wetness he finds. Your hips buck against his hand hidden beneath your panties.

“Show me then,” you say, whispering it right into his mouth as you kiss him, deep and needy. A finger slips inside your tight walls and you whine into it, clenching around him. “That’s it,” he mutters, looking fascinated at the way your body moves for him, at how warm you are. He moves it inside you, curling into something that makes you arch against him even more. You have totally forgotten the playground, the playhouse you are sitting on while his hand is in your pants and his mouth on your neck.

He can’t help himself and adds another finger, moving them faster at your command. You lift off the platform to try sucking him in deeper and he groans at your eagerness. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing it as quickly as he is fingering you. You get wetter and wetter, to the point were it stains your panties and shines on his palm. The coil in your stomach tightens, a tingling spreading throughout your entire body and you look at him with a pleading look, one of your hands grasping his wrist.

“It’s okay. Cum for me baby. Only wanna see you cum,”

That undoes you, and you push your hips into his hand that keeps moving, keeps rubbing and fucking you. Your bare thighs shake, and you make sure to look him in the eyes as you cum. You see how much he means it, the look on his face something indescribable. He decides right there that this is his new favorite sight; you cumming on his hand, around his fingers, completely and only his. It scares the living hell out of him but still he knows.

When your breathing evens out, he pulls his hand away and help you down onto wobbly legs as you pull your pants back up.

“Do you believe me now?”

——🕊

[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!

[rafescoke]

Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High ; Rafe Cameron

masterlist

Request: The second one I was hoping could be a Rafe x reader based on the song why’d you only call me when you’re high by arctic monkeys. Maybe something along the lines of rafe only calling and giving the reader attention when he wants to hook up. Finally, the reader gets tired of it their feelings known.

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Reader finds herself thinking about a certain boy more than what they had agreed on

Warnings: Hella angst, mentions of sex, masterbating, substance, cursing, toxic relationship

A/N: I’ve been updating a new fic every single day and the amount of love you guys are returning is beyond amazing. I love you so much, thank you for all of your kind words <3

p.s, again, my request box is always open. drop in any ideas and i’ll present to you my best :)

p.p.s, does anyone know why i can’t tag some users? im going crazy.

“I was thinking. . .” Rafe trailed, drawing invisible circles against her soft skin. She hummed in response, her eyes closed, feeling so relaxed under the silk bedsheet wrapping around her body.

“We should do this often.”

“Is twice a day isn’t enough for you?” she asked, hiding her smile. She felt him shift, placing his arms around her waist and pulling her close against him. She giggled lightly, feeling him behind her, but she was too tired to do anything.

“We should try doing it every minute,” he simply replied, smelling into her scent. She smelt like vanilla and caramel, just the way he likes it. “Is this the perfume I bought?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, feeling so peaceful she could sleep if he hadn’t pulled her closer against his hardening member. She groaned, trying to scoot forward by an inch, but was stopped by his fingers gripping her hips.

“I’m sore.”

“I know,” he replied casually, still brushing against her bottom. Before he could do anything else she turned, now facing him. She looked at his handsome face, his blue eyes and his soft lips. Her thumb grazed over his top lip, and Rafe swore he could fuck her anytime soon if she kept doing that.

“Are you not tired?” she asked, now cupping his face. He stared into her eyes, feeling himself getting lost in them before giving her a smile.

“No.”

“You’re mental,” she sighed, but she failed to contain her laugh after. She giggled, still cupping his face, and she has never felt so calm and relax before. Just them two, on top of a bed in some cheap motel, sometimes hearing the couple staying on top of them screaming at each other.

“Are you?” he continued, tilting his head into her hands. She smiled when he closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth radiating from her. He loves it. He feels at peace.

(Y/N) sighed, loving yet also hating these kind of moments where she knew they would be acting like strangers after, in front of everyone else. She remembered the exact day after she had had sex with him for the first time, and how he acted so cold afterwards.

“Hey,” (Y/N) smiled, standing beside his form as he squinted his eyes against the bright sunlight to inspect his goal. He didn’t reply, swinging his golf club upwards and hit the golf ball. (Y/N) watched as it flew and landed near the goal, and expressed a smile.

“You’re good.”

“Huh?” he looked up to her, as if just noticed her existence. (Y/N) felt a pang of hurt across her heart, especially when he had just whispered so many love words into her ear the night before.

“I said you’re good.”

“Oh, thanks,” he muttered, already making his way back to where his friends were. Clearly not satisfied, she followed him suit, watching as his friends cheered for him. Rafe groaned even harder, and turned to look at her before they got too close to his friends.

“What are you fucking doing here?” he scolded, his eyes staring at a space beside her. (Y/N) raised a brow, being caught off guard, but she tried to play it cool.

“I’m a member of this country club too, Rafe,” she replied, scoffing. “You’re an asshole, do you know that? Are we not going to talk about last ni-”

“Shut up,” he grunted, looking backwards to check on his friends before pulling her a few distance away. “Look, I was on drugs last night. That was not me. Let it go, okay?”

(Y/N) has never experienced that kind of disrespect, and she swore she hated Rafe Cameron so bad that when she got home, she cried against her pillows until the night sky greeted her. 

She thought about the many other guys who tried to be with her, but she had pushed them all away for a certain rich boy living 6 houses away from her. The fact that her parents are good friends with Ward and Rose Cameron doesn’t make it any easier, not when she is forced to see him every single Saturday night for ‘barbecue night’.

“What are you thinking?” he suddenly spoke, interrupting her thoughts. She sighed, suddenly scooting away from him. He watched as she turned away, but he didn’t put much thoughts into it.

“I can still smell the weed from you,” she suddenly said, and Rafe let out a laugh. He rubbed his eyes, hating the fact that they are going to repeat the same topic they have fought countless of times before, especially after sex and they had both came down from the high.

“Don’t start, (Y/N), fuck,” he sighed, covering his face with his large hands. He watched as she scooted further, wrapping the covers around her body. “Can you please just lay right next to me?”

“I want to sleep,” she replied, and bit her lips before she could express any tears. Rafe sighed, groaning, and sat up straight, resting on the edge of the bed before reaching for his jeans discarded on the corner of the room.

“I’m leaving,” he said, and (Y/N) heard the metal bar of his belt clanking against his jeans button. “Since you wanna act like a bitch again.”

“You’re an asshole,” she replied, still not looking at him. A tear rolled down her cheeks before she could stop herself, and she quickly wiped them away.

“Whatever,” he said, and she heard the door slammed shut. She cursed, unable to stop her tears now that she was alone. The banter between the husband and wife from the room above filled the silence as (Y/N) sobbed against the pillow and she thought about how it resembled her and Rafe’s relationship so much.

He would call her when he’s under the influence, whispering sweet-nothings through the phone, saying how much he’s missing her and longing for her forehead kisses. The fight they had before the phone call will immediately evaporate into thin air, and (Y/N) will make her way to wherever Rafe is. Sometimes they’ll do it in the car in a secluded alley or sometimes in the cheap motel at Chapel Hill. 

But then it was the moments after their brief meeting that had her all moody and depress throughout the week; how he would ignore her, pretending not to see her and forcing himself to say ‘hi’ during their family barbecue.

(Y/N) never thought of herself as someone who’s prone to being in a sneaky relationship, but if that what it takes to be with Rafe Cameron, she was willing to be in one.

It had been a week since the incidence, and Rafe hadn’t call her to meet or anything of the sort. (Y/N) frowned when she thought of this, because the longest fight they had before only lasted for 2 days before he rang her up, asking to meet up. 

(Y/N) shook her head, sipping on her martini before setting it on the side of the swimming pool. She dived into the water, trying to get the heat from the scorching sun off of her, and resurfaced seconds after, her wet hair falling down her shoulders.

“(Y/N), where’s dad?” Topper appeared, squatting in front of her as she took another sip on the martini. Her eyes fell to the figure behind her brother, and she almost choked on the liquid.

“Um, I don’t know,” (Y/N) replied, staring at Rafe Cameron as he took out his phone to check on his messages, ignoring her like always. She rolled her eyes at this, knowing that there were no new texts and he was just trying to act like she wasn’t there. She dived into the water again and swam to the other side, away from Rafe and his negative energy.

If Rafe knew she was going to be in the swimming pool, he would have made an excuse to Topper, perhaps saying how he has to take Wheezie to the clinic for an appointment. (Y/N) was almost never home every time he hang out with Topper, so he thought he was safe. But there she was; in the most tempting bikini, swimming and constantly sipping on a martini.

Rafe sat right next to Topper, watching her back from the corners of his eyes as she gazed at the view in front of her. She was laying on her arms, lazily humming to a rock song Rafe plays every time he’s driving.

He jolted when Topper touched his hand. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Topper laughed, “I said, do you wanna eat?”

“I’m okay,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and thinking about good she looked in that bikini. He made a mental note to guess the brand to purchase more of that sort for her. 

“Okay, I’m going in to get myself some food. Are you sure you don’t want any food?” Topper asked, sitting on the edge of the seat. Rafe nodded, his eyes still closed, and heard him walking towards the sliding door into the kitchen.

“Why are you ignoring me?” 

Rafe opened his eyes, and to his satisfaction, the girl with the (H/C) locks stared at him with her face rested against her arms. His breath hitched, seeing how beautiful she was with the chlorine water dripping from her face, down to her neck, continuing to her che-

“God, you’re a fucking asshole,” she suddenly said, and Rafe had to shook his head from the involuntary thought that appeared in his mind. He groaned, watching as she dived in the water again, and almost catching a glimpse of her bottom. He smiled.

“Are you still a bitch?” he asked when she resurfaced, crossing his arms. “Because if you are, I don’t feel like fucking you right here and right now.”

(Y/N) halted her movements as she tried her best not to look at the smirking boy, and instead staring into the swimming pool as if there was something interesting in it. Rafe laughed, knowing exactly the impact of his words towards her, and thought about wanting to have a little more fun with her.

“I’m asking, baby,” he said softly, and her eyes landed on his. “Are you still a bitch?”

“I brought cookies!” Topper suddenly yelled, appearing from the sliding door and walking towards them with a bright smile. Rafe cursed, laying his back against the seat again and pretending to close his eyes while (Y/N) dived underwater, trying to hide her red face. He was glad when Topper handed him a cookie, talking about wanting to surf tomorrow - so oblivious towards the sexual tension between him and his own twin.

“What do you think?” Topper asked, munching on the cookies all the while trying to see Rafe’s reaction. Rafe nodded, muttering his agreement, but under his sunglasses, he was watching (Y/N) and she too, was watching him.

“Can I have a cookie, Tops?” (Y/N) suddenly interrupted, and without looking at her, Topper gave her a thumbs up sign. (Y/N) smiled, pulling herself up from the pool and Rafe almost had a heart attack from the sight of her curves donning the bikini and the water dripping off of her.

She walked towards them, hair swept to her left shoulder, and Rafe’s gaze followed her fingers as she grabbed a cookie and immediately putting it in her mouth. He watched as she closed her eyes, enjoying the sweet taste, all the while sitting under the glowing sun that highlighted her features even more.

He could feel himself getting harder.

“Well,” (Y/N) suddenly said, and Rafe had realized he was too busy looking at her to realize that she was already conversing with Topper. “I’ll go. Is Rafe coming too?” 

Both of the siblings’ attention fell towards him, and Rafe found himself clearing his throat before he spoke.

“I’m sorry, where are we?”

“Man, are you sure you’re okay?” Topper asked, removing his sunglasses to look at him clearly. “Do you need water?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Rafe quickly added, “Can I, um, go up to your room? I think I need a nap.”

“Yeah, okay,” Topper replied, not thinking much of it. They had been spending so much time under the sun during the summer, he wouldn’t be surprised if one of them got sick. “I’ll go upstairs in a second.”

He muttered a thanks, quickly making his way to the top of the house, where Topper stayed. He groaned, feeling himself getting harder, and hating the fact that she was most probably liking the way he was reacting. 

He locked the door of the bathroom he has been using since the first day he became friends with Topper, watching himself in the mirror. He closed his eyes while he tried to picture her in his mind, his fingers trying their best to untie the knot of the band of his swimming shorts.

He held himself in the palm of his hands as he pictured her again, this time with her under him. He started sliding his palm over his hardened member, his other hand safely placed on the sink for balance. He thought of the way she’ll bounce on him when she rides him, and bit his lips before he could let out any sounds.

Fuck. 

He hated how easy she’ll make him hard and how she has him wrapped around her finger. It was true how they would only do the unholy thing when he was under the influence or they were both under the influence, but he couldn’t deny the unsettling feeling in his stomach every time he saw her.

“Fuck,” he expressed, his grip on the sink tightening. His movements became faster as he tried to picture her mouth and around him, and felt his end coming. He left a string of curses as he finally released himself, watching the shot dripping off the sides of the sink. He grunted, having to do more work, and grabbed himself the white tissues before wiping his mess.

. . .

“Hey.”

“Hey, Rafe,” (Y/N) said, trying to maintain her normal tone. She bit her lips at the sound of his heavy breathing, missing his voice and also his handsome face. She longed to have his face in her hands again, staring at each other’s eyes and kissing each other’s lips right after.

“Can you come over?” he asked, his voice slurring. “No, I mean, can I pick you up?” The sound of laughter and booming music could be heard behind him, giving out his location. (Y/N) sighed, knowing the exact request behind the words, and looked at her wall to check on the time.

“It’s 12 a.m., my mom won’t allow me to go out.”

“Sneak out, then,” Rafe replied, and he said something to his friends before focusing back on her. “Please? I missed you.”

(Y/N) sighed, knowing exactly her problem.

This.

“Okay,” she replied, leaning over her mattress to close her laptop now that she had new plans for the night. “What time are you picking me up?”

“I can’t drive right now,” he said, suddenly realizing how sloshed he was. “Can you come and pick me up, please?”

She sighed again, but she had missed him so much. Him and his touches. His and his words.

Him.

“Okay, send me your location, okay? I’ll pick you up.”

(Y/N) thought about how she couldn’t do it anymore. Not when she has spent most of her life trying to make him love her. He had been friends with her brother since forever, but yet he never seemed to settle on her. She heard about the amount of girls he dated and how she tried to become like them, but after a while, she grew bored of it. She was tired of running after someone who doesn’t want to be caught.

Until the night at the party, where they had been smoking and doing coke and god knows what else. (Y/N) had watched him from the corners of her eyes, liking how attractive he looked under the party lights. He was in a black shirt, his hair messily parted, a cigarette loosely hanging from his lips.

“Thornton, do you know how perfect your smile is?” he asked, leaning towards her. (Y/N) giggled, her back against the wall as she stared into his eyes. 

“You’re mistaking me for my brother, Rafe?” she asked, with that smile again. Rafe licked his lips, looking down to hers before leaning closer to whisper into her ear.

“I’ve got to confess, (Y/N),” he whispered, sending shivers down to her spine. “You’re the hottest sibling.”

When she woke up the next day, laying right next to Rafe Cameron, she had to pinch herself a few times to make sure that she was living in reality, but when she tried to approach him that evening on the golf course, it was like nothing happened that night.

It scarred her until he rang her up again, six days after. 

“Rafe,” (Y/N) sighed, leaning over to open the passenger’s door from her seat, seeing how drunk he was. Rafe giggled, getting himself in before shutting the door and staring at her. He leaned towards her and placed a sloppy kiss against her cheeks, down to her neck and stopped directly before her chest.

“Just park in the back,” he ordered, placing his palm on the upper side of her thigh, too close to her heat. She bit her lips as she turned her steering wheel, entering the back alley of the club. Soon after he had texted her his location, she sneaked out through her brother’s porch and stole his car, driving straight towards Rafe.

She turned the ignition off and looked at him, watching as he unbuttoned his shirt slowly, groaning when he missed one button. He tried to reach for her, but she pushed his hand away, her face expressing into anger.

“Don’t pull this shit again, fuck,” Rafe sighed, throwing his head back against the seat and covering his face with his hands. (Y/N) caught a glimpse of a gold ring, and noticed how it looked so similar to hers hanging around her neck.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she said, filling the silence. Rafe let out a shrill laugh, still closing his eyes.

“Still a bitch, I guess.”

“This is the problem, Rafe!” she groaned, causing Rafe to look at her fully in the face when he noticed her increasing volume. “What are we?”

“What do you want to hear?” he simply said, staring at her with empty eyes. He licked his lips, “No, seriously. Tell me the answer, and I’ll say it.”

How cold could he be?

“Rafe, do you see how you’re treating me?” she asked, and she could feel her tears threatening to fall. “Do you realize the difference between sober Rafe and intoxicated Rafe?”

Of course he knew. He just chose to ignore it.

“I can’t do this right now,” Rafe said, putting his hands up in defeat. “Can we just fuck, get over whatever fight we’re having right now, and live our best lives the next day? Can we do that?”

He turned to look at her, and noticed her glassy eyes. He sighed, trying to cup her face, but she flinched at his touch.

“You make me feel like a whore,” she whispered, her lips trembling. “One second you love me, the next second you’re spitting on me.”

He just had the worst night of his life; having a fight with Ward about his business, bumping onto the pogues, catching Sarah and John B. . . and now this?

“You think too much,” he said, but his heartbeat was quickening. He stole a glance at her and watched as she stared at him with empty eyes. “I’m sober now. You know what, (Y/N)? You’re right. I can’t even look at you when I’m not under the influence.”

He turned to open the door, getting out while buttoning his shirt back, not wanting to look at her. He couldn’t stand it, he knew he’ll be too broken if he sees her cry over him. He didn’t know what to do; he panicked, never preparing for this exact moment where he knew she will ask about the state of their relationship.

He watched as she sped away from the alley, her engine roaring against the silence of that particular Friday night, where his day had been nothing but miserable. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to contain his feelings, but before he knew it, he had kicked on the empty beer can on the side of the road, watching its movement as it hit the opposite wall and fell into the trash can.

He laughed at the strange occurrence, his tears slowly rolling down his cheeks and made his way back to the club.

If there’s one thing he’s so sure about himself; Rafe Cameron hates himself more than anyone else in the world.

-

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[inkmemes]

young  royals  (  2021  )  sentence  starters ↪  taken  from  netflix’s  swedish  ya  drama.  non-contextual  spoilers.  trigger  warning  for  mentions  of  sexual  activity,  drugs,  alcohol,  death,  implied  internalised  homophobia,  bullying.  alter  as  you  see  fit  ♡

“at least you can stay for a cup of coffee?”

“hey, wait up. did you sleep together?” 

“he's probably making out with someone. forget it.”

“i can't take it anymore.”

“what are you doing?”

“and he had to finish your sentence. what's going on? you like him.”

“every time you see your dad, you get all depressed.”

“you're still here, so obviously you must want something.”

“are you high? what the hell are you on?”

“does this make you horny?” 

“i like [town name], but i don't want to live here forever.”

“you can leave now. go home. i'm staying here for the weekend.”

“do you want chocolate?”

“how do you feel?” 

“it's kind of hard to tell them apart, you know.” 

“you're a worthless drunk.”

“you … you need to figure out what you want. and you can take all the time you need. and i respect that. but you have to do it by yourself. i don't want to be anyone's secret.”

“you have to stop pretending that you're not afraid.”

“that's the thing, i just don't want that.”

“it's something new. something fresh.”

“can we talk privately for a minute?” 

“and if anyone gives you a hard time, you know, just let me know, and i'll take care of it.” 

“you do know you don't need to hide?” 

“are you gonna let us in?”

“promise to let me know if there's anything i can do.”

“hey, we won't go blind from your moonshine, right?”

“i'm just getting a good vibe. that's all.”

“you're so fucking pathetic.”

“you realize that this will have consequences?”

“he's such a fucking idiot.”

“i wanted us to have a few minutes alone.”

“when you're young, love feels like the most important thing in the world.” 

“i really like you.”

“felt like i had to rescue you from that situation.”

“it got so damn hot in there, i thought i'd get some fresh air.”

“you are allowed your own opinions. it's cool.”

“i've seen the way you look at each other.”

“here, this one is a little big for me, but i think it'll look great on you.”

“do you think royal dick is different than regular?”

“you're the only one here i feel i can actually talk to.” 

“i haven't heard anything yet, but i'll tell you as soon as i do.”

“you can't just lie here jerking off.”

“i don't want to go to some fucking boarding school!”

“i've missed this place so much.”

“are you going to horror movie night on friday?”

“but i like you. and that is not fake.”

“you don't need to share everything.”

“we should go to a concert again sometime.”

“you're fucking crazy!”

“where have you been? i've been trying to reach you.”

“just don't use the school's wi-fi for porn surfing. could be embarrassing.”

“but no matter what, they can't dictate what you say.”

“sorry about last night.”

“i don't want to talk to you!”

“i don't wanna sound like an idiot.”

“i was thinking, would you like to have a sleepover at my place? because that's something friends do. it's going to be really cozy.”

“i think maybe we should forget about that.”

“you can't really see that it is you.”

“i mean, it could be anyone. it's so fucking stupid.”

“i don't want to say anything.” 

“now you're doing it again. you're trying to take care of me.” 

“i can take it, it's okay.”

“that's not true. i haven't spoken to my parents.”

“we haven't done anything wrong.”

“you're beautiful! you're so beautiful.”

“i'm gay, [name].”

“seriously? what the fuck is your problem?”

“you keep letting people piss on you!”

“i just assumed you didn't want special treatment.”

“keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

“so you thought you'd start spreading false rumours without having any proof?” 

“i just didn't want to lose you.”

“uh, there's pizza left if you want some.”

“everybody thinks you're perfect. you know that, right?”

“he's just been outed.”

“i'm going to fuck this up.”

“he bloody ruined my fucking life!”

“why are you sitting in your room sulking when you have a crush to hang out with?”

“hi. sorry, i was feeling a bit better. so i thought it was okay that i hung out with some friends.”

"everyone should be allowed to live as gay or straight or whatever they want.”

“i woke up in my own bed. that's always something.”

“could i just have one second? just one second alone, please?”

“i’m sorry. but it was, like, the only way.”

“i thought, everyone deserves a second chance.”

“i'm sorry about the mess. i wasn't expecting such distinguished company.”

“i just don't want you to be treated badly again.”

“oh, fuck.”

“you don't even… aren't you even gonna answer me?”

“i didn't know that one was supposed to sign up.”

“in real life, you don't pay to get ahead.”

“and what the fuck does your dad do?”

“let's try to have some table manners.”

“it's, like, really serious.”

“who the hell can live like this for three fucking years?”

“that's what happens when you buy the cheap ones.”

“i need your help with something. ”

“being a prince is not a punishment, but a privilege.”

“it's awesome to just chill out.”

“or maybe he lied about that too. what do i know?”

“you have to give people a chance.”

“you have to try to see it from my perspective.” 

“what the hell's this?”

“what happened to "we should forget about it"?”

“stop being so fucking stubborn and try to understand my situation.”

“sometimes it's better not to say everything.” 

“i was just bored.”

“have you ever had a boyfriend?”

“sometimes it's better to keep quiet.”

“can i get you some coffee?”

“nobody else cares about these things.”

“i lost track of time.”

“everybody does the same things and everybody knows everybody.”

“thanks for rescuing me yesterday.”

“remember when he came up to us the first week and was like, "what's up?"”

“i need you to delete all our texts.”

“i can't keep doing this anymore.”

“are you gonna let them go on with their bullshit?”

“i want to be with you.”

“here's a blanket, a pillow, and bed sheets. there you go.”

“okay, yeah. you don't seem to have grasped what i'm trying to say.”

“it's usually boring as hell.”

“he's been dealing to us for months.”

“i don't want to talk to him.”

“don't you wanna date [name] anymore?”

“i don't know why he's started texting me again. he knows i don't want anything to do with him.” 

“yeah, we had a shitload of drugs.”

“we could murder someone, and nobody would say a word.”

“she needs some fun.”

“he's just doing it to fuck with me.”

“it's such a weird question.”

“i just wanted to say hi. i don't believe we've met. ”

“but i still want us to be friends.”

“if i were to stay here… would you… like to keep me company? just you and me.”

“everything's, like, upside down now.”

“have you always lived here?”

“damn it. sorry. shit. i completely forgot.”

“i'm sure someone has a story to tell.”

“you've got to put yourself first. i mean, no matter what he thinks about it.”

“come on! you can't just sit there stuck in your room.”

“you can snuggle up in my safe arms if it gets scary.”

“i want to live a normal life.”

“let me have a look. you can hardly see it.”

“any other dick that's been sucked?”

“you just expect everything to be on your terms.”

“i want to know everything!”

“you don't have to go there. i'll take care of myself.”

“has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?” 

“i'll just stay in and go to bed early.”

“thanks for explaining the schedule.”

“i'd rather die.”

“i don't want you to be mad.”

“promise to tell me if something is wrong.”

“i can't be dressed like this if you're dressed like that.” 

“it's really complicated.”

“it feels like you don't care what people think about you, or if you have a lot of friends and stuff.” 

“nobody asked you to come. feel free to leave if you want.”

“well, nobody has ever, ever asked for this!” 

“there isn't so much to do around here.”

“you've become such a snob.”

“i know you're only trying to help me.” 

“do you like it here?”

“i don't wanna go in there. we're not even invited. fuck this.”

“don't you think it's weird [name] invited us to come?”

“if they hadn't been here, would you've, uh, made out with me?”

“so, you're an actual proper couple now?”

“you're thinking about someone else.”

“you're right. we're doing this together.”

“thanks… for nothing.”

“why are you even so obsessed with him?”

“i want you to hold me.”

“call me when you want to be picked up.”

“what the fuck do you care?” 

“i don't think we're a couple or anything. i don't know what it is.”

“you never asked me!”

“your focus should be on comforting me so that i can comfort him.” 

“it's not that hard. you have to be able to keep up appearances.”

“famous people make videos like that.”

“maybe somebody forgot to tell me, as usual.”

“just make a move on [name] and show him what you want.”

“you wanna stay a while and jam?”

“have you talked to your parents about it?”

“a diverse bunch of losers, who'll never amount to anything.”

“why can't i decide how the hell i want to live?”

“apparently, i'm the only one who doesn't know everybody.”

“i used to have straight a's on every test.”

“it will damage our reputation.”

“i'm fucking starving.”

“why is it called tax "evasion" but welfare "scam"? it's all right that rich people cheat, but when poor people do it, it's messed up. for rich people, it's not even called "welfare”, it's called "deduction."”

“what the fuck is rowing?”

“what the hell have you done, [name]?”

“good voice, man.”

“why can't i just have a relationship with him?”

“did you have fun last friday?”

“all the people are fake. they're made out of metal.”

what do you want me to say? i'm sorry!”

“is this some kind of prank?”

“i like you when you are yourself!”

“but you like him, don't you?”

“she shouldn't talk to you like that.”

“are you into him?”

“something's not right, i think we should head back to the road.”

“do you have trouble sleeping?”

“doesn't anyone care what i want?”

“just don't tell anyone that i've been here.”

“i was going to text you back, but…”

“your only mistake was that you hung out with the wrong kind of people.”

“i just wanted to help.”

“i know you'll use anything to get high or drunk.” 

“it's time to stop being so selfish.”

“i just want my fucking money.”

“you should've planned ahead. didn't you bring a sandwich?” 

“who the fuck wants to be normal anyway?”

“you fucking told me you were the one i could always come to!”

“i take it back.”

“i can see there's something going on.”

“i have to finish getting ready, so if you could please leave.”

“no one likes me when i'm myself.” 

“i hope you have a nice christmas.”

“i'm gonna do the wrong things, say the wrong things.”

“my mom is gonna kill me.”

“do you remember what you said to me last night?”

“i cannot be dragged into this.”

“i like you too.”

“you're no longer a part of my family.”

“it's well-suited for smaller people.”

“i assume that he thought that it would make him popular.”

“i didn't ask for this!”

“it's no problem. i like doing it.”

“it feels like i'm gonna throw up.”

“don't i get any breakfast?”

“whatever i do, i can't do anything right.”

“we haven't been to any party whatsoever.”

“did you get my texts?”

“i think it sounds romantic.”

“uh, wait, you have to come to the horror movie night on friday.”

“i liked what you said in there, [name].”

“okay, maybe he used to be a player, but love can actually change you.”

“it's nice to make an effort and dress up for dinner.” 

“i'm in a fucked-up situation and i'm trying to talk to you.” 

“you don't understand. i was gonna pay it.”

“you're not that kind of guy.”

“i was about to go outside and, um, do you wanna come with?”

“what about me?” 

“it was… okay, i guess.”

“can i sit with you?”

“you call this a scary movie?”

“i have a million things to take care of, i don't have time to talk to you.”

“have you lost it completely?”

“but i'm starving.”

“this past year has been difficult for me.”

“i don't get it. she's making it into such a big deal.”

“no, this won't work. just take it off, please.” 

“i'm not like that.”

“fuck you. it's not a crush.”

“then i know that i can't count on you.”

“can't you come see me in [town] sometime?”

“it's just that we can't be seen together.” 

“he was still sleeping when i walked in.”

“doesn't bother me at all. i've seen it. absolutely. 100%.”

“[name] is really getting on my nerves! seriously.”

“i want us to be friends again.”

“i thought you and [name] were friends.”

“make sure you check your dms. okay?”

“you think it's fun to fuck with people like me?”

“never spend money you don't have. okay?”

“you think i'm stupid?”

“this sucks.” 

“how nice to see some smiles.”

“this isn't just about me, but my entire family.”

“i'm going to marry her.”

“are you threatening me?”

“don't you realize the shit storm that follows if i come out?” 

“i don't want you to talking to her.”

“remember what we saw during movie night? when they sat next to each other?”

“i love you.”

“i just want to hang out with you.”

"there's no point in having a back-up if you never use it."

“pretend i'm saying something clever.”

“how's [name]? he must be totally devastated.”

“what do you think they think we're talking about?”

“everything is fake. everything in the world is fake.”

“[name] is dead.”

“it just wasn't what i thought it would be like.”

“since when did you start liking him for real?” 

“what a fucking douchebag. god!”

“what the hell are you saying? chill out!”

[untaemedqueen]

Snowed In

Best Friend!Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Best Friends To Lovers, Huddle of Warmth, Domestic!AU, Smut, Fluff

Warnings: Mega Fluff, Marking, Impregnation Kink, Thigh Slapping, Cunnilingus, Fingering, Possessive!Hoseok, Ab Worship, Fellatio, Face Fucking, Belly Bulge, Multiple Orgasms, Doggy Style, Spanking, Cream Pie

WordCount: 15k

A/N: Okay! MERRY EARLY CHRISTMAS! I’m super super lucky to have all of my darlings in one collab with me! Always a shoutout to my loves @ladyartemesia​, @ppersonna​, @xjoonchildx​ and @underthejoon​ for rooting me on always! Shout out to @hobi-gif​ for beta-ing it and literally helping me learn English lmfao. My other loves @snackhobi​ and @yeojaa​ rooted on the idea for this fic and helped me flesh things out and I’m so lucky I’m constantly surrounded by such amazing people!

Seasons for most people inspire and bring delight with every change of color on leaves in high up trees. Yet with you, you always hated all the seasons and everything they stood for. Until you met him. Or let him in anyway.

It sounds corny and ridiculous. It probably is.

People always deemed you cold hearted or uncaring and it was all true. But he brought love to your heart. He made colors brighter. He made the world seem bigger and better than you ever noticed before.

He was always around, even if you didn't want him to be. You had some friends from childhood that insisted on keeping him around. He was kind and eager with everything that he did. And it annoyed the ever living crap out of you.

But you slowly opened up that iron cage around your heart and let him in. Even if it took him ages for you to let him in, he was determined.

You never understood why it always turned terribly cold the day before Halloween. It was a constant as well as surprising. But, what was probably more surprising was that people couldn't give a bigger fuck about frigid temperatures when they had revealing costumes to wear.

"I don't wanna go!" you whine to Taehyung as he takes off his shirt. Rolling his eyes, he throws the fabric perfectly on the top of your head before thrusting his fist up in the air.

"Score!" he cheers loudly as he grabs the top of his costume.

You ball up the tee-shirt in hand before chucking it at him with a sneer.

"Kim Taehyung," you mumble as you look back down at your phone.

"You have to go. Do you want me to not get pussy? Is that what it is? You have an agenda against me? A no pussy agenda? That's fucked up Y/N. I can't even believe you!" He rants as he slips on his top.

"Oh my God," you murmur as you lean back against the headboard of his bed.

Knowing this man since you were six -- nothing has changed. He's been by your side through thick and thin. He has always been a fearless best friend and a fierce fighter for you.

You've never liked people but the one person you've really only cared for has been Kim Taehyung. And, Park Jimin -- but he's a different story entirely.

"Jaemin is going too, you don't want to see your own boyfriend?" Taehyung asks as he stands in front of his mirror.

You look up slowly from your phone only to catch his gaze through the mirror. "Jaemin is his own person. He can do whatever he wants without me having to be by his side like glue."

Taehyung snorts gently as he combs his fingers through his hair.

"Man, I don't know how you keep relationships. You're so mean. Jaemin has a strong heart to be with you," you give him a fake smile as you flip him your middle finger.

"Not everyone needs to be as coddled as you do, Tae," you reply as you stand up off the bed.

"Hey. I'm only so needy and clingy because my parents didn't love me as a child," he says as he puts hairspray in his hair.

You snort gently at his words before the door of his dorm room opens.

"Tae!" you hear Hoseok cheer and you internally sigh.

In your first year of college, Hoseok was in every single class you signed up for. You saw him for multiple hours a day and he was so nice -- so completely nice, that it was terrifying.

No one should be so kind and selfless but that's just who he is. Once Taehyung and Jimin had met him, the trio that you’d always been had turned into some bizarre foursome that you didn't quite care for. You were used to the other two around, but with Hoseok you just became uncomfortable. Maybe it's your crippling anxiety or your extreme awkwardness.

"Hey Hoseok!" Taehyung calls out to him as he grabs his pants.

Hoseok looks around the room before spotting you. His smile seems to widen -- if that's even possible.

He is incredibly handsome. His eyes always seem to sparkle with an energy you've never really seen before. Jimin calls it allure, Taehyung calls it kindness.

“Y/N! Hey! Happy Halloween!” He says happily as he enters the room.

His costume is simple, just a leather jacket, black t-shirt and black ripped jeans with a Scream mask hanging from his neck but it’s nice.

“Hey, Hobi,” you reply, your voice is wrapped with dull tones. Sitting back down on the bed, you look at your phone for a distraction.

“What’s your costume?” he asks as he sits down beside you.

“She’s going as herself. Because, that’s the scariest thing this world can offer,” Taehyung jeers as he puts on his eyeliner.

You give a fake laugh as you lock your phone. “Wow! Tae, you’re so funny! You get all the girls with your quirky humor?”

Hoseok laughs beside you, the sound is endearing to hear, unfortunately. But, you do find yourself giggling as Taehyung flips you the middle finger right back.

“I don’t like Halloween. Or any holidays as a matter of fact… or people,” you tell the cute black haired boy beside you. He hums understandingly as he folds his arms.

“It’s cool to be introverted,” he replies softly which Taehyung scoffs at.

“Not my Y/N. When she’s with me, she breaks out of her shell, right?” you hum uneasily as Taehyung enters the bathroom.

“Because you make me!” you retort loudly, lifting your body off of the headboard of his bed to call out to him. You huff out as you lean back before folding your arms and looking at Hoseok.

“How do you deal with him?” you quip as he looks up at the ceiling.

“He was your friend first,” he replies, a gentle smirk settling onto his features before turning his head to you.

“Touche,” you mutter as Taehyung throws his pajama pants at your head from the doorway of the bathroom.

Going to parties was certainly not a hobby for you. They’re loud and the environment usually smells like stale beer or high proof vodka. People stumble or shove you out of the way in their drunken stupor. It’s usually a gigantic mess.

But, if you must, you go to parties with your two best friends plus one Jung Hoseok, who is too kind for his own good.

Exactly what you hate is right before your eyes as you all pull up to Jimin’s frat house. The music is so loud, you can practically feel the bass beneath your feet as you step onto the front lawn. Already, there are strewn Solo cups on the ground and girls in tiny costumes. Which doesn’t bother you as much, you dress how you want to dress but it’s just so fucking cold!

You see him in passing, your boyfriend flits away before you can even call out to him. He looks good, really good. Sometimes you’re surprised he asked you out first. His hair is coiffed and you know his costume is supposed to be a zombie jock, which isn’t far off from what he normally is. He’s gigantic compared to you, the quarterback of the college football team and sitting comfortably at six foot five. He’s incredibly handsome and he’s yours. Which is bizarre because you never even thought he noticed you at all around the college green until last year.

“Lee Jaemin!” Taehyung calls out to him as he grabs a beer.

You cringe as Tae calls him, he shouldn’t have to come over if he doesn’t want to...

“Oh shit! What’s up guys!” Jaemin cheers loudly. You can hear the slur already in his voice.

He gives high fives to everyone before planting a sloppy, yet quick, kiss to your lips.

“So, where’s your costume?” Jaemin asks you as he pops the top of his can open.

“I don’t like Halloween, you know that,” you mumble as he ruffles your hair with a chuckle.

“You don’t like anything, baby. Except this dick.” He kisses your hairline before walking away leaving you all on your own.

You scratch the back of your neck uncomfortably, before looking over at Taehyung and Hoseok.

“I’m sorry,” your apology is weak as well as your voice.

God, you and Jaemin are so different sometimes.

Taehyung passed you a beer with a gentle scoff and you can tell that he's holding his tongue.

Cracking open the beer, you take a long sip before staring at the frat house.

"I'm sorry I made you come." Tae apologizes softly as your blue haired best friend begins to bolt towards you all.

You grumble softly in response before groaning as Jimin bum rushes you. Knocking all of the air out of your lungs, you cough loudly as he squeezes you tightly to his body.

"Happy Halloween! You bunch of assholes!" he cries happily as he shakes you around in his arms.

"Get… off!" you wheeze out, slapping his arm with all the strength you can muster.

Once he lets go, your free hand drops to your knee as you gasp for breath.

"You okay?" Hoseok asks softly, a goofy smirk on his lips as he presses his hand to your shoulder.

You give a thumbs up weakly before coughing loudly and standing upright.

"LET'S GO PARTY!" Jimin yells loudly across the lawn as he throws his arms up in the air.

You watch as other drunken college kids cheer along with him and you roll your eyes as Hoseok squeezes your shoulder.

You've managed to avoid conversing or dancing throughout the night which seemed like the only highlight so far. The typical pushing and shoving from drunk people to get places was the norm so far. You've been offered blunts and other varying drugs that you politely refused.

Finally, you found an empty couch in the large living room for you to become a loner in. Watching the drunken couple get up from making out to take their affairs elsewhere, you swooped in like a hawk to sit like a marble statue.

You spot Taehyung, his arm high up on the wall as he cages a girl between his hips. They're talking (more like screaming at each other over the loud music) and you lean your head back on the couch as you watch them.

Tae has always had an effervescent personality ever since you were very little, so it's no surprise as he holds his hand out to the random girl and she takes it willingly. You'll have no ride home tonight, you find yourself thinking.

Jaemin hasn't come looking for you once since you saw him on the lawn. He was a partier, you were not.

"Hey!" you hear someone scream to your right.

Looking to the owner of the voice, you give a small smirk as Hoseok flops down beside you.

"I was looking for you!" he calls into your ear as he passes you a Solo cup.

"Why?" you reply confused as your eyes focus on his handsome face in the dim lighting of the living room.

"Because I knew you'd be all alone!" he quips, elbowing you gently with a smirk.

You roll your eyes, the corners of your lips turning upward and you bring the Solo cup to your mouth.

"It's like watching a group of crazed monkeys jumping around!" He jokes as you both watch people dance.

You can feel yourself giggle softly, you couldn't hear anything soft above the music.

There's silence between you two for a bit, but it's comfortable. You can feel his thigh pressing into yours gently as you both watch people moving along with the music.

"Where's Jaemin?" Hoseok calls once more and you shrug flippantly as you take a sip of the mixed drink.

Vodka and cranberry.

"Did you make this?!" you ask him as he throws his arm over the lip of the couch.

He nods with a smile before raising his own.

"It's my favorite!" you call back to him.

"I know!" he replies happily before looking back at all the people.

He's so thoughtful, it's bizarre. Taking another swig of the drink, your eyes catch Jaemin walking up the stairs to his bedroom. Not even a minute later, a girl follows with a knowing smile set on her face.

Your eyebrow raises at the sight and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.  Sitting up slightly, Hoseok follows your gaze and he practically blanches at what you could possibly be thinking.

"Excuse me." you call to him as you stand up.

"Y/N! Wait!" Hoseok screams over the music but his voice gets softer as you weave through all the people dancing.

You feel his hand curl around your arm and your first instinct is to pull away from him. But, he keeps his grip steadfast.

"Stay with me." Hoseok pleads in your ear.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you rip your hand away from him. You grip the banister of the stairs.

As you look up at the second floor landing, it seems more daunting with each and every step.

"Yo!" Jimin cheers as he climbs up the stairs with you.

"Gonna go get your freak on?!" he jeers. Hoseok is quick to elbow him in the ribs, sending a cautionary glance his way that shuts him up quickly.

"Y-Y/N?" Jimin asks as you clutch tighter onto the staircase banister. Your knuckles turn white and you have to focus on your breathing as you ascend further.

You can’t even begin to respond as you reach the top of the staircase. Your mind is running a mile a minute.

Sure, you and Jaemin weren’t attached at the hip but you’ve been dating a year. He never even has given the hint that he was getting tired of you or bored of your presence. Although you could be completely different at times, you were happy when you were together. You didn’t need to see him every day to feel complete, you thought you both were okay.

“Y/N. You don’t have to do this.” Hoseok says as he grabs the Solo cup from your hand.

You can barely hear him above the sound of your heart beating in your ears.

Everything is muffled, even the high volume music that pumps throughout the house.

You spot Taehyung, making out with the girl from earlier outside Jimin’s bedroom. He catches you out of the corner of his eye and sees how ghostly pale you’ve become, his blood runs cold at the sight.

“What’s wrong?” he yells as he leaves the girl on her own.

Swallowing thickly, you ignore him. Your feet are slow and sluggish but you make your way to Jaemin’s room without a second thought.

Your hand shakes as you reach for the door knob. You can hear loud, bitter whispers from the men behind you as you clamp down on the metal in hand. Taking a deep breath, you thrust the door open.

You take your boyfriend of a year in your sights, his hands on the random girls hips as she straddles him. Apparently, they wasted no fucking time getting naked.

Your eyes flutter shut at the image now burned into your corneas. And, you feel as if a hole has been punched through your gut.

Upon opening your eyes, you see your boyfriend's head angle towards the door. His sideburns are caked down with sweat and with narrowed eyes he finally makes out your figure in the dark hallway.

“Holy shit! Hey, baby!” He yells out surprised as he shoves her off his lap.

Just hearing his voice, how it’s meant to sound playful brings tears to your eyes. Your nasal passages burn with bitter intent and you look down at the floor as he sits up.

“Hey, Y/N! Listen, I-” you’re shoved out the way by Taehyung and Jimin who advance towards the quarterback with venom dripping from their gaze.

“You fucking asshole!” Taehyung screams as he punches Jaemin in the face.

You feel arms wrapping around you, none other than Hoseok’s as he pulls you away.

“Chill man! It’s fucking college! You think I was going to just stay with your introverted little creepy friend for the rest of my life?!” you hear Jaemin scream as Hoseok tugs you towards the staircase.

You decided to walk home, even though it was freezing outside. The sharp breeze chills you to the bone and sets your mind alight as you trudge through the brown, crinkled leaves that line the sidewalks.

Hoseok has stayed by your side throughout the walk and thankfully, he hasn’t said a word. You were mad at yourself for crying. Stopping every so often to wipe bitter tears off your cheeks as you folded in on yourself.

He can see you shivering as you get closer to your dorm and he tugs off his leather jacket. Swinging it over your shoulders, he hooks his arm around you before pulling you into his chest.

You feel too dead inside to move, but the warmth and comfort of his body is nice.

“You don’t have to talk. But, I will.” Hoseok says as you finally reach your dorm.

Opening up the door for you, he waits as you scan the keycard to enter the building.

Once safely in the elevator, you shrug off his leather jacket before handing it back to him with a small murmur of a thank you.

You feel lucky that your dorm room is a single, because tonight you would not be ready to deal with a roommate.

Stepping inside your dorm, you make your way over to your bed before sitting down with a huff.

Hoseok, the handsome, kind man that he is sits in front of you. He crosses his legs and all you can see in his eyes is sorrow.

“You are so amazing. You’re too fucking good for that piece of shit asshole. You deserve so much better than him. Even if you come off rough around the edges, you’re kind to your friends and you care deeply about things that are important to you. You’re smart and confident in what you do know and you’re a force to be reckoned with. Fuck him if he doesn’t appreciate you. There are plenty of people in the world that do. Me being one of them,” he says as he puts his hands on your knees.

You weren’t in the mood for nice comments but the way that he says it, with such conviction makes you feel almost lighter in a way.

You open your mouth to reply but nothing comes out.

“You don’t have to talk, you don’t have to entertain me. I’m here for you to make sure you’re okay.” Hoseok says gently as he runs his hands over your knees.

Maybe you’ve been too harsh with him. Maybe he was someone you wanted in your life. He’s helped you in ways you didn’t even think you would need tonight. He’s dependable.

"Thanks, Hobi." you manage to whisper out.

It was a nickname you made for him and only him. And, only you could use it.

"You can lay down if you want. I won't leave you alone, unless you want me too," he says softly.

You didn't know if you could handle being all by yourself right now after the night you've had.

"Stay," you whisper as you take off your hoodie.

He gives an understanding nod as you lay down on your bed. Pulling the covers over you, he sighs gently as you close your eyes.

You never really understood until now why Jimin and Taehyung brought Hoseok into your group. Of course, he was kind and fun to be around but he was dependable and just a genuinely good friend.

"Sit," you tell him as you push yourself flush against the wall, turning onto your side.

Hoseok seems to be fighting within himself for a second before he's kicking off his shoes to sit up against the headboard beside you.

He brings his knees up to his chest before wrapping his arms around them. You've noticed him doing it several times in the past. It's endearing to watch him do it every time, like he needs to make room for something.

Your eyes squeeze shut as you remember the horrible scene from not too long ago. You really, really liked him. Even if you weren't the best at showing it.

"I thought we were okay. I know that sometimes I can be difficult to be with b-"

"Y/N," Hoseok interrupts you. You look up at him as he angles his face down towards yours, "There is nothing wrong with you. This is his fault. I'm not going to sit here and let you beat yourself up over that fucking douchebag."

You hum unsurely, as your fingers pull at a stray strand of fabric that sticks out from your comforter.

"I just… I don't date people because I'm not confident or anything and look what happens," you reply hopelessly as you turn onto your back. Staring at the ceiling, your eyes flit from one glow in the dark star that you and Jimin stuck up there to the other.

"You're beautiful. Not just your face, but your being is beautiful. Confidence isn't easy to gain but you should have it because you deserve it. You're pretty wonderful." Hoseok says as he looks up at the ceiling with you.

His words are warming, like chicken soup when you've got a cold.

"Thanks for being my friend Hobi," you say as you close your eyes.

"Thanks for being mine," he replies, knocking his foot playfully into your hip.

The bedroom door swings open with your two best friends and you sit up on your elbows as they file in.

Taehyung's knuckles are cut up, dried blood flecks his costume and his fingers. Jimin is the same, but a stream of dried blood is apparent from his nose and your eyes widen at the sight.

Tae looks over you before jumping onto your body.

You groan loudly as he manhandles you. He wraps his arms around you into a bear hug before peppering your cheek with kisses.

"I'm so sorry," he cries out as you push at his shoulders.

"Get off me!" you whine, slapping the bloody shirt away from you.

"What happened to you?" Hoseok asks Jimin.

"Jaemin hooked me when I told him that he's no longer welcome in Alpha Sigma Tau." Jimin spits at the simple mention of his name and you feel your heart almost as light as a feather as he winks at you.

Hoseok high fives Chim before looking back up at the ceiling shaking his head.

Maybe being a weird foursome is better than a trio.

Being on campus as the quarterback's ex-girlfriend is uncomfortable and a hard pill to swallow. But, it's easier with the three lunatics you call best friends.

"Help me pack!" you hear Taehyung complain as you lean against the headboard of his bed.

Hoseok throws a pair of briefs at him before grimacing.

"Why should we help you pack when you didn't even invite us?" Jimin quips as he lifts his head from the hardwood floor.

The younger best friend scoffs loudly as he throws his skiing goggles into his suitcase.

"Believe me, if I could bring you all to the Swiss Alps -- I would. But, you know how my parents are."

You do in all honesty. Taehyung belongs to one of the richest families in the area and his family is quick to dismiss others who are not of their similar standing. You were lucky that your mother was his father's assistant and the same goes for Jimin with Taehyung's mother.

"What are you doing for Christmas, Jimin?" Hoseok asks curiously as he leans back against the headboard beside you.

"I'm going to France with my younger brother. Our mom got us a good deal at the Four Seasons." Jimin says flippantly as he fixes his varsity jacket.

Hoseok hums before nudging you, "What about you?" he asks softly.

Your heart pangs uncomfortably as you look at your different colored socks.

"I'll probably just stay here for Christmas. I was supposed to spend Christmas with Jaemin and my parents are going out of the country so I'll be here," you reply as you look out the window.

You can see the sudden snow flurry sticking to the bare branches of trees and the windowsill of Taehyung's bedroom window.

You didn't realize just how fucked up your holiday plans would be after Jaemin cheated on you just a month ago.

"Oh. No way." Hoseok mumbles softly and you clear your throat uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry Y/N." Jimin whispers as he sits up.

You shrug as Hoseok puts his hand on your shoulder.

He looks at the other guys before clearing his throat.

"Well… you can come with me for Christmas, if you'd like. You'd be more than welcome," he suggests. Just the thought makes your eyes widen.

"Why would I go home with you for Christmas?" you ask, confused.

You watch the tips of his ears turn red and he shakes his head oddly.

"I mean, it was just a suggestion. You'd be welcome at my house. My parents are really kind," he whispers softly.

Taehyung looks at Jimin and they wink in tandem to one another.

"You should go, Y/N! I'm sure it would be a lot of fun! Better than sitting in your room eating ramen for Christmas!" Taehyung cheers as he throws a bunch of socks into his suitcase.

"I couldn't intrude," you reply softly, looking down at your hands.

Go home with Hoseok for Christmas? Why would you ever do such a thing? Sure, he's one of your best friends but… you would meet his parents. You would sit around the table like a family. That's just… insane.

"You wouldn't be intruding. Plus, my parents know all about you. They'd love to meet you," Hobi says, knocking his knee into yours.

"You tell your parents about me?" your voice is small and distant as you pick at the skin around your nails.

"Of course I do. You're amazing," his voice is enraptured with a breathy laugh and now you can feel your ears starting to warm up.

There's silence for a moment which Taehyung is more than happy to break. "That's perfect! See, Y/N! You won't be alone for Christmas!"

You hum uneasily before looking over to Hoseok as he tilts his head at you. His eyes crease in delight and his expression is one of pure earnestness.

You don't want to be alone for the holidays. Because, when you're truly alone the sadness sets in.

"You're sure it's okay?" you ask him and his smile widens at your words.

"I'm positive," he replies as he slings his arm over your shoulder.

Hoseok was used to your silence by now. It doesn't bother him one bit, it's just nice to know that you're sitting beside him.

With his wrist up on the steering wheel, his eyes glance over and it warms his heart to see you taking in the colorful Christmas lights strung up on houses.

It's a pleasant surprise to him when you speak first. "I didn't buy your parents any presents."

Hoseok lets out an amused chuckle as he focuses back on the road.

"You don't need presents, you are the present for Christmas." he lets out a laugh as you elbow his ribs. "Hey! I'm driving! You maniac!" he yells as you chuckle.

"I'm serious! I need to buy your parents something at least!" you complain as you enter town from the outskirts.

"We can stop at Jeulgeoum." he replies as you continue to drive.

The town he grew up in is very small. Like it's own community. You feel like the Grinch as Hoseok starts to wave at random people that notice his car in the middle of the street.

You really, really hate holidays. Your parents were never excited to spend time with you like you used to watch in movies. Even if it was two days out of the whole year, it was more like a hassle to them.

As Hoseok continues to wave, you find yourself sliding down in the passenger's seat.  You pull your hood up, eyes fixed on the dashboard.

"That's Mr. Lee. He makes the best mochi in the town center. I used to go into town with my sister and he used to make me dance for free pieces of rice cake." his voice is filled with warmth as he recalls the memory. You find your head peeking up to look at the old man and the corner of your lips turns upwards as he waves wildly to Hoseok.

The car slows down and you look over to the handsome boy as he lowers his window.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Lee!" Hoseok cheers out the window.

"You as well, Hoseok. Merry Christmas to you and your girlfriend." Widening your eyes, you pull your hood up. You train your eyes on your jeans as you lower your head.

This was a BAD idea. It hadn't even occurred to you that people would call you his girlfriend. Then, you'd have to waste your breath explaining that you're just friends and why you're with him rather than your family.

"Sorry about that." Hobi whispers as he rolls up his window.

You hum in agreement as he puts his hand on your shoulder.

"Just try to enjoy yourself. I know that it's hard but you might just have fun," he says softly.

Hoseok seemed to know everyone which isn't shocking. He's so absolutely kind and he did grow up here.

Entering Jeulgeoum, you're thankful for the heat that rushes to your cheeks as soon as you step in.

"My mom likes glass figurines." Hoseok says as he closes the door shut behind you.

There was glass as far as the eye can see and your first thought is do not fucking touch anything. You will not let your clumsiness embarrass you today.

"Welcome to Jeul- Jung Hoseok?!" The warm voice makes you turn your head and you feel yourself relaxing at the older woman as she smiles widely at the sight of him.

"Hi Mrs. Kim! Merry Christmas!" he says, pulling down the hood of his coat.

His black hair is sticking up at odd ends and you notice how endearing it is. His smile is wide, cheekbones bouncing up to the heavens as the woman gasps.

"Oh my goodness! Merry Christmas!" she cheers, rounding the register to get a good look at him.

Awkwardly, you look around at the glass pieces.

"Well you've gotten so big! It feels like almost yesterday I was kicking you out of my shop with the back of a broom." you smirk at her words, you can't imagine Hoseok running in here like a bull in a China shop.

"And who is this?" your heart begins to beat faster and you look at Hobi as his smile becomes warm.

"This is my friend, Y/N." he slings his arm over your shoulder for good measure.

You bow your head to Mrs. Kim taking off your hood. Her chubby cheeks are jolly and sweet as she bows her head back to you.

"Well, aren't you just gorgeous. A friend or a girlfriend?" Mrs. Kim quips as she rounds the register once more.

Her question makes you blush fiercely, your neck heating up quicker than a fireplace ever could.

"Just a friend. A really, really good friend." he replies as his hand drifts over your shoulder comfortably.

Mrs. Kim hums playfully and you feel him tug at your body. "Let's look for something."

Your eyes are enraptured by the glass figures. They're so incredibly detailed and gorgeously cut. It's really a wonderful skill.

"She makes all of these?" you find yourself asking, your hand reaches for a figure but you back away quickly at the simple thought of breaking it.

"Oh, yeah. Mrs. Kim is an artist with this stuff. I made one once when I was younger. Come look." Pulling you down the long aisles, you reach a glass case at the back of the store.

"All of the kids in town could make one when they turned ten," his eyes glance over the figures before he's snapping his fingers and pointing. "That's mine," he says happily.

Your eyes narrow at the small figure and you tilt your head at it. You try to be polite, humming inquisitively as you stare.

"It's supposed to be a…" No words come to mind as you look at the jagged and misshapen pieces that are seemingly glued together.

"It's the Hulk," he says proudly and you nod slowly, your eyebrows furrowing.

"I… see," you murmur to yourself.

"I'm just kidding, this shit is ugly. I have no idea what the fuck I was making," he says and you elbow him in the ribs with a giggle as you stand up straight.

Looking up at him, it's almost as if you're noticing his eyes for the first time. Cinnamon colored irises with flecks of coffee that send a warmth spreading throughout your chest.

"Come on. My mom really likes snow globes," he says with a wink.

The selection of snow globes was actually surprising. The one that catches your attention first is a small boy standing on one leg as he skates around a pond. The town in the background is so tiny and for some reason it reminds you of the man standing beside you.

Without a second thought, you reach for it and you find Hoseok's hand on top of yours.

Pulling your hand away from the warmth of his, you find yourself smiling almost to an embarrassing state.

"Great minds think alike," he quips as he picks it up.

You snort gently, a breathy noise as he inspects the snow globe closer.

"Looks like me," he decided before pulling you towards the register.

"One Jung Hoseok looking snow globe to go please," he jokes as he pulls out his wallet.

"Hobi," you complain as you pull out yours.

Grabbing your wallet, he stuffs it into his back pocket before opening up his.

"It won't be my present if you pay for it!" you whine gently as he leans up against the counter.

"It's from the both of us," he says as he hands Mrs. Kim his credit card.

Rolling your eyes, you watch the small flecks of fake snow swirl around the snow globe. Maybe Christmas with Hobi isn't so bad.

It wasn't a long drive from Jeulgeoum to his family house. But, every inch closer you seemed to get, your nervousness was reaching an all level high.

What if his parents didn't like you? What if you were just intruding on their special holiday plans?

"Hey," Hoseok calls to you as he pulls off of the long road. Rows of houses begin to line the street and you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. Looking over at him, he slows down the car.

"You okay?" he asks, concerned.

"What? Yes. No, I'm fine," you say quickly and he can hardly believe you at this point.

"Whoa. Whoa," he pulls over the car before turning fully to you.

Your eyes focus on a blown up Santa that seems to sway in the chilly December breeze.

"You're going to have a lot of fun. Believe me, and I know you don't do fun. My parents are really, really nice people. You aren't intruding and you aren't unwelcome. I promise. You'll see," he says as he puts his hand on your knee.

You feel him squeeze gently and you find yourself calming down almost immediately.

"Okay," you whisper softly.

"Okay," he replies as he gives your knee one more squeeze.

Parking in front of his childhood home, you can see your friend relax. Almost as if he's been on a long journey and he's finally comfortable again.

The house is big, Christmas lights strung up from the gutters and down the columns that hold up the facade of the house.

"My mom always goes crazy with decorations," he says as he opens up the car door.

He's not wrong, a multitude of lit up statues litter the front lawn but they're all perfectly positioned.

Your favorite is the snowman standing right before the walkway.

Hoseok smirks to himself as he gathers your bags from the backseat.

"It's pretty," you find yourself saying as you climb out of the car.

Tugging your coat closer to your body, something about this feels sweet. Your parents were never that big into holidays and they always leapt at the chance to go somewhere warmer as soon as the temperature dropped.

You find yourself realizing that you've never really had a true Christmas. Or, one like the movies, anyway.

"Hold your snow globe," Hoseok calls to you as he puts the neatly wrapped package on the hood of the car.

You grab the package, holding on to it for dear life as he slings bags over his shoulders.

You didn't pack much but two bags is still a bit much to have on top of his own.

"I'll carry my bags," you tell him as you walk around the Hyundai.

He frowns as you hold your hand out.

"You're going to get me in trouble," he jeers and you shake your hand almost impatiently.

Rolling his eyes, he gives you your bags and he watches as you haul them over your shoulder.

"I can carry them, y'know. I'm not broken," he says as he walks by your side towards his house.

"I'm not broken either," you counter and he chuckles to himself.

Stepping in front of the snowman, he tugs off his scarf. He wraps the warm fabric around its neck before smirking.

"Now he's ready for Christmas." The act makes you smile and he winks at you as you walk up the long walkway towards the house.

You take large, deep breaths as shadows flit by the windows.

"Just enjoy yourself," Hoseok tells you as he jogs up the steps of the patio.

He checks on you once more, rubbing his hand over your arm before knocking on the door.

The sound frays your nerves as you clutch tighter onto the gift box in your hand.

You can hear animated talking behind the front door. As the door opens, you find yourself smiling as Hoseok throws his arms around who you assume is his mother.

"Merry Christmas!" he cries out happily and she replies with a giggle.

"Merry Christmas, my Seok," he chuckles as he squeezes her tight to his body.

Pulling away, her eyes find yours and the smile she gives is so like Hoseok's you suddenly feel comfortable. Running her fingers through her black bob cut, she looks you over before frowning.

"Yah. Why is she carrying her own bags?" his mother chides to her son.

He narrows his eyes at you playfully before folding his arms, "I told you, you got me in trouble."

With a smirk, you shrug to him.

"Merry Christmas, Y/N! We've heard so much about you! You're very welcome here," his mother says as she hugs you tightly.

It takes you a second, not quite used to parental affection, before you're hugging her back.

"Who's that?! My smelly brother?" you hear from inside and you giggle as Hoseok grimaces.

"Hi noona!" he calls loudly from the doorway.

"Come in, come in." his mom ushers you in and he holds his arm out for you to go in first.

How gentlemanly.

You can smell spices in the air, can hear animated talking and it feels strange to be in such a comforting atmosphere. You've never had this in your life.

"Thank you so much for letting me come, Mrs. Jung." you say softly as Hobi pulls the bags from your shoulder.

Taking off her apron, she clicks her teeth.

"Nonsense. We've heard all about you from Seok, it's like we know you already. And, please, call me Eunsook," she says as his father stands up from the couch.

You're used to sons shaking their fathers hands. Taehyung and Jimin do it on the regular so it's weird to see Hoseok hug his father so tightly.

"Welcome home, kid." he says before pulling away.

Mr. Jung looks over at you, a kind smile plastered on his face as he leans in for a hug.

"Welcome Y/N. Please, call me Baekgu," you nod as he pats your back gently.

"Thank you for being so welcoming," you whisper.

"Okay, let's not overwhelm her. It must be odd to be surrounded by new people. Why don't you both go upstairs and get comfortable. Then, when you come down maybe Y/N can help me make my sugar cookies." Hoseok was raised so well by his folks.

"I'd love that," you reply earnestly.

"Come on," Hoseok whispers in your ear.

Starting to pad up the carpeted steps, he turns his attention to his mother as she calls his name.

"You'll be sharing a room, hope you don't mind. The extra guest bedroom was converted to a home office," your eyes widen as you stare down at the carpet.

"Oh Jesus," you whisper fiercely to yourself.

Hoseok chuckles uncomfortably as he pulls the bags tighter to his shoulder.

His childhood bedroom is nothing like you thought it would be. Most kids, including yourself, had posters covering every inch of the walls but not his room. It's chic and stylish which isn't far off from how he is now.

You can hear gentle Christmas music wafting through the slightly cracked door as you look at his bed.

You've slept in the same room before while studying or if you all drank too much. But, you've never slept in the same bed as him. And, you've never been alone with each other.

"This'll be fun," he sounds confident and you're not sure if he's trying to mask nervousness with his tone.

"Yeah," you reply breathlessly as you sit on the edge of the bed.

You hear the bags thump onto the ground and you can hardly believe that you're here.

"They're nice, right?" Hobi asks as he shrugs off his coat.

"So nice, no wonder you grew up so well," you say, earning a smile from him.

"Get comfortable and then we'll head back downstairs. My mom must really like you, not even my sister gets to help her make sugar cookies," he calls as he enters the en suite bathroom.

Looking down at your knees, you find yourself smiling. How have you never noticed how precious he is before?

"Y/N! They're coming out perfectly!" Eunsook cheers delighted as she peeks into the oven.

She's so cheery, it's kind of amazing. Your eyes flit to the open living room watching as Hoseok sits beside his father watching Home Alone.

This is so… normal. So perfectly normal. You've never done this before with your parents. You've never felt 'at home' or comfortable around them and they gave birth to you.

"So Y/N," Dawon, Hoseok's sister, calls to you as she fills up your glass with more red wine, "Hoseok never shuts up about you."

"Noona!" Hoseok yells from the living room without even turning his head.

You smirk fondly as you lean down on the island counter.

"What does he say?" you find yourself whispering.

She tilts her head, fingers carding through her brown hair as she leans in. “Mostly how perfect you are.”

“Noona!” Hoseok yells once more and you find yourself smiling above the lip of your glass.

“Hobi is really great. I’m really lucky to have a friend like him,” you reply.

You feel a hand drift over your lower back as he walks into the room.

“Oh, Hobi is it?” Dawon jeers to him.

“Shut up,” he whispers in her ear through clenched teeth before opening up the fridge and grabbing a beer.

She holds her free hand up, a perfect smile plastered on to her face.

“Hoseok tells us all the time how happy he is to have found such a good friend. But, he never told us how gorgeous you are.” Eunsook says, wiping her hands on the kitchen towel that is over her shoulder.

“Yes I did,” he replies as he cracks open the bottle cap.

The warmth that radiates over your neck makes you clear your throat. He really has spoken about you to his family. It’s pretty special in your opinion. He could talk about so many other things but he chose to talk about you?

“When?” Dawon counters as she sits up on the barstool.

“All the time,” he mumbles as he throws the bottle cap into the garbage.

“All you told me was that Y/N was so beautiful and you’re so lucky that you get to spend time with her even when Taehyung and Jimin aren’t around,” your eyes find him as he pushes his sister with his shoulder like a warning.

“Yeah… Well… Dad? Did you call me?” he asks, craning his neck to the living room.

“No.” Baekgu calls back but you can hear the humor lacing his voice.

“Oh, that’s so weird. I thought you definitely called me,” Hoseok says, pushing off the kitchen island with widening eyes as he scurries back to the living room.

You find yourself chuckling at his antics and you watch as the legs of your thick red wine slowly make their way back down to the glass.

“Hoseok is amazing. You raised him so well,” you tell Eunsook as she pours herself a glass of wine.

She hums in agreement watching as Hoseok sits down beside his father. “Yes. He was always such a good boy. Hopefully he can find a girlfriend that appreciates him like we all do.”

You nod slowly and it’s the first time anyone around Hoseok mentions a girlfriend. You didn’t even think of that. But, just the notion makes you uncomfortable and you gulp a large mouthful of the red wine to steady yourself.

“You’d be a good girlfriend, of course.” Dawon says flippantly as she clutches the red wine to her chest.

“Noona!” you hear Hoseok scream and all three of you laugh gently as the timer dings signifying the cookies are done baking.

Sitting down at dinner, you find yourself staring into the pot of stew as the others talk around you. Why haven't you ever given much thought to Hobi who’s been by your side for so long now? Eunsook bringing up him getting a girlfriend earlier seemed so far beyond your imagination. But, you couldn’t even imagine him being in a relationship. You couldn’t imagine him not being with you or the other guys anymore. You couldn’t imagine him not being by your side.

“You’re thinking too hard.” Hoseok whispers in your ear.

“Huh?” you ask as you turn your head to him.

“Eat.” He murmurs with a smile, nodding his head to your bowl. You hum in response as you pick up your spoon.

You feel his knee press against your thigh and it’s become a constant that you welcome so dearly. It grounds you, in all honesty. Brings you back to reality.

“So, Y/N. Seok tells me that your parents went on vacation for Christmas.” Baekgu says as he sets down his spoon.

Clearing your throat, you look up at him. “Yeah. My parents don’t really like the cold or… festivities so they usually just go away for most major holidays.” You reply as you tuck into your stew.

Eunsook hums curiously and you know you should probably feel embarrassed but you’re already so comfortable here that it doesn’t seem to bother you as much.

“Well, you can come here for any holidays. If Hoseok starts coming without you then I’ll be very sad. You’re a great girl,” his mother says with a smile.

This is family. And, you can’t believe you’ve never really had one before.

Hoseok smirks down into his bowl before pouring you another glass of wine. “See. Told you,” he whispers in your ear.

By the end of the evening, you found yourself laughing loudly and listening attentively which is something that doesn’t come easily to you.

Hoseok probably has never heard you laugh so earnestly and the noise is just as gorgeous as you are.

Leaning back against the arm of the couch, he watches you as you listen to Dawon. God, you don’t even know how amazing you are. But, he does. He always has known. You were in every one of his classes and he found it so difficult to pay attention with you around him.

You were so opinionated. So smart. So beautiful. You were everything he loved and you couldn't even see it.

He smiles as you press your thigh against his knee. Even if he could only ever be your friend, he’d be okay with that because being around you was worth it all. Every single second.

“So Hoseok thinks it would be funny to throw my favorite doll out the window. So what do I do? I threw his action figures up onto the roof and he was crying for hours and hours until dad went up with a ladder to go grab them.” Dawon says animatedly and you giggle along with Eunsook as she tells the story.

Turning your head to Hobi, you find he’s already staring at you. His cinnamon irises are alight with warmth and joy. It makes something bloom inside of you, something so precious and perfect.

“She’s missing out on the detail where I threw her doll out the window because she tripped me up the stairs,” he mumbles as he brings his beer bottle to his lips.

"It was an accident!" she counters from underneath the Christmas tree.

"I was five. Nothing was an accident back then," he chuckles as you giggle, leaning back into the comfort of the couch.

"Yeah, well I was nine and it was an accident."

You hear them continue to bicker as you stare at the fireplace. The embers burn hot, rising high into the air. You watch the logs crackle, small veins burning bright oranges and reds. Feeling Hoseok's hand absentmindedly pressing to your back, you tilt your head to the lip of the couch.

You wouldn't want him to get a girlfriend. You wouldn't want to be without him.

He takes away all your loneliness and your pain. He makes you smile and he makes you happy. He makes you think that just being in his presence, it's like being with someone that's your own.

"Let's go up to bed," he whispers in your ear.

You force yourself to sit up, eyes ripping away from the fire.

"Good night," you tell his parents and they reply with the same.

"Use prot-" Dawon's voice is cut off by Hoseok as he follows you to the stairs.

"Noona!" he calls quickly, narrowing his eyes at her as she giggles.

"My sister can be annoying sometimes. I'm sorry," he says as he closes the bedroom door behind you both.

You smile fondly as you sit down on the bed. "I really like your sister. She's incredible."

He hums with a chuckle as he takes off his shirt.

"Yeah. Okay," he quips back.

Your eyes rake over his toned upper body. The way his abs press against his golden skin has you averting your eyes so quickly. Suddenly, it feels like it's a thousand degrees in here.

"Why'd you invite me?" you find yourself asking as he throws on an oversized t-shirt.

Stopping in his tracks to the bathroom, he turns on one heel to look at you.

"Because you deserve to be with loving people for the holidays or just in general, really," he answers you with a raised eyebrow.

"So you were taking pity on me? I'm a charity case," you whisper.

Maybe it's all the wine or maybe it's just how insecure you truly are but this is coming out of nowhere and you can't stop it.

"What? No. Of course I'm not taking pity on you. I wanted to spend Christmas with you," he replies, confused.

"Really? Because it feels like maybe you're just entertaining me because I had nowhere to go. Maybe you should have brought a girlfriend or something!"

Ah, there it is. It's jealousy. The combination of jealousy and wine is not a fearsome friend to you, apparently.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he asks, appalled as he leans against the door frame of his bathroom.

"You should have brought Hana or Jaeeun with you, they like you and want to be your girlfriend," you say as your toes dig into the carpeting beneath you.

He scoffs loudly, his head lolling back at the simple mention of the other girls.

"I don't want Hana or Jaeeun to meet my fucking parents! I wanted you to meet my parents!" he counters as he walks towards you.

"Why me? So I could see what I'm missing in my own family?!" you ask, standing up.

"No! I wanted you to meet my family because I fucking love you!" he yells as he steps in front of you.

Oh.

You blink slowly at his confession. The only sound in the room is his ragged breathing and you stare at his neck as it begins to flush pink.

"Jesus Christ," he mumbles, his fingers carding through his hair as he takes a deep breath.

He goes to walk away but you grab onto his shirt to keep him in front of you.

"You love me?" you ask softly, almost as if you can't believe what you've heard.

"Yeah. Of course I fucking do. Don't be ridiculous. I've always loved you, since Advanced Science in freshman year. I was so pissed when Jaemin asked you out before I could. And then I was even more pissed when that son of bitch cheated on you. Because you don't deserve that. You deserve everything. And even if I'm just your friend, I still try to give it to you," his admission is like a loaded hand grenade that's been thrown at your feet.

"Hobi," you whisper and he runs his hands over his face.

"I don't want your pity or whatever it is you think you're going to give me," he mumbles as his eyes flutter shut.

Looking up at his face, you watch his perfectly shaped lips part for breath. You've always been so dense to not realize it. Everything that he does when you're together, it's all for you. It's all to make you smile. To make you happy.

Standing up on the tips of your toes, you press your lips to his. He shudders against your lips, eyes widening for a second before cupping the sides of your head.

He pulls you closer, deepening the kiss as his thumbs graze over the apples of your cheeks.

With a gentle sigh, you feel your body relax and melt against his.

He's always been for you. Even if it's taken you this long to understand.

"Y/N." Hobi whispers against your lips confused but you silence him again with another kiss.

He moans against your lips gently, pushing you down into the bed as his fingers intertwined into your hair.

"What are you telling me?" he asks as you run your hand over his arms.

"That I'm yours," you reply.

That was the first holiday he brought love into your heart.

Every holiday afterwards was just as perfect.

He kept up stupid traditions that were so corny that you couldn't help but love. Even making Arbor day special. Yeah. Arbor day. He bought a sapling just for you both to plant on the campus before you graduated so there was always something blooming from where you first met.

He's lovesick and adoring. And, he's all yours.

You loved spending Christmas and Chuseok with him. You've grown to love his family like your own and even five years later nothing has changed. He was so perfectly yours every second of the day.

"Baby girl," you hear from the bedroom. Your head turns to your husband's voice and you smile at how whiney he sounds.

"What's wrong?" you ask as you get up from the couch.

"What sounds better, deck my balls or stop staring at my presents?" Hoseok asks as he holds up two of his ugly Christmas sweaters.

You grimace, leaning against the doorjamb as he smiles widely.

"You are not wearing those to the cabin," you tell him.

With a pout, he tosses the sweaters onto your bed. "And, why not? They're festive."

"They're an abomination. If you wear those sweaters, I'm not sucking your dick until the New Year," you retort as he wraps his arms around you.

"No ugly sweaters. Got it. Yes, ma'am," he mumbles as he leans down to kiss you. Giggling into the kiss, you wrap your arms around his neck.

"I feel bad that we aren't going to your parents this year," you whisper against him and he wrinkles his nose cutely at your words.

"Well, we should have a Christmas all to ourselves sometimes too, baby. We're married now, we have to make traditions for ourselves too," you hum in agreement as he hugs you tightly.

"Can I bring the 'it's not going to lick itself' candy cane shirt?" he asks with a gorgeous smile.

"I will hit you," you threaten as he pulls away.

Holding up his hands, he chuckles to himself before going back to packing your bags.

The journey up to the cabin is peaceful. You stare at the snow covered limbs on the trees as you continue to drive down the long road.

You feel Hobi squeeze your hand and your eyes are on him in seconds.

"I love spending the holidays with you," he says, bringing your hand up to his lips.

With a smile, you angle your body closer to his upon instinct.

"I kind of really love you," you tell him as he looks over at you.

"Such a weird coincidence. I was thinking I kind of loved you too," he jokes as he looks back at the road.

Pulling up to the cabin, you take in the absolute splendor of it. It's so simplistic and so welcoming. Icicles and snow dot the edges of the awning. You breathe a happy sigh, your breath fogging up in front of you signifying just how cold it is.

Pulling your coat tighter to your body, you watch the man you love gather the multitude of bags from the back of the car.

"Let me help you," you insist as you walk around the car.

"Back off, woman. This is your man's job to do.” Rolling your eyes, you fold your arms as he drapes bag strap after bag strap over his upper body.

"Carry this," he says, handing you a bag of groceries.

You feel the light weight of it before peeking inside.

"This just has bread in it," you say confused.

"Exactly. You hold the bread," he says finitely before slamming the trunk down.

Tossing you the keys to the cabin, he looks up at the wooden house before smiling.

"This is perfect," he whispers to himself.

"Fuck, it's cold." You complain as you enter the cabin. The wooden boards creak under your feet as you step inside. It's so homey in here. So completely domestic.

"Can you put the groceries away while I light a fire?" Hoseok asks you sweetly.

You nod with a giddy smile as he throws your bags down on the large bed.

The fake Christmas tree is kind of adorable with lights strung up in the corner as well as all of the gingham patterns that surround you.

"How do I light this?" Hoseok calls and you snort gently as you start unpacking the groceries.

"With gasoline?" you ask confused, tossing stuff into the fridge.

"You want me to blow up the cabin? I got a renter's fee,” he asks appalled and you shrug with a chuckle.

You watch him as he crouches before the fireplace, how breathtaking he is. You can feel your stomach flipping and coiling with each passing second as you stare.

You were his and he is yours.

When he turns to you and he gives you a smile, you can see the small dimple below his bottom lip that sends a smile spreading over your own face.

He's always had the most gorgeous bone structure. His cheekbones are so high and the apples of his cheeks are so plump in all the right ways.

You find yourself leaning down on the counter with your elbows as your fists tuck beneath your chin.

"Hey!" he cheers as the wood catches on fire.

You giggle, watching as he thrusts his hand in the air.

Shrugging off his coat, he stands up tall. His body proportions are so astounding.

Finally, his eyes meet yours and he tilts his head to you. His eyes flutter shut as he gives you a wide smile.

"You're such a bad worker," he jeers as he walks toward you.

You hum in agreement as you stand back up.

He helps you toss the rest of your groceries into the fridge before wrapping his arms around your waist as you slam the refrigerator closed.

"This is perfect," he whispers in your ear, pressing his chest to your back.

With a smirk, you look around the cabin and you find it hard to disagree.

"Everything with you is perfect," you reply as he squeezes you tight.

"Now you're just saying that to flatter me," he jokes into your ear.

Cuddling up on the sofa, you lay your head on his shoulder as you watch Home Alone. It's a Christmas tradition for Hobi you've come to love. He's watched it every year since he was six.

"They've got good reception up here," he announces as you sip your wine.

"Yeah, they d-" Fatal last words as the electricity cuts out.

Hoseok sits up as the cabin creaks loudly with the sounds of harsh blowing winds.

His head turns to the window and you crawl off of him.

"Oh no," he mumbles, walking towards the windows.

Pulling back the curtains, you watch as large snowflakes fall onto the ground.

"It's a blizzard," he tells you with a wince.

Standing up, you sip your wine as you walk to his side.

The snow is piling up generously and you have a dull, nervous feeling aching throughout your chest.

Your husband gets to work, lighting candles around the cabin like it's his job.

"This is what happens when we don't go to your parents’ house," you sing as you help him light a few candles.

"This is going to ruin my plans," he grumbles to himself before throwing another log into the fire.

Opening the front door to the cabin, you can feel the harsh chill as it whips around outside.

"Oh Hoseok!" you call to him and he turns to the doorway before sighing gently.

There's a wall of snow built up at the door and it looks like you would not be going anywhere for awhile.

"We're snowed in," he mutters before running his fingers through his hair.

You decide to close the door as another breeze bursts through. Turning to your husband, you watch as he picks at some skin on his lip.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," you can hear the sadness enrapturing his voice and it's jarring.

It's rare to ever hear him sad. You don't like it.

"It's okay. We can just lay down and cuddle," you say, setting down your glass of wine on the counter.

You open up your arms to him, wanting a hug and wanting to give him some peace of mind.

He pulls you in, cradling your head to his chest with his hand as he looks around the dim cabin.

"I had plans for us. To go out and build a snowman. To go into town tomorrow and watch the caroling," he murmurs, dejectedly.

You hum as you pull him over to the large bed. "Christmas with you is perfect just on it's own. I don't need all those things to be happy. I have you."

It astounds him sometimes how much you've broken out of your shell.

He pulls back the gingham comforter, letting you crawl into bed first. And then, he's quick to crawl in behind you.

His arm wraps around your waist as he presses his chest flush to your back.

Your fingers begin to play with his, staring at the olden looking paintings that line the walls.

"I can remember the first time I ever saw you," Hoseok whispers in your ear as he cuddles closer to you.

A smirk begins to spread on your face as he kisses the shell of your ear.

"It was in Biology. You were wearing a black hoodie and those black skinny jeans. You didn't have a backpack and you didn't even have a pen. You flipped your notebook open and just fell asleep," you giggle at his words, hearing his smile widen with each word he says.

"I did like to sleep in Biology," you quip.

"But, you always passed the class. You never got lower than a ninety on a test. I was jealous, I used to think to myself, 'Damn. This woman is so fucking smart.' Then I saw you in Advanced Science. That's where you really paid attention. You used to twirl your hair and your finger when you were thinking hard about something," you hum as your eyes flutter shut.

The warmth of his breath spreads over your neck as he buries his face.

"I told Taehyung the first day I saw you without even knowing you were his best friend, 'I'm gonna marry that woman. I'm gonna have kids with her.' I was so… enraptured by you," he breathes out as his hand splays over your stomach.

You can only smile as he presses his hips harder to your backside.

"I was so fucking angry when that guy broke your heart… I can't even remember his name anymore but, I can remember how hurt you were. How broken you were and you didn't deserve it in the least. I wanted to fucking kill him," his hand begins to trail below the hem of your shirt and you shiver at how chilly his skin is.

"I was so fucking happy when you were coming home with me for Christmas our first year. You were so nervous. But, I knew you would love my family and that they would love you. I used to talk about you all the time. My mom would ask me how school was and my first thought would be to tell her how much fun I had with you during a study session or something," your eyes flutter shut as his hand ascends.

"Sounds like you were too busy paying attention to girls than to focus on school," you joke breathlessly as you press your ass against his crotch.

You can hear him moan gently against your ear, his perfect teeth graze your lobe and your lips press into a straight line.

"Then you got into that fight with me in my bedroom. Telling me to take other girls home with me for the holidays. I was so angry that you would even insinuate something like that.  And then… then you kissed me. And, I melted. Like snow on the first day of spring," he nibbles on your lobe, his growing erection digging into the globe of your ass.

You moan gently as you feel him grow hard behind you. Your stomach begins to flare with desire. Loins curling with aching need.

"I remember the first time I ever touched your body. You were wearing a blood red thong. Your skin was so flushed for me. Begging me to touch you," his breath is heavier now and you can hear him groan wantonly at the memory.

His hand cups your breast, squeezing gently as he kisses over your shoulder.

"You were so hard," you reply as he presses his now fully hardened erection between your ass cheeks.

"You always make me so fucking hard," he retorts as his free hand pulls yours to his crotch.

"Oh," you whisper breathlessly as he ruts against your palm.

You can feel the thin fabric of his pajamas becoming wet and sticky with precum. Rolling his tongue over your neck, he flips you onto your back.

In the fireplace glow, you watch his black hair fall into his eyes. His pupils blown out with lust, the cinnamon irises you love so deeply growing smaller by the second.

His perfect lips part and his eyes fall to your lips. They linger for a second before he's kissing you passionately.

The tip of his tongue licks over the seam of your lips and you part for him with a whine. His hand grips your breast harder, groaning long and low into the kiss as his tongue runs over yours.

Your hips buck up, your arousal starting to seep from you. You can feel your pussy clenching around nothing, begging to be filled by your husband.

He pulls away for only a second, taking off his shirt with hurried hands before he's kissing you once more.

Your fingers graze over his golden skin, the feeling producing goosebumps on his body.

You can remember how gorgeous his chest was when you were in his childhood bedroom that first Christmas. How his abs pressed and flexed beneath his skin. Nothing has changed.

Running your fingertips over the plains of his stomach, he gasps into your mouth gently, a carnal needy sound that sends you whimpering below him.

"Oh fuck," he whispers through gritted teeth.

You can smell his gentle cologne as his lips drift over your jawline. He smells of alderwood and citrus. The scent is so wholly him and so perfect.

"Get this off," you hear him command in your ear as he tugs on your tank top.

With a whimper, you sit up on your elbows discarding the fabric and his eyes harden at the state of you beneath him.

"Fuck," he curses before his lips are back on your skin.

Your legs part for him as he situates himself between them. His hands reach behind your back as he kisses down the column of your neck, slowly pulling down your bra straps.

He leaves his marks, pretty red and pink patches that signify you as his.

"I want everything with you. I want it all," he whispers against your collarbone.

"You have me," you reply as you card your fingers through his hair.

"I want to have a baby," he says as he pulls away from your skin.

Your heart begins to thud faster in the recesses of your chest. You've mentioned it in passing, you've commented on it in short spurts but you've never talked about it.

If it just happened, it happened. But, to hear him say it. For those words to pass his lips, you can feel yourself almost becoming euphoric.

"I want you to have my baby inside of you. Want to feel my baby growing in your belly," his voice is almost a plea and your hips lift at the needy sound.

"Yes," you reply.

His lips are on your fiercely once more, kissing your lips red and raw as he tugs off your bra with feral desire.

His hands palm your breasts, thumbs lovingly swiping over your hardening nipples. Gasping into his mouth, he swallows the sound.

He kisses down the valley of your breasts and you can feel his erection throbbing with desire against your clothed thigh.

"God, you're so beautiful, sweetheart," he sounds almost drunk off of his desires and you lick your reddened lips as he lowers his head.

His tongue runs circles over your nipple, your back arches with a moan and he wastes no time sliding his hand beneath your back to hold you up against him.

His lips pluck at your nipple, free hand pinching and rolling the other dexterously between his fingertips.

You feel almost crazy from his love. You can feel the desire pumping through your veins like each and every time before.

"Hobi!" you whimper out as your head lolls back.

"That's it, sweetheart," he whispers above your breast before showing the same treatment to the other.

You feel so hyper aware, especially when his hand glides over your stomach and downward. He pulls at the hem of your leggings, letting the fabric slap back to your skin with a gentle sting. You gasp with anticipation, your hips wiggling at the simple thought of being naked before him.

"Behave, sweetheart," he reminds you and you bite your lower lip, raising your hips patiently.

He kisses over the skin of your stomach, fingers enmeshing in the sides of your leggings and underwear before tugging roughly.

Strings of arousal break and cling to your thighs and your sodden lower lips.

"There she is," he mumbles, throwing your pants over your shoulder flippantly.

His back bows down, arms looping over your thighs locking you in place.

Licking his lips, he looks over your body like you're a meal. Your skin is flushed with wanting and your pussy begins to weep at the sight of him between your thighs.

"What do you want, sweetheart?" he asks rhetorically, just to hear the words fall from your lips.

You open your mouth to reply but it isn't fast enough for his liking, slapping the sensitive skin on your inner thigh. You mewl loudly, back bowing off the bed as you spread your legs wider.

"I want you to eat my pussy. It hurts," you whine, nestling your fingers in his hair.

He hums gently, watching your breath hitch in your throat. He gives you a smirk, one that sends your sex weeping more for him.

He rears his head back, his index and middle finger splaying open your lips with a V motion.

"Your little clit is so swollen, baby. You want me to touch you?" he teases and you nod enthusiastically as you grip his hair harder.

He groans softly at the feeling, his eyes on your breasts as he spits on your sodden cunt.

You shiver at the feeling, lips parting for air as he watches his spittle mix with your arousal.

"God, you're fucking soaked," his voice is that of wonder. You sink down into the bed as he licks a flat stripe up your swollen cunt.

Whimpering his name, your eyes flutter shut.

"Open your eyes. Watch me eat your pretty pussy so well," he commands.

With opening eyes, you moan loudly as he begins to ravage you. His tongue is so fast against your cunt, flicking and pressing into your swollen clit.

"H-Hobi! Fuck!" you cry out as your legs try to press to either side of his head.

His biceps ripple and strain as he holds you apart, suckling and flicking at your bundle of nerves. You find yourself babbling almost incoherently, begging for more as your hips raise.

"Filthy little thing," he whispers against your cunt, his hand leaves your thigh to finger at your tight entrance.

He teases you for what feels like an eternity before thrusting a finger inside of you.

"So tight," he sounds breathless, his cheeks and lips tainted with your arousal.

The sight is almost a visual overload, your hips buck and a loud whine emits from you as you look down at him.

Curling his finger up, he watches how blissed out you are before him. His cock strains against the fabric of his pajamas and he moans softly against your throbbing bud.

"Tell me how much you want my baby," he commands before spitting on your twitching sex.

You can feel your insides bubbling, your stomach flipping and feeling heavy within you as your orgasm approaches.

With a muddled mind and hoarse voice you reply, "S-So badly. Want to have your baby so badly, H-Hobi. I want to give you a baby."

Pleased with your answer, he slides a second finger into your heat. His fingers brush against the soft patch of nerves within you so fast, you feel the air escaping your lungs at a rapid pace.

"You beg to cum for me, sweetheart. Don't forget that. I own this pussy," he reminds you as he pinches your clit.

He watches your hips roll, he hears his name tumble out of your lips like a prayer and he knows just how close to release you are.

When you give him your pleasure, it's like art. So beautiful and so defined.

"Who does this pussy belong to?"

"Y-You! Only you!" you whine as your eyes squeeze shut.

You can feel the pleasure course through your bones. You can feel your mouth going dry as the bubble inside of you threatens to burst.

"Wanna cum! Please! So close!" you beg as you grip his hair harder.

He can feel your pussy clenching around his fingers rhythmically, begging to release.

"Hold it," he instructs as he pinches your clit once more.

Shaking your head, pleasurable tears spring to your eyes. "Want to cum so badly for you. Want to have my pussy open for your cock and cum."

He shivers at your words, tongue lapping at your arousal like a man starved.

"Hobi… Baby, please! I need to cum!" you beg your husband as he adds a third finger.

He watches your chest heave, your breasts thrust up to the sky with stiff peaked nipples that beg for attention. Was there anyone more gorgeous? He can't possibly think so.

"Cum," he commands and you fall back down to the bed.

You orgasm around his fingers, your moans echo off of the cabin walls as you call his name.

With spotty eyes and deaf ears, you can feel him pull out of you.

You feel drunk from pleasure, your head swimming. Hoseok wipes the tears off your cheeks, entering his cum soaked fingers into his mouth.

He moans at your taste, licking up every drop of arousal he can get.

"Shit, you taste so fucking good," he whispers.

Sitting up on your elbows, you focus on his crotch. His fingers hook into the sides of his pants before tugging them down roughly.

His cock slaps headily to his stomach and you lick your lips at the sight.

Long and thick, his cock stands erect. It's always a welcome sight to see. The way his rose veins pepper the length and the way his bulbous head is a needy shade of pink.

Your mouth waters as the seam of his cock begins to spurt more precum. You watch it traipse down lazily towards his balls with rapt fascination.

"Come here," he whispers softly, sitting back on the balls of his feet.

His hands palm your breasts, fingertips plucking at your nipples as you kiss over his chest.

He sighs so gently, almost in disbelief that you're still in front of him naked five years later.

"I can't wait till your tits swell with milk. I want to taste it," he sounds so hopeful, so absolutely enraptured in his dream.

As you lick over his abs, he takes in a sharp breath through his teeth. His eyes rolling back as he palms your breasts rougher.

"Y/N," he moans softly and you practically mewl at the sound.

You take his cock in hand, feeling it twitch with need. He groans loudly as you begin to pump along his shaft, feeling his velvety smooth skin quiver with wanting.

Hoseok grips your hair, making a make-shift ponytail for you before running his thumb over your cheekbone.

"I love you," his words are so sincere, dripping with ardent desire.

"I love you too," you reply.

Swirling your tongue around the head of his cock, you moan at the taste of his precum. You can feel his shudder above you, gripping your hair harder. Tucking his bottom lip between his teeth, he whimpers as you slide down his shaft.

Your cheeks hollow and your hand jerks whatever doesn't fit into your mouth, sending your husband above you murmuring your name incessantly.

"Oh shit. Just like that. Your mouth feels so fucking good. Christ," he cries out as you work assiduously on his cock.

His ragged breathing sends your loins unfurling once more, begging to be touched by the man you call your own.

"Can I fuck your pretty mouth? Please," you hum in agreement, eyes fluttering shut as he wraps his hand around your head.

The first thrust is gentle, trying to pry open your throat for him. You sputter gently on him, eyes welling up with tears as you grip his thighs.

"Fuck, you look so hot. I love fucking my cock into your mouth," his thumb brushes away a tear as it trails down your cheek.

His thrusts begin to get rougher, his moans become louder. Lapping your tongue along the base of him, you feel your heart swell every time he moans or curses above you.

"Wait until your belly gets nice and big. I'm gonna use you like a little cocksleeve. Bet you'd like that wouldn't you, sweetheart? Me gripping your belly while you take my cock deep into your throat," you moan around him, excited by the idea. The vibrations your moans shoot through him makes his cock twitch in the recesses of your mouth.

"Stop, sweetheart, stop." he instructs as he tugs your hair gently.

Pulling away from him, you raise an eyebrow.

"Was it not okay?" you ask softly.

He shushes you with his lips, arms coddling around you to lay you down.

"It was perfect. I'm saving my cum for your pussy."

Spreading your legs wider with his knees, he kisses you so passionately you think your heart might have stopped.

"Shit," he whispers against your lips.

Prodding the tip of his cock to your entrance, he simply loses himself in your presence.

How long and often he's adored you before you even knew. How lucky he is to have you now.

Entering you slowly, your mouth drops open at how completely full you feel. He grunts gently at the feeling of your velvet walls around him. He kisses you leisurely, taking his time to shower you in pleasure.

Drifting his hand over your womb, he moans your name.

"Fuck baby, look at how tight your pussy is. I can see how big my cock is," he says, drawing your attention to where you're met. You can see the outline of his cock clearly within you and it sets your loins ablaze.

He groans when your cunt throbs around him, "You're going to take my baby, aren't you, sweetheart? Get nice and pregnant for me?"

You nod incessantly as he sits up on his knees. Pulling almost all the way out of you, he slaps your clit with his fingers. Raising an eyebrow, he looks you in the eye.

"Words, sweetheart. You know this," he chides as you squirm on his cock.

"Y-Yes. I'm going to take your cum and get pregnant for you. Get really big with your baby."

Pleased with your words, he thrusts deep inside of you.

Your legs hook around his hips, moaning his name like a prayer as he begins an unrelenting pace.

"Fuck, you're so tight! Shit!" he cries out.

You can feel the emotional pull then, this sexual encounter has so much meaning. Making love to Hoseok was always special but the intent behind this experience is overwhelming.

"God, you're so incredible. Who does this pussy belong to?" he asks, punctuating each word with a harsh thrust.

Hooking your ankles over his shoulders, you preen loudly as each thrust hits the soft spot within you.

"You do! You own my pussy! It's all yours!" you cry out as you grip the bedsheets on either side of you.

"That's fucking right I do," he seethes through his teeth.

The sound of wild winds hitting the cabin walls is drowned out by the fiercely pornographic moaning and obscene squelching of your cunt getting fucked,

Your husband presses one hand to your womb, letting the full feeling of his cock inside overwhelm you, and the other situated at the apex of your thighs. He rubs quick, rough circles to your clit, adoring how high and short your moans are getting.

Your cunt flutters around him, sending his eyes rolling back once more as he fucks you faster.

"Beg for it," he reminds you, a breathy moan attached to the end as his head lolls back.

He knows you so well, he can practically sense what's next.

"P-Please!" you moan feebly, your knuckles go white as your pleasure courses through you.

"That's my good girl. Fuck, you look so pretty on my cock, sweetheart. You look so gorgeous when you're about to burst," you gasp gently, the bubble inside of you expanding to the point of popping.

"Hobi, pl-please!" you beg, letting go of the sheets to grab his arms.

"Cum for me, baby. Cum on my cock, show me how badly you want my child," he concedes as his balls begin to tighten.

Your eyes scrunch closed as you orgasm the second time, you can faintly feel your arousal squirting onto his cock and thighs.

"Shit. That's so hot, good girl, sweetheart," he moans, letting up on his thrusts before pulling out.

You whine at the loss. Eyes opening, albeit they're heavy with drunken lust.

"Turn over for me," your husband whispers in your ear, staving off his oncoming orgasm by kissing and suckling the skin of your neck.

With a gentle sigh, you turn over for him. Perching your ass in the air, you bury your face into the pillow.

"God, I'm so fucking lucky," Hobi says as his fingertips drift over your swollen cunt.

Gripping your hips roughly, he pulls you back to his cock without another word.

Spanking your ass hard, you can barely let out a gasp as he sinks back into your heat.

He curses loudly, rubbing the now smarting skin on the globe of your ass.

He doesn't relent as he pulls you back onto his cock. His hand reaches from your ass to the back of your neck before he's gripping with fervent need.

"God, fuck!" he curses through his teeth.

You can only feebly whimper his name into the pillow.

"You're gonna cum again for me," he insists, snaking his hand around your thigh.

"No, Hobi. It's too much!" you cry out.

"You can take it, sweetheart," he whispers and you gasp gently at the feeling of his cock throbbing so quickly inside of you.

"I can't wait until your belly is nice and big. Let everyone know I fucked my baby into you. You're gonna look so fucking gorgeous with a big belly and those pretty milk filled tits," murmuring his name incessantly, you lift your head as he rubs circles on your clit.

Looking behind you, you take in the beauty that is your husband. A thin sheen of sweat is on his body, his sideburns and bangs are stuck to his face as he fucks you for all your worth.

His eyes meet yours and your pussy clenches around his cock at the sight. With half lidded eyes, he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Hobi," you whine, tears of pleasure filling your vision as he brings you closer to your third orgasm.

"That's it, sweetheart. Say my fucking name," his hand grips harder at the back of your neck.

"Come here," he groans out, lifting your body to press flush to his chest.

Pressing his hand softly to your throat, his thumb pushes your chin towards him. Kissing you fast and rough, he groans into your mouth.

"Cum," he commands and you fall apart as his will.

His arms encircle you, keeping you upright as he fucks into you.

"Oh, baby. I'm cumming! Fuck! I'm cumming! Take it deep. Give me a baby," you hear him moan loudly in your ear. He presses his forehead to your temple, his thrusts becoming erratic and slow.

He whispers your name once more before he stills within you, finally.

You can feel the warmth of his cum rush into you as he fucks rope after rope inside.

"Oh my God," he grumbles breathlessly.

He pulls you down with him onto the bed and you can't keep yourself from giggling as he holds you so tight.

The sound of the wind is the only thing that draws both of you back to reality.

"I hope we get pregnant," he whispers into your neck.

Humming in agreement, you look out the window as snow continues to fall.

"Me too," you reply truthfully.

His fingers trace undefinable shapes on your stomach as he kisses your shoulder.

"As nice as this is maybe next year we should just go to my parents," he says with a chuckle.

Laughing along with him, you turn your body.

"Maybe that would be best," you say, jutting your thumb towards the snow covered window.

"But, hopefully we'll have a baby to bring with us next year," you can hear the hopefulness in his tone.

You can see his excitement in his tired eyes.

Christmas with Hoseok really isn't so bad.

Snowed In Taglist- @sunkissed725​