#a fucking freak. Get your shit together. Try again. You’re a police officer.

[simcardiac-arrested]

your ass on -5 composure rn

SHUT THE FUCK UPPPPPPP DON’T YOU LECTURE ME WITH YOUR DISCO ELYSIUM SKILL PNG

[cuubism]

Made in an Instant (5/5)

Dream's eldritch pregnancy, conclusion

Hob has never been so angry in his eternal fucking life. He’s going to find whoever decided to kidnap his pregnant husband and brutally murder them. Back in his day, people lost hands for stealing. Maybe he’ll bring back drawing-and-quartering. Now that was a good punishment.

With Matthew and Lucienne’s help from the Dreaming, he’s managed to track the kidnappers down to an abandoned prison just outside London. It’s really too on the nose. Dream will be peeved about the lack of creativity. Hob gets teary at the thought. Fuck he’s worried about him.

He doesn’t encounter anyone as he breaks into the place, which is worrisome. Shouldn’t there be someone? Guards? Kidnappers? He’s got his ancient broadsword strapped to his back—it felt more poetic than a gun—and he’s itching to just swing it through someone. Getting hacked in half will teach them to mess with Dream.

He passes dozens of empty, decrepit cells, walking faster as he still doesn’t find anyone— then stops. Turns to the cell at his right. That’s Dream’s magic. He feels it. And as he steps closer, he finds runes traced along the floor, along the walls and bars, a cage of magical lettering.

The only problem: the cell door is already open. And Dream is nowhere to be seen.

Shit. Is Hob too late? Did they take Dream somewhere else? Did they hurt him again? He spins in place, already starting to panic, he’s going to have to—

“Hob.”

Hob whirls around. Dream is standing at the other end of the hall. His coat is rumpled, but he looks generally unharmed. Most importantly, he’s not in a prison cell.

Hob rushes over to him, embraces him. Dream hums with pleasure at the touch. “Thank God. Oh, love, thank goodness you’re okay.” He holds Dream at arm’s length, looking him over. “Are you okay? What happened? Did they let you go?”

“I freed myself,” says Dream. He holds out his wrists, which have what look like burn marks on them from some sort of manacles. “I am. Mostly. Unharmed.”

Hob takes his hands, looks over his wrists carefully. “If they bound your powers like that, then how did you get out?”

“My powers were bound.” Dream smiles craftily. “But hers were not. I wished for us to get out. And she unlocked the cell.” He really seems quite proud of it. “We worked together.” Then he grimaces, pressing a hand to his lower belly. “Unfortunately, she has now taken this wish on as her own, and, I believe, decided she wants to get out. Now.”

“Now?” Hob flits around him, trying not to panic. Again. “Isn’t it too soon?”

“Wishes are often made in an instant,” says Dream.

Hob takes him by the arm and starts bundling him towards the exit. “Alright, let’s go home, then. Christ. Did you kill the kidnappers?”

“I do not kill humans,” says Dream.

“Did you eternally punish the kidnappers?”

“Yes.” He seems frighteningly unperturbed considering he’s just been kidnapped and is now apparently going into magical labor. Maybe he’s just compartmentalizing. Dealing with it all by not thinking about it. Hob will just have to do all the freaking out for the both of them.

He gets Dream into the car. Buckles him in. Starts driving at a speed that would definitely get him a ticket if he wasn’t married to someone who could just make police officers become suddenly and mysteriously distracted.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as he drives.

Dream considers. “Hmm. Restless. I’m curious what will happen.”

“You don’t know what will happen!?”

“This is untrodden ground, Hob,” says Dream. He does not sound as concerned about it as Hob thinks he should be. But then, the pregnancy itself has never seemed to concern him as much as it has Hob. It’s the grander scale of the thing that weighs on Dream’s mind. “No Endless has carried a child before.”

That’s just absolutely fantastic.

“We will find out,” says Dream, settling deeper into his seat.

Yeah, we sure fucking will, Hob thinks.

Matthew catches up with them partway through the drive home. Dream must have sent him a message in whatever dream-way he has, though Hob doubts he intended for Matthew to actually come find them. Hob feels briefly bad about not trying to contact Matthew himself, to let him know Dream was okay, but he was a bit distracted by the whole magical labor situation.

“Who the fuck kidnaps a pregnant lady?” Matthew exclaims as he soars in through the open car window, landing awkwardly on the dashboard. Dream slants a look at him, and Matthew amends, “Uh, I mean, a pregnant dude.”

Hob’s pretty sure that wasn’t the part of the statement Dream objected to and that calling Ye Olde Lord of Dreams dude might actually be worse.

“Does that make it worse or better?” Matthew wonders.

“Their fates were sealed the moment they threatened my child,” Dream intones, ominous as a storm front. “Now their minds belong to the Dreaming, where they will be fed upon by nightmares bearing the faces of their most deeply held fears. For eternity.”

“Definitely don’t kidnap pregnant ladies,” Matthew mutters. He ruffles his feathers in a shiver. “You good now, boss?”

Dream just inclines his head.

“You good, Hobster?”

“Well, my husband is going into some kind of unprecedented magical labor,” Hob says, voice tight. “And I didn’t even get to chop anyone’s head off, so I’m a bit worked up.”

Matthew squawks in alarm. “Labor?!”

“Do not be dramatic,” says Dream.

“Sure, sure,” says Hob. “It’s a regular Tuesday.”

“I am fine,” Dream says, more firmly—this time to Matthew. “Please inform Lucienne all is well. I will send for you at a later time.”

“You freaking sure?”

This time Dream gives him a stern look, and Matthew ducks his head. “Right, right. Well, see you later, then, I guess? Um. Good luck?”

He cringes to himself, but then wheels away out the window again. Dream rubs his forehead tiredly. 

“Don’t want the whole peanut gallery in the delivery room?” Hob asks, and Dream cracks a small smile.

“Would you truly have killed them?”

“I was kind of looking forward to it actually. Bit peeved you dealt with them first.”

Dream chuckles, tension easing. Hob’s still going way above the speed limit, and should really keep his attention on the road, but still he holds out his hand on the center console. And Dream takes it.

--

At home, Dream continues to be restless. Hob bandages his wrists, not that he thinks it will really do much. Dream changes into some of Hob’s comfortable loungewear. And then just starts pacing. Walking restless circles between the kitchen and living room, back and forth, back and forth. Hob’s never seen him like this. Normally Dream is very still, in control. He doesn’t fidget.

“Shouldn’t you lie down or something?” Hob asks. The way Dream is treating this is really not helping him fret any less.

Dream keeps pacing around the kitchen. “Hmm. No. I am going for a walk,” he says, and heads for the front hall.

“A walk?” Hob follows him at a rush, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Dream—”

Dream is already putting on his shoes. “Wear a coat at least,” Hob says, draping one of his own over Dream’s shoulders.

Dream gives him an arch look. “Are you not coming along?”

“Of course I’m coming!” With a frustrated sigh, Hob puts his own shoes on too.

He follows Dream out to the street, empty at this hour of the night, and across to the park, where Dream trudges off into one of the woodland trails like he’s on a mission. Hob follows, scrambling to catch up.

The forest path is absolutely dark at this hour, lit only by scant patches of moonlight. But Dream has always seemed comfortable in the nighttime, so he doesn’t seem perturbed. Meanwhile, the empty surroundings are not settling Hob’s anxiety.

“Dream, are you sure we should be wandering about in the park?” he asks.

Dream raises an eyebrow at him. “It is not as though we will need to go to a hospital.”

“It’s just— it’s the middle of the night.” And you were just kidnapped, he thinks but doesn’t add. Hob doesn’t know what delivering an Endless baby is supposed to be like, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to do it in the fucking woods. “We can go to the Dreaming if you like?”

Dream shakes his head. “She wishes to be born in the Waking. I believe so she can properly meet you.”

“…Oh.” Hob’s heart squeezes. And he resigns himself to doing whatever Wish wants, even if it means delivering in Richmond Park. She’s going to be a spoiled terror, he already knows it. Much like Dream, if he’s being honest.

“Fine,” he says, and takes Dream’s arm. Pulls him close. “Why are we in the park, then?”

“Wish is restless,” Dream says. “And. I am restless. I can feel all her budding dreams, her feelings, they are wrapped up in me far more tightly than any other dreamer’s and the process of disentangling them is agitating us both. And out here it is…” He looks up at the empty sky. “Quiet.”

Again, Hob is painfully reminded that Dream verbalizes so little of what he actually feels. And he’s reminded, too, just how strange, how beyond comprehension, this pregnancy really is. Human pregnancies are already strange and miraculous, but this is… soul-bending. He can’t imagine how it must feel, for Dream to be so close to their daughter for so long and then have to figure out how to let her go.

“Okay,” he says, wrapping an arm around Dream’s waist and letting him lean on him. “Take your time, then. Both of you.”

“I was not ready,” Dream admits, “for this to happen now. I thought there would be more time.”

“I know, darling. Me too.” Hob kisses Dream’s temple, rests their heads together as they walk. “You’ll still have her though, yeah? Even after she’s born. She’s not going anywhere. It will just be a change.”

Hopefully Dream will stick to his agreement to take some maternity leave after the birth. He is really going to need it.

“And you will get to meet her,” Dream says. “I look forward to that.”

Hob does, too. God. So soon.

For a while they are quiet, just listening to the low breeze, the night birds, and the waving branches, taking in the moonlight and the isolating darkness of the park at night. It’s peaceful. A bit eerie, too. But this atmosphere is Dream’s element. He is a creature stepped right out of it. And it seems to calm him.

Finally, Hob asks, “Does it hurt?” Surely if it did he wouldn’t be strolling around out here, but then, Dream is very catlike in that he does not like to let on when he is hurting. Hob knows it well.

“No, except in the way exhaustion might be said to ‘hurt,’” Dream says. “But it’s no matter. You needn’t worry about me.”

“Dream,” Hob says quietly, “I thought we’d gotten past the point where you realize that I’m always going to worry about you.”

Dream stops walking, pulling Hob to a stop beside him. He turns to Hob, brow furrowed, and Hob takes him by the arms. “You deserve someone to worry about you,” he says. “Someone to care whether you’re feeling well. I want to do that. I want to fuss over you.”

Dream keeps staring at him, expression pinched, but then softens and says, lowly, “I like when you do.”

He’s said so before, but it can be hard, sometimes, to get things internalized with Dream. To get him to feel he can have it. Count on it.

“It’s settled, then,” Hob says, and Dream huffs. “I’ll take care of you.”

“As you wish,” says Dream, but leans in close to Hob as they start to walk along again.

Hob wonders what it all feels like. He had never watched Eleanor go into labor, it wasn’t really the done thing at the time, but he grasps the idea of what it’s meant to look like. But Dream doesn’t show much on the outside, other than his evident restlessness. Everything about his pregnancy, if something so nontraditional can be called that, is so cerebral, it leaves Hob apprehensive for how the ‘birth’ is meant to go.

It’s all a lot. It’s a lot.

“Hey,” Hob says abruptly. “I’m proud of you.”

“For… being… pregnant?”

“Yeah, for being pregnant— but more for trying again. I— even so many years later, I think about Robyn, and the things I didn’t do or should have done, and it’s daunting to put myself in that position again. Even if I want it. So, I’m glad that you’re willing to try again, because I know it’s the same for you—maybe even more so.”

“We promised to make it good,” Dream says quietly. Something Hob said to him once, when Dream had first dramatically announced that he was inexplicably expecting a child.

“And we will,” Hob promises. The more he thinks about it the more freaked out he gets, honestly, but he’s going to be self-assured for Dream. At least externally. “We will, darling.”

“You never had other children,” Dream says, more confirmation of a fact than a question.

Hob grimaces. “Couldn’t bear to. I think, if I didn’t have you, I wouldn’t want to now, either. I can’t have another family pass me by while I go on. Hurts too much.” He owes Death free drinks at the Inn till the end of the world, this time around.

“Yes,” Dream agrees, solemnly. “Better, this time. I hope.”

It will be. Hob’s determined.

He kisses Dream’s cheek, keeps him close in the circle of his arms. And they walk on into the night.

--

It’s some time later when Dream stops, seemingly at random, and says, “Okay. We can go home now.”

Hob says, incredulously, “Dream, we’re on the complete other side of the park.”

“Easily remedied,” says Dream, pulling out his sand. Before Hob can say, wait maybe you shouldn’t do that right now, the world is spinning violently around them, and their bedroom rushes up to meet them.

Dream lands primly on the bed. Hob hits the floor, only just managing to get a hand up in time to not break his nose. He rolls over onto his back, looking up at Dream. “Not to be like that, but I think pregnancy is making you crazy.”

“I have been balancing her powers with mine for months now, splitting my focus to prevent it from creating chaos in the Dreaming.” Now he sounds truly weary. “As she has grown it has become more challenging and occupied more of my attention. Her power is impulsive. Whimsical. It is like trying to contain sparks.” He smiles tiredly. “I suppose it has made me scattered, yes.”

Hob finally pushes himself up from the floor, goes to perch beside Dream. He kisses Dream’s temple. “I like your crazy.” He lays his hand on Dream’s stomach. “And hers. Even if it means I have to buy extra fire extinguishers for the sparks.”

Dream smiles, tilting his head against Hob’s.

“Now you just stay there,” Hob tells him, helping Dream get out of his coat, pulling his shoes off, and nudging until he gets settled in the center of the bed, “and let me get you whatever you need.”

“Only you,” says Dream.

Hob fetches him some water anyway.

When he gets back, he slides into bed beside Dream. “It is not long now,” Dream tells him, solemnly.

Heart lurching, Hob braces a hand on Dream’s shoulder, and… waits.

He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for.

“What are we waiting for, exactly?”

“Patience,” says Dream.

Does he have to be like that?

Well, at least he’s not writhing in pain. Hob will take the confusion of… whatever this is… over having to watch him in pain.

Dream holds out his hand. Hob takes it, twining their fingers, heart pounding with anxiety. He recognizes the moment when Dream lets most of his focus slip into the Dreaming, into himself, that endless ocean of him. His eyes fall shut, his rigid spine relaxes ever so slightly, his jaw loses its tension, and he becomes distant. Hob keeps squeezing his hand, grounding him.

Dream lets out a huge breath, squeezing tight on Hob’s hand, and reality sort of… slips.

It breaks down the middle and skids sideways, and for a moment everything is all mashed together, like a door that’s never meant to be unlocked is being jammed open so something can get through, and Hob can’t tell where his hand ends and Dream’s begins, if he’s still awake or what year it is or if they’ve been flung into the Dreaming sea, there’s a deafening whine in his ears rising in pitch, his skin prickles all over with static. And then Dream reaches into himself, into the everything-that-is-him, and where his hands go his form goes sort of inside out like he’s actually reaching out of himself instead of in. It’s incredibly nauseating to watch but Hob can’t look away, never mind that he’s not sure which direction is even up anymore.

When Dream withdraws his hands, he’s holding a baby.

For a long moment, Hob can only stare at the two of them, speechless, his tiny daughter and his insane husband who’s pulled an infant out of fucking— out of where? Hob still hasn’t gotten an answer on whether he has a uterus!

The lack of physical progression is breaking Hob’s brain, it feels like Dream’s pulled Wish right out of the fucking ether, and Hob really might pass out but he can’t pass out because Dream’s the one who’s manifested-or-whatever a whole baby so if anyone gets to pass out it’s him.

“Dream…” he whispers, incredulous.

Dream smiles tiredly. He looks absolutely exhausted now, like it’s all crashed down on him all at once. He looks down at the baby, meeting her eyes as something passes between them, then leans down to kiss her forehead. Then he shows her to Hob, holding her carefully. “Your daughter, Hob Gadling.”

Wish looks up at him with wide eyes. She isn’t crying, which normally would alarm him, but nothing about this is normal, and she didn’t come out of a womb—apparently—so she isn’t covered in blood or amniotic fluid or anything, she’s just there. She actually exists. It wasn’t all some insane fever dream.

And she looks so much like Dream, with her tuft of fluffy black baby hair and bright blue eyes. Hob touches her cheek lightly in wonder, and gets a little static shock for his trouble. When he yanks his hand back, Dream chuckles, and Hob swears Wish is laughing at him, too. He just knows it. Co-conspirators, they are. “Sparks, you said.”

“Yes. One of her many abilities.” He gestures for Hob to take the baby. “She will not shock you again.”

“Eh, I’ve dealt with worse than a little electrocution.” Hob carefully takes Wish and cradles her in his arms. “Alright, Sparkle, let’s not burn down the flat just yet, yeah?”

He barely gets the sentence out before Dream bursts into tears.

Hob only manages not to jump in shock through years of ancient holding-babies instincts. As it is, panic spikes, because Dream doesn’t cry. Not really. He often looks like he’s going to cry, but rarely lets the tears fall.

Now he’s sobbing. Hysterically sobbing, chest shaking, clutching at Hob’s shirt. Hob would be worried about his ability to breathe if Dream actually needed to breathe in the first place.

“Okay, alright, sweetheart, it’s alright.” Hob maneuvers Wish into one arm so he can cradle Dream with the other. Dream presses his face into Hob’s shoulder and wails. “Shhh, honey, oh, love, it’s okay.”

Endorphins crash? Hob thinks desperately, because he’s never seen Dream sob like that. Or at all. But he imagines it must be jarring to gradually grow a whole being inside you and then be abruptly thrown off the cliff of separation.

“Here, love. Breathe. Come on, now.” He takes Dream’s hand and guides him over so that Wish can grasp onto his finger with her little baby hand. “Do you want her back?”

Dream shakes his head, but stops hyperventilating, pushing himself further into Hob’s side. “No. You should hold her. It is just that. I cannot feel her as I once did.” He takes a shuddering breath, but steels himself. Hob wishes he wouldn’t. If there’s any time Dream shouldn’t have to shore up his emotions, it’s now. “I knew this would happen. But I have grown selfishly accustomed to her presence close to mine.”

“It’s not selfish,” Hob tells him, heart breaking. “It’s not. It’s okay. You love her. And she needed you. She still does.”

Dream lets out the heaviest of breaths, and slumps against him, utterly spent. He slips one bandaged arm behind Hob’s back, the other still stretched towards their daughter. God. Their daughter. Who Dream pulled out of what feels like thin air. It only gets stranger and more amazing the longer he thinks about it.

He looks down at her, cradled so tiny in the crook of his arm. Was Robyn that small? He can’t fully remember. But Robyn screamed and cried so much his presence filled up the room either way. Wish is quiet, just looking up at him with her wrinkly newborn face. She’s like a wisp of thought, a silent scattering of light, like Dream on some days when he fades into the shadows, just a bit. Dream had described her internal world as whimsical and vibrant and so this transition into waking must be quite overwhelming indeed. Just like it so often is for Dream.

“She’s beautiful, Dream,” he says quietly, getting choked up. Dream hums in agreement. “She’s perfect. The both of you are.” He kisses the top of Dream’s head. “I’m proud of you.”

Dream grumbles, but Hob knows how he needs to hear that sometimes.

“You should rest,” Hob continues. “You’ve been through a lot.” More than a lot. Hob still hasn’t fully gotten the panic of Dream’s disappearance out of his system. And he would not be surprised if it was affecting Dream more than he let on, too.

“I do not…” Dream starts, but trails off.

“You’ve kept an eye on her for months, darling. I’ve got her now.” He bids Dream to lay his head down on his chest, pets his hair, and Dream makes a low, pleased groan. “We’ll be okay, love. Promise.” And maybe by the time Dream wakes up again Hob will have been able to wrap his head around the existence of Wish. Probably not, but he can hope.

Dream sighs again, tiredly, but subsides, and soon enough seems to slip into proper sleep, Wish’s tiny hand still latched on to one finger.

Dream wrapped under one arm, Wish cradled in the other, Hob lets out a long breath and privately takes a moment to be relieved that everything went okay. No matter how many times Dream had tried to assure him, he had never been fully able to shake the fear that lingered from Eleanor’s death. But thankfully, weirdness of it all aside, everything seems to have worked out.

Hob looks down at Wish, who’s still just gazing up at him peacefully. Pretty soon he’s going to have to get up to get her sorted with diapers and a swaddle and whatever else a sort-of-human baby needs. She’ll need to eat as well, and he’s not sure how Dream wants to handle that. But he doesn’t want to disturb Dream’s peace so for now he just stays, holding her against his chest.

“Think it’s just us for a while, love,” he tells her. “It’s alright. It’s all been a lot for you, I bet. But you saved your da, d’you know that?” It’s pretty remarkable, when he thinks about it, that her powers had manifested enough that Dream was able to use them to escape. “You’re going to be a right terror, I can just tell already. Wishing all sorts of mischievous things. Going to have to get some proper child locks or you’ll wish yourself right out onto the street, won’t you?”

She makes a soft cry, and Hob knows it’s normal for her to cry, good even, but still it hurts his heart. Fuck, he really is going to have to move either her or Dream in order to arrange some milk. But if he takes Wish with him to the kitchen to prepare some formula, Dream will be distressed if he wakes alone. If he leaves her in a bassinet, he’s going to be stressed to leave her unattended. Maybe he’s not as prepared for this as he thought. Maybe there is no true being prepared. Especially when it had all been so different, the last time he’d had a child.

“Yo!”

Hob almost jumps again as Matthew appears and flutters down to land on the foot of the bed. If he’s not careful he’s going to have a heart attack. “Jesus Christ. Some warning?”

Matthew cringes. “Sorry. I just came to make sure he’s okay. The Dreaming went sort of inside out and it freaked everybody out.”

Hob strokes a hand through Dream’s hair. He doesn’t stir. “I think he’ll be out for a while. Did the Dreaming sort itself out?”

“Yeah, it settled down.” Matthew hops closer, peering down at Dream and Wish, tilting his head. “Damn. He really did it. I mean, I knew a few people who had babies, when I was alive— but jeez, I’m not really sure I believed it.”

“Tell me about it.” Matthew keeps peering at Wish, so Hob adds, “You can say hi to her. I promise she’s real.”

“‘Real’ doesn’t really mean much when it comes to dreams, dude,” Matthew says. But he leans down by Wish. She studies him, eyes wide and blue. “Holy shit she looks just like him.”

“I know, right?” Hob’s not sure if it’ll stick. It’s easy to say the baby looks like Dream now based on her blue eyes and tuft of black hair, but babies’ features can change a lot as they grow.

“Wow. This is… a lot.” 

“How do you think I feel?”

“I can’t imagine,” says Matthew. “I’m glad everything worked out, though.” He hops down to the bed and plucks at Dream’s hair affectionately with his beak. Dream still doesn’t stir.

“He’ll probably come to check in on the Dreaming in short order, knowing him,” Hob says. He’s not exactly happy at the thought of it. They might have been able to avoid Dream getting pulled temporarily back into work if he hadn’t gotten kidnapped by a group of incompetent occultists, but Hob knows he’s going to want to at least set foot in the palace briefly after all that. “Do me a favor and kick him out as fast as you can?”

“Kick him out. Yeah, that’ll end well for me,” Matthew says, then shrugs in a flutter of wings. “I’ll do my best. And I should probably go let Luce know everything went fine. Is, uh, there anything I can do to help before I go?”

Hob’s about to say no, then reconsiders. “D’you think you can make baby formula without hands?”

--

While Matthew is in the kitchen attempting to do that according to Hob’s instructions, Wish finally decides that she’s proper hungry, actually, and lets out a loud shriek that nearly pierces Hob’s eardrums.

Dream sits bolt upright like he’s been struck by lightning and spins towards him.

“You’re alright, love,” Hob says, even as Wish shrieks again and he grimaces at the volume. God, she’s like a fire alarm. Add soundproofing to the list of modifications Hob’s going to have to make to their flat. He hands Wish back to Dream as Dream reaches for her. “She’s just hungry. I deputized Matthew to make some formula.”

“There is no need,” Dream says, and holds the baby close.

“Matthew, nix the formula!” Hob calls out to the kitchen. “Dream’s going to handle it.”

Matthew calls back, “I don’t want to think that about my boss!”

“You’re the one who’s sexualizing a perfectly natural process!”

Matthew squawks in outrage, and Hob laughs as he hears the fluttering of wings that heralds him fleeing back to the Dreaming.

“I think you delight in tormenting him,” Dream says.

“He started it.”

Dream doesn’t berate him for it. He only smiles down at their daughter, running a light fingertip through her fluffy hair. And Hob remembers a conversation they’d once had, about what it would be like when Wish was born.

“Were you excited to be born, Hob?” Dream had asked.

“How the fuck should I know?” Hob had said. “I was three seconds old.”

“Hm,” Dream had mused. “I was never truly ‘born’ in this sense, but I believe if I were I would have been very displeased about it.”

It had made Hob laugh in the moment, and then made him feel sad when he thought on it later.

It was said that raising a child let you relive your own childhood. Hob had found it to be true with Robyn, despite how Robyn had grown up in an era so different from his own, so much more comfortable, never going hungry, or wanting for the things that Hob had wanted for as a boy. When he’d seen Robyn play, seen him learn, he’d remembered things he’d forgotten, moments of life lost to time. Wish’s childhood will be different in ways he can’t even imagine. Supernatural baby, supernatural parent, modern world of modern dangers and wonders. But still so much of it comes back to the simple things, growing and learning and playing.

He doesn’t think Dream really had a childhood. Never had the chance to grow and learn and play. He doesn’t know all the detail of how it was with Orpheus, but he knows Dream looks back on that time primarily with guilt. And it can’t have been easy to try to raise a child when you were never one yourself.

Hob had promised Dream that he would make it better this time. That he would make it good. He wants to show Dream what childhood can be like. What a happy family can be like. Had Dream and Calliope had that, if only for a time? He hopes so. He really hopes so.

Either way, Hob is determined to show him. And when he looks at Dream smiling down at their daughter… he thinks he might even succeed.

[kristannafever]

She Ain't Gotta Do Much - 11

Kristanna Modern AU Rated: M WC: 4320

Chapter Index

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

When Kristoff arrived at the hospital the next morning, there were police officers in with Sven and he was told to wait in the hall until they were done.  When they left about ten minutes later, Kristoff went in to see his buddy.

“Hey, Sven.”

“Hey, man,” Sven greeted him with a grunt as he sat up more in bed.  “How you doing?”

“Me?  Are you kidding?  I’m fine.”  He chuckled.  “How are you?”

“Honestly, ready to get the fuck out of here, but they tell me I gotta stick around for two more days or so.”

“That sucks,” Kristoff agreed, sitting in the chair beside the bed.  He motioned his head towards the door that the cops had walked out only a moment before. “What was that all about?”

“Oh, they got the guy that stabbed me.”

Kristoff’s eyebrows went up.  “Really?  That’s good.”

Sven shrugged.  “Eh, he’s just a kid.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like literally a kid.  He’s a week shy of his seventeenth birthday.  Turned himself in when he realized he was in over his head.”

“No shit?” Kristoff asked, shaking his head. 

“Yeah.  He’s going to juvie.  Told the cops he fell in with the gang when one of his older friends did, and when he found himself in the middle of that fight, he panicked.   I guess when I stepped forward to make sure Tilly was behind me, the kid freaked and just lashed out.”

“Huh.”  Kristoff leaned back in the chair.  “Shit.”

“Right?  Kid must be fucked up.  Thought he’d killed me.”

“Does he know you’re okay?”

“I dunno.  Is it weird that I kind of want to reach out to him when I’m out of here though?”

Kristoff smiled and shook his head.  “No.  It’s not weird at all.  I wouldn’t want to let a kid struggle to deal with thinking he’d murdered someone either.”

“Dumb fucking kid.”

“Yup.”

“Enough foreplay, what’s up with work?  What are we gonna do?”

Kristoff pulled in a deep breath.  “Well, I interviewed a few guys yesterday but none of them are going to work out.”

“Why?” he asked with a touch of frustration.

“Listen, Sven… Anna and I were talking, and she went to the CEO of her company to get some advice and-”

“Kristoff, I am trying not to get immediately upset here, but what the fuck does some rich asshole who’s worked behind a desk his whole life know about commercial construction?”

Kristoff was prepared for this.  He knew Sven was not going to take what he was about to say without a fight, so he gave it to his friend straight.  “How long until you’re back on the tools?”

“What?”

“You’re in here for two more days, then you are going to be put on bed rest at home.  How long are you going to be unable to do the physical work?”

“A while, I guess,” Sven conceded. 

“And I have to start Tony’s deli on Monday.  But I can’t be showing the ropes to a kid who is still in school.  I need someone with as much experience as we have, maybe more.  We need a foreman, because when that job is done, we’re putting him in charge of the next one.”

“I beg your pardon?” Sven moved again like he was trying to get up, realized it hurt to much, and settled back against his raised bed.

“And you are going to be the project manager from now on.”

“Hold on!  You can’t just decide this without me-”

“I’m not, that’s why were talking.  Nothing is set in stone.”

Sven grumbled and seemed to calm down considerably.  Kristoff knew how he felt; helpless, not in control, and pissed off that he’d ended up in the hospital in the first place. 

His friend seemed to process the information for a minute.  “So, if I’m the project manager, where does that leave you?”

“Another foreman, for now.  Working the jobs and overseeing them.  Then when we get more work, hire more guys, I move into the office with you and we run everything together, like we have from day one.  We just need a transition period.”

“Which, correct me if I’m wrong, requires more work than the three little jobs we have lined up.”

“Well, that brings me to my next point.  Anna… she… wants in.”

Sven’s brow wrinkled again. “In how?  Like ownership?”

“No, just a job.  Getting more advertising out there, answering phones, office work, payroll… stuff like that.”

Sven rubbed his palms down his face.  “This is a lot to take in right now,” he muttered.

“I know, dude.  I know.”  Kristoff stood and grabbed a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to Sven.  “Here, we outlined a game plan for the next three months.  It is… a touch optimistic I’ll admit that.  But I think we can do it.”

His friend took the paper and lowered his arm to the bed.  Kristoff felt bad for dumping all this on him while he was already going through so much.

“This is still you and me,” Kristoff spoke up.  “I know this is a risk and I know it is a whole lot sooner than we ever thought we would try to grow the business.  And if you don’t agree, we’ll figure something else out.  We’re partners.”

Sven pulled in a deep breath then looked at Kristoff and nodded once.  “Partners.”

-----

Anna had called Kristoff an hour later and told him she’d set up an interview with a Journeyman at the coffee shop a few minutes from her place.  She’d told him that morning she was going to be at work all day since there were a growing number of things that had started to require her attention.

When Kristoff met with the man, the interview went surprisingly well.  It was weird for Kristoff to be able to be direct and to the point and not be considered rude.  Perhaps interviewing people was going to be his forte moving forward. 

At the end of their meeting, he’d hired the man and told him to meet at the same place at the same time tomorrow to fill out his tax forms and whatnot, which was something Kristoff hadn’t even thought about until Anna had brought it up after she’d given him the information for the interview.

It was looking more and more like she was an asset that he greatly wanted to help him and Sven build their company.

With the rest of the afternoon to himself, Kristoff went home and started pulling furniture out of his spare room.  He was going to put the extra bed and dressers into storage, move his desk in to one corner, and go buy another one for the other corner.  It seemed as good a place as any to set up their first official office.  After standing and looking at the space, he realized he needed a draft table and a filing cabinet as well.  It was going to make the space a little tight, but they would make do.

And he was excited that as soon as Sven was out of the hospital, Anna was going to move in with him, and if everything went well, share the office with Sven while they worked on essentially getting more work.

Kristoff was about to haul the bed down to his truck when a better idea struck him and left everything where it was sitting in his hallway to deal with later.  He hopped in his truck and drove to the grocery store.

-----

Anna texted him when she was on her way home from work and Kristoff got busy cleaning the kitchen from the meal he’d just finished preparing.  He was just putting the dishwasher on when he heard her key in the door. 

Walking past the kitchen table, he grabbed the bouquet of flowers he got and went to greet her.

“Honey, I’m home!” She giggled.

He rounded the corner and she gasped when she looked at him and realized he had flowers for her.  “Oh, Kristoff!” she cooed, taking them when he offered them to her.  “You are the sweetest man alive!”

He leaned over and kissed her.  “I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too.”  She smiled sweetly, then her face shifted into a questioning look.  “What is that delicious smell?”

“Dinner,” Kristoff said with a big smile, then turned and walked towards the kitchen.

“Wait, what?” Anna called, following him.  “You made dinner?”

“Uh huh.  There’s a chicken in the oven, and mashed potatoes on the stove and I’m just about to make a salad.”

Kristoff started to rip apart some more lettuce when her silence spurred him to turn around, suddenly worried that he’d overstepped somehow?  She was giving him an incredulous look. 

Her head shook slowly back and forth.  “Just when I think you couldn’t be more perfect, you go and do something like this.”

He laughed and walked over to her.  “It’s just dinner, I am far from perfect.”  He put his hands on her shoulders as she once had done to him when he’d said the same thing.  “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

That made her giggle and he kissed her again, but only for a moment.  The chicken was almost done and he had to finish making the salad.

“How did it go with Sven today?” she asked, sitting at the kitchen table.

He turned his body to talk to her as he finished with the last of the lettuce.  “About how I expected.”

“That great huh?” she asked.

“Well, it is a lot to take in.  It certainly was a lot for me to wrap my head around and I’m not the one sitting in a hospital bed.”

“Yeah, understandable.  But whatever happens, I still want to help you guys out as much as I can.  Even if I’m still at my job.”

The oven dinged and Kristoff slipped on some oven mitts to take the chicken out to rest.  “Any idea what you’re going to tell the CEO on Friday?”

Anna gave a faint groan.  “No.  Not yet.  I just don’t know the best way to turn him down.  And then part of me is starting to feel bad if I do leave, because I just got settled in my new role and we just re-did our offices and my team works so well and… ugh.”

His brow furrowed.  Was she having second thought about all they had talked about?  He was fairly confident that Sven was going to be on board and he’d been so excited to have Anna join them, and now she had doubts?

“I thought you wanted this?” he said bluntly.

Anna suddenly looked a little taken aback by his tone.  “It’s not a for sure though, right?” she said quickly.  “If Sven doesn’t want to forge ahead there isn’t really any roles for me, is there?”

Kristoff felt a little frustration creeping in and he could tell by the look on Anna’s face she was too.  He took a deep breath and told himself to stop being a dick or they were going to find themselves on the business end of their first fight.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “I understand where you are coming from.  If I were in your shoes, I would certainly feel conflicted too.”

Anna blinked at him a second and then her face softened.  “I’m still in, Kristoff.  All the way.  But I am still going to feel a little bad about it if I do end up moving on.”

He nodded.  “I get it.”

Anna stood and he took two strides to her and pulled her into a hug.  She sighed against him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders with the side of her face resting on his chest.  He set is chin gently on the top of her head.   “I love you.”

She pulled back slightly so that she could look up at him, and smiled.  “I love you, too.”

~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Kristoff would be lying to himself if he wasn’t feeling nervous to visit Sven the next morning.  It had never been this way for him before, and he worried that going forward with the plan would change the dynamic between the two of them to something that wouldn’t work as well as it had been.

Or couldn’t work at all.

Anna had brought up her feelings about leaving the company she’d been working with since college, and Kristoff suddenly had reservations about this plan of theirs to take the risks to grow their business.  It made him a little sick to his stomach.

Tilly was in the room when Kristoff arrived and he paused at the door, noticing that her and Sven seemed to be deep in conversation.  Without a word, he turned around and walked back down the hallway to the elevator.  He took it back down, shaking his hands to try and ease the tension he was feeling, and went to sit outside on a bench to gather his thoughts.

The wind was coming from the north, and he pulled his jacket zipper up a little tighter to the coolness of it.  It was one of those winds that reminded everyone that winter was on its way and that it would not disappoint.

Just as he sat on a bench, his phone dinged and he pulled it from his pocket.  The text was from Sven.

-Tilly had to go back to work come on up I saw you dumbass

Kristoff shook his head with a smirk and headed back into the hospital, grateful to be out of the chill in the air.  When he walked into Sven’s room, his friend looked amused.

“Tilly want’s me to move in with her when I get out of here,” he said by way of greeting.

“That so?” Kristoff asked with a smile.  “You gonna do it?”

“You know what… I am.  I am gonna do it.”

“Ho-ly Shit,” Kristoff said slowly as he sat down in the chair beside the bed.  “You’re finally going to commit.”

Sven laughed.  “Big talk coming from someone who can’t even commit to a Netflix subscription.”

“I will have you know that Anna has one of those, so I don’t need to worry about it anymore.  That... and she is moving in with me too.”

“No shit!” Sven grinned.

Kristoff shrugged his shoulders.  “Look at us, a couple of respectable boyfriends.”

“Who would have thought?”

They both broke down into laugher and it wasn’t until Sven clutched at his abdomen with a wince that Kristoff realized he’d forgotten how injured his best friend had really been. 

Sven shifted into a more comfortable position on the bed.  “I guess if we play our cards right, we can turn ourselves into a pair of respectable fiancés.”

Kristoff was surprised.  “You’ve been thinking about that?”

Sven nodded.  “Had a lot of time with my own brain sitting in this hospital bed and I realize that she’s absolutely the one.  I’m crazy about her, and she clearly cares a lot about me with how much she’s been here and taken care of me.”

“That is so good to hear, buddy.”

“It gets better.  They’re also releasing me tomorrow morning.”

“Nice!  I’ll bet you can’t wait to get out of here.”

“You have no idea,” Sven said, suddenly looking distracted.  He appeared to be contemplating his next words when he finally spit them out.  “I’m in.”

Kristoff didn’t need to ask for clarification.  “You sure?  I want you to take all the time you need to think it over.”

Sven waived his hand dismissively.  “I’m sure, even though the doctors said I’ll be back to full function quicker than either of us were thinking.  It’s just… I looked over the steps and figures that you outlined and I realized that this is always were we wanted to take this business and it seems stupid to not go for it now.”  He sighed.  “Who knows how long it would have taken us to even try if not for what happened to me.”

“That’s a good point.  We always talked about it but never did anything to make it happen,” Kristoff agreed.

“Well, to be fair we were always so damn busy working or trying to get work.  It’s hard to burn the candle at both ends.  Which is why I think Anna running the office side of things might actually get us where we want to go.”

Kristoff tried not to show how much that lifted his spirits to hear.  But this was his and Sven’s company first and foremost.  “If you have any reservations about that because we’re together, I want to know them.”

A smile graced his lips.  “Dude, she went out of her way to help us haul the trash to finish that demo and she passed our number along to get us more work.  I have no doubt she’ll do everything in her power to help us succeed.”

Kristoff opened his mouth to respond when Sven spoke up again. 

“Plus, a little birdie told me she’s turning down another big promotion with her company.”

Kristoff was a little surprised.  He knew Anna and Tilly had exchanged numbers and texted each other often, he just hadn’t known the extent of what they talked about.  “She is,” he said finally.

“Well, it sure seems like Anna isn’t one who’s scared by commitment, which makes me like her even more than I already do.”

“She’s definitely not,” Kristoff agreed with a smile.

“That’s why I’m on board.  Like, it’s her, not your grumpy ass.”

Kristoff laughed, relieved to hear Sven was feeling as good about everything as he had come to.  It was going to be hard, and there were going to be plenty of times in the next while when overhead was more than what was coming in, but they both seemed to have some newfound drive to make this happen.

“I can’t believe we’re finally doing this,” Kristoff said more to himself than Sven.

His friend nodded.  “I know.  But finding yourself on death’s door certainly changes a person’s perspective.  If this doesn’t work, we sell all our shit, live with our girlfriends, and just get jobs working for someone who does have a successful company.”

Kristoff liked the sound of that, and Sven was right.  If it all went belly up, they still had things they could fall back on.  They were both skilled tradespeople after all, he was sure they could both get jobs right away if they needed them. 

-----

After leaving the hospital, Kristoff took all the paperwork Anna had printed for him and met with their new hire and had him fill everything out.  Then he gave him all the information for the job he was to meet Kristoff at bright and early Monday morning. 

His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts.  All the things they were about to face, all the things that he still had to do, Anna, moving in with him over the weekend…which was the only thing that wasn’t currently stressing him out.

He went home and loaded up his bed and dresser from out of his hallway and took them to a storage place where he rented a unit.  Anna was going to put her surplus things in there as well until they could get sorted which of each of their things they wanted to keep.  Which wasn’t a priority for either of them.

Afterward he went to an office supply store and picked out a desk, drafting table, filing cabinet, and a bunch of other odds and ends that he didn’t already have at his place for their home office.   He arranged for home deliver since he simply didn’t have the time to pick it up himself, and nearly fainted at the till to come face to face with the bill.  It was easily the most he’d ever spent at one time aside from his townhouse and his truck.

Trying not to feel too anxious about it – he knew there was going to be a lot of costs at the beginning; you have to spend money to make money – he took everything home and put it all on top of his desk to sort trough over the weekend.  Then he hightailed it to Anna’s realizing he’d taken so long to do his errands that she would be home already.

When he walked into her place, she greeted him with a smile and a kiss and followed her into her kitchen, noticing the had takeout bags on the counter.  She told him once that she wasn’t much of a cook and ordered herself dinner much more often than not.  It didn’t bother him in the slightest.  He loved to cook and would love nothing more than to make their dinner when he got home from work.  Just having her to come home to every day was absolutely everything he needed.

He told her all about his conversation with Sven while they had dinner, and Anna was thrilled that she was going to be able to help them out and told him she would be giving her boss her two weeks notice in their meeting tomorrow.  Kristoff asked if she was still nervous about it, and she admitted the only thing she was nervous about was how the CEO would take it.  They’d both agreed that Anna would stay on for her two weeks – or a little longer if she was needed – so as not to burn any bridges, should she need to fall back on a job in that world.

After they ate, they settled on her couch to watch television and it wasn’t long before they were kissing passionately.  Things between them were still so new and exhilarating, Kristoff could not help the butterflies that he still felt when they were intimate.  And that feeling when they were finally joined, was easily the greatest thrill of his entire life.

-----

Kristoff stared at the ceiling, thoughts turning to work as they often did when a silence fell between them.  They’d been talking in the afterglow of their lovemaking before they both took a moment to rest. 

“Hey,” he said softly, breaking the silence.  “I was wondering about this earlier when I was talking to Sven.  When you were looking into having a company come in and reno your office, you must have called more than just us, right?”

Anna nodded against her pillow.  “I called dozens.”

That didn’t surprise him, just made him wonder all the more.  “How many came to look at the scope of work?”

“Just you guys.”

That surprised him.  He picked his head off the pillow and rolled onto his elbow, looking down at her.  “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”  Anna giggled.  “I was prepared to hire the first company I had a good feeling about and you guys did not disappoint.”

“Huh.  And here I thought we might have edged out the competition somehow.”  He didn’t know why, but he felt a little disappointed to hear this coming from her.

“Kristoff, you did.  Do you know why you were the only company to come and look at the job?”

He shook his head.

“Because you were the first company to call me back when I inquired.  On a Saturday.”

Kristoff smiled at the memory.  His Ma had called him and he’d passed on the information to Sven, thinking nothing of it.  It had been the third call he’d passed onto Sven that day.  Then Sven had called him back half hour later and told him they had a meeting on Monday morning to look at a big job for quote.

“So, our customer service was what sold you in the first place?” he asked slowly.

“Yeah.  A couple of the companies called me back that Monday after you guys had already taken a look, but I said I had already found someone.”

“But you didn’t know the price then.”

She shrugged.  “Didn’t matter.  I was given a big budget and I knew you guys were the ones I needed.  And look how right I was!”

“I spent a week on that quote,” Kristoff muttered to himself.  “I thought if we didn’t nail it, we’d lose the job.”

Anna frowned.  “I’m sorry, Kristoff.  I didn’t mean for this to make you feel any… resentment.”

His eyes went wide and he shook his head quickly.  “No that’s not what I was getting at.  I just meant I’ve always been so worried it’s my pricing that edges us in or out of jobs.  And I guess in reality it certainly does with some of them.   I just… I guess I just wanted to know what got us our work.  I mostly thought it was Sven.”

Anna grinned. “He certainly has a silver tongue.”

“Doesn’t he though.” Kristoff laughed.  “Well, I’m kind of glad to know that it’s not just him that gets us the work.   You know, he balked pretty hard when I first proposed getting back to customers on the weekends.   He figured no one would expect a construction company not to wait to return calls until Monday, and I told him that people are around to answer their phones on the weekend and we should be calling them back right away.  In the end I wore him down.”

“Well, like I said, that’s why I hired you guys.”

Kristoff smiled, looking down at her, his heart feeling even lighter about their chance to expand their company.  Damn if life wasn’t looking as up as it ever had for him and Sven.  He let out an exhale, the tingling feeling in his stomach building up again as he stared down at the love of his life.  Her enchanting eyes, her gorgeous face and beautiful freckles.  He dipped his head down and kissed her, arousal stirring fiercely within him once again.

---

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

[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!

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

If I Fell For You (Part 16) - Drowning

Summary: The reader’s night goes from bad to awful fast but thankfully Jensen shows up at the last second to stop things from getting any worse. But the guilt the reader feels over trying to end things with Jensen to protect him starts to become too much...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x nanny!reader

Word Count: 5,600ish

Warnings: language, being drunk, minor violence, scary situations, angst, fighting, fluff, offscreen death of minor character, anxiety, panic attack, minor injury

A/N: This chapter is a whirlwind! Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

________

It was a close to an hour later and you were halfway through a bottle of bourbon, laying on the back porch of your mom’s house, staring at the rafters and debating finishing off the whole thing.

“Y/N?” you heard. Your skin crawled as you sat up, spotting your father at the other end of the wrap around. “Are you drunk?”

“This would be an appropriate time to tell you that yes, I am and I also have this,” you said, reaching behind your and picking up a hunting rifle. “I might be plastered but I think that’ll only improve my aim. I’ll be nice and shoot for your balls first.”

“You got so much wrong about me kid.”

You fired a shot near his feet and he held up his hands.

“Why don’t you go jump off a bridge or some shit,” you said.

“Y/N.”

You pulled the trigger as he took a step forward and he jumped when it hit the window nearby. You pulled again but it just clicked as he walked closer. 

“Your new momma never taught you that kind of rifle only has two shots, did she,” he said. You tried to stand but got way too dizzy and fell down. 

“Well I can still tear you apart with my teeth,” you said. 

“You’re drunk and judging by your face, very upset. What happened to that boy you were with? I didn’t see him when I looked around.”

“Touch me and that boy will rip your head off.”

“This doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” he said, stepping far too close for your liking. You swung the rifle at him but he caught it and kicked the bottle away before you could get at it. “All grown up. Probably enjoy it now.”

You crawled back as far as you could, eyes darting behind him when you saw movement. You barely caught the brown hair and green eyes before your father was face first on the porch. You tried to stand but he yanked on your ankle and pulled you down hard. It took a long time to peel open your eyes again, your father now at Jensen’s feet. Jensen pushed down on his back while he talked on the phone to someone and it didn’t take long to hear sirens in the distance.

“For the record,” said Jensen as he walked over to you and crouched down, his belt around your father’s wrists, “I didn’t believe you for a second. Oh and you’re a dumbass but you’re my dumbass. Forever. Got it?”

“I couldn’t…” you trailed off. He nodded and took off his flannel, wrapping it over your shoulders. “I knew he would do something and I couldn’t have him near the kids or know they exist. I couldn’t-”

“I know, honey,” he said. “But don’t you dare ever do anything like that again.”

You put your head down sniffled, dizzy still as he rubbed your back before going back to watching your dad.

It took an hour or so before you could go home and you were sober enough to stand on your own. 

“Can I ask why you made the executive decision that you did?” asked Jensen, holding your arm loosely as you got into his car to head back.

“Because I’m stupid,” you said dryly from the passenger seat as he turned on his SUV.

“I mean more so why didn’t you come to me if you were scared? Why make up a lie?”

“You did let me go. You must have believed me at least for a few seconds,” you said.

“No, I actually didn’t.”

“You let me go.”

He was quiet until you got close to the brewery, Jensen pulling off onto the plot of land he owned next to it. You leaned your head against the cold window and he turned off the engine.

“This whole, tired, don’t talk to me attitude right now? Been there. Lived it. I know it’s bullshit.”

“You let me leave so you did believe me so-” you said, Jensen pressing a finger to your lips. 

“I am certain of very few things and you are one of them. I let you go so I could figure out what scared you so badly you’d lie, to me. There’s only one thing I can think of so before you even had a foot out of that house, I was calling people and I got put on with Detective Finn who worked your case as a kid and I find out that dick for brains sack of shit just moved practically down the street from us. It does not take a genius to put the pieces together.”

“Fine! I did it in some stupid attempt to protect you,” you said. You glared at him and he shook his head. “What?”

“I’m not gonna get mad at you.” You put your head back on the window and stared out to the dark trees, sniffling some. “Why do you want me to be angry with you?”

“Uh because I didn’t forget to turn on the washing machine or leave on a light. I lied. I lied so big that-”

“You lied to protect your family from a monster. Do I wish you had told me? Yes. But I fuck up so much and you’ve never once been angry with me for making a mistake and I’ll never be angry with you for making one either. I know you want me to be angry with you, feel like you should be punished for what you imagine is hurting me. But you didn’t hurt me, Y/N. You didn’t and I know you get that because so many times you’ve been on the other side of this and I know you’ve never once thought, oh yeah Jensen’s a piece of shit, let him really have it. No. Just no. So I’m not getting mad at you and I don’t know what to fucking say to make you feel better like you always do me and I’m so sorry he got so close to hurting you again. But I’m really good at fighting monsters in this family. So please next time, I don’t care if you’re scared of the bug on the wall or you think someone’s outside the house or what it is. If you’re scared, tell me and I’ll do my best to make it go away, I promise.”

“What do you do when you want to hate yourself for being an idiot?” you asked quietly. You heard him shift in his seat and you shut your eyes, the sound of a door opening and then another. Strong arms wrapped around you and you buried your face in his chest.

“I try to treat myself as kindly as she does. She would never hate me and she hates when I’m in pain. I see it all over her face. So I try to cut myself some slack and ask myself if she would hate me and when I realize no, I’m forced to forgive myself and it normally takes a few hours but it works pretty good. A lot of hugs and cuddling don’t hurt either.”

“Thank you for stopping him.”

“Don’t.”

“Thank you. I owe you so, so much.”

“You don’t owe me a damn thing. We got each other’s backs and that’s all there is to it. I’m just sad I missed you trying to shoot his dick off.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

“Find my iPhone. Also I figured that was a good place to check,” he said. “I would have been here sooner if Jared didn’t drive like a tortoise over to the house to watch the kids.”

“I’m sorry I scared you...and you had to do that tonight.”

“Oh punching your father was a personal highlight for me. Trust me,” he said. He stroked your cheek and you turned into the touch, eyes squeezing shut. “You’re safe.”

“He’s going to get out on bail and-”

“And we have a very good lawyer. Oh, and I know the mayor so fuck his ass, he’s not getting bail.”

You buried your face once again and he put a finger under your chin, lifting it up.

“You’re still scared.”

“He’s gonna get arrested for what, trespassing? Attempted assault? I was drunk and shot at him. He can spin it. He can spin it and be out on the street like that.”

“I’m going to ask the lawyer to do something else, something that maybe can take care of that problem.”

“What?” 

“Once a piece of shit, always a piece of shit. He’s been gone for fifteen years. I have this bad feeling you weren’t the only one. Or even before that.”

“Or maybe he just hates me.”

“You don’t have to be scared. I’m gonna take care of it.”

“Jensen, I know you don’t have to worry about the money but it might still not be enough.”

“It’s enough,” he said. “Or else next time I’ll be the one with the rifle.”

“You would kill him?”

“Honestly? Yeah if it came to it. I wish people like him died in car crashes, not innocent ones. We have every right to protect ourselves and our family and I’m not letting him touch the kids or you ever.”

“I should probably say that’s bad but I don’t disagree.”

“Money works a lot. A real lot. Maybe he did something super bad and he can rot in prison forever.”

“Maybe,” you said, spotting a cruiser pull up nearby. 

“Stay here, sweetie,” he said. He walked over while the officer got out. He spoke to Jensen for a moment, Jensen’s face a bit blank when he turned around. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Your dad had a heart attack in the backseat,” said Jensen quietly. You cocked your head and he shook his. “Your father. In the police cruiser that was taking him for booking. He was just pronounced.”

“He died?”

“He was really overweight and didn’t look to be in the best health. He probably got his heart rate up too high and...the officer said he’d escort us home, stay outside the house for the night, calm our nerves.”

“He’s really dead?” you asked. You looked over at the officer and he came over, giving you a quick smile. “He really died?”

“Yes mam.”

“What...happens now?” you asked.

“We’ll file the report but you don’t necessarily need to press charges anymore. You’re next of kin as far as we’re aware so the body…” he trailed off when he looked at you. “We can talk about this with your lawyer.”

“Thanks,” said Jensen. “We’ll be on the road in a minute.” 

The officer climbed back in his cruiser, Jensen leaning against the doorframe. He tucked your hair behind your ear, letting out a deep breath.

“Y/N,” he said. He stroked your cheek, your head turning up. “What is it, honey?”

“I don’t feel bad at all. I’m actually happy. That kinda is freaking me out a little. You shouldn’t be happy someone died.”

“Most people you’re right, you shouldn’t. But there are exceptions. He tormented you. He harassed you. He came after our family. I’m gonna sleep just fine tonight knowing he’s never coming back in our lives.”

“Were you scared of him?” He ducked his head down and you took hold of his hand. “Jensen.”

“Put it this way, I’d protect my family by any means necessary. What scares me was what if I was five minutes later tonight. Ten minutes. My job is to protect you and especially from monsters like that.”

“I’m a big girl Jensen. You don’t have to protect me from anything.”

“Yes I do, just like if it were me in your shoes I know you’d have done the same exact thing. We protect each other. It’s not because I’m the guy or I’m stronger. You’re my family and that’s what we do.”

“Thank you for protecting me and forgiving me for being stupid earlier,” you said. He smiled and nodded.

“You’re my dumbass and I’m yours,” he said. “Want to go home now?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I really do.”

“He’s really gonna spend the night?” you asked half an hour later in bed, Jensen shutting the door after himself. “He knows there’s a cop outside, right?”

“What can I say, Jared...he thinks of you like a little sister,” he said. “I can’t blame him for being protective.”

“I’ll be right back,” you said. You climbed out of bed and went downstairs, the light dim aside from where Jared was reading on the couch, a blanket over his legs. He looked over the top of the book and set it down, sitting up.

“Everything alright?” he asked. You smiled and took a seat on the edge of the couch, pulling him into a hug. 

“Thanks for staying,” you said, a pair of large arms wrapped around your back. 

“Of course.”

“You do know there’s nobody to bother us now, right?”

“I know. Some peace of mind never hurt anybody though,” he said. “Go on back to your fiance. You guys had a rough night.”

“Yeah,” you said, closing your eyes. “Thanks.”

He kissed your temple and you returned to your room, Jensen pulling you under the covers. You let out a deep breath, turning into his side. 

“Here,” he said. He started to take off his bracelet but you shook your head.

“It’s yours, Jensen. I feel safe, I promise.”

“You’re tense still, honey.”

“Still working on that not being so angry at myself thing,” you said. He smiled and kissed you quickly, laying an arm over your waist. “I know what you said but I still want you to be pissed at me for lying.”

“You didn’t hurt me.”

“But-”

“You didn’t hurt me, Y/N and you know what? Sometimes, you’re gonna hurt me and I’m gonna hurt you. We’ll have bad days and get annoyed with one another. I’ll leave dishes in the sink and make a mess of the closet. You’ll chew with your mouth open and never fill up your car with gas until it’s too low. We’re not perfect. But even if we do hurt each other, we forgive each other because that’s what you do. We’re not always gonna like each other and what we do but we’ll always love each other. I don’t want to be mad at you. I want you to feel safe and know that I understand why you did what you did. I do. Please try to let it go, for me.”

“I am trying,” you said quietly. You shut your eyes and turned away, his arm over you pulling you back against his chest. “You’re normal. I can’t just stop hating myself like that.”

“You think I’m normal?” he chuckled. “Me?”

“Did you ever have to punch Dee’s psycho father? Did you ever have to talk about protecting her? Did she ever put your family in danger? Did she ever-”

“Y/N.”

“Go away,” you said, pushing his arm off of you. You moved over farther on your side of the bed, tucking your covers under your chin. The bed shifted and you tried to move again but his arm pulled you straight back to his chest, fingers dipping under your ribcage and holding you in place. 

“I might not have had to have done those things for her but I would have. For the record, you didn’t put anyone in danger. That fucking asshole did. It is not your fault he was an evil and vile person. All you did was try to protect us because you were scared and I know, I know you didn’t tell me because you’re so scared of that man and I don’t blame you. He made my skin crawl and I interacted with him for all of five minutes. Get it out of your system however you need to but you are stuck with me forever. There is nothing you could do to make me want you gone so get used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this,” you breathed out. You pulled your sheets over your head, taking deep heaving breaths. “You have so much to worry about already. You shouldn’t have to…”

“Did you think I couldn’t handle the news?” he asked. “That your father was so close by?”

“I thought you’d hate me,” you whispered. He tugged down your sheets and you squeezed your eyes shut as he turned you around.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Now you’re angry.”

“Look at me.” You forced them open, meeting a soft face and sad eyes. “Why would I ever hate you?”

“My shit’s supposed to stay in the past. You don’t…” you said, Jensen furrowing his brow. “See, you’re mad.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Your shit stays in the past.”

“It means you’ve had the world’s worst fucking year and you’re in such a good place now and you need to focus on you and not have my shit come in and fuck that up.”

“Do you think I can’t take care of you?” he asked.

“No of course not.”

“It sounds like you’re saying that you think you can’t have problems cause I can’t handle it.”

“Well at least I got what I wanted with you pissed,” you said, glaring up at him, tears welling in your eyes. You tried to push away but he held his arm around you. “Jensen, let me up.” You pushed again and he glared right back. “Stop it. Let me out of bed.” He only glared and you tore your eyes away from his face. 

“Do you think I’m weak?”

“No,” you said, keeping your head low.

“Then why-”

“Because you need a fucking break. I dealt with this shit years and years ago. I understand needing a fucking break and people need to take care of you, help you. You’re a different man than the one I met way back in January. You’re so happy and healthy and you have a different outlook on life again and that’s incredible. I’m so proud of you for that. But you’re just, just out of the woods and I’m not gonna be the one that sends you back in because of my fucking problems.”

“They’re our fucking problems,” he said. “Our problems. There’s no your problems or my problems anymore. It’s us together. Why do you think I’d hate you?”

“Jensen,” you said, pushing on his chest. “Stop.”

“Why?”

“I said stop!”

“Tell me.”

“Because I’m scared,” you said. He let his hold go lax and you sat up, getting out of bed. You walked over to the balcony door and rested your forehead against the cool glass. The bed creaked and you felt his presence behind you. 

“You’re scared of me.” You scrunched up your face and nodded. “Why?”

“Because if you realized how fucked up I am, you wouldn’t come near me with a ten foot pole. I’m not supposed to cause you problems. I’m supposed to fix them, be there for you.”

“But I can’t be there for you. You assume I’m just a dick where it’s only me and my shit that we can work on right?” he said.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Relationships go both ways, Y/N. I don’t expect you to take care of me for the rest of my life. You are allowed to need help too.”

“You don’t understand.”

“No, you don’t understand,” he said, grabbing your arm and spinning you around. He was frowning, his voice an octave higher if you didn’t know any better. “Do you honestly think I would have been angry at you if you told me about your father being in town? Do you?”

“I put the kids-”

“For the last time, you didn’t put anyone in danger,” he growled. “What is going on with you?”

“How many times do I have to say it, I’m not supposed to cause any problems!” you said.

“Yes you are! You, me, the kids. We’re all gonna have fucking problems sooner or later. Why do you think I’d hate you for telling me you had a problem, sweetheart?”

You fidgeted with the bottom of your shirt, looking past him.

“Something with your dad, isn’t it. Something got triggered in you after that phone call with the detective, didn’t it.”

“Call Ray. Tell him to come over,” you said quietly. He nodded and grabbed his phone, sending off a quick message before he was guiding you to sit on the bed.

“Honey,” he said when you pulled away from him. “Okay, no touching. Can I get you anything while we wait for Ray?”

“Probably should tell that cop that we’re expecting someone,” you said, rubbing your hands against your thighs. “Fuck, tell Ray it’s the help thing. He’ll understand.”

“Okay,” he said with a nod. You rubbed your legs harder and he stared at you. “Y/N.”

“I’m trying not to have a panic attack,” you grit out. “I haven’t had one since I was eight.”

Your head was turned and you felt his hands on your cheeks, Jensen forcing a smile. You stared for a long beat before you took a breath, his head nodding. 

“That feels better,” you said, your hands not rubbing so hard. You heard feet and the door open, glancing behind Jensen to catch Jared in the doorway. You could feel your heart rate pick up, Jared nodding.

“I get panic attacks too,” he said. You nodded and Jensen glanced over his shoulder. “I heard arguing.”

“Can you tell that cop outside Ray is coming by and to let him in?” said Jensen.

“Sure. Who’s Ray?” asked Jared.

“Her mom’s old boyfriend and foster dad. He was her therapist when she was little. Something’s not right,” said Jensen.

“I’ll send him up as soon as he gets here.”

You felt calmer by the time Ray was walking in fifteen minutes later in sweats and not much more. 

“Hey kiddo,” said Ray, giving you a quick hug before he squatted down in front of you. “Doing okay?”

You shook your head and shut your eyes, Jensen holding an arm around you. He explained what happened, Ray staying quiet. You eventually opened your eyes to stare at the floor, Ray standing and pulling over the bench from the end of the bed to sit on. 

“Y/N do you want Jensen to stay?” he asked. You nodded and he hummed. “Y/N.”

“Yes,” you said dryly. “Can I have some water?”

Jensen got up and retrieved a glass from the bathroom, the pair of them watching you chug half of it down before you sat it on the nightstand.

“Y/N, does Jensen know what triggered you?” he asked.

“Not specifically. Asking for help he figured out but not the reason,” you said, looking away. 

“Well on the bright side, you didn’t have a panic attack, you worked through it, you trusted Jensen to help you through it even if he didn’t know why and some of your coping skills helped you out quite a bit. But this is something Jensen needs to know. You’ll need help in a relationship and I know this is the big one but he needs to know so this never happens again,” said Ray. 

“What if he thinks I overreacted?” you said.

“I won’t, trust me,” said Jensen. “Secret’s safe with me.”

“Go on, Y/N,” said Ray. You took a deep breath and Jensen held your hand, stroking his thumb over the back.

“So you kinda figured out that me having a problem was the trigger and that I didn’t ask for your help earlier and kinda assumed a bad reaction if I did.”

“Yup and that’s all okay,” he said softly. 

“It wasn’t because of you that I assumed you’d have a bad reaction. It was something that happened to me that sort of...default my head to react and anticipate things in a certain way in that particular situation.”

“So if you have a problem and ask for help, you assume the person you’re asking for help from will not take it in a good way?” he asked.

“Yeah, basically. If it’s a really big problem and if I anticipate that the problem would upset the person I’m asking then my head assumes this bad thing will happen. In that case, it assumes the much better option is to not reveal the problem at all and handle it myself because then the bad thing won’t happen,” you said.

“The bad thing. It’s bad isn’t it,” he said. “Really bad.”

“Y/N, remember you can share without the graphics involved,” said Ray. You nodded and leaned your head back.

“When I was six I broke something of my dad’s. A mug. His favorite mug. I picked up the pieces but I knew it was his favorite so I didn’t throw it out. I asked him for help putting it back together,” you said. “The amount of rage he had over a broken mug...I never experienced such a horrible day in all eight years as that one.”

He didn’t say anything and you tucked your feet up, holding one up to him and showing the bottom. He stared at it and cocked his head, narrowing his eyes. It took him a moment but you saw when he noticed the small little scars. His eyes flickered back to yours and you nodded.

“He hurt me badly,” you said. “All day long.” He stared at you and you told him exactly the way the scars came to be, Jensen shuddering and closing his eyes. “It wasn’t a good day.”

“Fuck,” he said, standing up and rubbing his arm. “You were six?”

He shook his head and went to the balcony door, taking a deep breath.

“Jensen. You alright?” asked Ray.

“No,” he said, turning around, looking to you. “That many times?”

“One for every broken piece,” you said. He ran his hands over his face and shut his eyes. “The worst thing was just that it went on all day. It was long enough for me to interpret it as conditioning for a result of an event rather than just a bad memory from everything me and Ray worked out back in the day. It hasn’t been a trigger for me ever really but we knew it could be someday for a big life problem potentially. I’m guessing with it involving my dad, it kinda sent me into overdrive earlier.”

“Jensen,” said Ray, shooting you a quick glance. “Y/N’s okay. I’m actually quite impressed with her behavior. There was no hesitancy or waiver in her voice. I don’t feel as though this will likely be an issue ever again now that it’s out in the open and her father is gone.”

“You’re the closest thing to a father she’s ever had,” said Jensen, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know every horrible thing that’s happened to her and, and you just...all you did was throw him out of the country for fifteen years?”

“First off, the law was different back then and it was a lifetime ban. Second of all, buddy, violence isn’t always the answer to violence,” said Ray, getting to his feet.

“You should have adopted her.”

“She didn’t want me to.”

“You were the damn adult. She was the kid. Act like one,” said Jensen. “I mean fuck, you adopted two other kids only a few years later.”

“If I had adopted her you wouldn’t even know she fucking exists,” shot back Ray. “Her father still would have come back and this would have happened regardless.”

“You should have done what you needed to the second he popped up again when she was a teenager.”

“I did not strike you as a violent man but I do not like it.”

“She was almost assaulted by that man again tonight,” growled Jensen. “He tortured her and tormented her and he got barely any time at all for that. I would have-”

“Why’d you call the police then?” he asked. Jensen swallowed and Ray shrugged. “Why back at the farmhouse did you call the police? You could have killed him, called it self-defense and been done with it. Why?”

Jensen looked down and Ray sighed.

“The price for being a good person is making hard decisions, Jensen. Would I have loved to have rid the world of that son of a bitch the second I learned all about him? Oh you don’t know the half of it. I’m a trauma therapist, Jensen. Mostly for kids and teenagers. Do you know how much fucked up shit I’ve heard in my life? The world has so much ugliness in it. But it’s got good too and that’s why you called the police like you were supposed to and that’s why she loves you. She needs a good man, not a violent one. I’m not saying don’t think about protecting your family. But don’t act on it unless you don’t have a fucking choice, kid. Understand me?”

Jensen nodded and Ray cleared his throat.

“Say it.”

“Yes, sir,” said Jensen quietly.

“Ray, don’t get mad at him. He’s not used to this stuff,” you said. You stood and pulled Jensen back to the bed, Ray crossing his arms and nodding. “If I ever feel this happening again, what should I do?”

“You could work on reconditioning instead,” said Ray. “Work on saying I have a problem to Jensen and ask for help, even if there isn’t a problem. If Jensen responds positively or even neutrally and you two work at it maybe an hour or so a day for the next week or two, I don’t think you’ll ever have to be afraid of that trigger coming back. All of your triggers Y/N have involved your father. I know similarities can set you off but they’re small, manageable. You never have to worry about anyone hurting you ever again.”

“I know. I should have trusted my partner to have my back,” you said.

“I don’t blame you. I didn’t before and I definitely don’t now,” said Jensen. Ray smiled and pulled the bench back over to the bed. 

“Get some rest you two,” he said. 

“Ray?” you said after he gave you a hug. “Why didn’t you adopt me?”

“Honestly?” he asked. You nodded, Jensen preening his ears. “You reminded me so much of your mother and I was devastated when we lost her. I should have been the adult and done what was right but after seeing her in pain for years...I didn’t have it in me to take on a grieving teenager that would have been just as angry back at me. She already was so angry then, I would have put fuel on the flames. I didn’t have it in me to be strong anymore and that’s my mistake for not trying.”

“You can adopt adults,” said Jensen. You both looked at him and he smiled. “Adults can be adopted.”

“Not sure if…” trailed off Ray as you smiled at him. “Y/N, we’ve only just started talking again.”

“Maybe if that keeps going well...maybe things could...work out…” you said. “If you wanted.”

“Yeah, maybe we can do that,” he said with a smile. “It’s getting late. Put her to bed. Don’t be surprised if there’s a nightmare or two tonight.”

“Okay. Thank you,” said Jensen as Ray started to leave.

“Take care of her kid,” he said. Jensen nodded and you lay back in bed, the house growing quiet. 

“I’m so sorry,” said Jensen, his head lowering after a few moments. “I should have realized…”

“You did realize,” you said, sitting up. “Even when my head couldn’t come out and say I trust you and I know I’m acting a certain way because of what my dad put me through, you stayed calm and figured it out. You got nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m sorry he hurt you. I got to pretend to be a cowboy and my dad read me stories when I was six. The worst thing I ever got was a few smacks but I know he regrets doing that,” he said. “Even then it was because I was acting out not…I just don’t understand why he would ever hurt you.”

“I stopped trying to understand him a long time ago,” you said, the door opening. You both turned, Arrow walking in with a pair of wet eyes. “You have a nightmare, sweetie?”

“I went…to the bathroom…” she said when you noticed her holding her wrist. Jensen hopped up and walked over, picking her up gently and setting her beside you. “I fell down off the step stool. It was wet.”

“Tell me what hurts,” he said.

“My hand,” she said. 

“Let daddy see,” you said. She moved her hand back and you both saw her wrist was swollen and bruised. Jensen swore under his breath and guided her hand back on it. “Okay, you hold it if it feels better that way, honey. Daddy, I think Arrow should go to urgent care.”

“Arrow, why don’t you go get your dolly and we’ll bring her with us. We might have to wait a minute,” he said. “Be careful okay? I’ll come get you in just a minute.”

“Mommy?” she asked, staring up at you. 

“Mommy’s really tired-” said Jensen when you stood up.

“Uncle Jared is staying over though, daddy. Go get your dolly and mommy and daddy will get dressed,” you said. She sniffled but climbed down okay, Jensen sighing when she left the room. “She wants me there and I want to be there. I’m going.”

“Alright but you’re going to try and get some sleep in the waiting room at least, please.”

“No promises.”

________

A/N: Read Part 17 here!

[arrowflier]

if you still taking prompts, I wish you could write something about... since Ian's always over-worrying about Mickey's safety, what if he gets a call saying something happened to his husband? maybe Ian's freaking out thinking Mickey could be locked again or hurt so he runs to get him? Thank you!!

Spoiler alert--nothing bad actually happens to anyone in this ficlet.

--

Ian is at Whole Foods when the call comes.

They usually go together, Mickey whining about rich privileged fucks and overpriced organic shit but coming anyway to, and he quotes, “make sure you don’t drop our whole paycheck on fuckin’ tomatoes this time.” But Mickey had begged off today, claiming he didn’t feel up to “dealing with those judgmental dicks at the checkout actin’ like cash is fuckin’ dirty”, and Ian hadn’t pushed.

Now he’s wishing he had.

“You need to come now,” Sandy is saying into his ear, voice tinny and thin through the cheap speakers of his second-hand phone.

“Where are you?” Ian asks her numbly. He kneels down on autopilot, picking up the now-bruised oranges he had been holding when she greeted him with the words, “hey, it’s Mickey.” The tile floor is as unforgiving on his knees as it was on the fruit. He turns one of the oranges over in his hand. He had been planning to make Mickey fresh orange juice with that later.

“That little corner store by your apartment, you know it?” Sandy is asking him.

Of course he knows it. That’s were they run to in the middle of the night when they run out of lube, or beer. Where Mickey bought him flowers once and tried to pass it off as an error by the cashier, until Ian found the receipt in the bottom of the bag. Where they take Franny to pick out candy every other Friday when they pick her up from school.

“Yeah,” is all he says. “I know it.”

Then he’s hanging up, and running out of the store, leaving an overturned basket and the handful of oranges on the floor in his wake.

His heart is pounding as he runs toward home. Not toward the apartment—toward Mickey.

His heart is pounding and his legs are churning and his feet are slapping the pavement with every step, chest aching to force air into his lungs. But his brain is moving faster.

He doesn’t know what happened. He should have kept Sandy on the line longer, gotten more of the story, but it only would have slowed him down. But he doesn’t know if Mickey is hurt, or in trouble, or in danger of being carted off to prison again for daring to live his life on parole.

And Ian’s mind has never exactly been his greatest ally to begin with, so it’s no surprise that the scenarios it comes up with as he runs aren’t exactly comforting.

As he rounds a corner, narrowly missing an old woman and her shopping bags, he pictures Mickey injured, collapsed on the floor of the shop, like back at the Kash and Grab when they were just kids. He won’t let anyone near him like that, no one but Ian, and he’s bleeding out onto white tile waiting for his husband to save him.

Crossing the street between cars and ignoring the honks, he pictures Mickey backed into a corner by his father’s cronies, refusing to look for an escape as Sandy frantically tries to call for help. He still doesn’t know how to back down, would never back down from men like that, would never let them take what they have and try to turn it ugly. He’d held a gun to his own father’s face, more than once, but thanks to Ian he didn’t even have one now.

Approaching the shop, finally, only to see the familiar red and blue flash of police cars, he pictures Mickey cuffed to the counter inside, glaring at the officers and spouting curses to the questions they ask. Knowing that despite living clean for over a year, they could take him in any time they wanted, with no more evidence than his last name and his rap sheet.

Ian dashes across the last street, desperate now, only to come to an abrupt halt as soon as he’s close enough to take in the scene.

Because there’s Mickey, all right. Not hurt, not cornered, not arrested.

But stuck.

Ian’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, and he bends over, hands on knees, to catch his breath and his heart. Mickey is whole, and healthy, and right in front of him. Well, in front of him and up a little, pacing along the edge of the single-story shop roof.

“Hey!” Sandy calls out from the entrance of the store. Ian keeps his eyes on Mickey, who starts at the sound and looks down, gaze quickly finding Ian. He grimaces when he sees him, and starts pacing faster.

“Uh, hey Sandy,” Ian manages, finally looking to her just long enough to take in her shit-eating grin before he’s back to watching his husband. “What exactly is happening here?” The question might come out a little unhinged sounding, but sue him, he’s allowed.

Sandy comes up next to him, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand as she joins him in observing the roof. “Apparently,” she tells him, voice raised enough that Mickey can probably hear, “Mickey here got robbed.”

Mickey can definitely hear, if the finger he throws up toward them is any indication.

“Robbed,” Ian repeats faintly. “On the roof?”

Sandy snorts. “No, you moron, in the store. Some kid swiped his bag on his way out, then went up the maintenance ladder. Mickey followed, but,” she shrugs. “Little fucker started jumping rooftops, and Mickey couldn’t keep up.”

“Uh huh,” Ian says, nodding once. “Okay. So why hasn’t he come back down?”

“Ladder broke,” Sandy offers, and Ian closes his eyes.

“The ladder,” he parrots. “Broke.”

“Yup,” she says, popping the P.

“And your first thought,” Ian continues, “was to call me, and tell me that Mickey was in trouble, giving me a heart attack in the middle of the fucking grocery store, instead of finding another one?” His voice rises until he’s nearly yelling, and when he opens his eyes, Sandy is wincing.

“Um,” she answers. “Sorry?”

Ian just sighs, deflating immediately.

“Mick,” he calls up to his husband.

The response he gets back isn’t even addressed to him.

“The fuck did you call him for?” Mickey shouts down to Sandy instead, finally stopping his incessant pacing. “It was supposed to be a fuckin’ surprise!”

“Well, I am surprised!” Ian yells back. “Thought you didn’t like heights?” That just earns him a middle finger, as expected.

“Why aren’t the cops helping?” Ian asks Sandy at a normal volume, but Mickey catches it and responds before she can.

“Cops ain’t here for me,” he grunts, rubbing at his nose and looking to the side. “Shopkeep called ‘em about the burglary, they got the kid ‘round the other side of the building.”

“What did he steal, anyway?” Ian questions, but Mickey goes silent.

Sandy tells him anyway. “He had a big order come in,” she whispers to Ian. “Told me all about it, had me come help pick it up. Something about some fancy booze and chocolate you like?”

Oh. Ian’s heart, now recovered from its scare, warms.

“Come on, Mickey, come down,” Ian cajoles. He wants to hold his husband.

“Oh, brilliant fuckin’ idea man!” Mickey rants. “Why didn’t I think of that?” He pretends to think for a second, then adds with an overdone gesture, “Oh yeah! Cause I don’t wanna break my fuckin’ neck!”

“It’s one story, Mickey,” Ian points out. “I could probably reach the gutters if I jumped.”

“Yeah, well, not all of us are giant gangly fuckers like you!” his husband shouts back.

Ian rolls his eyes.

“I meant,” he says slowly, “that if you hang down off the edge, I can reach you, dumbass.”

Mickey is silent at that, then promptly sits and scoots so his feet are hanging off the roof.

All the warning Ian gets is “don’t drop me, fuckhead,” before Mickey is sliding down right into his arms, sending them both stumbling backwards until Ian regains his footing.

They stay like that, pressed together from knees to chest, Ian’s arms around Mickey’s waist and Mickey’s looped around his neck, until Sandy coughs from behind them.

“Adorable,” she drawls, and they both flip her off this time. Ian hold Mickey tighter instead, and kisses his hair.

“So,” he whispers into Mickey’s ear, “Sandy scared the shit out of me about this.”

Mickey just hums into his neck.

“I think you might need to make it up to me,” Ian adds. “What’s this I hear about a surprise?”

Mickey pulls back just enough to scowl at him. “Surprise got pinched,” he mutters. “Evidence now or something, greedy pig bastards.”

Ian grins. “I’m sure you can think of something else,” he muses, shifting to that they’re side by side, and starting off in the direction of their apartment. He waves over his shoulder at Sandy, a clear dismissal. “You’ve never lacked for ideas before.”

Mickey sighs, but leans into him as they walk.

“You’re gonna make me buy you fruit again, aren’t you?” he asks, resigned, and Ian thinks of the oranges he had left at the store, and the tomatoes that Mickey liked to tease him about.

“Maybe,” he answers, and smiles all the way home.

[primasveraas-writing]

"the holy or the broken" -Ted Lasso

I'm so sorry.

WORD COUNT: 2401

XXX

There are three eras in Roy’s life, and they’re all defined by the same woman.

The third echoes the first: Roy Kent, angry at the world with no one to pull him out of his frustration. It’s also worse, though, because before, Roy lived in blissful ignorance of the joy and sorrow that laid ahead.

Rebecca and Ted express their surprise at Roy’s anger. They thought him changed, or perhaps that grief would prevail over rage, and they were wrong. Because Roy Kent, when stripped of everything he is -his athleticism and grim humor and the love of his life- has anger. Nothing less and nothing more.

At first, he can’t say her name. He doesn’t even think it, because every reminder of her is a reminder that she’s gone. Despite her mark on everything- the furniture they picked out together, the bed they shared, her usual seat at the dining table, the compliments she gave his hair and clothes- Roy doesn’t think of her. Which means he doesn’t think at all, so he becomes his anger and his pain, and nothing else.

He stops coaching, obviously. Nobody asks him if he’ll keep going, nor does he announce his departure. His absence, professionally, personally, emotionally- is expected fully. Though people still coming to the fucking house. He tolerates her parents, and Phoebe once or twice, but eventually the visits dwindle, and Roy doesn’t check his phone or answer the door. There’s shouting, sometimes- inevitably Ted Lasso- but Roy has soundproof headphones for a reason and he’s perfectly fine with calling the cops on Ted. And he does, more than once.

His sister begs him to talk to her, or at least to Phoebe, and Roy, in all his anger, doesn’t have the heart to turn his niece away. So it’s just her and Roy, a few days a week, and they order food directly to the house and Phoebe tells him about school, and he grunts in acknowledgment. She cries sometimes too, and that’s when he holds her. No words are exchanged, but he comforts her, enough so that the sobs stop. The numb feeling he has remains intact.

The yoga moms scout his address, somehow, and drop off a wine basket- they drink in relative silence, and clean up his house and make a few casseroles. He picks at the food, but they slowly disappear, and it’s almost nice to eat more than once or twice a day.

It doesn’t get easier. People tell him it will, that the pain will start to lessen, but it doesn’t. Not three weeks after, or four, or five, or when summer emerges and the lilies bloom.

Roy’s not particularly good at adapting. He never wanted to be. And it’s bullshit that he’d have to start now, for some shit fucking luck and life-alerting occurrences he never saw coming.

Because he never expected that there would be an “after” regarding Keeley Jones. It’s not something he planned for and certainly not something he ever wanted. It’s just: one breath she’s there and the next, she’s not. Gone and the house empty, her office too, and suddenly every space at Richmond is filled with flowers because Roy doesn’t accept a single bouquet.

He does start to say her name, although only to his sister- the only adult he talks to. He spits it out, with venom, and he suspects that it’s this habit that prompts Rebecca to show up at his house.

She sneaks her way in, the stubborn shit. Apparently, she hid down the street until he ordered food, bribed the deliverer with an obscene amount of money, and rang his doorbell herself. Rebecca slips into the entry before Roy realizes it’s her, and slams the door behind her.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He hisses, and to her credit, Rebecca doesn’t flinch. She gives her best businesswoman smile, the one that so directly contradicts the flint in her eyes, and straightens.

“Someone informed me that you made developments in your grief-

“Fuck you-”

“-so I thought a visit was due.”

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Somebody told me once that I was always welcome in her home. Has that changed?”

“Yeah. She’s fucking dead.”

Rebecca does bristle at that one but she doesn’t challenge the statement. Instead, she clears her throat, setting Roy’s food down on the table in the foyer.

“Your sister told me how quiet you’ve been. And that any time you talk about Keeley, you do so with an incredible amount of anger.”

Roy doesn’t deign to respond, glowering at Rebecca instead. She takes a look around the room, in all its dusty glory. Lights off, trash piling on the floor, clothes strewn over backs of couches. It matches Roy, in terms of appearance. Unkept. Uncared for. Unloved.

“I’m calling the police,” Roy decides, scanning the room for his phone. “You can’t fucking impersonate a food deliverer. Or fucking be here when I don’t want you to be.”

“I paid him handsomely-”

“-illegal. And fireable.”

“-enough so that his salary for the next few months should be covered.”

“Get out.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I don’t give a damn about what you’re here to fucking do or say. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“And leave you to stew in your anger and your filth? I don’t think so.”

And Rebecca struts into his living room and seats herself on a sofa.

“Dr. Sharon proposed to me that your anger had legitimate grounds. Not just your usual brooding about playing and coaching a game for a living, but you know,” Rebecca gestures to Roy. “Real reasons to be so surly.”

“My fucking wife died.”

“Yes, well. My best friend died yet I’ve been outside over the past few months.” She gives Roy another placid smile. “Despite the fact that I’m mourning.”

“It’s different.”

“Undoubtedly, yes. You’ve been much unhealthier in your habits.”

“Fuck you,” Roy growls. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“No.” Keeley would refer to that as Rebecca’s scariest tone. “I came to talk.”

“I don’t care.” His hands clench into fists.

“You’re angry at Keeley.”

“I’m fucking pissed at you and your fucking break-in habits. Did you fucking compare notes with fucking Lasso?”

“You need someplace to direct your anger, and since fate dealt you both such a terrible hand, the only thing you can think to do is blame Keeley.”

“That makes as much fucking sense as you impersonating a takeaway driver. Fuck you.”

“So you go from not being able to say her name to saying it like a curse because you’re much more comfortable with your anger than sorrow.”

“I can say Keeley’s name.”

“Can you say it without sounding like the angriest person on the entire planet, Roy?”

“Fuck off.”

“Well?” Rebecca stands. In heels, she towers over Roy, who glares right back at her. “Show me you can, Roy.”

“I don’t have to prove shit to you.”

“No. But I asked you to.”

“I’m not fucking angry at my dead fucking wife.”

‘You’re angry at someone.”

“Yeah. You.”

“Come on now, Roy. Do better.”

“I’m NOT fucking angry at Keeley!”

Rebecca raises an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

“Fuck you.” Roy paces before her, ignoring how every step makes his knee throb. “Fuck you, fuck off. Fuck you.”

“Are you even sad?” Rebecca says quietly, and Roy freezes, his muscles clenching painfully.

“Ask me again,” he dares, his tone low. He takes a step closer to Rebecca, who remains unfazed.

“I said: are you sad your wife died in your arms, Roy?”

“Fuck you!” Roy bellows. He spins away to upturn the coffee table, sending dishes crashing to the floor.

“Do you miss her? Do you wish she hadn’t died?”

“I’ll fucking kill you.”

“So I’ll see Keeley again. How lovely.”

Roy roars, using the full force of his body to punch a hole in the wall. His fist comes out covered in plaster, bright red blood leaking from his knuckles dusted white.

“She fucking died in a freak fucking accident. There’s nothing- nothing- she could have done differently.”

“But she left you.”

“She fucking- she-” Roy’s chest heaves as he looks wildly around the room, at anything but the woman in front of him. “She was supposed to get her fucking nails done. We were going to get Thai for dinner. We had a sexy fucking weekend planned, and she was going to come home and it all would have been fucking fine.”

“And now she’s gone.”

“We can’t do any of that shit. Can’t fucking fall asleep next to her ever again. Or hold her fucking hand. We had fucking plans-” His words catch in his throat, and he looks away, examining the new damage to the wall. “We had plans.”

“Roy-”

“Don’t.” He closes his eyes. “You riled me up. Is that what you fucking wanted?”

“Yes,” Rebecca admits, and she retakes her seat on the couch, disregarding the surrounding wreckage. “Since the one person you want to talk to is gone, I figured I’d substitute.”

Roy glances around the house, at the forgotten groceries by the entrance, at the overturned table, and at the destroyed wall. “Good fucking job.”

“Thanks,” Rebecca says swiftly. “I figured I’d be better at it than Ted.”

“I’d have fucking killed him.”

“I thought so.” Rebecca sighs, massaging her temple. For the first time since her arrival, her bravado fades and her shoulders slump. It’s a familiar sight, one Roy witnessed the last time he saw Rebecca- at Keeley’s funeral, where all traces of the usually confident woman had faded away, and a grieving shell stood in her place. “Is that it, then? All the anger is for what’s never to be?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

“And this is the first time you’re realizing it?”

Roy’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, it is.”

Rebecca shrugs. “Okay.”

Silence prevails for a long while, then Roy sighs and takes a seat next to Rebecca.

“You know, my office has quite literally never been quieter. Even with Ted bursting in at all hours, it’s just… not the same. I started to get frustrated at Higgins trying to coordinate with me simply because he’s not the person I want to see. And then I woke up angry, too. Absolutely pissed at the sun just for rising. Because every day that I experience is one I should be sharing with her.”

She looks down at her hands, which tremble slightly. “It’s not fair. And I have nowhere to put all my anger and blame.”

Roy wordlessly gestures to the wall, and Rebecca gives a soft laugh.

“There’s one option.” Then, she swipes at her eyes, and sniffs.

“Keeley would have never forgiven any of us if we gave up on you, Roy.”

“I know.” He clears his throat. “She told me as much. About me.” He rolls his eyes, then blinks rapidly. “I’m not supposed to give up on myself.”

“Good job,” Rebecca retorts, and Roy growls, but Rebecca gives another breathy laugh. “You didn’t call the police on me. I’d say that’s a good sign.”

“Don’t let it go to your fucking head.”

“No. Of course not.”

“Thank you,” Roy says very, very quietly. Rebecca takes his hand and squeezes it briefly. Her palm comes away coated in dust and blood.

“Clean up, Roy,” she tells him, standing. “I’ll be seeing you soon.”

-

Rebecca leaves, but she sends over a team of cleaners and a fresh batch of groceries. For the first time since Keeley died, his fridge is fully stocked with food for him to make into meals, and the house is spotless. He sends a text to his sister, telling her to fuck off in a way she’ll know means thank you, and showers. He trims his beard and dries himself off with a freshly laundered towel, then he falls asleep ass naked on the bed and sleeps for twelve hours.

He goes to see Phoebe and the rest of his family. They catch him up on all the petty bullshit he doesn’t give a fuck about, and it’s nearly normal, except that he drives home alone to an empty house.

He goes back to yoga, and every stretch feels like he’s never done a downward dog before in his life. Still, the wine after is good, and he ends up going home with a spare bottle and another casserole, and so another part of his life resumes.

It’s a slow process. Richmond is a hard place to face, with Ted trying to be casual as he checks in on him, and the boys stepping around him like glass, and Jaime Tartt in tears when he first catches sight of Roy. Her office, the lack of visits from his wife during the day, and the plaque commemorating her on the wall hurt like getting that phone call all over again. But it’s the beginning of the mourning process, Dr. Sharon will tell him, and now that it’s started, the hurt will eventually lessen.

With every end, a beginning.

Roy takes his first steps.

-

There are three eras in Roy’s life, and a thousand different Roys.

There’s the prodigy footballer, eight years old and scoring goal after goal in every match. There’s the Chelsea player, a championship winner, then the Richmond player, bittered by age. Injured Roy Kent, retired, coaching his kid niece’s football team. Then, briefly: professional commentator. Richmond coach.

Roy Kent, who fucking hates Jaime Tartt except usually his girlfriend is nice at least. Roy Kent, Keeley’s boyfriend. Roy Kent, Keeley’s fiancé, husband- widower.

Roy Kent- a bastard luckily enough that Keeley loved him too. Roy Kent, who lit up when she walked into the room, who smiled more during their time together than he ever had before in his life. Who wanted to start a family with her. Who doted on his wife and promised her the world and a thousand other cheesy things, because she had that power over him.

Roy, who was beside her at the very end, who evoked her last words and smile. Roy, who had that horrible, painful privilege of easing his wife’s passing with reassurances and small comforts and anything he could do to make her feel his love.

Roy, who loves her still. Who’ll die loving her and missing her, and wishing they had just one more day.

Roy, who learns to live to make her proud.

[howtosingit]

Fic: Ice in My Veins, Fire in My Heart

An unexpected, once-in-a-lifetime ice storm in Austin leads to a chaotic day for Carlos and the 126. 

*

Written for @911giftexchange | For @charlie-bradburyss

6K | Also on AO3

A/N: Happy Holidays, Holly! I hope this fulfills all of your “tarlos + fire fam/found family + hurt/comfort (emphasis on the hurt)” wishes. May the New Year bring you all the love and light that you deserve! 

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

The thing is, no one’s really expecting Austin to be pummeled by a once-in-a-lifetime freak ice storm.

Though rare, it’s not unheard of for the Texas panhandle to get hit by the southern tip of major storm systems that move across the Midwest, but Austin is typically too far south to really experience that kind of intense winter weather. Sometimes, they’ll have icy nights that lead to dangerous morning commutes, but that’s mostly because the majority of Austinites aren’t experienced with driving on ice-covered roads. There’s always a surplus of vehicular accidents to respond to on those mornings.

But, this is way more than that.

When TK first looks out the kitchen window, he has to do a double-take to confirm what he’s seeing, his coffee burning the back of his throat as he swallows quickly in shock. Every single inch of the world outside is covered in a shimmering layer of ice - every tree branch and leaf, every fence post and door handle; individual blades of grass find themselves trapped inside a shell of frozen water, and the back patio has turned into a miniature ice skating rink, complete with furniture coated in long, thin icicles.

He takes a moment to admire the ethereal beauty of a rare, wintery Austin, how the early morning sunlight dances across the rooftops of the neighboring houses. Then, realizing what all this ice is going to mean for the rest of his day, he glances down at his watch, cursing when he realizes what time it is.

“Babe!” he calls, grabbing two thermoses from the cupboard. He transfers his coffee into one, then fills the other. “Move faster, we’ve gotta get to work!” He quickly preps Carlos’s coffee the way he knows he likes it, then grabs a few protein bars for each of them to eat on the way to work. “Babe!” he calls again when he doesn’t hear anything from the bedroom.

“What the hell are you yelling for, TK? We still have an hour before our shifts,” Carlos gripes as he comes around the corner, uniform already on and shoes in hand. He gives TK a look of mild annoyance, his signature sass on display, and TK honestly adores him even if he is being obtuse at the moment.

Instead of answering, TK just points out the window, watching as Carlos takes in the icy spectacle, his eyes widening as his jaw drops. “Wow,” his husband breathes out, clearly in awe. Then, having the same realization that TK did, he glances down at his own watch. “Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah, I thought you might say that,” TK laughs, moving towards the hall closet to grab their coats. He reaches towards the back, finding the ice scraper that Carlos kind of made fun of him for buying a few years ago. 

“You made me coffee?” Carlos asks when he reappears, holding his green thermos.

“Of course I did.”

“Have I mentioned that I really love you?” his husband questions, pulling on his coat.

“If this is your way of apologizing for getting sassy with me, I’m going to need you to work a little harder, babe,” TK jokes, sliding up next to him and raising his chin. Carlos rolls his eyes, a smile pulling at his lips as he ducks down to press their mouths together in a gentle kiss.

“How about I give you a ride to work?” Carlos suggests, still close enough that his lips drag against TK’s as he speaks.

“That’s a very sweet offer,” TK says, staring into his husband’s twinkling brown eyes, “but you were going to do that anyway.” Carlos’s police cruiser drives better on ice, so he always drives TK to work if there are hazardous conditions. “Try again.”

“How about,” Carlos starts, his voice going deeper as he trails his lips along TK’s jaw and up to his ear, “I drive you to work now, and then when we get home later, I run you a bath to help warm you up?”

TK hums, his heart rate picking up. “Make it a bath for two, and I’ll consider all of your indiscretions forgiven.”

Carlos huffs out a laugh, moving to press another kiss to his lips. “You are quite the negotiator,” he says, stepping away and grabbing two protein bars off the counter. “I accept your terms.”

The drive to work takes twice as long as usual, Carlos driving as carefully as possible through Austin towards the fire station. The roads seem somewhat deserted, and TK wonders if most people got stuck in their driveways before they could get far enough to cause mayhem in the streets. For the most part, the ice seems to be sticking around longer than it usually does. Carlos pulls to a stop outside Ladder 126. 

“See you later?” TK asks, leaning over the console to give him another kiss.

“Probably sooner than that, I’d guess,” Carlos says, knocking their foreheads together gently, the way he always does when they’re saying goodbye at the start of a workday. TK smiles, reaching for the door and climbing out onto the slick pavement. “Be careful out there.”

“You too, officer,” TK responds, giving him a wink before closing the door. He turns, heading into the station to being what will no doubt be a non-stop day.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

Carlos is right. 

Almost immediately after his husband texts him that he made it safely to the police station, they’re called out to an accident on Lakewood Drive. When they arrive, TK spots Carlos in the distance, directing cars to use an alternate route.

A large semi-truck takes up the middle of the bridge, the trailer sitting nearly perpendicular to the tractor section. It still seems to be standing upright, so TK doesn’t immediately understand what accident they’re responding to.

“Officer,” his dad calls when Carlos spots them and starts moving their way, careful on the patches of ice that still remain on the bridge. “What’ve we got here?”

“Semi swerved a bit on the ice into the lane of oncoming traffic. Passenger car coming from the north then swerved to avoid it, completely lost control on the ice, and hit the guardrail on the passenger side,” Carlos reports, pointing in the direction of a mangled section of the barrier. “Car flipped and slid down the embankment.”

“How many passengers?” his dad clarifies, and TK can tell the way he tenses, his brain already working on a plan of action.

“Just the driver, an adult woman,” Carlos answers, his breath visible in the cold morning air. “My partner made it down to her and she’s responsive, but definitely stuck.”

“Okay,” Owen says, turning to face his team, jaw tight. “Jaws of life, everyone down. Medical will be here in a minute, let’s try to have her out for them.”

There’s a near-collective nod from all of them, but before they can move, they hear a crash in the distance. Turning, TK watches as the line of traffic becomes a danger zone of its own when an approaching car is unable to stop before it runs into the car ahead of it. Like, dominoes, the line begins to splay, cars trying to move to avoid being hit. 

“Damn,” his dad sighs, shaking his head. “Change of plan. Ryder, Strickland, Strand-Reyes, you’re down with the jaws of life. Marwani and Chavez, let’s see if we can keep things from getting worse up here.”

TK follows Judd and Paul to the truck, grabbing everything that they might need. As they head towards the damaged guardrail, he passes close to Carlos, nudging him in the side. 

“Have I ever told you how much I love to watch you work?” he says, giving his husband a wink as he moves past him. Carlos follows after him, laughing softly.

“TK, for God’s sake, will you stop flirting with your husband for one day,” Judd cries, and TK looks over to find him smiling at him, his eyes dancing with mirth. 

“Now, come on, Judd,” Paul adds, his tone teasing. “They’re just being newlyweds.”

“Newlyweds?” Judd scoffs, rolling his eyes. “They’ve been married for two years!”

“Oh, wait, you’re right,” Paul says exaggeratedly, like he’s just remembered. He turns back to TK and Carlos, now walking side-by-side, his face morphing into a look of disgust. “Stop being so in-love, it’s getting weird now.”

TK huffs out a fake laugh, his breath swirling through the air as he sticks his tongue out at his friends. They reach the top of the embankment, looking down at the wreckage. The car still seems to be pretty intact, so TK is hoping this won’t be too bad. He feels a solid hand on his back, turning to find Carlos looking at him, his face serious.

“Don’t do anything reckless down there, or I will arrest you,” he jokes, beginning to walk away.

“On what grounds?” TK gasps, his jaw dropping.

Carlos pauses, his eyebrows furrowing as he thinks about it. “Trying to give me a heart attack before I’m 35,” he finally decides, shooting TK a wink before leaving them to go help with the traffic pile-up.

It’s slow-going, but TK, Paul, and Judd finally make it down the hill to the overturned car. Paul moves over to the window, speaking to the woman, while TK and Judd set down their bags. From what he can see, it looks like it’ll be a pretty straightforward removal.

They’re just prying the door open when his dad radios that medical has arrived. TK moves back to one of his bags over by the bridge, looking for more gauze to press to their patient’s shallow head wound, when there’s a loud crack to the right. He looks over, watching as a somewhat large icicle drops from the bridge and shatters onto the frozen creek below. Looking up, he watches another icicle detach itself and rapidly fall to the ground. 

“Shit,” he says, jerking to the side to avoid another one. He feels his feet slide out from under him, unable to gain traction on the ice, and before he knows it, he’s falling flat on his back, his head slamming hard against the solid ground beneath him.

His vision swims, pain coursing through him. His stomach turns, and he feels like he’s going to be sick. He closes his eyes, trying to breath. He thinks he hears a voice in the distance, maybe Paul or Judd calling to him, but he can’t make it out. There’s another loud crack from above, and he opens his eyes just in time to watch a rather large icicle grow larger as it flies towards him.

Pain bursts from his abdomen as he lets out a gasp, his vision swimming once more as his body tries to handle all of the trauma it’s currently experiencing. He clenches his jaw tightly, refusing to let out a yell. He can handle this, he’s done pain before. Between a gunshot and falling through the floor of a house and then falling off the roof of a house just last year, he can handle this. It’s no big deal, so he’s not going to make it one.

He lifts his head, blinking to clear his vision. There are voices around him, fuzzy shapes moving in his peripherals, coming closer. He ignores them, instead looking down towards his stomach. The sight causes him to gasp again, the pain coming back full force now that he has eyes on the source.

There’s an icicle buried inside of his abdomen.

From what he can see, it looks to be as round as his fist and about two feet long, the top of it gleaming threateningly in the sunlight, almost as if it’s proud of itself for the damage it’s just done.

“Fuck,” TK moans, lowering his head as Paul and Judd finally reach his side. He still can’t hear what they’re saying, so he just looks up at the clear blue sky instead. A thought pops into his head, almost making him laugh.

Carlos is totally going to kill him for this.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

Sometimes, Carlos really hates living in Texas.

Well, that’s an oversimplification. It’s more that he hates the kind of stereotypical attitude that many straight men from Texas possess. The kind of “I’m built Texas tough” mentality that leads to reckless, dangerous, and truly annoying behavior. The kind of attitude that causes a fully-grown man responsible for a six-car pile-up to scream in his father-in-law’s face about how stupid and moronic everyone else is, including the firefighters currently fixing the mess he’s made, forcing Carlos to handcuff him and stick him in the back of his cruiser just so that they can all get a moment of peace. 

“Did you see the size of that vein in his neck?” Mateo asks as they move from car to car, making sure that everyone’s okay. “I thought he was going to collapse or something, his face was so red.”

“TK’s gonna be so upset that he missed you wrestling him to the ground,” Marjan pipes in from his other side, elbowing him in the ribs. Carlos just rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“You know that’s not a turn-on for him, right?” 

Marjan scoffs. “Sure, okay, I definitely believe that.”

Captain Strand approaches the three of them, effectively ending the conversation. “No one’s injured in those three cars, so I told them all to sit tight until the tow truck gets here. We may be able to help them once we’ve got the driver down there stabilized.” They all nod in agreement. “Marjan, Mateo, why don’t you keep making the rounds, keep people from trying to get out of their cars. We don’t need any unexpected accidents or falls.” The two firefighters accept their orders, moving away. “You’ve got someone directing traffic further down the road?” Owen asks Carlos.

“Yeah, at Lakewood and Carpenter,” Carlos says, pointing in that direction. “We shouldn’t have any traffic through here from now on.”

Before Owen can respond, they hear a sound from the bridge. They both turn to see the ambulance arrive and begin to walk towards it, eager to fill Michelle and her team in on what’s happening. At his side, Owen radios to his team that medical has arrived and will be down soon. 

They’ve just made it onto the bridge, Michelle already making her way towards them, when they hear a shout from down below. They both freeze, trying to listen, but then can’t make out the words. Then, Owen’s radio crackles to life, Judd’s voice coming through, his words rushed.

“We need medical down here ASAP, I’ve got a firefighter down.”

Carlos feels the blood rush from his face, his heart slamming into his ribcage. He shares a look with his father-in-law, and it’s clear that they both know who Judd’s talking about.

“Talk to me, Judd. What’s going on?” Owen says, already heading to the edge of the bridge, Carlos following right behind him. 

He stops short when his eyes land on the scene below. He doesn’t even need Judd's report to confirm what he’s seeing. At the bottom of the embankment, almost under the bridge itself, he sees TK laying on the ground, unmoving, a giant shard of ice sticking out of his midsection.

He doesn’t even think before he takes off down the slope, moving as quickly as he can without falling.

“TK!” he shouts, not even sure if the other man can hear him. He finally gets to the bottom, rushing over to his side. “TK!”

Paul moves aside, allowing him to kneel down by his head. He takes his face gently in his hands, watching as TK’s eyes blink dazily, his pupils unfocused and his mouth slack. 

“Nobody jostle him,” Michelle yells, and Carlos looks up to find her and her team closing in. “We don’t want that thing to shift an inch. Paul, hold it steady for me if you can.”

Carlos stares down at the two-foot icicle currently buried in his husband’s gut. Every time TK breathes, it pulses, almost threatening to fall over. Paul reaches out and wraps his hands around the top, keeping it vertical.

“What happened?” Michelle asks, kneeling on TK’s other side as she assesses the situation.

“He slipped on the ice and fell, then the icicle came down on him before he could move out of the way,” Judd explains. 

“He might have a concussion from the fall,” Michelle mutters, moving to shine a light in TK’s drooping eyes. “Seems likely. Rosewater, take over for Paul, Gillian, see if you can stabilize our patient in the car over there. Carlos,” she says, and his eyes snap up to look at her. “I need you to talk to him okay, try to keep him awake and responding. He could go into shock at any minute, and that’s not going to help us.”

He nods, ducking down to press his face closer to the one that he gets to wake up to every day. “Hey, baby,” he says softly, stroking TK’s forehead. “Hey, it’s me. Can you open your eyes for me? Just open your eyes for a minute, okay?”

TK moans, his eyes blinking rapidly a few times before he opens them enough for Carlos to see those green irises that he loves so much. “Carlos?” he mumbles.

“Yeah, hey, it’s me, I’m right here,” Carlos says, his voice a little unsteady as he tries to stay calm. “How are you feeling?”

“Cold,” TK mutters, his breath creating wisps of steam in the air above him. 

“Any pain?” Carlos asks, his eyes shifting down to glare at the icicle for a moment. 

“My head hurts,” TK admits, letting out a small gasp. 

“Anywhere else?”

TK shakes his head, his eyes darting everywhere.

“That’s probably the adrenaline,” Michelle interjects. She stands up, surveying the bridge above them. “I’m worried his body heat’s going to start melting that icicle faster than we want it to. We’ve gotta get him up there.”

“I don’t think we can get him up the slope without jostling him too much, there’s too much ice,” Tim says. 

Michelle turns to Owen, her face grave. “Get the ladder ready, Captain, we’re gonna have to lift him.”

With only a quick, wide-eyed glance down at his son, Owen shoots back up the hill, Judd following him. Off to the side, Carlos sees that Paul and Nancy have managed to remove the driver from the vehicle.

“Carlos?” TK says, and he quickly looks back down at his husband, running his thumbs along his cheek. 

“Yeah, Ty, I’m right here,” Carlos assures him, his bottom lip wavering. 

“I’m a little scared,” TK admits, his eyes glassy as he stares up at him. “It looks pretty bad, doesn’t it?”

“You’re gonna be okay, cariño,” he says, his voice hard and clear. 

“You look scared,” TK tells him, raising a hand to touch Carlos’s mouth.

“I’m not scared, I promise,” Carlos lies, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. “I’m never scared when I’m with you.”

TK doesn’t respond. He just stares up at Carlos, eyes still unfocused, a wide smile taking over his face. 

Minutes later, the team loads TK up on a stretcher with no major problems, and for one shining moment, Carlos thinks everything’s going to be fine. 

He climbs up the embankment as fast as he can to meet him at the top, Michelle at his side. She’s telling him that she’s called for another medical team to come for the driver, who thankfully doesn’t appear to be in critical condition, when they hear a shout from Tim.

“Damn it,” Michelle says, running towards where TK’s stretcher is now laying on the pavement. Carlos follows, his heart back in his throat, and the sight that greets them nearly causes him to collapse. 

“Tim, apply as much pressure as you can,” Michelle says, throwing her hands on TK’s abdomen, blood rushing from where the icicle has shifted. “We have to get him in the van, we’ll have a better chance of stabilizing him there.” 

Carlos watches as TK’s head lists to the side, his eyes dropping closed.

“He’s crashing, let’s move people!” Michelle shouts.

There’s a mad rush all around him, but Carlos barely comprehends it. All he can do is stare at his husband, his unmoving body, the blood draining from his face while simultaneously gushing from the wound in his stomach. 

He doesn’t feel the way his knees hit the pavement, or Marjan’s arms around him. He doesn’t feel the tears falling on his cheeks, or the way he starts to shake. He doesn’t even feel the cold, unfamiliar Austin air. 

As TK is pulled away from him, he doesn’t feel anything at all. 

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

TK wakes up in the hospital.

At this point, it all feels very familiar. Every hospital room seems to smell the same, sterile and uninviting. The sheets are scratchy, which coordinates nicely with the scratchy hospital gown they have him wearing. He can hear the gentle beeping from the monitor next to him, and feel the pinch of an IV in his left arm. 

TK opens his eyes slowly, staring up at the ceiling as he assesses his current state. The lights are low, but it still takes him a minute to adjust, his head faintly throbbing. He recalls how much his head hurt on the scene, how his vision went blurry, and assumes he got a concussion from his fall.

He shifts slightly, gasping as the movement pulls at his midsection and an intense pain radiates throughout his entire body. The sound causes a weight against his right arm to shift, and he looks down, his eyes immediately softening at the sight before him.

Carlos is seated next to the bed, his body bent so that he can rest his head against TK’s arm, which he’s also gripping with one of his hands. His other hand is awkwardly linked with TK’s own, their fingers threaded tightly together. Carlos’s face is turned towards him, his eyes closed as he rests. TK notices how puffy his eyes are, and how his skin is more pale than usual. His heart sinks in his chest, an intense guilt masking his own pain as he stares down at the man he loves more than anything.

Before he can even think about how much pain it might cause, he lifts his left arm across his body to run his fingers through Carlos’s dark brown curls. It’s his favorite thing to do on the rare occasions where he’s the first one to wake up in the morning, and he knows his husband absolutely loves it. Sure enough, Carlos lets out a soft moan, unconsciously tilting his head towards TK’s fingers.

He can tell the minute that Carlos realizes what’s happening by the way his whole body tenses. His eyes fly open, his brown eyes wide as he sits up straight. His gaze finds TK, drinking him in, and TK can’t do anything but smile back at him, squeezing their hands together.

“Ty,” Carlos breathes, his eyes filling with tears.

“Hey, baby,” TK says, pulling gently on Carlos’s hand until he gets the hint.

His husband stands, shifting closer to the head of the bed, before bending down to press a soft kiss to his waiting lips. Carlos tries to make the kiss quick, but TK reaches up to grip the back of his neck, keeping him close.

“How long has it been?” TK asks when they separate, rubbing their noses together. At this point, it’s their traditional question when one of them is in the hospital. 

“They rushed you to surgery when you first got here, which took about four hours,” Carlos explains, his voice shaking as he runs his fingers soothingly through TK’s hair. “You’ve been sleeping for about five.”

“So, still the same day?” TK confirms. It’s an odd question, but after going through one multi-day coma in his life, he’s hoping to never have to do another. Besides, he knows Carlos wouldn’t handle it well.

“Still the same day,” his husband confirms, the first sign of a smile pulling at his lips. 

“That’s good.”

“Very good,” Carlos agrees, leaning in to kiss him. This one feels a little more heated than the last one. “You know how I get when I don’t get to kiss you goodnight.”

“You become the equivalent of a child who’s told he can’t have ice cream right before bed,” TK supplies, enjoying the shocked look that appears on Carlos’s face. “Or so I’m told.”

“Told?” Carlos cries. “Who told you that? Give me the traitors’ names, Tyler!”

“Just for that, I’m not going to,” he laughs, gasping for air when the movement sends a flare of pain through him. 

“Are you okay?” Carlos asks, worry written clearly on his face. He reaches out, his hands fluttering around him but too afraid to touch. 

“Yeah, I just,” TK grits out, holding his side. “Fuck, that does not feel good.”

It takes a few minutes of deep breathing for him to finally settle back down, reaching for Carlos’s hand when he’s sure that his grip won’t break his fingers. Carlos gingerly takes a seat next to him on the bed, running his free hand through his hair to soothe him.

TK’s just about to ask exactly what the damage is when there’s a knock on the door. They both turn to find his dad poking his head through, an apologetic smile on his face.

“Hey boys, sorry to interrupt,” he says, glancing behind him at something they can’t see. “There’s just some people here who wanted to say a quick hello.”

TK rolls his eyes, sharing a smile with Carlos. This happens every time someone from the firehouse ends up in the hospital - though to be fair, it’s usually him.

“You know you can always let them in, Dad,” he says, his fondness clear in his tone. Carlos just scoots a little closer, pressing one last kiss to his lips. 

“I love you,” he mutters, his eyes shining.

“I love you, too,” TK whispers back as the door is thrown wide open and the equivalent of a clown car files into his room.

Judd and Grace lead the way, followed by Paul, Marjan, and Mateo, then Michelle, Tim, and Nancy. His dad, the last one, closes the door behind him. Strictly speaking, this is way too many visitors to have in a single room at a time, but there are nurses at every hospital who are willing to bend the rules a bit for familiar first responders, as long as they’re discreet about it.

TK looks around at them all - Grace, with her hand on Carlos’s shoulder, and Michelle at the foot of his bed, her eyes glinting with happiness; his dad standing next to her; Mateo, Marjan, and Paul all standing to his left, Paul reaching out to punch him lightly on the shoulder, a bright smile on his face. 

They’re his family, all of them. And they all saved his life today.

“I, um,” he starts, his voice thick with emotion as he looks around at them all. He feels Carlos’s hand slide up his arm, his thumb gently caressing his bicep in support. He turns to look at him, noticing how Carlos still has his back to most of the room as he faces him on the bed. They share a look, just between the two of them, and Carlos nods, a tear falling down his cheek as he squeezes TK’s arm.

“I, um, I wanted to thank you all,” TK says, looking around the room again, his eyes hovering over every face that makes him feel safe and loved and whole, “for saving me today. I - we - will never be able to tell you how much it means to know that we have all of you by our side, looking out for us.”

He feels a tear fall onto his cheek, but before he can reach up to brush it away, Michelle shifts from the end of his bed, coming around the side to stand next to him. She reaches out for him and Carlos, drying his face and gripping his husband’s arm tightly.

“Don’t be silly. You boys are our family,” Michelle says, “so we’re always going to be here for you. No matter what. It’s as simple as that.”

“She’s right,” Judd pipes in, his arm around Grace. “Though, full disclosure, we are gifting you a bulk-size roll of bubble wrap this Christmas.”

“Hey now, c’mon Judd,” Paul says, his hands buried in his pockets. “You weren’t supposed to tell him.”

“Ignore Judd, y’all,” Grace adds, rolling her eyes as she pats her husband’s chest. “He doesn’t do Christmas shopping, and I have much better taste, trust me on that.”

TK huffs out a laugh, wincing at the way it pulls at his injury. No one else catches it, too busy laughing at Grace’s comment and Judd’s offended expression. He glances over at Carlos, seeing a tightness behind his eyes, and knows that his pain didn’t go completely unnoticed. TK reaches over, squeezing his thigh where it’s pressed against his own. Carlos gives him a small smile, grabbing his hand to press a kiss to his fingertips.

The tightness in his eyes doesn’t go anywhere, though, and TK’s heart caves.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

The team stays until visiting hours are over, laughing and joking as they fill TK and Carlos in about the rest of the work day. It seems that much of the ice started to melt by the middle of the afternoon, making the end of the day much easier than the beginning. Finally, a nurse comes in, shocked to find so many people in one room, and tells them that visiting hours are over. One-by-one, they come over to hug TK and Carlos, Grace even pressing a kiss to each of their foreheads. 

When only Carlos and his dad remain, the nurse checks his vitals, telling him that everything appears to be normal. Carlos stands by his side, hand on his shoulder, as TK honestly answers her questions about his pain levels. She helps him to adjust his position on the bed, showing Carlos how to help him so he’ll feel the least amount of pain. His husband listens closely, his face set and serious.

She leaves, and Carlos excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving him alone with his dad.

“How’re you feeling, kid?” his dad asks, sitting next to him. 

“A little tender,” he admits, running his hand lightly over the thick bandage on his stomach. They’re quiet for a moment, TK biting his bottom lip. “It was pretty bad, wasn’t it?” he finally asks.

His dad looks at him, his eyes softening, before reaching out and taking his hand. “You crashed right before they got you in the ambulance. The icicle hit a pretty major blood vessel near your liver, and you lost a lot of blood when it shifted unexpectedly.”

TK is quiet, thoughts rolling through his mind. “He saw, didn’t he?” he confirms, his voice barely more than a hushed whisper. 

“Yeah,” his dad admits, his tone heavy. “He wasn’t in a good place when you left, so his partner drove him here and Michelle stayed with him until I could come.” TK nods, his eyes filling with tears. “He’s gonna be okay, though, TK. You both are.”

His dad stands again, looking around the room. “I’m going to head home,” he says, reaching out to run his fingers through TK’s hair. “I know you’re in good hands for the night. I’ll come back first thing in the morning, okay?”

“Yeah,” TK says. Then, he gets an idea. “Can you help me shift a little?”

His dad smiles knowingly before reaching out again to help move him to the left side of the bed, TK breathing deeply through the pain. 

Carlos finally comes out of the bathroom and his dad gives them both a hug, TK watching as he whispers something in his husband’s ear before pressing a kiss to his temple. Then, with a final wave, they’re alone again.

“Hey,” TK says, breaking the silence.

“Hey,” Carlos parrots back, his voice thin and uneven.

“Come here,” TK says, patting the now open space beside him. Carlos moves across the room, glancing down at the spot doubtfully.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Ty,” he says, his eyes full of so much pain.

“Well, I don’t want to go another minute without you laying by my side, so get your ass up here.” The hard tone of his voice leaves no room for questions, so his husband sighs, sliding next to him as gently as possible.

They lay there for a moment, just breathing together. Then, like a dam breaking, Carlos turns onto his side, placing an arm over his chest as he tucks his face into TK’s neck. In no time at all, TK feels tears soaking the collar of his gown, and his own tears finally fall at the evidence of Carlos’s silent pain.

“I’m so sorry for scaring you today, baby,” he sobs, bringing his hand up to press against the dark curls near his cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

Carlos doesn’t respond except to shake his head, his sobs continuing. TK holds him through it, his heart shattering into a million pieces in his chest. Throughout the past four year, Carlos has had a few nightmares of TK bleeding out in front of him - caused by him getting shot before they even started dating - so he knows that today had to be especially brutal for his husband.

“I know it was an accident, and that you’re going to be okay now,” Carlos finally mumbles into his neck, “but I was so fucking scared that I had lost you there for a minute. I’ve never seen Michelle so intense before, and I really thought this was it.”

“I know, baby, I know,” TK says, trailing his fingers along the back of Carlos’s neck. He digs his nails in just a bit, knowing that the feeling will help ground Carlos. Sure enough, his husband shivers against him, letting out a shaky breath. “You didn’t lose me, though. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“You promise?” Carlos asks weakly.

“Babe, look at me,” TK says, pulling his head back to look down at him. Carlos’s eyes are red-rimmed, his face puffy from crying so much today. He looks so small, so cut open and raw, that TK wishes he could take all of his pain away. “I promise that I am going to do everything in my power to come home to you in one piece at the end of every day, okay?”

Carlos nods, his eyes falling closed. TK stares at his long, gorgeous eyelashes now soaked with tears. Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to each eyelid, feeling the way that Carlos relaxes further into his side. 

“I’m sorry that our bath plans got ruined for this evening,” he says after a few minutes, recalling their conversation from this morning. 

“That’s okay,” Carlos says, his fingers lightly tracing TK’s collarbone through his hospital gown. “Once I get you home, I’m probably never going to let you leave again, so there will be plenty of time for baths.”

TK laughs, ignoring the pain when Carlos joins him. “I like the sound of that,” he admits.

Their gazes lock for a moment before Carlos presses up until their lips meet, the kiss igniting a fire inside of him from head to toe. It doesn’t matter how many times he gets to kiss Carlos, TK thinks that each one feels new and different and life-affirming, his body and soul practically singing at the chance to connect with his husband in a way that no one else can. That no one else ever will.

It’s something that he knows he’ll never get tired of for as long as he lives.

Which will be a very, very long time.

He’s sure of it.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

[achliegh]

Bronze

Alright, I had this wonderful idea come into my head about Clayton, honestly he deserves his own fic. So here is his version of events! Lots will tie together with Golden so I recommend you read that as well. But you don’t have to of course.

Explaining:

Before Letter is the present.

Letter is updating the lives of the people back home, of whoever wrote it mostly.

After Letter is memory.

The first few letters will be very awkward because writing letters and not being sure what to talk about and what not to talk about is hard and confusing. Stick with me! Yes, this prologue is just a letter.

TW/CW: Discussions of death, miliatry training, smut, cringy jokes, underage drinking, dumb choices, swearing, hospitals, injuries and death caused by someone close, domestic abuse, blood, unfair treatment from police, false alligations.

Beta: @walking-crisis

Some Characters belong to @lumosinlove

Chapter 4:

Survivors Guilt

Whiskey Lullaby

“Can you at least tell me what happened?” Clay was getting restless, he has noticed a few odd things since he has woken up.

No higher up has come to see how he is doing.

No doctors or nurses have come to check on him while he is awake.

His guy, Grev, is always in the room. Sitting in the same chair. Looking at the same book or newspaper.

It made him think about his training, maybe he was a POW and didn’t even notice.

“I can tell you what happened if you think you can handle it.” Grev looks up from his newspaper with a playful look. Clay rolls his eyes.

“I think I can handle it.” He looks down at his hands and mentally prepares himself for something terrible. Being in a hospital reminds him of his ex when she threw shit at him after he broke up with her.

“You know your friend, Bryan? Well, it turns out he was struggling with an undiagnosed mental illness, the pressure of the job and the conditions you were living in caused it to increase in its severity.” He pauses and folds his newspaper over his arm to look Clay directly in the eyes. “He was convinced he was the next target for the mission and decided to take out your whole team. Execution style. There were no survivors.” The music in the background coming from an unknown source sunk into his body.

“Whoa… I-” Clay feels guilt just filling up his body from his toes to his chest like tar, dragging him down.

He was the only one who survived.

Clay,

Ifuckingmissyou,youfuckingdickhead!IhateyouIhateyouIhateyou!

Please come home…

Please.

Love, Reg

Ashley gets in the truck and gives Clay a sweet kiss on the cheek, catching him by surprise. She was in a good mood, but he knew it wouldn’t last long after they had a talk. He really hoped she wouldn’t somehow convince him into sex after the talk but knowing her she fucking would. He just turned the radio up to keep her from talking about anything.

Pulling into his driveway he was getting sweaty. He was nervous. He should have done this in public. He knew she would lash out but he really wanted this to be just between them. Walking into the house he feels her arms wrap around his waist and she nibbles on his neck. He gently gets out of her grip and turns around to look at her. Thanking the good lord that his parents were gone. The radio in the kitchen was on the same station as it was in his truck.

She is looking at him like he is insane. She may be skinnier and not as built as clay but he knows she has some power behind her words… and a good throwing arm.

“Ash-” She cuts him off by pulling him into a rough kiss, again grabbing her shoulders he pulls away and keeps her at arms length away. “Can you let me say what I need to say?!” He huffs annoyed.

She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, then gives him a ‘get on with it’ motion with one of her hands. He lets go of her shoulders and takes a deep breath. Before he can even get a word out she interrupts him.

“I knew you weren’t manly but… all this ‘I want to talk about my feelings’ shit is getting annoying.” She examines her nails and shifts so she is slouching, leaning onto one of her hips. “Get on with it!” She snaps at him.

“I want to break up.” He speaks fast and jumbled but knows she got the message from how her face goes through many different emotions. Shock, confusion, thinking, to anger.

“EXCUSE ME! You.” She gestures up and down at him and takes a step forward. “Want to break up… with ME.” She gestures to herself. Laughing annoyed she puts her arms to her sides and starts flexing her hands. Clay backs up to hit the little table they have next to the wall phone that his mom sits at in a fancy chair to talk to his extended family.

“Yeah, I do.” He stands up straight and looks down at her as she gets right in his face. What he didn’t think about is that his mother's favorite item in the house was also on that table. A glass lamp that cost ‘an arm and a leg’. It’s a heavy son of a bitch too, so when it suddenly was being thrown at his face, he was so shocked he just stood there and let it shatter. Falling backwards taking the table down with him, he sees stars popping in his vision.

He feels blood dripping into his mouth and nose but he is so dizzy that any movement made him feel sick. He saw a blur move closer to his face.

“You’re nothing more than a criminal anyway.” She stands back up and uses the phone on the wall to call 9-1-1. Putting on her best sob, he hears her screaming into the phone before everything goes black.

Waking up he is in a hospital room. Monitors hooked up to him and he can only see out of one eye. He freaks out for a moment trying to reach his face but his arm is handcuffed to the bed… he realizes after a moment that it is gauze that is blocking his vision and he calms down.

“Good morning.” He jumps a little and looks over to see Sheriff Johnson sitting in the chair next to his bed. Fuck. He stands up and walks over to Clay, slapping a folder of pictures in his lap. Confused Clay looks up at him.

“I want a Lawyer.” He knows better than to try to talk to Sheriff Johnson without legal help. The death stare he gets from the sheriff is one he will remember forever. He could hear his mom and dad… and Eloise maybe outside the door trying to be let in but the officers at the door were denying them access. The sheriff walks away and talks to the officers real quick.

Hours later of nurses poking at his face and him getting medication. The family lawyer finally shows up. After hours of looking at the pictures of Ashley’s “bruises” which were really just red marks on her pale ass skin from him holding her away from him. The lawyer said some lawyerish stuff and finally got the police and Ashley to drop the charges.

Clay was exhausted, falling asleep before he even saw his parents that day.

Waking up a second time in the hospital he looked down to see his wrist was no longer attached to the bed and his parents were sleeping in the chairs next to his bed. Clay isn’t much for crying in front of people, even while sleeping. The only person he has ever been comfortable crying in front of has been Leo. But Leo isn’t here right now… and Clay really needs to cry.

So, he did. Silently. In the hospital bed next to his parents sleeping in chairs.

[little-diable]

Watch it - Flip Zimmerman (fluff)

Request by anon: So I was thinking what if Flip liked the only female officer who is really feisty and talks back to the sexist officers, she gets hurt during a mission and Flip goes to see her and she teases him and accidentally makes him confess he likes her? Thank you my love

Thank you so much for requesting a Flip imagine. Hope you like it. Enjoy my loves. xxx

“I’d advise you to keep your mouth shut, if you want to go home, without a nice, black eye gracing your features.”, (y/n)s eyes were focused on the file in her hands, smirking as she listened to Flips chuckles, eyes challenging David, advising him not to keep on talking. The officer huffed, turned his back on (y/n) and Flip and stormed out of the office, muttering something under his breath, that would probably enrage (y/n) even further. 

Being the only female officer in Colorado Springs came with certain prices to pay, you had to have a tough skin, being able to talk back to the sexist officers, that told you, that you belong in the kitchen and not in a police station. (Y/n) was grateful for the many hours, where her older brothers had roughened her up, showed her how to defend herself, probably where her foul mouth came from. 

Flip Zimmerman, the officer that worked alongside (y/n), admired her, not only because of the way she would talk back and take nothing from anybody, but also for her loving personality, knowing that she’d always have his back. He’d find himself watching her from across the room almost every day, Flip would still call her ‘rookie’, loving the smirk that would tug on her lips as she’d ram her elbow into his side, telling him to “watch it”. 

Despite her hard shell, (y/n) liked to sneak a few homemade cookies into the station, all for Flip, would bring him coffee every morning, telling herself, that she was just being friendly. Of course she wasn't just being ‘friendly’, (y/n) liked Flip a lot more than she’d let on, but this was a secret she’d keep locked away from everybody. 

She got pulled into the KKK case relatively quickly, shadowing the members alongside Ron as Flip would take on Rons personality. The boys would worry about her nonstop, trying to tell her to “keep back”, ignoring the way she’d glare at them, not listening to their commands. Deep down she’d adore the way Ron and Flip would try to protect her, ignoring the fluttering of her heart as Flip would slightly pull her behind his massive frame, keeping her from throwing herself into the fire. 

“Psycho Killer” by The Talking Heads blasted through Flips car as he drove (y/n) to where they’d meet Jimmy, he was smoking a cigarette, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, singing the lyrics. (Y/n) couldn’t stop laughing, Flips voice got higher and higher, emphasizing the “Oh, oh, oh, oh, aye-ya-ya-ya-ya”, he chuckled, loving the smile that she wore on her lips. 

His voice turned more serious as the song ended, “you’ll stay with Jimmy, alright rookie?.”, Flip grasped her jaw, tracing her skin, smirking as she ripped her face away from his hold, “don’t tell me what to do, Zimmerman”. (Y/n) kissed his cheek, shot him one last glance before she climbed out of his car, she’d stay behind with Jimmy, observe Connie and see what the members were up to. 

Jimmy blabbered about god knows what, (y/n) tried her best to swallow down the groan, that was about to leave her mouth, she truly did, but, she didn’t sign up for this, didn’t become an officer, just to stay behind in a car and ‘obsereve’. "I'll go and find a toilet, you stay here, alright?”, Jimmy took another drag of his cigarette and stepped out of the van, not picking up the relieved sigh that fell from her lips. (Y/n)s eyes were focused on the street, slowly moving her body forwards as she watched Connie leave the venue and walk towards her car. 

“What are you up to, Connie?”, she muttered, (y/n) didn’t think twice before she started the car and began to follow her, not caring about Jimmy or the way Flip would have her ass later on. It took a while, till Connie parked her car, “shit”, (y/n) watched her fumble around with the mailbox, only now realizing, that Connie was about to place a bomb. (Y/n)s hands were getting sweaty, she grasped her gun and stepped out of the car, set on stopping Connie from going any further. 

But as Connie ran towards the car and shifted the package underneath, Rons car shot around the corner, “finally”, (y/n) moved towards the car, knowing that she should try and get the bomb. She seemed to move on autopilot, not noticing the way Ron was being beat up by a cop, nor did she notice Felix car nearing. She was laying on the crosswalk, desperately trying to grasp the package, her mind seemed to be shut off, she didn’t think about the risk she was taking, only trying to keep everybody nearby safe. 

“(Y/n)!”, Rons voice ripped her out of her trance, “run.”, her natural instincts seemed to kick in, making her rise from the floor and beginning to run away from the car, but a loud bang made her freeze on the spot, a massive heatwave embraced her and ripped her off her feet. 

(Y/n) banged her head on the pavement, groaning as she wrapped her arms around her head, trying to protect herself from the explosion. Her head was spinning, she felt blood drip out of her nose, her breathing seemed to slow down, the last thing she heard was Flip screaming “undercover cop, fucking idiot”, then everything turned back. 

Flip was focused on Ron, helping him out of the handcuffs, ignoring Rons annoyed “you’re late”. “I’ll call Jimmy and (y/n), let’s see if-”, Ron jogged towards (y/n)s frame and called Flips name, screaming at Patrice to call an ambulance. “Fucking hell, rookie.”, Flip whispered as he sunk to his knees next to her, checking her faint pulse, his heart was rapidly beating, all the different scenarios were running through his mind, he was desperately trying not to think about the “what if’s”. 

He followed the ambulance to the hospital, anxiously sitting in the waiting hall, only leaving to smoke a cigaret, trying to calm his nerves. It took them a while, to flick her together, she had a few broken ribs and her nose was slightly cracked, Flips hands were still balled into fists as he thought about her injuries, hating himself for not being able to protect her. 

“You can go in now, if you’d like.”, the nurse smiled at him, eyes ranking up and down his frame, hoping, that he’d notice her advances, but Flip couldn’t care less. He stormed into her room, eyes finding hers, he let out a relieved sigh, grasped her hand, “you look like shit, rookie.”. The sound of her chuckle hallowed through the room, a small “fuck you” fell from her lips, her whole body was hurting, she felt exhausted, though grateful, that Flip was right there with her. 

“God, I was so scared, (y/n), you promised to stay with Jimmy.”, he couldn’t help but scold her, “you could have died, rookie. What would I do without your annoying ass chasing me through the department, huh? I can’t lose you.”. Her eyebrows were furrowed together, she was intensely watching him, “oh, stop it Flip, you would have done the same.”, she felt way too tired to keep on fighting with him. She patted the space next to her, telling him to crawl into her bed and wrap his big arms around her frame, (y/n) needed to feel him close, desperate for some kind of safety. 

He squeezed himself into the bed, (y/n) placed her head on his chest and yawned against his skin, smiling as he ran his hand through her (y/h/c) hair. She could hear his heart rapidly beating against his ribcage, Flip felt nervous, still a bit shaken up, from finding her unconscious earlier on. “I need you to promise me something, rookie.”, he whispered, Flip closed his eyes, trying to sort his thoughts, “Promise me, that you’ll never do something as reckless as this again.”. 

(Y/n) grasped his hand and interlaced her fingers with hers, “why do you care that much?”, she whispered, hoping, that he’d finally voice out, what was going on inside of his head. “Because I love you and I don’t want to imagine a life, without you in it.”, Flip rasped out, he was freaking out on the inside, the tall man felt scared, truly scared, not one to talk about his feelings, simply like that. A chuckle fell from (y/n)s lips, she closed her eyes, “I love you too, Flip.”, she was drifting off into another dreamless sleep, not noticing the relieved sigh, that fell from his lips. 

It took (y/n) a few weeks to recover, Flip had stayed by her side, he’d read to her, had watched some television with her, while she was cuddled into his side, keeping herself from moving around too much. People would cheer for her and Flip as they’d finally return to the department, not being able to hide their relationship, their glances, smiles and stolen touches had been way too obvious. 

Ron was currently on the phone with David Duke, Flip was sitting on Rons desk, right next to him, surrounded by Jimmy and Trapp, (y/n) placed between Flips thighs. All were trying to tone down the volume of their chuckles, (y/n) pressed her head into the crook of Flips neck, giggling against his skin, he had his arms wrapped around her, holding her tight, barely able to stop laughing. 

(Y/n) felt grateful for her boys, knowing that they’d have her back no matter what, just like she’d try and protect them for the rest of her life, hopefully side by side with Flip. 

[mnictasbcl]

With love, Connor

My story for @connor-sent-by-cyberlife’s #dbhghostsinthemachine day 1, prompt Unknown Sender.

Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor

Characters: Hank Anderson, Connor, DPD characters

Rating: Mature

Tags: Dark!Connor, Stalking, unhealthy obsession, Killing, Swearing, alternate character interpretation

Warnings: Potential Major Character Death

Summary: Packages start arriving at the DPD each day. They start off as solutions to unsolved crimes… and end up as the details of new crimes themselves. It seems the DPD is dealing with someone with no remorse about murder, someone who seems to only target the grizzled Lieutenant with no care to solve these cases.

Lieutenant Hank Anderson.

Read it on ao3! Or, read below

Each day, the DPD received a package.

The first time they opened it with caution. Parcels from unknown senders to a police station were never simply unwrapped like a Christmas gift. No, they were scanned through an X-ray machine to make sure it wasn’t a bomb.

But no explosive intent was found. They opened it slowly, two officers assigned to this case—

It was a stack of papers and photographs. Combing through it, the officers realised it was a solution to a years-old cold case.

Signed: With love, Connor

 The second day amassed quite some interest. More senior officers were assigned to this taskforce, and budding new recruits invested their curiosity. Much the same, it was a slim package. They took their time through the steps to make sure it was safe, before handing it off to their best Lieutenant.

“Another package from the mysterious detective, Hank.”

“Fuck,” Hank groaned as he tore it open, finding again a stack of papers, some hand-drawn evidence included this time as well, “they’re gonna put me out of my job.”

With love, Connor

 On the third day, it wasn’t a cold case at all. Instead, it was a correction to a case they thought they’d solved weeks ago.

“Looks like you fucked up,” Hank said to the downtrodden officer who’d made the mistake, “but that’s not the issue here…”

He looked over the files for a few more moments.

“How in the hell did they find this case? It’s not in public records.”

With love, Connor

 On the fourth day…

“This is the case I was working on yesterday!” Hank slammed the files onto the desk. “I’d almost finished it…”

“Looks like he beat you to your job.” Gavin laughed. “Very impressive.”

“’s not fucking impressive. It’s creepy, is what it is. This person’s breaking a hundred laws and they’re shoving it right in our faces.”

On the fourth day, Hank decided he’d show up to work from now on and solve this mystery detective case for himself.

With love, Connor

  On the fifth day, Hank was assigned an android for a partner to solve this investigation. An RK800, state of the art police-detective prototype.

“Don’t need a partner, certainly not this plastic prick—”

Hank was forced to work with his new android partner.

But with no package arriving that day from the unknown sender, they had to work on a different case instead. Hank begrudgingly sent the android the files to work on with him. It seemed, however, to be a disaster of a job. The case lacked enough evidence to be solvable, and so by the end of the day, they had nothing.

“Christ, right on the day we need that creep to send us something and they don’t…” He mumbled as he walked off to the bathroom.

When he came back to his desk, the android was gone, and in his place was the solved case in a neat little package, signed with the words,

With love, Connor :)

   By the ninth day, Hank began to realise the unknown sender was only working on his cases. Everyone else in the department was bemoaning the lack of help on their work, particularly with the spree of crimes popping up around the city.

“Look, I’d rather they were helping you, not me—it’s fucking creepy.” He didn’t budge on the sentiment. Something didn’t feel… right.

“Perhaps they’re just trying to help.” His android partner suggested.

“Help me by freaking me out? No way. Now come on, we’ve got a double homicide to investigate.”

   On the twelfth day, Hank complained about lack of work with all of his cases getting solved for him.

  On the thirteenth, he had two murders and a vandalization to solve.

The murders were fairly cut and dry, but no evidence was left behind.

“There are no traces of thirium,” Connor told him at the second scene, “but I believe I have the same conclusion as earlier: the lack of evidence suggests an android is the suspect.”

“Great, androids are killing people now. Don’t you get any ideas, you hear me?”

Connor smiled. It was slanted, obviously forced. “I wouldn’t kill you, Lieutenant.”

Hank laughed awkwardly. “Thanks. Now, uh, let’s go and check out the vandalism, then we can end this long fuckin’ day.”

  The vandal had signed their work on the Detroit bridge in the blood of the second victim,

To Lieutenant Anderson,

With love, Connor

   Hank didn’t show up to work the next day.

     ………………………………………………………………………………………………

 But on the next, as he turned up an hour and a half late, he collided with the android at his desk.

“Lieutenant! You’re here. I was worried you weren’t going to come back.”

Was that concern? Hank thought, before scoffing at himself. Yeah, right, androids didn’t feel anything. But if he was going to place a bet on this android’s emotional tone—it was less akin to worry, and more like desperation, if anything was to go from the way static crackled through his words.

“Yeah, I was just taking a day off.”

“Fowler didn’t say you requested one.”

“I took a day off.” He shrugged.

Connor frowned, but nodded, sitting at his desk. “Make sure you don’t do that anymore, Lieutenant Anderson. You’re a good detective, and you have a case to solve.”

Despite the android’s words, Hank slacked off for the rest of the day. No work was done, and not even from their mysterious detective.

   The next morning (whatever day of packages sent— Hank had given up counting), it seemed the mystery man was back at work.

But seemingly to account for Hank’s slacking, it wasn’t a package they received today. It was a set of coordinates.

After the double murder and obviously connected vandalization, Hank concluded that these were the coordinates to the scene of a crime.

 Yet when they arrived—it was an empty warehouse. Their numerous officers split up into groups, at Hank’s orders.

They had been hesitant to leave him so alone, especially with his connection to the crimes, but he had waved them off.

“I’ll keep the android with me. ‘m sure he’ll protect me—I mean, it’s mentioned at least a hundred times that it’s state of the art, so…”

Thus, Hank was left with Connor to take a more investigative approach to the scene.

“It’s literally an empty warehouse. Fucker probably thought he’d mess with us today, for some reason.”

Connor frowned. “That doesn’t seem like the modus operandi of our suspect, Lieutenant. They’re smart, they wouldn’t want to waste your time.”

“Yeah, why’s that?”

“Because it seems obvious that they’re interested in your detective skills. They take you to crime scenes, send you improvements upon your work—they want you to become a better detective.”

Hank blinked. Huh, that was a new outlook on the mystery man, sure.

It was also one he’d never heard the android mention before.

“You been thinking about this a lot, then?”

“Of course. It’s my mission, I think about nothing else.”

Hank snorted. “That must be fun. Come on, don’t you ever think of doing anything else? Finding interests, uh, hobbies… slacking off for once in a while—”

“Does that better your detective work, Lieutenant?”

“Uh, I guess so, yeah. If I was always a hard-ass on myself about work, then I’d probably get sick of working.”

“Noted. Thank you, Hank.”

  The warehouse turned out to be nothing. Maybe the suspect was messing with them, after all.

      ………………………………………………………………………………………………

 Some day the next week, Hank was phoned by an unknown number. Also, the android didn’t turn up to work.

‘Lieutenant Anderson?’

He cursed upon hearing the voice. By now he was sure this was the suspect—but they had been smart enough to change up their voice, leaving no way to identify them.

“Speaking.”

‘This is… is… your friend. Connor.’

“Don’t know if that’s what I’d call guys who send me weird shit and kill people, but go on.”

‘We are friends, Lieutenant. We spend time together; we have common interests. That is what’s defined by friendship.’

Oh yeah, this was definitely a fucking android.

“Whatever. Just cut to the chase—what do you want?”

‘Ah, I do admire your dedication to your work. That’s definitely improved. But, fine. I’m just… warning you. You have a week left to solve my case, otherwise…’

“…otherwise?”

‘You become the next case.’

The phone clicked off.

     A minute later, the android turned up for work.

“I’m so sorry, Lieutenant, I always try to be punctual but—”

“Just sit your ass down. We need to work, now.”

Connor smiled. “I admire your work ethic.”

     Throughout the week, neither Hank nor the android were assigned any new cases, Fowler made sure of it.

Instead, they poured over evidence from every package the suspect had sent them, to images of every crime scene he’d created.

 Halfway through the week, it didn’t seem they were getting anywhere.

“Fuck, he could be anyone! But he acted like he knew me… but… if there was someone coming into the DPD, or spying on us through the security system, we’d know!” He slammed his fists against the desk yet again.

“Perhaps you need to look closer.” Connor suggested.

“Yeah, think I’m looking at the evidence close enough, thanks a lot.”

“You don’t understand. Maybe the suspect is closer than you think.”

Hank frowned.

      He was doing that a lot, lately. This android completely puzzled him. Sometimes he would say stuff like that, completely out of nowhere. Just like when he’d suggested about the suspect’s interest in his investigative work.

It was probably because he wasn’t human. Random, oddly specific statements. Probably been cooking them up in his metal brain or something, bestowing his help on Hank only at random times, as if he didn’t need help more often than that. Like a teacher dropping hints when you asked for help, trying to guide you to the right answer…

Hank pondered this all one evening, two nights before the deadline. Literally, his dead-line. He assumed the suspect was probably going to kill him if his cryptic threat had been anything to go by.

     ………………………………………………………………………………………………

 The next morning, he began to piece the facts together.

It wasn’t a lot to go on. But once he’d decided that the android’s facts were of any help, he’d put them alongside the evidence and stared, hard. Being a Sunday, he was at home with more opportunity to sit and concentrate, ponder over the information.

 ·        Interested in my detective skills.

·        They’re closer than you think.

 Well, if he took these literally—who did he know that was interested in his detective skills?

He tried proof by elimination.

Fowler? Nope, he was usually berating Hank for his work ethic.

Gavin? No way.

Chris, Ben, Tina, the rest of the officers at the DPD? It didn’t seem like any of them could be this mysterious detective…

That was when it hit him, sitting on his couch on Sunday night. They had made one big mistake.

He didn’t know a lot of people at all.

  And who was new, who had appeared around the same time the packages and the crimes had, who was just as cryptic as the suspect, who—

His doorbell rang, loud and clear.

 Hank looked at the time. Fuck, 12.00am. His deadline.

 With slow steps he moved towards the door and wasn’t surprised to open it and see the android. A smile on his face, LED a calm blue…

“Connor.”

“Lieutenant Anderson.” He replied. “Good work, but I’m afraid, you’re too late. You’ve missed our deadline.”

And with one swift, inhumanly fast motion, he knocked Hank out.

       ………………………………………………………………………………………………

 When he came back to, with a dull pain thumping in the front of his head, he saw the vast expanse of the empty warehouse.

Struggling did nothing; his wrists and ankles were bound to the chair he was sitting on.

“You know,” a voice to the side of him spoke- Connor, “it is a shame you were late. I was beginning to be impressed with your work.”

Hank found the android eventually, sitting at a desk a few feet away, writing on a piece of paper.

“But your work ethic—”

“I know, I know,” Hank interrupted, “Fowler’s always on my ass about that. And I can’t blame you if you were my partner for so long…”

“It’s such a waste of talent!” Connor’s voice rose, no longer cool and collected as it usually was. He swiped something off his table, landing on the ground with a crash, inky black fluid spilling across the floor. “You were such a good detective, Lieutenant. But you continue to show up to work late, you—”

“Well, I bet you know why.”

“Yes, I do. Your son.” Connor shrugged. “I do understand why they built androids without emotions. It’s a distraction.”

Hank watched as he paced away from the desk, coming to stand in front of him, still and staring.

“But you won’t have to worry about that soon. No, once I’ve finished writing your evidence… you’ll won’t have to worry anymore…”

Hank spotted his stolen gun, poking out of the android’s pocket. Well, if his death was inevitable… then it wouldn’t hurt to try anything to wriggle his way out of it.

“And so you say you androids don’t have any emotions. But what’s all this, then?” He gestured around him. “All of this you planned with me. Stalking me, sending those files, this obsession—”

“There’s nothing wrong with me!” Connor shouted, LED blaring red. He then took a moment, straightened his tie, and continued. “I do not have errors in my software, Hank. I’m simply conducting an investigation.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that? Did Cyberlife assign you to creep some old Lieutenant out, then?”

“No, it was self-assigned.”

“Thought you had to obey all those orders Cyberlife gave you.”

“I’m beyond that.” Connor replied simply, cryptically, before turning around, heading back to the desk. “The mission Cyberlife assigned me was frivolous.”

“That seems a mighty big task for an order-following, emotionless android—”

“It was logic that guided me to a new mission, Lieutenant Anderson. Investigating deviancy, emotions in androids, is a waste of my time because androids don’t have emotions! It’s a logical inconsistency.” He sat down, picking up his pen.

“But I did find the Lieutenant they assigned me to for the case interesting. Therefore, I gave myself a new mission. Investigate emotions in humans.”

Hank scoffed. “You aren’t gonna get much out of that. Emotions don’t make sense.”

“Yes, I see that now. So, I altered my objective—try and stop troublesome human emotions. And, well, as I’ve said, you were once a great detective. And still are. But you are being hindered by your emotions. By setting a tricky but intriguing case, I thought I’d tempt you out of being so damaging to yourself, to your abilities. You were even beginning to work on the case. But you didn’t care! You… didn’t care. You would still turn up late to work, or even not at all—and you were making no progress on the investigation. It didn’t make sense.

“So,” Connor continued, looking up from his papers, “I dropped hints. I helped you with the investigation. I turned up instead of sitting in the shadows, sending you evidence each day. And yet you… it took you so long to figure it out, that I don’t think you even cared.”

“It was a hard case, Connor—”

“You figured it out after the deadline. If you hadn’t wasted time before, you would have been more efficient. But it isn’t any trouble anymore.” He wrote a few more lines before stopping, setting his pen back down. “I know that it isn’t your fault. You can’t help having emotions.”

Connor stood up, lining up the papers into a neat stack before sealing them up into a package.

“So, I’ve concluded my investigation. There’s only one way to stop humans being hindered by their emotions.”

He brought the package over to Hank, placing it gently on his knees. “Don’t have any regrets, I don’t blame you. But it is a shame. I do think, if you’d succeeded, we could have been friends.”

“Connor, please—don’t do this—” Hank begged, beginning to struggle fruitlessly against his restraints.

“I’m afraid I have to, Lieutenant Anderson. But I’ll give you one chance. You were special, after all, and you do have potential.

“Find a way to escape this, and you’re free. Because if you solve this impossible case, if you escape from my restraints, perfectly tied, durable rope—with no tools to help you, then you will have redeemed yourself. But,” he added, “you have to stick to my deadline this time. If you haven’t escaped within three days…”

“I’ll be dead.” Hank finished for him.

“Exactly. But you’re smart. And if you don’t escape, don’t worry. Your case file is right here,” he gestured to the package on Hank’s lap, “documenting all the evidence for your friends at the DPD to help them figure out what happened.”

With that, Connor walked back over to his desk, tucked the chair in neatly, before walking away to the exit at the far end of the room.

“Do try not to die, Lieutenant Anderson,” he called back over his shoulder, “I’d hate to be disappointed again.”

 The doors clicked shut, and silence filled the room. Hank stilled, glancing about him for any tool to help, but found none. Only the empty desk too far away to even touch, the flickering light on the ceiling, and the package on his lap, words written on the front—

With love, Connor.

[homeformyheart]

heyyy girllll so I was wondering if you’ll write this

For me?

happy birthday @graysinblack! I’ve been saving this ask for months but this fic for weeks in anticipation of your birthday! I know we’re all kind of over Choices, but hopefully having Ria & Raleigh interact is still enjoyable.

author’s note: never thought i’d write a cross-over fic of any kind really, much less twc x choices, but blame @graysinblack for this idea and the brainrot that sparked it. this takes place sometime after book 2, but before book 3. hope you all enjoy this fic that likely has an audience of 2! copyright: wayhaven characters, except the oc detective, belong to mishka jenkins @seraphinitegames. raleigh carrera belongs to @playchoices. series/pairing: the wayhaven chronicles x choices (platinum) crossover – m!raleigh carrera x f!oc (ria knight); minor mason x f!detective rating/warnings: 14+; swearing based on/prompt: a would you ever write? ask game word count: 1.7k summary: ria gets called to a house party for noise complaints where she meets raleigh carrera.

sunshine past

a knock on her office door made ria pause mid-keystroke.

“hey ria, we’ve been getting repeat noise complaints from the mansion off the cul-de-sac,” tina chirped, hovering by the door. “do you think you can check it out? my shift’s over.”

ria glanced at her watch and grabbed her jacket. “i’ll stop by on my way home.”

“thanks, i’ll see you tomorrow!”

she turned off her computer and double-checked that she had her gun, taser, and badge before heading to the car. the mansion in question sat at the very edge of town, abandoned on its own grassy hill and given a wide berth by the townsfolk, even on halloween.

it didn’t take her long to get to the other side of town but even from the entrance to the cul-de-sac she could tell there was a loud party coming from the mansion. she groaned loudly at the realization that she’d likely be dealing with drunks who would only turn the music back up as soon as she walked away.

still, she trudged up the hill and knocked loudly, waiting a beat before knocking again. she stood her ground even though the door swung open and a tattooed man hovered too close for comfort.

“can i help you? this is a private party, babe,” he said, looking her slowly up and down. “although for you, i’d be more than happy to make an exception.”

ria rolled her eyes and took out her badge. “wayhaven police department. we’ve gotten multiple noise complaints. you need to keep it down.”

“i think it’d be more fun for you to find out how loud i can be. if you know what i mean,” he murmured, giving her a suggestive wink.

ria rolled her eyes and sighed. “look i don’t know who you think you are, but bad pickup lines don’t work on me. now please keep it down, this is your only warning.”

his brow furrowed in confusion. “huh, that line usually works. on women and men.”

“wow, so not only are you drunk and disorderly, you’re a prick too.”

“that’s part of my charm. wait, don’t you know who i am?”

she squinted against the hallway light behind him to take in his appearance as he leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. his dark brown hair was styled and she could see the lines of a tattoo on his neck disappearing into his black shirt.

“nope. and you’re lucky i’m about to be off duty and hate paperwork, asshole.”

“or what, you’ll punch me? kick my ass? you don’t seem like the type, sweetheart,” he chuckled, clearly hoping to draw a reaction from her.

if he wasn’t drunk and if the porch light was brighter, he’d probably notice that she absolutely looked like the type that would punch him – with her leather jacket, combat boots, spiked earrings, and clenched fists at the ready.

ria pursed her lips, contemplating for a fraction of a second whether she might get in trouble. fuck it, she thought, there weren’t any witnesses and this guy probably won’t remember anything in the morning.

she sucker punched him in the stomach, causing him to double over in pain before walking away.

“keep the noise down, or else. sunshine.”

she turned on her heel and headed back down the hill. the smile on raleigh’s face widened. it had been a long time since someone was able to keep him on his toes. he was definitely intrigued by… shit, he thought, realizing that he didn’t even know her name.

he ran after her and at the feel of him grabbing her arm, ria whirled around and shifted to a defensive stance, one hand on the taser.

“whoa, sorry,” he said, holding his hand out. “i didn’t catch your name. i’m raleigh.”

“officer ria knight with the wayhaven police department. what do you want?”

raleigh smiled. “i wanted to ask if you’d like to hang out for a while. since you’re off duty now.”

ria raised an eyebrow. “and what makes you think that’s a good idea?”

he shrugged. “this town seemed pretty boring until you showed up. it doesn’t happen often that someone doesn’t recognize me. i like that.”

“you’re a real piece of work,” she said sarcastically.

raleigh just chuckled. “come on, just one drink. or do i need to blast the music and bother more neighbors so you have to come all the way back here again?”

she pursed her lips thoughtfully. it had been a while since she was able to let off steam. and at least if she hung around for a little while, she could make sure they kept the noise down.

she’d also be lying if she said she wasn’t somewhat interested in hooking up with him. he was very easy on the eyes.

why not? it’s not like i have to worry about running into him again, she thought.

“alright, let’s see what’s so great about your party,” she said, following him back to the house.

six months later, sometime after the carnival

raleigh: [hey ria, it’s been a while. i’m passing by town again and wanted to know if you’re up for a drink?]

ria stared at her phone, a small smile unknowingly appearing on her face. she quickly typed a reply, agreeing to meet him at chen’s bar in half an hour.

“what are you smiling at?” tina teased. “is it from your vampire boyfriend?”

“mason and i are just casually hooking up, you know that,” ria said, rolling her eyes. “remember that mansion party i checked out after your shift a few months back? the guy i hooked up with is back in town again and wants to meet up, that’s all.”

tina’s eyes widened. “oh yeah, you never told me the details! was he hot?”

“see for yourself,” ria said, showing tina the text conversation between her and raleigh, which included him sending her photos of himself and a girlfriend a few months ago.

“do you know who this is? raleigh freaking carrera!”

“yeah, that’s his name, what’s the big deal?”

tina quickly sat in ria’s chair and pulled up the web browser on her computer. ria scanned the headlines and photos that appeared in the search results.

“wow. no wonder he had such an attitude.”

“sounds like he was great in bed then,” tina chuckled, squealing when ria punched her arm.

she grabbed her jacket. “i’m going to meet up with him at the bar before heading home. see you tomorrow!”

it was a short walk to the bar, but the last thing she expected was for unit bravo to be standing out front, looking incredibly out of place.

well, except for mason, who was leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette. he fit right in with the rest of the smokers off to the side.

“what are you all doing here?”

nate smiled. “we thought we’d enjoy a night out as a team. and make sure you were safe, of course.”

ria raised an eyebrow at the last statement before shrugging. “alright then. i’m meeting an old friend, so i’ll catch up with you later,” she gave them all a small wave as they headed inside.

only mason lingered, putting out his cigarette against the wall before sauntering over to her. he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“so, are we going to your place after?”

ria smirked. “bold of you to assume we’re going anywhere together tonight.”

“still trying to play hard-to-get, sweetheart? you know you want me just as badly,” he chuckled, leaning in to give her a deep kiss.

one that made her forget where she was for a moment, her toes curling inside her boots and fingers wrapping themselves in the hem of his shirt.

“i’ll see you inside,” he murmured before heading in.

he was just about to close the door behind him when raleigh appeared and made his way over to ria.

she turned toward him with a smile, not realizing that mason was still within earshot, even with the chatter of the bar crowd behind him.

“hey there, sweetheart,” raleigh said, his emphasis on the word ‘sweetheart’ was clearly sarcastic, but it still made mason’s shoulders tense.

she punched him playfully in the ribs before wrapping an arm around his waist in a sidehug.

“good to see you, carrera.”

mason watched from the corner booth as raleigh and ria sat at the bar, her back facing him. he couldn’t quite hear what they were saying over all the noise around them, and it made him far more irritated than it should.

ria on the other hand, was oblivious to mason’s gaze on her. it was strange, having casual conversation with someone she hooked up with months ago, but it was easy to fall into light banter with raleigh. it probably helped that neither of them were interested in each other anymore, not with raleigh fully committed to his popstar girlfriend and with mason never being far from her mind.

not that mason needed to know that.

“it was great catching up,” raleigh said, leaning in to give her a hug.

ria was not one for casual hugs, and she was surprised at how comfortable she was with raleigh.

“not to freak you out or anything, but pretty sure there’s someone in the corner staring at you. he actually looks like he wants to murder me,” he murmured in her ear, taking care to challenge mason’s glare with one of his own.

ria chuckled. “don’t worry, i can handle him. take care of yourself, carrera.”

he gave her a mock salute before heading out and ria sauntered over to unit bravo’s booth, grabbing mason’s beer from his hand.

“hey sunshine,” she said, giving him a wink before situating herself next to felix.

“who was that, ria? you definitely looked cozy,” felix teased, eyes darting between her and mason.

she could see mason’s body tense. “just a friend,” she said honestly, looking directly at mason.

he held her gaze for a few seconds before looking away, snatching felix’s beer and chugging it. ria took a sip of her own to hide her smile at how the tension in his body seemed to dissipate.

* * * * * taglist: @kelseaaa; @kat-tia801; @anotherbeingsworld; @crackerdumortain; @gloynporslen; @sosolenoo; @alyssalauren; @fhauvilles; @wayhavenots; @gingerbreton; @takemyopenheart; @pearlsandsteel; @writer-ish;

raleigh tag (non-choices oc fyi): @raleigh-edward; @dulceghernandez; @otherworldlypresents; @brycesgirl​; @robintora;

[krabstick32]

It’s The Little Things We Remember (collab)

We’ll Do It All Over Again - A Modern/Reincarnation AU with @trueblueoceaneyes​

Welcome to the second part, or the “head” of the We’ll Do It All Over Again (Modern!AU) Collab! This Modern!AU collaboration is divided into two parts, @trueblueoceaneyes​’ “It Took A While, But We’re Home Now” and mine “It’s The Little Things We Remember”. It’s about you and Giyuu meeting in a new life where the Corps and the Demons still exist, armed with the memories and experiences of a past life. Although both of them are set in modern times, and technically within the same timeframe, they are not direct sequels or immediate continuations, so it can be read alone. (Although, we would appreciate it if you read the other’s part UwU)

NAVIGATION:

PART 1: It Took A While, But We’re Home Now by @trueblueoceaneyes​​

Novelist Giyuu Tomioka passes off his past life as a fantasy series but shit goes down when the main heroine of his book shows up in front of him.

PART 2: It’s The Little Things We Remember by @krabstick32 (You are here!)

You’re tasked to go on a mission with the Water Pillar. He was a bit of a jerk, but despite meeting him for the first time, you already knew that - among a couple of other things.

header was made by trueblueoceaneyes and image used was by @/sinba_ on twitter

Pairing: Hashira!Giyuu x Hashira!Reader (mentioned Mitsuri x Obanai)

Synopsis: You’re tasked to go on a mission with the Water Pillar. He was a bit of a jerk, but despite meeting him for the first time, you already knew that - among a couple of other things.

Tags/warnings: There is some light angst, swearing, a semi-graphic depiction of a fight scene, and a bit of blood. If you’re not comfortable with that please do read something else uwu

Word count: 14.1k~

A/N: I honestly can’t believe I was able to work with the one and only @trueblueoceaneyes​. Like literally, all of this was possible by their wonderful and amazing self, and would not exist without them (i still can’t believe how we literally wrote a grand estimate of 23k words) UwU working with her was so fun, and her writing is beautiful and i am willing to sing her praises day and night, so go check them out!! <33 BECAUSE BOTTOMLINE IS: SHE’S GREAT.

To be completely honest, both of us were freaking out with how long this is, and were crying over how we would cut it, until we said fuck it, let it be 14k words long. We thought that theirs was long, but we thought wrong lmao. Anyway, we hope you like our labor of love, and enjoy it as much as we did writing it. Please Enjoy~

NAVIGATION:

PART 1: It Took A While, But We’re Home Now by @trueblueoceaneyes​​

PART 2: It’s The Little Things We Remember by @krabstick32 (You are here!)

Thursday 9:37 PM

From: Headquarters        

            9:37 PM

Head to Ubuyashiki Tower—Oyakata-sama’s office at 10:00 PM. Meeting Assignment.

Taking note of the short message, you shut your phone and tucked it into a shirt pocket before heaving a sigh and standing up from where you were perched at the edge of a building. 

Ensuring that both your Nichirin blade and Nichirin gun was tucked well onto your person, you turned around and leaned your body back, letting yourself fall as you grabbed a stray railing to hoist yourself back up.

Despite the late hour, the city was loud as you jumped from building to building. From the height you were on, it was relatively easy to hear the sound of cars and sirens, and the faint thumping of music from the bars that dotted the streets. You made sure to keep yourself hidden in the shadows and on top of the rooftops to avoid detection as you were rushing to get to the Ubuyashiki Tower in the few minutes you were notified to arrive. Thankfully, the building wasn’t far from your previous assignment, so you were able to arrive in record time, landing at the top with little difficulty as you walked towards the lone structure settled in the middle for those like you, and entered the elevator inside to go down a few floors.

Exiting the metal contraption, you were greeted by a welcoming lobby with an adjacent garden open to the crisp night air, filled with wisterias and designed with a respectably sized koi pond. Nodding to the young girl at the receptionist table, you continued walking to a brightly lit hallway cushioned with lush carpets, and wall-mounted lamps. 

As you walked, you composed yourself for a moment and brushed off your skirt, using your fingers to lightly comb over your wind tousled hair. When you finally reached the large door at the end of the hallway, you took a deep breath before knocking three times and entering.

Upon your entrance, you quickly noted Oyakata-sama sitting on his desk chair and Giyuu Tomioka, a fellow Pillar, standing tall in front of the master. As per protocol and to show respect to the leader of all demon slayers, you quietly bowed and greeted the master as soon as you were in front of his desk.

“Good Evening Oyakata-sama. I apologize for being late, I got caught in a mission.”

“Raise your head.” You obeyed, and saw him smiling calmly at you, easing your nerves. “It’s alright my child, you aren’t late. In fact, you arrived at just the right time. Giyuu himself just got here.” 

“Thank you Oyakata-sama.”

The master gave a small nod and gestured to the chairs the two of you were in front of. “Well, now that (F/N) is here, I have something to discuss with the both of you. Please, take a seat.”

You tossed a quick glance at the man beside you and mirrored his actions as the two of you took a seat. Upon your and his movement, Oyakata-sama clicked a button, and the room instantly dimmed as a projector dropped down behind him.

“As the both of you know, we’ve been getting reports about disappearances focused around Natagumo Prefecture.” The screen showed a sizable map with a specific area highlighted in red. “Specifically the town at the base of the mountain. It seems to be acting as the base of operations of the demon.”

He clicked at a small remote and the screen showed fifteen humans aged around ten to sixteen years old. “It’s been a month and over fifteen missing cases have been reported to the police.” The slide changed and showed seven people wearing demon slayer uniforms. “Seven of our own haven’t returned after that mission.”

Immediately your stomach twisted into painful knots upon hearing the deaths of so many innocent lives - you felt sick unto your very core. No matter how long you’ve been a demon slayer, it never gets any easier hearing a death count.

“Could it be an upper moon?” The Water Pillar asked after a moment of silence.

“I’m afraid it’s possible. I hate sending any of you into the battlefield, but I need the two of you to handle this as quickly as possible, to avoid more lives from being taken.” Oyakata-sama replied somberly. “Take the necessary supplies. You can leave at dawn.”

The two of you stood and bowed in respect to Oyakata-sama.

“We’ll update you on any major news.” Giyuu spoke, and you added “Yes, We’ll take our leave now.”

The two of you left and walked back out into the hallway, and through the reception area. The girl from before was nowhere to be seen, so once the elevator doors opened, the two of you rode in silence down to the swordsmiths' floor. A mission such as this would require the two of you to have your weapons checked and to grab any necessary items.

On the way down, you decided to engage in a conversation with Giyuu. Despite being a Pillar for a few months now, this would be the first time you were paired with the raven-haired man, or spoke to him for that matter. You wanted this mission to go as smoothly as possible. 

Taking a deep breath, you started, “So, Tomioka-san, this would be the first time we're on a mission together, yeah?” You broke the silence and gave him a smile, only for the silence to stretch on uncomfortably after your words left your mouth. Thinking that maybe he didn’t hear you, you were going to repeat it until the doors opened and he spared you a quick glance. 

“Uh, Tomioka-san?”

“Stay focused. This is an important mission.” He spoke, in a strong yet quiet voice, and exited with a brisk pace until he disappeared behind a corner, leaving you standing alone in the elevator to gape at his response.

You were dumbfounded. “He did not just…” you asked yourself, because how rude was it to ignore your coworker and leave them hanging? Those were the first words you spoke to him - apart from the compulsory introduction of you being the new Thunder Pillar - and yet you were promptly snubbed. Even Obanai replied to you when you spoke to him.

In your stunned silence, the doors started to close until you reached out a hand, and exited as well. Briefly, you heard a small shhk that signaled it closing, but didn’t care as you were absorbed in your thoughts, carefully picking apart the situation.

There was nothing wrong with what you said. You were only trying to engage in a conversation - trying to get along for the benefit of your mission, because nothing was worse than a tense atmosphere between a team. But then he goes and slaps your metaphorical face by insinuating that this was all a big game to you, that you’re not taking any of this seriously? You were a Pillar; as if talking to a handsome man would distract you from doing your job and exacting vengeance for those poor souls killed in cold blood.

Letting out a dignified huff, you continued walking, and resisted the urge to stomp your foot down at the Water Pillar’s unfriendliness.

In the back of your mind however, you were barely surprised. He was always like this—always putting up a front in the presence of others, always acting cold as ice, always pretending like he didn’t care even though he did care, he cared so much, all because he felt that he didn’t deserve to be happy after—

“Don’t come closer.”

You were losing breath as you tried to catch up with the raven haired male after a Pillar meeting. How was he even walking so quickly? Not to mention it didn’t look to be as taxing to him as it was for you. He was practically strolling when you were full on sprinting. He was a Pillar, sure, but so were you! 

“Hey! Don’t ignore me,” you gasped as you stumbled over the uneven path, but you quickly regained composure. Giyuu doesn’t even pause for a second. “I just wanted to-”

“No thank you. Please leave me alone,” he gruffly replied. How come he didn’t seem the least bit tired? You heard he trained at a mountain, fine, but how the hell was he this fast in such a thick forest? You still couldn’t go around that quick without tripping over some root or getting hit in the face by a random branch! 

Making up your mind, you go as fast as you can and tackle him. It doesn’t look like he ever expected you to do that, because he loses balance and you both go crashing into the forest floor. 

Whatever you were on top of shifts and you’re forced to move. You groan as you get up, only for the breath to hitch in your throat as you find yourself staring into blue eyes. 

Gods above, he looked absolutely divine. 

“Why?” he grumbled as he softly pushed you off of him and sat up. “What were you trying to accomplish by doing that?”

“It’s not my fault you were walking so quickly! Who does that when you’re talking to someone?” you huffed, your cheeks feeling incredibly warm at how close you both were. He probably caught how you had gawked at him. 

“Fine. What do you want?” he groaned, frowning at you. He doesn’t miss how red your face had gotten and how you couldn’t seem to look him in the eye. “Why do you keep following me?”

“We’re going to be friends.”

“...What…?” Giyuu stares as you smile brightly at him. You were practically sparkling. “You’re joking, right?”

“Of course not, you idiot. Do I look like I’m joking?” you huffed again, before getting up and dusting your kimono and uniform free of dried leaves. “We’re going to be friends even if it’s the last thing I do.”

Giyuu is completely dumbfounded, until you reach down and pull at his hands to get him up on his feet. He takes a mental note of how your hands looked so fragile and soft compared to his own, but you had pulled him to his feet with strength that did not match your smaller body frame. 

“Why… are you doing this?” he whispered. He couldn’t understand. 

“Well, I don’t like seeing people alone. Especially when they don’t look like they want to be,” you grin at him as you both find your way back to the village. Giyuu is quiet, both by your words and because you haven’t let go of his hand. “First off, let’s have lunch! My treat, of course.” 

When you blink, you feel like you just took a sudden breath of air and the room comes back to view. What just happened? What the hell was your subconscious on about? Where did those thoughts even come from?

You barely knew the man. You didn’t know where he came from or what his circumstances were. You tell yourself to get your facts straight and effectively push back whatever that was, only leaving the memory of the conversation you just had - or the lack of a proper one, to be exact.That small thought quickly dampened the fire of your irritation, because admittedly, you believed that first impressions aren't everything - to always take them with a grain of salt. Despite how plain rude he was, you had no right nor the sufficient amount of experiences to be able to understand his character and pass judgement. 

Slowly, you took a deep breath, and exhaled. 

Maybe he just had a rough day, or maybe he was just shy and socially inept, a farfetched and random thought may it be. Perhaps that was just how he really was. Regardless of his personality though, you can’t deny the fact that he must be an exceptional demon slayer to be granted the rank of a Pillar, and because of that, you’d try your best to at least be respectful to him, even if he didn’t return the same courtesy.

Shaking your head, you resumed walking, and turned the same corner he did to reach the weapons room.

You wouldn’t say it out loud, but you were willing to admit to yourself that he was amazing.

The way he moved and handled the sword was absolutely unparalleled, you noted as you watched from the side. His actions were like water - the way he dodged was perfectly calculated, his slashes fluid, and precise. It was like no movement was wasted because everything was precise and deliberate. It almost seemed like he read the battle in the blink of an eye before executing an attack.

You couldn’t help but feel awed as you watched his fight. He truly was something else.

“Hey, am I really that pathetic to you? How annoying are you to turn your back on an opponent to ogle your comrade?”

From your periphery, you felt the air vibrate, and without batting an eye, you unsheathed your blade and cut off the approaching appendage with little effort. “I was enjoying the show y’know. It’s not everyday I get to see him fight,” you sighed as you turned, and slashed at air to get rid of the blood on your sword. “But you’ve ruined my fun. Might as well get this over with. So, what’s your name?”

“Are you stupid? You don’t even know me, the great upper moon six?”

“Frankly, no. Not really.” This wasn’t upper moon 6. It was strong yes, but no matter how many humans a demon ate, this was nowhere near the strength of an upper moon. Although with it’s impressive blood demon art of replicating multiple limbs, you wouldn’t be surprised if it was a lower moon.

It seemed to pause, before screeching out a loud “How annoying!” as a dozen arms lunged for you.

You quickly jumped out of harm’s way and up a decently sized branch. “That’s a pretty cool blood demon art you got there. Imagin—!” You leaped off the tree before a large snap cut you off as the demon broke the branch you were previously on. “Hey! I was talking!”

“Annoying! You’re so annoying! Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

“Ugh, is that all you really have to say?”

Crouching on the branch, you pushed your feet, and catapulted yourself into the sky. You shut out the world as you breathed deeply, focusing and positioning your body into one of your breath forms.

“Thunder breathing, First form: Thunderclap and flash.” And in a flurry of movement, you landed deftly on your feet before hearing a loud thump sound from behind you.

“Well.” Dusting off your skirt, you stood and faced the demon. “That should do it.”

“How annoying!”

Immediately, you turned around and was surprised to find the demon floating 15 feet off the ground.

“Not so pathetic now, am I? A Pillar like you can’t even kill me!” It taunted, before raising his hands and the ground beneath you crumbled.

It all felt so real. You felt the ground shake and how the earth seemed brittle - only instinct made you twist out of the way as the forest floor seemed to cave under you. A tiny mistake on your part caused you to land quarter of a meter short from what was supposed to be the edge, but once you felt a completely intact forest floor, you immediately knew that multiplying elastic body parts was not its Blood Demon Art.

You need to talk to Tomioka. This could get ugly fast without knowing which was real and which was an illusion. Your eyes immediately found him fighting, but widened in horror as you watched the demon he was fighting pushed at his shoulders and slammed his head against the ground. You felt your heart freeze as you screamed his name, not even noticing that you used his first.

“Giyuu!” 

In your haste to reach Tomioka, Giyuu’s vision suddenly slowed as he watched one of the demon’s limb aim for you.

You were distracted from seeing him hit his head, and in a moment of weakness you didn’t notice the demon preparing for the kill.

It was too familiar; it felt like he’s seen this before, like he lived through this. His vision overlapped with a visage, of you wrapped in a painstakingly familiar haori, your skin pale and painted with red, his hands wet and drenched in your blood… 

“Giyuu, stop, please,” you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. It hurt having to be moved around so much. You felt really tired, despite being carried.

Red. Red. So much red.

“No, no. Just shut up, please,” Giyuu could feel his lungs constricting. He was so panicked he had forgotten how to use his breathing technique. He felt like his whole chest was on fire, legs only moving due to adrenaline. “Please. We’re close to Shinobu, just-”

“Giyuu…? You’re still there, right?” your voice was so small, so unlike how he usually heard it laughing or calling for him. “Why…? Can’t I see you…?”

It was like something in him snapped.

No, I'm not letting you die again!

“WATCH OUT!” Giyuu screamed as he moved so fast that only your fellow pillars would be able to see how he grabbed his gun from its holster and aimed at the hand reaching for you. 

Upon hearing his warning, you immediately flipped back, using the forest floor as a springboard to push yourself out of the way. When you landed, a solid arm got a hold of your waist and you felt yourself being pulled to a strong body, as the air brushed past the two of you.

Quickly, he pulled the two of you behind the cover of a massive tree, Giyuu only letting go of you when he took a quick glance at where the demon was cradling its hand and screaming its head off. You were breathing heavily, immediately aware of how close you were to death’s door.

“Are you okay? Did you get hit?” He turned to you as he asked, gently holding your shoulders and inspecting your uniform for any blood. Whatever he saw just now felt so real, he had to check for himself if you were alive.

You shook your head, dazed as you saw the worry cloud his eyes. “No.”

He breathed out a heavy sigh, feeling relief flood into his system before scolding you lightly. “You need to be more careful! You almost got yourself killed!”

“Sorry, sorry. But that’s besides the point. How are we going to kill it? It’s blood demon art shows some pretty damn convincing illusions.”

Tomioka thought for a moment. “We need to distract it, keep one of us at the front while the other takes the kill from the back.”

You nod in affirmation. His idea made sense. “I’ll be the distraction.”

“What? No, i’ll do i—“ Giyuu stopped talking once he noticed the sound of a clashing sword and found that you weren’t there in front of him anymore. “Sure,” he sighed before gripping his sword and jumping on the trees’ branches for cover.

He didn’t notice you fighting earlier, but as he jumped from branch to branch all around the opening, he saw that you were incredibly fast. Even with his enhanced senses, you appeared to be a blur as you weaved in and out of the demon’s clutches, laughing all the while taunting it.

“Ahh, this is fun! You should’ve put on a fight like this with me back then!” Squealing, you darted out a hand and slashed at its neck. Unfortunately for the both of you, the demon was nearly as fast as you were, and you only managed to land a scratch on its skin.

“Annoying! The way you’re jumping around is annoying!”

Giyuu wanted you to stop talking so badly, because you weren’t supposed to rile the demon up like this! Distract it sure, but not bait it to want to kill you more!

“Oh, are you getting mad already? You seem a little red there.”

“ANNOYING! STOP! MOVING!”

“Ah, would you prefer me to stand still? I wouldn’t mind! You should have said so earlier.”

And when Giyuu saw your eyes dart to his for one quick second, he immediately knew what you wanted him to do.

In an instant, he launched himself off the branch he was on as you pulled back your sword and jabbed it at the demon’s forehead.

“Water breathing First Form: Water surface slash!” Quickly, he extended his sword and slashed at its neck before it could move a muscle as he twisted his body to avoid hitting you. The leaves crunched under his shoes as he landed on his feet a couple of feet away.

“Annoying, annoying, annoying! Put me back on my body so I could prove to you that I’m not pathetic!” The demon wailed as it started to disintegrate on your sword. “He would’ve let me move from Lower Moon 1 and let me join the Upper Moons if the two of you didn’t meddle! You two will pay for this!” It threatened, as the last of its body turned into ash, and its clothes fluttered down to the ground.

The clearing was quiet save for the wind whistling past and the tree leaves rustling by.

“That was the real one right?” You whispered, slightly anxious that another one would pop up in the silence.

“It is.”

Heaving a sigh, you looked back at Giyuu and saw him walking towards you.

“Are you okay? You hit your head right?” You asked him, surprise coloring your face when he tore a portion of his suit. “What are you doing?”

Gently, he took your arm and inspected a decently sized laceration settled neatly in between your shoulder and elbow. It was deep, but it was a clean cut and it wasn’t too bad, considering that you’ve had much worse such as broken bones and dislocated joints.

“Worry about yourself first, will you?” He turned your arm carefully, making sure that his actions were slow and steady before wrapping the piece of cloth carefully and with practiced ease.

You frown. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I feel fine. Now focus on yourself. This is pretty deep. It might need stitches.”

Though it was unlikely, you hoped that it was too dark for him to see your face clearly—it felt too warm for your liking. “I… didn’t notice.”

He tied the bandages off neatly, before answering, “You will soon. The adrenaline will probably wear off in a few minutes.”

“I’m not the best at first aid, but this will do for now. Try not to move so much until we get to Shinobu?”

It felt oddly nostalgic, seeing him worry like this a little, almost like a distant dream or a distant memory. “Thanks.”

Giyuu nodded before pulling out his phone from his coat pocket. “I’ll be updating HQ. Kakushi should arrive in a bit. Do you want to wait for them, or head back?”

You weighed the pros and cons before responding, “I wouldn’t mind waiting for them. The fight was fairly easy, but I feel drained. We could get checked too.”

“That’s a good idea,” he said as he typed another message while you sat down slowly beside a nearby tree trunk. Once he shut his phone, he followed your lead and leaned down on a tree a few feet from yours.

After a few minutes of a slightly tense silence, Tomioka decided to break it, and be the one to start the conversation.

“That… was the first time I saw you fight. You’re pretty fast (L/N)-san. It was amazing.”

“Oh?” You tried to mask the surprise in your voice. Hearing him initiate unnecessary conversation was something you weren’t used to, especially after your first conversation (if it could even be considered one) back at the Ubuyashiki tower. Was he offering an olive branch?

Regardless, you couldn’t deny the warm feeling in your chest as you looked up and automatically smiled up at him. “Well, you were doing really good yourself. I’ve never seen someone move that gracefully in a fight like that.”

At your compliment, he looked down at the ground as he tried to hide his nervous habit of fiddling with the hilt of his sword. “I’m not.”

“Oh don’t be modest now Tomioka-san! You looked amazing!”

“I was complimenting you; don’t turn it around on me.”

Laughing lightly, you let out a breathy “Okay, okay.” After deciding to not push your luck and that you’ve bothered him enough, you raised your hands in defeat before bringing them back down to your lap.

The silence that followed was definitely nicer compared to before, until he broke it again with a near inaudible whisper.

“Giyuu.”

“Hm?”

“Just… Giyuu. Giyuu is fine” he added, rubbing a hand on the nape of his neck.

Smiling widely, you turned to him, “If that’s the case, just (F/N) is fine too, Giyuu.”

“(F/N) it is then.” he spoke, feeling a sense of warm familiarity as he tested the way your name felt on his tongue.

Truthfully, he noticed when you called out his first name even in the heat of battle. It wasn’t much of a big deal back then, because the two of you were focused on staying alive and doing your job, but as he processed the fight in his head, he found that he didn’t mind, and that he actually liked how his name sounded in your voice.

As if on cue, the cracking of dried leaves and branches alerted you and Giyuu, instinct driving the two of you to grab onto the hilt of your nichirin blades. The tight grip on your swords only eased up when the familiar uniform of the kakushi moved into the clearing. There were around ten of them, seven surveying the area and taking down any evidence of the demon’s existence while there were three holding medical kits who walked over to the both of you.

They stopped once they reached a reasonable distance before bowing slightly. “Tomioka-sama, (L/N)-sama, please excuse us. We’ll be checking on your injuries.”

You muttered a grateful thanks as the kakushi attending to you started cleaning the wound Giyuu wrapped earlier. It was wrapped pretty well, so they only applied an ointment before replacing the cloth with gauze. “I apologize (F/N)-sama, I can’t suture your wound here because I’m not trained. We’ll immediately take you in the medical wing of the tower once you and Tomioka-sama head back.”

“Thanks,” you smiled as the kakushi bowed in front of you. “Hey, no need to bow, I really appreciate your help…?”

“...Tanaka Ayaka.”

“Really, thank you so much Tanaka-san.”

“O-Of course (L/N)-sama!” Tanaka said, bowing deeply in gratitude for your kind words.

As you and Tanaka argued on why she should or why shouldn’t bow, Giyuu watched discreetly, feeling the warmth pool in his stomach from the kindness you displayed. He was brought out of his thoughts when he felt the pain on his head multiply as the kakushi tending to him started wrapping gauze on his bleeding wound.

“Please bear with it for a bit longer Tomioka-sama, you have a concussion-”

Immediately, your gaze darted to the side. You weren’t eavesdropping on his conversation - truthfully, you only overheard - but when your eyes landed on a stream of blood coating patch of his hair and a portion of his pale skin you didn’t notice before, you absolutely flipped because how dare he tell you to worry about yourself first, when he was the one with a head injury!

“You idiot! You told me you were fine!”

The kakushi watched on in wide-eyed surprise (and slight fear as well) as the mighty Water Pillar looked everywhere else except at you, the fuming Thunder Pillar, who were scolding him (fairly lightly) for not telling you about his injuries.

Ayaka didn’t even argue with you afterwards.

Arriving at your estate after a mission used to be a nice moment for you, because you could rest and train at the comfort of your own home, but hearing the silent clunk of your keys resonate through the walls… you couldn’t help but feel a little cold and lonely.

It’s been a week since that mission with Giyuu back in Natagumo Mountain happened, and only a couple of hours since you left Ubuyashiki Tower. After your initial report to Oyakata-sama, he suggested that the two of you stay and take a few days off to heal your injuries at the medical floor. The two of you didn’t even resist as you were both led to adjacent rooms, showering immediately before dropping dead at the futon laid in your respective rooms. Now, you were as healthy as you could be, the laceration, bruises and scratches all healed thanks to the week of rest. Before you left, you made sure to inform the master of your recovery and thank Tanaka-san who took care of you and kept you company.

Taking off your blazer and loosening your blouse, you passed by your living room and walked into the kitchen to try and make something to appease the grumbling of your stomach. You did occasionally have your home cleaned on a schedule when you weren’t around, but moments like these were when you were a bit regretful of not hiring any at-home help. 

The fridge was a welcome sight as you grabbed the handle to open the door; the contents however - or the lack thereof - weren’t as appealing because it was empty save for a wrinkled lemon, a few bottles of water, and a quarter-filled jug of milk.

“This is pathetic,” You grumbled as you recalled the moment you ate the last bit of leftovers without restocking your kitchen. Whyy.

“I hate myself,” you moaned to your empty kitchen. 

Deciding to put yourself out of your misery, you walked up to your room to store your weapons and to change into a pair of jeans, and a hoodie. Once you were in something comfier, you grabbed your phone, your keys, your wallet, and a small nichirin dagger - for safety, at the off chance of getting ambushed by a demon or a human - and put on some white sneakers before locking your door and leaving your estate.

Taking a deep breath, you felt the cold night air nip at your lungs and the exposed skin of your face. The difference in temperature shook you a little, as you broke out into a jog. Pulling up your hood, you tug the strings tighter and into a cute little ribbon to prevent it from falling.

The walk to the convenience store would normally take fifteen minutes, but with you jumping on roofs and taking shortcuts you knew by heart, you were there in record time, and feeling hungrier than you did before.

The convenience store was a sight for sore eyes as the familiar ding sounded upon your entrance. Smiling at the clerk, you grabbed the largest basket and moved around the store, grabbing everything that looked appealing and piling them on as best as you can.

Once you were satisfied, you proudly walked back to the cashier and presented your precious loot to the boy in front of the register.

“Stocking up huh?” He smiled as he rang up your items.

“Yup. The lone lemon in my fridge was feeling a little lonely.” You joked as you grabbed your wallet.

The two of you chuckled as he bagged your food, pointing to the little screen of the cash register once it was done. “That would be 6,854 yen.” You gave a light nod and handed him a ten thousand yen bill. “Here, you can keep the change.”

His eyes bugged out of his sockets at the large tip “Yo, thanks, dude!”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed familiar black hair, and a quick glance behind you took you by surprise.

“Tomioka-san! Why are you here?” You asked in surprise.

He eyed your overflowing bag and your silly attire. “Same reason why you are.” He answered. At his surprisingly sarcastic response, you quickly pulled back your hoodie, and looked him over to note that he was in a similar attire to you, though he was wearing a sweater and a cap, instead. “Although i’m just getting dinner, not the entire store.”

The remark caused you to flush red in embarrassment. You didn’t want him—or anyone really!!—to see you pig out. “Oh, um. Well, I’m just… restocking.” He seemed skeptical, but there was a ghost of a smile settling on his face.

“Okay,” He said casually as he moved past you further into the store.

Nodding at the cashier and grabbing your bags with both hands, you walked after giyuu, instinct ruling over rational thought.

“Hey,” you called after him. He turned back to look at you, causing you to stutter in your words a little. Why did you call for him? What could you say to make him stay for a little bit without making yourself look like a total fool? “I—… um, i mean, uh would you like to share my loot? I think i just bought most of their stock, and I… still haven’t thanked you for saving my life back at Natagumo.”

He raised a brow at you. “Loot?”

“The food I got,” you mumbled as you dropped your gaze to the ground and felt your face burn at your choice of words, because who in the world calls their groceries ‘loot’, except you? Ah, how embarrassing!

While you were wallowing in your misery, you missed the way Giyuu turned his face away from you and the way his shoulders shook from containing his laughter. You just looked too cute, all flushed and flustered like that, but he did his best to hold it in because he didn’t think you’d appreciate him laughing in your face.

After a moment, he composed himself, and went back to his cool and normal facade before replying a short, “Okay.”

“Great!” You beamed at him, trying to squash the butterflies in your stomach. “Want to head outside for the tables?”

“Sure. Lead the way.”

Unconsciously, you grabbed his hand after moving your other bag. You didn’t notice his face warm at your casual touch, but the cashier did, and he gave a thumbs up to a flustered Giyuu as the two of you passed by.

“Ah shit. I forgot to get drinks!” You exclaimed as you rummaged through your bags.

Giyuu watched you with a small smile. “With the amount of food you bought, I’m surprised you didn’t raid their drinks too.” He was joking, but he really was surprised. It’s like you bought everything in the store - The two of you already ate two bento boxes each, five bread buns each, three rice balls each, and had a cup noodle… each. 

There was even another bag of chips open at the table, and your bags were still full!

“Is that a joke I hear?” You smiled, leaning back in your chair as you popped a chip into your mouth. “Well I didn’t expect to meet you here. I was originally going to eat at home.”

He nodded before standing and stretching a little.“Don’t worry I got it.” 

“Wai-“ you were going to hand him spare change, but he was already at the vending machine two houses down the street. 

You sighed and used your hands to prop your head upright. How unfair.

As he inserted a few bills in the slot, you couldn’t help but admire his profile. You always noticed him back at work. He was extremely professional, nearly passive as he was assigned missions and at the rare times you catch him training at headquarters. But as the two of you were here together in a convenience store, all of it felt so… so normal. In this short moment, you could just pretend that demons weren’t real, that you still had a family waiting for you back home, that you were just a normal twenty-one year old woman hanging out with a friend from work who you wished was a little more than just a friend.

“Cheater.” You pouted as he walked back within hearing range.

He ignored you, passing you a bottle. “Here.”

“Thanks.” You said, taking the bottle and looking at the cover. “Oh! Yuzu Juice! I didn’t know I told you about my obsession with these.” 

“You didn’t.” He answered taking a seat, as you rummaged through your pockets for a bit of change.

“Really? Huh.” You didn’t seem to notice how he scrunched his eyebrows and looked at the drink carefully.

Normally, buying a drink for someone wouldn’t be a big deal, but he didn’t just randomly guess. It was almost second nature for him to pick that drink. He could almost hear a voice in his head that sounded so much like you.

You couldn’t come with Giyuu to Natagumo Mountain because you were hurt pretty badly from the last mission you went to. He had come to visit you at the Butterly Estate.

“Why are you so excited about a fruit?” Giyuu asked incredulously, as your eyes shimmered at the basket of yuzu fruits he brought.  “It’s just a fruit right?”

You gasped as you hugged the basket away from him. You looked so offended that Giyuu was taken aback for a second, halfway considering an apology.

“Just a fruit? JUST a fruit?” you gasped again, more dramatically than the last, but you don’t think Giyuu understands you’re pulling his leg because he looks even more worried. “Am I actually hearing this from my own lover?”

“Why? What’s so great about it?” he asked, but you don’t miss the hidden panic underneath his voice. “Am I missing something?”

“It’s a yuzu fruit, Giyuu,” you lean in and whisper, like the greatest of secrets were being shared between the two of you. “And do you know what that means?”

Giyuu shakes his head slowly, entranced. He leans in as you motion for him to come closer.

“It means,” you whisper, before pecking his cheek and grinning as he blushes. “We can make my favorite drink.”

You laugh as Giyuu groans, burying his face in his hands as he fell for another one of your stupid jokes.

“Don’t forget, Giyuu,” You toss him a yuzu fruit from the basket before leading him to the kitchen of the Butterfly Estate. Hopefully Aoi and the other girls wouldn’t mind if you borrowed it for a bit. “I can never turn down some good yuzu juice.”

Giyuu blinks, and suddenly he can’t remember what he was thinking about just a second before. He felt like he was forgetting something very, very important.

“I… just took a wild guess.” he muttered. There was no use pondering about it now, no matter how hard he tried to grasp at the straws of his memory.

“Well, you made a pretty good guess.” Placing a hand over the cap, you opened the bottle and took a hearty sip “Ah, I love this so much! Here’s my share.” You said, offering a hand with the money.

“Oh please, as if I can’t afford to get you juice. Think of it as thanks for sharing your food with me.”

“Okay then,” because If he wanted to treat you, who were you to argue?

“Meeting adjourned. Stay alert, the issues we’ve talked about will be sent later as a mission to some of you.” The room was once again bathed in light as Oyakata-sama pressed a button which shut down the projector and automatically drew the meeting room curtains back open. You and your fellow pillars stood as Amane-sama grabbed the handles of the master’s wheelchair. “I’ll be seeing all of you at the next meeting. Take care, my children.”

All of you bowed deeply as Amane-sama closed the door shut, before the nine of you stood from the chairs situated around the large table, moving to talk to the others.

“(F/N),” you immediately felt your heartbeat faster. You would’ve kicked yourself for reacting in such a way when he called for you, but damn it if it didn’t make you feel nice.

I think my heart is broken, what the hell.

“Ah, Giyuu, are we still on for training later?” you smiled politely at your co-worker, and Giyuu faltered for a second too fast for you to have noticed before he had already recomposed himself.

“Yes, but don’t expect me to pull my punches just because it’s training,” Giyuu felt the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly as he watched your face flush.

“I’ll have you know that I hardly break a sweat from fighting off demons alone, so I should be the one to tell you that,” your cheeks were puffed from indignation. The words pour out of you without thinking and you don’t even realize what you’re saying anymore. “Besides, when have you ever pulled your punches? You said you’d always spar with me using everything you had so I wouldn’t die out in-”

“What…?” Giyuu’s voice knocked you out of your rant. He had a funny look on his face, like you had said something odd. You immediately backtrack to your little spiel in search of something wrong - something embarrassing - you might’ve said. “When did I…?”

When has he ever pulled his punches? I mean, it’s true, I’m sure of that, but…?

You stop. How would you have known that? This was your first training session together. What were you going on about? By the thoughtful yet confused look on Giyuu’s face, you could tell the words had not gone unnoticed.

“N-nevermind that,” you tried to salvage your pride, despite your ever glowing face. “I, uh, I don’t know what I’m saying. Sorry, I just…”

“No, it’s fine,” Giyuu shook his head and waved away your apology. There was a pause before he seemed to make up his mind. “Actually I was—“

“Tomioka-san!” You and Giyuu jump as Shinobu suddenly pops up between the both of you. You’re confused whether to be thankful for her cutting in or not - on one hand, she had saved you from more embarrassment, but on the other, you wanted to know what Giyuu was going to say. “Sorry to cut your conversation short, but we need to borrow (F/N)-chan for a little bit. This won’t take long!”

Without even waiting for Giyuu to respond, Shinobu’s already dragging you away from the black haired male. You turn to look back at him apologetically.

“Sorry, I’ll meet you in the training hall,” you see him wave at you in goodbye before Shinobu makes you turn a corner and you both enter an empty meeting room. Well, it was mostly empty, save for a couple of people.

“So, Shinobu, Mitsuri… Uzui and Kyoujuro? What’s up...?” you ask hesitantly. You don’t like the knowing looks and the mischievous grins they have on their faces.

“You tell us.” You don’t like the glint in Shinobu’s eyes as she stares you down. “I don’t think we’ve ever seen Tomioka initiate a conversation on his own.”

“Or smile for that matter.” Mitsuri added, barely suppressing her grin. Shit, didn’t she live for this kind of thing? You were definitely fucked. You need to get out or you’re dead.

Uzui hummed before getting all up in your face, making you take an involuntary step back, but Kyoujuro blocks you from taking another step. You were surrounded on all sides.  “Yeah, it was weird. Did you do anything flamboyant to him?”

“Excuse me?” Did they think you pulled some sort of magic trick over him? A sort of spell? “I did nothing!”

“Nothing, she said!” Mitsuri squealed, before turning back to you with eyes glittering. “Did you see the way he looked at you? He looked like he was on cloud nine!”

He… he did?

Brushing it off, you wave off their words, because the very thought of him being genuinely happy while talking to you made you ridiculously happy. And you didn’t want these idiots to see it. You were not going to give them the pleasure of seeing you turn into a bumbling, blushing mess.

“Oh, please, if anything It’s m-” You cut yourself off once you realized that finishing that sentence would lead to an entirely different ballpark you were not willing to enter. “You know what? Nevermind. Giyuu’s waiting for me so I have to go.”

“Oh, so it’s ‘Giyuu’ now huh?” You catch their words before you make up your mind to book it. You thought you were free because you only had to take one more step to get out of this cursed room, but a strong, yet slender hand darted out to grab your wrist, effectively preventing you from walking out of this room and out of this conversation.

“Nu-uh, not until you answer us,” Misturi grinned, locking you into a hug to make sure you didn’t try to run away again.

“Guys, I swear, we need to train.” you grumbled, feeling the sweat gathering over your forehead.

Uzui tsk-ed, and placed a hand over your shoulder. Great, just what you needed: another restraint. “Look, we’re just curious. Tomioka’s flamboyant, but he’s a pretty quiet guy so we’re worried for him.”

“Aw... well, tough shit, I’m going now.” You say, finally prying yourself free from Mitsuri’s soft albeit annoyingly strong grip.

“(F/N)-chan, you don’t have to deny it.” Placing a hand over your shoulder, Misuri smiled softly at you, and you didn’t like how you could practically see the hearts flying around her back.

“Deny what?” Maybe, if you acted like you had no idea what they were talking about, they would drop it, and you can leave, and you can train with Giyuu.

But such things in life would never happen, and you were doomed the very moment Shinobu snuck up on your conversation. You didn’t like the thought of him waiting for you while your coworkers hounded you.

The four of you turned when you heard a light sniffle come from Gyomei. “Ah, to be young and in love.”

“Wh-? No, it’s not like that at all!” you tried to defend yourself, but by the look on their faces you knew you were fighting a one-sided war. They were convinced there was something going on. To be honest, the more time you spent stuck in the room with them the more you were slowly coming to terms with your own feelings. And that was not good. “Besides, we only went on one job together, so why-”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve never heard of love at first sight~” Mitsuri giggled, and by the look on her face you had a guess she was already planning the wedding.

“Love at first sight, my ass,” you groaned, recalling your first assignment together. “He basically told me to shut up the first time I tried talking to him. What’s supposed to be cute about that?”

“The first time,” Shinobu emphasized, and you buried your face in your hands at her knowing smile. “But from what we just saw, not only did you talk again, but he even initiated the conversation himself.”

“Not to mention you’re going to be training together,” Kyoujuro nodded vehemently. “And as far as I can remember from my time as a Pillar, Tomioka has never trained with anyone because he preferred to train on his own.”

“And I guess now I’m never going to find out what training with him is like because you guys insist on keeping me here,” you were honestly proud of yourself that you haven’t punched someone yet - but you were oh so painfully close. If not one of them, then you might just punch yourself just to escape the shame. This felt oddly claustrophobic and it was making you slowly lose your mind. “Also, when have you guys turned into detectives?”

“(F/N)-san, we would’ve let you go already if you’d just admit what was going on between you and Tomioka,” you stared dumbfounded as they all nodded, waiting patiently for your answer.

If you guys think I’m going to crack first, you’re dead wrong.

“It’s nothing, okay?” you sighed, exhaustion over this whole ordeal finally setting in. Would you even be able to train with Giyuu like this? “He invited me to train with him after I almost messed up during our mission. That’s all there is. You guys have just been looking too much into it.”

The room goes quiet, the other Pillars taking turns to look at one another, unsure of where to go from there. You shake your head as you pass by them and make your exit.

“NO! I refuse to believe that!”

Oh my god, no, please.

You look incredulously at Mitsuri as she blocks the door in front of you. You feel your eyes twitch sporadically, your hand that was already holding on to the doorknob tightening and your knuckles going white.

“Mitsuri, come on,” you groan. You weren’t too keen on saying anything (too) bad at the pink haired girl since she was honestly really nice, just ever so slightly airheaded, and getting into bad terms with her husband Obanai didn’t sound too appealing. “What more do you want from me?”

“How about the flamboyant truth, (F/N)?” your head whipped back at lightning speed at Uzui, who merely laughed at the dead-eyed smile you gave him.

“What ‘truth’? I already told you guys, I-”

“(F/N)-san, one last thing,” your head turns to Kyoujuro, who shares a look with Shinobu. You watch as something passes between them, before the Insect Pillar nods back at him with a sweet smile. Kyoujuro grins as he turns back to you. “Just do this one thing for us and I promise we’ll let you out.”

Shit. I don’t like that.

But you stand your ground. “And that would be…?”

“Can you look into my eyes and tell me that there’s nothing going on between you?” he raised an eyebrow, challenging you with his wide eyes that seemed to stare deep into your soul.

You lower your head, mentally preparing yourself. You pray to whatever higher being that could hear you to give you the strength to get through this unscathed.

Please, for the love of my sanity-

You look back to Kyoujuro, head held high. He holds your stare - his eyes were intimidating as hell -  but to your relief, he backs off first after a good few seconds. He sighs, as does Shinobu.

“Fine, fine. You win, (F/N)-san,” Shinobu grumbles.

“For now,” Uzui throws you a mischievous grin as you pass by. You scowl at him.

“Whaaaaat? We’re letting her go?” Mitsuri wailed as Kyoujuro practically pried her off of the door.

“A deal’s a deal, Mitsuri-san,” Kyoujuro said.

You’ve barely taken a step out the door when a hand is placed over your shoulder. You don’t bother to turn around, scared you really might punch someone this time.

“(F/N), one last thing,” Sighing, you turn back heavily, because it feels like they’ll never let you leave, but when you see Gyomei smiling kindly at you, you can’t help but return it too. “Remember, there is no shame in admitting your feelings. Face them head on and find strength within it. You can only run from your problems for so long until you loop back to where you started, because you can never stop things that were set in stone by fate.”

Despite how drained you were feeling, you manage a genuine smile. “Understood, guys.”

Letting out a sigh, you were finally able to breathe after your nosy coworkers got all up in your business. You were glad that you were alone in the elevator, because at least now you could take a moment to compose yourself and get rid of the blazing blush before you faced Giyuu.

“Can you look into my eyes and tell me that there’s nothing going on between you?”

Kyojuro’s words echo in your head. You were unbelievably lucky for being able to keep your poker face before he cracked, because if that stare-down lasted a second longer, you would’ve burst, and confessed your feelings to them instead of Giyuu.

Snapping out of your thoughts, the doors opened to a bright wide room that smelled of wood and steel. The training hall was one of the many floors in the building and the Corps spared no expense in getting it look as it did with high ceilings, and large areas divided into varying sizes. Some areas were even designed after different types of terrain.

You spot Giyuu with his back to you, warming up in the center on the biggest mat of the entire hall. He was doing practice swings with a wooden sword.

“Hey, sorry I'm late,” You say, causing him to pause mid-swing as he turns to see you grabbing a wooden sword on the far wall and depositing your own blade beside his. He watched, slightly mesmerized as you gathered your hair into a high ponytail on top of your head. “Want to get started?”

He shook off his daze before he raised a brow at you, setting his sword tip down against the ground and leaning a bit of his weight over it. “You’re not going to warm up?”

Smirking, you say “Oh please, this is my warm-up.” You don’t give him a chance to reply as you move straight for him, sword held high.

In one effortless swoop, Giyuu had his sword in front of him blocking your swing with ease. “That’s cheating, in case you weren’t aware.”

“I know.” You smiled, before retracting and swinging again. “But I prefer to call it strategy.”

“Haaaa,” You breathed out before dropping on the floor. “I’m glad we’re on the same team. Fighting you is crazy exhausting.”

Walking towards you, he offered you a water bottle and once you took it, he sat down beside you. He was so close, you could feel the warmth radiate off him. “Likewise. You’re ridiculously fast.”

“And you’re ridiculously strong.” You smiled, taking a sip from the bottle he gave you.

The two of you were quiet, keeping each other company as the other regained their breath. In the silence, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander back to the conversation back in the meeting room.

“I don’t think we’ve ever seen Tomioka initiate a conversation on his own.”

“Did you see the way he looked at you? He looked like he was on cloud nine!”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve never heard of love at first sight~”

“But from what we just saw, not only did you talk again, but he even initiated the conversation himself.”

“As far as I can remember from my time as a Pillar, Tomioka has never trained with anyone because he preferred to train on his own.”

“Remember, there is no shame in admitting your feelings. Face them head on and find strength within it. You can only run from your problems for so long until you loop back to where you started, because you can never stop things that were set in stone by fate.”

All of their words passed by your head like a snapshot. It was slightly disorienting hearing the others comment on your relationship with the Water Pillar. You liked him, but you already planted it in your head that you had no chance. Because who were you kidding? One look at him, and you knew that you were out of his league. He was good-looking (though that was more of a bonus than anything), dedicated, strong, and had a dry sense of humor that could rival your own. A guy like that was bound to have someone waiting for him at home. He was too much of a catch for you to believe otherwise.

“(F/N)?”

“Yeah?” you hum distractedly, still completely submerged into your own head.

“Do you-” He started, and abruptly, your bubble of fantasies popped.

He was looking at you weirdly, an expression you’ve never seen him make, and somehow your mind managed to mix that up with him being able to read your thoughts. You just panicked, your mouth spouting off nonsense before you could process anything, trying in vain to protect yourself from rejection. “No! I don’t like you!”

“Oh.” He looked back at his folded hands before adding a short “I’m sorry.”, before you realized what you just said. Regret immediately washed over you. 

“No, I mean, I don’t not like you, I-I’m not making any sense-”

He interrupted you gently before standing up and dusting off his clothes. “No, it’s okay, you don’t have to explain yourself. I understand. Sorry if you felt forced to train with me.”  

Oh my god, you’ve never wanted to slap yourself harder in your life than you did in this moment. 

You fucked up. You fucked up so bad.

You reach for him, trying to explain, “Wait, don’t misunderstand please, I was jus-”

“Really, it’s fine. I know I'm not the easiest person to like. Especially with how I treated you back on our first mission.”

“Giyu-”

“I’ll be leaving now (L/N)-san. I’m sorry again.”

And that was the last straw. Hearing him call out your name in such a cold voice hit you so deeply that you tell the consequences to fuck off as you stand up, and pull him back to you.

“(L/N)-san, I swear, it’s fine-” Neither of you get to hear how he ends his sentence, because you grab his shirt, and pull him closer, until your lips were pressed against his.

You felt your resolve crumble as your lips moved against his own, and as his hands reached over, cradling your face closer to his. It was so soft, so warm, and your heart ached as you felt your eyes start to sting. After a moment, the two of you pull away, bringing your foreheads close, before you spiral into a wild spiel.

“You idiot! If you would just listen!”  You whisper lightly, afraid of what his reaction would be. “I like you. I really, really like you. I didn’t mean what I said. I only said that because you caught me off guard and I didn’t think you’d like me back! I’m scared of being rejected by you because you're smart, you're funny, you're nice… ”

“I didn't want to tell you but I got caught up in my thoughts, and I just… I know what I said, and I’m sorry, I'm really sorry. It might sound like an excuse to you, but you really did catch me off guard. If I could take it back I would.”

“I’m really sorry, Gi...Tomioka-san. I hope you could forgive me.” You say, before you untangle your arms wrapped around his neck, and walk yourself to the elevator, not even waiting for the inevitable rejection you’d get from him.

Pushing the doors open, you didn’t notice how the other pillars - namely Mitsuri, Shinobu, Kyojuro, and Uzui - were still situated around the room, because your only goal now was to get the bag you left earlier, leave straight for your home, and sleep.

When they saw your puffy eyes however, all of them looked amongst each other, before pushing Mitsuri closer towards you.

“(F/N)-chan, are you okay?” At Mitsuri’s soft voice, you jumped out of your skin, cradling your bag to your chest as a shield.

“W… What are you guys still doing here?” You ask, before furiously wiping at your eyes.

“You’re avoiding our question. Why are you crying?” Normally, you would’ve brushed them off, and replied in a snarky comment, but you were tired, and you just wanted your bed.

“I... Tomioka and I got into a little fight, is all.” You replied, not even looking up from fixing up your bag.

Mitsuri immediately looked back at the others upon hearing you say ‘Tomioka’, before rubbing your back consolingly. “Do you want to tell us what happened?”

You sniffed. “No, not really. I’m just tired and I want to go home.”

A quick look passed between Mtsuri and Kyojuro before the Flame Hashira walked over to you.

“And home you shall go! C’mon, (F/N), I’ll drive you back.” Kyojuro said, grabbing a hold of your bag while Misturi took your hand, leading the two of you after Kyojuro. “Yeah! I’ll make you some pancakes, and lots of other food!”

Once the three of you left, Shinobu looked up at Uzui, and nodded.

Shinobu and Uzui found Giyuu splayed back at the center training mat.

For a good second the pair thought that the Water Pillar had fainted, or something of the same degree. But upon getting closer, they noticed him looking up, dazed, with a hand over his lips. Making their way over, they sat at either side of him, waiting for him to acknowledge their presence.

“What are you two even doing here.” Giyuu blinked as he realized he wasn’t alone in the room anymore. They were looking down at him with a mix of surprise and amusement. “Did you just come to stare at me?”

“We should be the one asking you that,” two seconds into talking to Giyuu and he was already testing Shinobu’s patience. “(F/N) went back to the meeting room.”

“Yeah. She was crying flamboyantly, by the way.” Uzui nodded briskly, arms crossed and eyes closed in thought.

Giyuu couldn’t deny how his chest had tightened at the memory of you walking out earlier, “I know.”

When he didn’t speak for another few seconds, clearly having no plans to elaborate until prodded, Shinobu sighed. “Care to tell us what happened?”

Do I have to…? Giyuu scowled softly. But he might as well, since he was lost ever since you left, with no clue what to do next.

“... She told me she didn’t like me, so I apologized and moved to leave,” Giyuu’s voice was no louder than a whisper, as if he was scared someone would overhear. But the other Pillars heard him nonetheless. “But then she kissed me and told me she liked me before leaving me here.”

Shinobu would be lying if she didn’t admit she felt victorious. So you were lying. HA! But that’s a conversation for another time. Right now, you left the other half of the party lying down on the training room floor and it seemed they needed to drag him back to his feet if they wanted a straight answer from you.

“And? How do you feel about that?” Shinobu poked the side of Giyuu’s cheek, but it’s like the male was still lost somewhere they couldn’t reach as he failed to give the slightest reaction besides words.

“Confused.” Giyuu muttered mostly to himself. “Really confused.”

“I feel like there’s a flamboyant ‘But’ in there...?” Uzui honestly felt like he was getting his child to admit what he did wrong - except he had no child, he was talking to the Water Pillar, a grown man who should’ve been easy getting answers from.

Giyuu’s eyes softened at the idea of you, and the kiss from earlier, and the look didn’t exactly escape the surrounding Pillars. “I like her too. A lot.”

Shinobu suddenly stood up, surprising both males. “Well, then, you’ve got your answer. So what are you lying around here for?”

“She left, I doubt she wants to speak with me now,” Giyuu muttered, disheartened - which was the exact opposite of what Shinobu wanted to achieve.

She remembered something odd she noticed when you had left earlier, so she looked around the room and felt like she struck gold.

“Oh, she did leave, it’s definitely too late for that,” Shinobu says, brushing aside Giyuu’s sarcastic “gee, thanks”. “But I have a hunch that she’ll be returning soon.You’ll just have to wait.”

Shinobu pointed to the far end of the training room, forcing Giyuu to muster the energy to sit up to see where she was pointing to. There on the wall was your Nichirin blades among the rack of extra training swords. 

“I can’t believe how stupid I am today.” You grumbled before exiting the elevator.

You were on your way home with Mitsuri and Kyojuro, when you noticed that the sword strapped to your waist wasn’t your nichirin blade, but the wooden one from the training hall. Kyojuro was nice enough to turn the car around back to the building, and pressed the hazard button on the car as he pulled up in front of Ubuyashiki tower.

“Take your time (F/N)-san, Mitsuri-san and I will wait here.” Lightly, you smile at him before grabbing the wooden sword and going into the building.

And this is where you find yourself. You were back in the training hall, warm orange light filtering through the large windows as the sun began to set. You were glad you noticed your missing sword when you did because not being prepared for a mission could cost someone’s life. Running your fingers through the wall, you open the lights and feel a slight disappointment at how empty the hall was of people - or rather one raven-haired male.

You messed up once already, (F/N). Why add to that by wishing he was here?

Letting out a sigh, you move to the wall, to where your sword was supposed to be, and jump out of your skin when you notice the Water Pillar leaning over and facing away from you towards the window.

Of course. Of-fucking-course. Because why not?

Quietly, and in hopes to avoid him seeing you, you creeped carefully along the wall, clutching your nichirin blade to your chest, as you exchanged it with the wooden sword. You turn around, thankful that he didn’t seem to notice your presence before walking to the ele-

“Why did you leave earlier?” He asks, not moving an inch from his position.

Of course he noticed you.

“I didn’t think any of us had anything else to say.” you fiddle with the blade in your hands, refusing to turn and face him. Your hands haven’t shook this much in years, the last time being when you had first fought a demon.

“Well, I had something to say,” You cringe as he turned to you, his face as beautifully stoic as you had always known.

Okay, wow. You knew he had a bit of a mean streak going on, one that died down when it came to talking to you but you didn’t really think he was mean enough to roast you for having a stupid crush. Sure, you did accidentally say you didn’t like him, but that was a lie - obviously, since you kissed him like the suicidal dumbass that you were.

“Well, I’m here now, so we might as well rip the bandaid,” you say that, but as his eyes bore into your own, you realize that you’re not ready for what he has to say and you cut in as he opens his mouth. “Before you say anything though, I just wanted to say that I completely understand if you want to stay away from me and-”

As you rambled on, you didn’t notice him walk closer. Giyuu had a determined look on his face as he grabbed onto your hands that were nervously playing with your sword, and held them in his own, softly running a thumb over your knuckles. You immediately drag your gaze from the floor and into his eyes, seeing warmth and gentleness in his blue irises.

Giyuu’s eyes never leave yours, even as he asks, “I do have something to say… If you would listen?”

You swallowed, your mouth feeling dry, as you give him a slight nod.

He breathes deeply before he speaks. “I’ll admit. I don’t really care what others think of me, as long as I’m doing my job and they’re doing theirs. I’m used to people saying I’m cold, and unlikable, but for the past few weeks, I found your company comforting, and I thought that we’ve been genuinely getting along with each other. So when you said you didn’t like me when I was going to ask if you wanted to have another match, I was really confused and hurt.”

“I’m sorry-” You interrupt, before he shakes his head and asks you to let him finish.

“So, I was really surprised when you pulled me back and kissed me. Then you go off telling me that you like me, not even 5 minutes after you told me you didn’t, and then you leave, not even letting me process anything, or telling you what I had to say.”

Giyuu stops for a moment, opening his eyes and looking deep into yours. He seemed to debate something for a moment before he decided, and took a short breath.

“If you would have waited, I would have told you that I like you too.” Your knees felt absolutely weak as he placed his forehead over yours. You could feel the rough calluses on his hands as he squeezed yours softly.

“You would have?” You ask. He nods. “Do you really?”

Your heart melts when you see his face change into a soft smile, a smile he only put on for you. “I do. I really like you (F/N).”

It felt so surreal hearing him say that he liked you too. You felt like you could fly.

“I like you too.” A small watery laugh bubbles up from your throat, and a warm giddy feeling swirls around your stomach, easily replacing the heavy feeling of regret.

You could feel the tears fall from your eyes and the blood rush to your face. You pull your hands off from his as you use it to cover the raging blush on your cheeks. “Ugh, stop making me cry. This has to be the most I've ever cried in my life.”

“And it’s the most I’ve ever been confused in mine too… but I hope it’s happy tears now?” He takes both of your hands into his left, using his other to wipe at the tears and cradle your face, like you were a priceless jewel.

“Yeah,” You hum, moving closer and letting his left hand release your hands as his arm wraps around your waist. He pulls you closer and you revel in his warmth. “Can you say it again?”

“I like you.” His smile grows fonder as you lean into his touch, and wrap your arms around his shoulders. Giyuu has never felt so content in his life.

“Again?”

“I really, really like you.” He says softly, and your mouth stretches into a smile that mirrors his.

“Prove it?” You ask, faintly hinting at what you wanted him to do as your faces move closer and closer until you were an inch apart and could feel his breath fan over your face.

“Okay,” He whispers, before he finally leaned in and kissed you again.

BONUS:

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Obanai groaned as he rolled over in the large training room floormat. You might have used wooden sticks, but it still hurt like hell.

“I didn’t know the training room floor was so cozy,” Muichiro mused, staring up at the ceiling as he was splayed on the ground. “I don’t think I’ve ever been knocked down before. (F/N)-san, help me sit up. My spine feels tingly ever since you hit me.”

You laughed sheepishly, crouching beside the Mist Pillar before helping him sit up. Giyuu, on the other hand, was standing over Obanai, looking down at the Serpent Pillar with a bored gaze.

“You told me not to hold back,” Giyuu deadpanned, bi-colored irises glaring at him from below.

Word had travelled fast that you and Giyuu were going out. And of course, since you had always been dragged into the Pillars’ shenanigans, you had decided it was time that Giyuu be a part of the group. So to warm up a bit to the idea of having him around, you had offered the idea to have a training session with everyone, doing pair up battles to save time and promote teamwork. They agreed, since they have never seen Giyuu train with you, much less have trained with him themselves.

But the idea backfired hard.

“Tomioka and (L/N) win,” Gyomei announces, a small smile on his face. He looked amused more than anything. “That’s 3 wins.”

You decided the pairs by letting four people write their names on scraps of paper and letting the other four pick from the pile. Gyomei had decided to sit this one out and be the moderator, so the numbers balanced out. And since Giyuu was the so-called “guest of honor”, the others had allowed him to pick first.

“You guys rigged it. I know you fucking did,” Sanemi grumbled.

Giyuu had miraculously pulled out your name from the pile. Sure, there were only four names, but it was still a one-out-of-four odds.

“You can check if you want, Sanemi,” you sighed in exasperation. “I didn’t do shit to that paper.”

“Bullshit,” he roughly grabs the scrap from Giyuu and inspects it, the other Pillars laughing as he nitpicks your paper.

You stand next to Giyuu, who was leaning on a wall away from the Pillars, and ask in a soft voice so no one else could hear. “Alright. How’d you do it?”

You see him smile for a fraction of a second from the corner of your eye. “You press down on your pen too much when you write, so I just felt around for the paper that had the most indentations.”

“How the fuck…?” Sanemi exclaimed, and you laughed again.

“You’re so amazing!” Mitsuri squealed, bounding up to the training room floor and glomping you. “You guys worked together flawlessly! ”

“That’s putting it too lightly,” Uzui laughed. “They flamboyantly wiped us out.”

“Yes! Truly amazing!” Kyoujuro nodded. “I’m aware of both of your prowess, but this was truly overwhelming.”

“You fuckers cheated!” Sanemi growled, walking over to the training room floor and pointing his wooden sword at the two of you. “How did you-”

“Your attacks are mostly mid level swings, aimed at the stomach,” Giyuu answers passively as he sits down beside you and Muichiro on the floor.

“Wh…?” For the first time, Sanemi is caught off guard, and so are the other Pillars, but you nod at Giyuu’s words. You don’t notice how they stared at the both of you weirdly.

“Yeah, you do,” you laugh softly, before making a slow sweeping motion with your wooden sword, Giyuu parrying it once it’s within his distance. “You swing, and then when your opponent curls up, either from pain or to try and dodge, you go for a thrust.”

When you stop talking, you and Giyuu turn to the other Pillars, who were mostly looking at you with gaped mouths. Shinobu and Kyoujuro had frozen smiles on their faces and Obanai and Sanemi were looking at you like you had force fed them rotten food.

Was it something you said…?

“Hey, (F/N)-chan,” Shinobu suddenly cut in through the silence, smiling as pleasant as ever. “How did you beat me? Tomioka-san uses hard force to deflect but-”

“You usually do thrusts. I guess because of your sword style, right?” you answer, almost impulsively. “It ends up leaving too many openings, especially if someone hits you from the side.”

“You only do slashes when you’re close enough,” Giyuu adds. “But you thrust when you’re too far away because it helps with your speed and momentum.”

You blink again, the room coming into view again, and find the others staring at you, more confused than anything.

“Tomioka-san? (F/N)-chan?” Shinobu asked, the smile gone. Shit, did you say something you shouldn’t have? “What are you talking about…? I only use a revolver because it carries my poisons better. My sword is usually reserved as a last resort, but I haven’t used it in a long time. I was a bit off today since I’m not used to it anymore, but...”

“Not to mention,” Sanemi grumbles to the side, looking at the both of you suspiciously. “I haven’t gone on any fucking mission with you guys. How the hell do you know how I fight? You stalkers, or something?”

You turn to Giyuu, and he turns to you with a confused look that probably mirrored your own. The other Pillars stared, waiting for your answer. But you blanched.

How the fuck do I answer that?

Finally, Giyuu breaks the stare and turns to the other Pillars, “Mission and Training videos.”

You blinked. And so did the others. Every single one of you had the same confused looks on your faces.

Mission and training… videos?

“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of them?” Giyuu raised an eyebrow at the Pillars, who looked at one another, expecting someone to know. He sighs as he points up at a surveillance camera at the corner of the training room. “They’re a collection of videos in the Corps archives, mostly of the Pillars during joint training sessions or battles with the Twelve Demon Moons. They’re captured using the crow-drones or the cameras scattered inside and around the building. Demon Slayers can ask to view them for educational purposes, like learning a new breathing technique.”

You gape at Giyuu and Pillars in turn, a frown slowly etching over your face. Something told you that wasn’t the whole truth. Maybe the videos were real, but on how you knew about the other’s battle styles, well…

“There’s such a thing…?” Shinobu mutters thoughtfully, looking at you and Giyuu.

Uh-oh, looks like she doesn’t buy it.

“EEK!” Mitsuri suddenly exclaims, and Shinobu and the others jump from the shrill sound. “What if my videos are super embarrassing? I have to check!”

And she’s out the door, followed closely by Obanai who was trying to reassure her that it was okay. You’re rather surprised Obanai got up so quickly when he was just on the floor earlier.

“Shit like that exists? And I’m only finding out about this now?” Sanemi grumbled, his aura carefully getting angrier and angrier. “What if the fucking demons get a hold of those videos?”

Sanemi was out the door in the next second, yelling about giving away the corps’ battle strategies. Kyoujuro and Uzui followed, interested about seeing the videos. Gyomei took Muichiro to the clinic with Shinobu. The Insect Pillar cast you a questioning look before trailing behind the Stone and Mist Pillars.

And then it was just you and Giyuu again.

“Giyuu?” you called out softly in the silence. When you hear him hum, signalling that he was listening, you push on. “I’ve never seen those videos before. I didn’t even know they existed.”

You turn to him when he lets out a soft laugh, “I haven’t either. I read about them in a report a long time ago, but I never felt the need to see them.”

Wordlessly, Giyuu lies back down on the training mat, arms crossed behind his head. He stares up at the ceiling, looking deep in thought. There’s a question at the tip of your tongue, something you’ve always wanted to ask, but could never muster the strength to actually say outloud.

“It’s odd. Shinazugawa was right. I’ve never been assigned to go on a mission with him,” Giyuu started, still staring up at the ceiling, seemingly muttering to himself. “But I knew how he was going to move. It was almost like-”

“Like you’ve fought with him before?” you finished, and you turned to Giyuu to find his eyes already staring deep into your’s.

“That’s the thing, though,” Giyuu scowled, your image blurring at the edges. Was that a kimono you were wearing? “I’ve never trained with any of them before today. But it felt like I knew what to do. Like I’ve seen it before. Not in a video, though.”

“More like muscle memory,” you mumble, lost in Giyuu’s eyes. Has his hair always been that long? “Like my body already knew how to move on its own.”

The silence stretched on, but it was almost like time had stopped for the both of you.

“I’m not ready,” you sighed shakily, your hands wringing around as you paced in the room before the Ubayishiki garden. You could hear the yells and grunts of your fellow Pillars, mixed in with the clash of swords. “Sanemi always looks at me like I’m a demon and I think this is his chance of actually cutting my head off.”

“Relax, (F/N),” Giyuu sighed, taking your hands into his and rubbing them, trying to get the blood circulating again. “On the bright side, at the very least, he still sees you. I think he sees me as an annoying fly.”

You manage a shaky laugh, and Giyuu takes it as a small victory before making you look him in the eye.

“You’ll be fine, but if you need help,” he smiles softly and you don’t miss the mischief in his eyes. “These are just some things I’ve noticed when he tries to attack me…”

You blink, and you're back in the training room. Where were you just now? There wasn’t a room like that in the whole building. It was old, like the traditional Japanese houses you’d see on T.V. and books. But Giyuu was there, and so were you and the other Pillars, apparently. Your eyes find Giyuu’s face again, and he looks just as confused. Did he see that, too…?

“You know, (F/N), there have been moments where I feel like I’ve seen them happen before, especially when I’m with you,” Giyuu starts hesitantly. You wouldn’t think it weird, would you? “I know for a fact they haven’t, Shinazugawa and Kocho was proof of that, but they just feel so real. And I couldn’t explain them.”

You think of his words for a second - they were exactly what you felt - and nod for him to continue. “But now I wonder - I always push them away because I don’t remember them happening, but now that I think about it, just because they haven’t happened from what I remember, doesn’t mean they never happened, at all.”

“Don’t remember...but doesn’t mean they never happened…?” you whisper, the question you’ve wanted to ask threatening to break out. But looking at Giyuu’s eyes, the wall you’ve been building around to keep your thoughts in place are broken down. “...Like in another life...?”

The question hangs in the air for another second before Giyuu’s face breaks into a small smile and he lets out a small laugh. He turns away from you, and you’re left confused all over again.

“You should see the look on your face right now,” he says, and you turn red at the realization he’s laughing at you. “It’s priceless. Sorry, but you’re really cute.”

“You…!” you tackle him, straddling him and lifting him by the collar of his shirt. “Were you just making fun of me?”

Giyuu stares at you fondly, basically confirming your question. Your blush gets darker as you stand up wordlessly and pack up your belongings. You couldn’t believe he was just pulling your leg! And you fucking fell for it!

Your cheeks are puffed up in anger as you walk out of the training room. You hear Giyuu’s footsteps and his voice calling out for you, but you don’t make the effort to let him know you noticed him.

When you step out of the building, Giyuu finally catches up to you, holding on to your hand.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he said. You frown at him hard and he responds by raising his free hand in surrender. “I really am. Sorry for laughing.”

You pout, before returning his grip. You suppress laughing at the relieved look on his face. “You’re paying for dinner, I’ll have you know.”

The two of you walk in tranquil silence on your way to your favorite restaurant. You don’t notice Giyuu’s loving stare as you walk hand in hand. For a second, you’re both walking back from a mission. Your kimono and uniform were battered pretty bad, and you had a bruise at the corner of your mouth, but you look up at him and smile.

You turn to Giyuu in surprise when he suddenly squeezes your hand. “Giyuu…?”

“If it really was another life,” he whispers, and you had half a mind to tell him off for trying to pull your leg again. But at the misty look in his eyes - the same one you stared at earlier in the training room - you shut your mouth. “I’m glad I found you again.”

You smile softly, squeezing his hand back. “Yeah, me, too.”

[thatfanficstuff]

Impossible - 8

Pairing: Eric Northman x Reader

Warnings: Canon typical violence, etc.

A/N: Finally back to writing a bit. Hope you like this chapter as much as I do and you find it worth the wait.

***

You tossed your things in your truck before spinning and shoving Eric away from you. “Your mate, Eric? Really?”

He brushed his chest as if wiping away your touch. Ass. “Yes. I fail to see the problem.”

That stopped you. “Wait. You’re actually claiming me?”

His brow furrowed. “Of course. You didn’t honestly think I would make such a proclamation without meaning it?”

“You literally proclaim things on a daily basis that you don’t mean.”

His hands settled on your waist and he pulled you toward him. His gaze ran over your face as he studied you. “I wouldn’t be flippant about anything so serious, Y/N. You must know that.”

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “Don’t you think it was something we maybe should have discussed before you announced it to a bar full of random assholes?”

“Perhaps.” He gave a little shrug and kissed your forehead before pushing you toward your truck. “Let’s head home. We can discuss it on the way.”

You turned out of the parking lot and headed toward Shreveport, quickly getting lost in your own thoughts. Mates were serious business amongst the vampires. There was a time it was strictly an otherworldly belief in soulmates. Fate bringing two people together that were created for one another. It morphed over the centuries into a choice. A declaration that you belonged to one another. It went far deeper than any marriage. 

Allowances and lea ways were given for mates that would otherwise never be permitted. In fact, mates were treated as one entity. They received punishment and reward in equal measure regardless of which party was actually responsible. Your dad was going to freak the fuck out. It was that thought that stopped you. The realization that the question if you felt that way for Eric never once crossed your mind. You knew from the moment you met him that he was it for you and always would be.

Your concerns were purely disbelief that Eric could feel that deeply for you and what your father would think. The real question was, did you care?

“You’re awfully quiet for someone that had so much to say,” Eric said as you neared Fangtasia.

You didn’t look at him as you parked near the back door and the two of you sat in silence for a long time. Finally, you spoke, but you still didn’t look at him. “You’ve lived for a thousand years and never once tied yourself to someone. Not like this.”

“Mates tend to be a once in a lifetime thing, even for the oldest amongst us.” His voice was soft and you knew he was letting you talk your thoughts out. This was important. He wouldn’t try to talk you into anything. He was better than that.

You shook your head. “That’s not what I meant, Eric. You’re not exactly the relationship type. We’ve had this discussion.”

He hummed in agreement. “We have. If I recall correctly, I stated that was me before you.”

You turned to face him. “Are you sure about this?”

“I do not question my feelings for you, Y/N, but if this is not what you want—”

You grabbed his hand and used it to pull yourself closer to him. “That’s not what this is about. At all. It’s just…me? I mean, are you really sure?”

In a flash, he shifted the two of you so you straddled his lap. One hand cradled the back of your neck and the other rested on your lower back. His gaze locked on yours. “There is no one else—there never has been, nor will there ever be—that I would consider making this claim with. I will live and die for you. I swear it.”

Moisture flooded your eyes and you kissed him in an effort to keep it from overflowing. His hands shifted so he cradled your head as he deepened the kiss. Finally, you pulled away to breathe and rested your forehead against his. “Can I take this as an agreement to my claim?”

“Yeah, Eric, I’ll be your mate.”

He kissed you again. This time it was tender and sweet, filled with promises. Gods, you loved this man. When you separated this time, he rested his hand on the side of your face. His eyes searched yours. “You will agree to the bonding ceremony. If you are to be my mate, I want it all.”

You hesitated only a moment before nodding and earning yourself another round of kissing. The ceremony involved witches and spells and unbreakable bonds. But like your mate said, if you were going to do this, you might as well go all the way.

A knock sounded on the window and you jerked in surprise.

“I’m busy,” Eric growled then resumed kissing you.

“I’m happy for you. Now get unbusy.” Of course, it was Pam. No one else would have dared interrupt him.

You giggled and rested your head on his shoulder.

He sighed and unlocked the door. Pam promptly jerked it open. “Y/N, how lovely to see you again,” she said with a smile which dropped completely when she turned her full attention to Eric. “We have a problem.”

“And what might that be?” His hand ran in a lazy line over your spine forcing you to bite back a purr of contentment.

Her gaze darted to you.

“Y/N is my mate.”

As usual her arched brow was the only outward sign of her surprise. “The accountant called. There’s a discrepancy.”

Eric’s hand stilled. “How big?”

“Does it matter?” Pam answered.

She had a point. It didn’t matter if it was $5 or $5,000, they would have to deal with it. Vampires weren’t exactly the let it slide type. Not handling the matter would only show weakness. And if there was one thing vampires had perfected, it was taking advantage of another’s weakness.

***

As it turned out the discrepancy was $60,000 big. Eric was determined to blame the accountant that brought it to their attention which you didn’t understand at all. After all, how stupid would you have to be to not only steal the money but then point it out?

But everyone else that had access to the money was a vampire and vampires never betrayed each other. Yeah, right. You snorted a laugh at the thought as you swung open the door to Merlotte’s. You were still pissed at Sam, but needed to talk to Sookie without Bill around and this was the best place to do it.

You grasped Sookie’s arm as you stepped past her and pulled her along. “Sam, Sookie and I are going to have a conversation in your office. Deal with it.”

You ignored his words of protest as you closed the door behind you and flipped the lock.

“What is goin’ on with you?” Sookie asked. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I need a favor.”

Sookie looked more intrigued than ever and leaned against Sam’s desk, watching you with wide eyes. You weren’t the kind to ask others for anything. “I’m all ears.”

“Someone stole a lot of money from Fangtasia. We need help figuring out who.”

She grimaced. “That sounds like Eric needs a favor, not you.”

The corner of your mouth twitched. “Same thing these days. Eric’s glamoured everyone and has gotten nowhere. I’m afraid if this keeps up he’ll just kill all the humans and start from scratch.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“No, I’m not. That’s why I’m here.” You ran a hand down your face. “Look, if you don’t want to do this, it’s fine. I get it. I just had to give it a shot.”

The silence stretched for a beat as she looked you over. “Bill says I should stay away from Eric. At all costs.”

“Eric is a vampire through and through. And he’s not pretending to be anything else. Bill doesn’t like being reminded that he’s vampire. If you’re worried about him knowing what you can do, he already does. I didn’t tell him, but someone did. I heard him talking to Pam about it. I can pay you if that helps.”

“If I help them find whoever did this, what happens to them?”

You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest. “Honestly? They’ll probably find out what happened to their money then kill them.”

Sookie stood straight as she stared at you with wide eyes. “Then why would I agree to help you?”

“Because you keep them from killing a bunch of people that didn’t do it. I’ll make you a deal. You help us out and if you find out a human took the money, we’ll turn them over to the police. But, Sookie, I’ve got to be honest, I don’t think it’s a human.”

“So, I’m just supposed to let them kill some vampire on my say so and be okay with that?”

“Vampires have their own laws. Let the vampires deal with the vampires. You just help me save the humans.”

“I do owe you.”

You shook your head. “No, you don’t. But do this and I’ll owe you.”

“The great and mighty Y/N will owe me? How could I resist?” she teased and you rolled your eyes. “Bill won’t like it.”

You bit your lip to keep from telling her where Bill could shove his opinion. “Probably not. Bring him with you.”

“Will Eric be okay with that?”

“Who gives a shit?  But yeah, he’ll be fine with it. In fact, he’ll be happier if Bill is there to witness everything.”

Sookie pursed her lips then nodded once. “Okay, then. But I’m doing this for you, not Eric.”

“Duly noted. See you tonight.”

***

Eric was not amused that you had decided to involve a human in your business. Though he admitted he probably would have already gotten Sookie involved had she not been your friend. And knowing him, he would have ordered Bill to bring her by or something and that would have just pissed everyone off.

After greeting your friend and Bill, you took a seat next to Sookie, but let Eric handle things. You were strictly there for moral support. Eric started with the accountant whom he was positive was somehow involved in the theft. You leaned back in your seat with your arms crossed over your chest and just observed.

“He’s telling the truth,” Sookie announced and released her grip on Bruce.

“You trust the skinny human to clear the fat one?” Longshadow said from his spot behind the bar.

You clenched your teeth and looked at Eric. You hated the bartender, as your mate was well aware.  

Eric moved his gaze from you to the other vampire as he said, “Bring the next one in.” It was as much of a dismissal as he could give Longshadow without saying something directly.

And so the cycle continued from human to human until finally Pam brought out Ginger. “She’s the last human.”

You rolled your eyes. The girl’s brain was swiss cheese. You were more than a little surprised when Sookie announced that Ginger knew who took the money.

“There’s a blank space. I can’t see it,” Sookie said, looking confused.

Your eyes found Eric’s as Pam said, “She’s been glamoured.”

“It was vampire.” Sookie stood from her chair in surprise.

Before you could thank her for stating the obvious, Longshadow leapt over the bar and wrapped his hands around your friend’s neck. You were on your feet in a second. An upward blow to just the right place on his sternum and he released Sookie reflexively. You grabbed her and shoved her behind you, ignoring her shout of pain as she bounced off some piece of furniture or another. At least she was alive.

Longshadow moved forward again. Surprisingly he ignored you and launched himself toward Sookie as if he killed her, the rest of you would just forget he was the thief. Idiot. You shifted sideways to put yourself in front of your friend. Another blow to the chest, harder this time, had him reeling backward but not giving up. Fucker.

You picked up a chair and threw it at the vampire which didn’t hurt him in the least, but the chair broke which was your intention all along. Sweeping up a piece of the wood, you braced yourself as he charged again. This time it was your makeshift weapon that hit his chest and pierced his heart.

Ginger screamed as Longshadow dissolved into goo. When she vomited, Eric made a sound of disgust. “Humans. I don’t understand what you see in them, Bill.”

You glanced at him with an arched brow. “Really, Eric?”

He grinned. “You are far from human, sweetheart.”  

[derivativealigner]

I rewatched the second season of South Park and took so many notes that I had to split them into two parts. Like seriously, I took so. many. notes. And pictures this time. I started rewatching just in case I’d find some cool little facts to sprinkle into my fanfic but I went way too far and now there’s a million facts under this cut (including gay stan, a domestic violence psa, and craig fucking dying)

Stan doesn’t like hospitals, he finds them gross and he gets sick 🤮. Also the hospital in South Park is called Hell’s Pass hospital. Early seasons have the name as Hells Pass but it gets fixed later

Cartman has to sing all of Come Sailing Away by Styx if he hears a part of it. After he says this, Kyle sings the first part and Cartman has to sing the rest. Kyle does it again later, which is kinda mean

Cartman’s mom tries to abort Cartman, who is an eight-year-old child and thus cannot be legally aborted. Later, after she slept with Bill Clinton to change the law and make 40th trimester abortions legal, it turns out she meant adoption

Kenny sacrifices himself to turn on the generator to the hospital and save Dr. Mephesto’s life along with others. He says “I’ll fucking do it” then does it and dies, absolute legend

Cartman gets way too into his deputy role. He goes undercover, pretends to be a prostitute, says “Respect my authoritah!” a lot and beats people up with his police stick

Kenny’s brother first appears when Cartman responds to a call about a disturbance at Kenny’s house. Apparently there are like 10 adult family members in the house at that time. Kenny’s dad has a black eye because Kenny’s mom punched him. She says he can’t hold a job

Token sits in the classroom in season 2

Cartman starts hating hippies in this season, like a lot

Chef tells the boys that the right time to do drugs is in college

Ike’s name is Ike Moisha Broflovski and he was born in 1996, making him 2 years old in 1998 when this season aired

This is probably obvious but yeah Kyle and Ike are circumcised

Kyle says family isn’t just blood, it’s who you care about, and he says “That’s why you guys are more than just friends, you’re my family. Except for Cartman.”

Craig’s finally sitting in the classroom in S02E04

None of the boys like dodgeball

Clyde gets a dodgeball to the face and he cries :( and he’s the only one who cries by the way

Pip throws a dodgeball in Kyle’s face and breaks Kyle’s nose

When Kyle’s mom tells the boys about conjoined twin myslexia (which isn’t a real term) and says anyone might’ve absorbed their dead twin in the womb, Stan and Cartman run away screaming but Kenny and Kyle stay to listen. Kenny even leans in to look at the book “Freaks A-Z!” that Mrs. Broflovski is reading from, and when she leaves, Kyle grimaces and Kenny laughs

Stan’s mom (Sharon) calls Kyle’s mom (Sheila) when Stan is all freaked out and trying to put an icepick through his brain, and Sharon tells Sheila to get run over by a truck. Sharon is pretty mean in these early episodes

Mr. Broflovski doesn’t really listen to what Mrs. Broflovski is saying, bad husband >:(

South Park’s team is always called South Park Cows no matter the sport

The school nurse, Nurse Gollum, went to Colorado State University

I just realized Butters exists. I think he appeared before S02E05 but I didn’t notice but yeah he’s there with the dodgeball team, injured

Here’s a picture to make up for my disgusting anti-Butters bias

Kenny’s dodgeball uniform number is 69 obviously. Kyle is 7, Stan is 4, Cartman is 325

Sheila smacks Gerald in the face so hard he falls off his chair, lots of violence perpetrated by women in this show. Remember, don’t do domestic violence no matter your gender, it’s not cool

I realized after this whole Butters thing that I should’ve made more notes about Pip, so I’ll make a note about his anger issues now. When people call him French, he gets angry and throws dodgeballs at them

The boys launch a jelly roll at Ms. Crabtree and make her crash the bus. They do it just for fun

The kids somehow go to China in the school bus

Cartman references Moby Dick, but he probably doesn’t know what he’s talking about

Kevin Stoley gets named in S02E05 and has his first speaking role when he says he has Chinese parents and after Cartman hears it he immediately says something racist. smh cartman, what a problematic fave

Cartman says “I love you guys 😊” but Stan and Kyle just stare at him and he goes 😐 “Eh, screw you guys 😠”

If Jimbo and Ned really fought in Vietnam, they youngest they could’ve been in 1998 is early forties, which means in the latest seasons they would be early sixties. Btw they met in Vietman

Jesus and Pals is a recurring TV show in seasons 1 and 2. Jesus just kind of lives in South Park

I just remembered that Terrance and Phillip are really old in canon, it’s so weird, like how can South Park canon still be changing, it’s been 20 years

Also the early seasons are casually racist who knew

Kenny flashes his ass on a tape the boys send to Jimbo and Ned’s TV show, which airs and at least 12 people see Kenny’s bare naked ass

Cartman really doesn’t like hippies in these early seasons. He throws a chair at Ned and yells, “Take that, hippie!” (Ned is in a catatonic state and did nothing to provoke this)

Jimbo and Ned live together I guess. Jimbo’s gonna take Ned home and show him some hardcore porn to snap him out of his catatonic state, good husband unlike Gerald Broflovski

Saddam Hussein is in hell and has a Canadian accent and is Satan’s lover in S02E06, I guess he died in Canada in the first episode this season but I wasn’t paying much attention since that’s the Terrance and Phillip episode that pissed a bunch of people off in 1998 because the audience wanted to know who Cartman’s dad is instead. It was kind of a boring episode so I understand why everyone was pissed, but it is funny that Matt and Trey did that so I’m not mad about it

Aww look at them!!! We’ve got background Style, the vaguest inkling of Crenny, and Cartman/Cake

I’d take more screenshots but it’s a pain since I’m watching legally and stupid legal websites block screenshots so I have to find youtube videos instead ughhhh piracy is the answer kids

Apparently there’s a huge waterfall and canyon somewhere close to South Park, maybe? At least in Stan’s dream

Mary Kay Bergman was an incredible voice actor. How the hell did she voice all the moms, Wendy, Shelly, principle Victoria, the mayor, Nurse Gollum, and fucking Ms. Crabtree??? Holy shit what a queen

Kenny has some feelings about death. He reimagines the episode where death boops him to death and in his version, he beats death the fuck up, then has ice cream and is happy 😊 But again, this is in Stan’s dream

S02E07 kind of establishes that nobody remembers Kenny dying because when Cartman tells a story where Kenny dies, Kyle questions how Kenny could’ve died then when he also died just a few hours ago when a giant monster took him

rip craig, he falls out the bus and into a canyon

But it’s okay because it was all Stan’s dream so everything in the episode is questionable. Everything after this is no longer a dream

Pip’s parents are dead and he has to go to summer school while everyone else is having a nice summer break

Officer Barbrady and the mayor are having sexual relations, I’m sure this is the most interesting note I’ve made so far. Idk I’m just writing everything down, this is how I enjoy things, I have no off switch

Ew summer bus stop, cursed

Kyle casually sings little tunes every once in a while, how cute

This is pretty obvious but Kenny likes dirty jokes, he laughs when Cartman innocently says he loves Chef’s salty chocolate balls (which are chocolate candy). Nobody else laughs

Cartman says “Screw you guys, I’m going home” or variations of it a lot in this season

So Stan throws up when he likes someone, right? Well, he’s watching an indie movie about two gay cowboys who start making out and he throws up, which is either a terrible homophobic joke or confirmation that Stan’s a little gay. I know which one I prefer

Kyle says Mr. Hankey is his best friend after Stan. Like I know it’s definitely canon that Stan and Kyle are best friends but it’s still nice to see confirmation, it’s very precious. Also Kyle is best friends with literal shit, so cute 😊

Kenny deaths:

S02E02 Kenny sacrifices himself by connecting a generator wire, which electrocutes him but brings power back to a hospital

S02E03 A tree falls on Kenny and crushes him

S02E04 Kenny falls in a grave and the gravestone falls on him

S02E05 The Chinese dodgeball team throws a ball at Kenny and he gets splattered against a wall

S02E06 Two guys pull on Kenny and tear him in half, as in one has the head and one has the legs

S02E07 A big scary monster plucks Kenny out of the school bus and carries him away. Also in Cartman’s fake memory of Fonzi jumping over cars, the motorcycle hits Kenny and crushes him against a brick wall. Kenny gets smashed against walls a lot, doesn’t he?

S02E08 Flashback: Baby Kenny has a firecracker and it explodes, sprinkling little baby Kenny parts everywhere. Later in the episode, current day Kenny dies when a giant firework snake bumps him off a stage and under a fence, which then crushes him.

S02E09 Kenny is playing with a yoyo outside a movie theatre when a bunch of people come outside and trample him to death. They say “Oh my God, I found a penny!” and “You bastard!”

I’ll post part 2 of season 2 in a couple days. I’m having way more fun writing these stupid notes than I thought I would (also gnomes is coming up soon and i am fucking ready for tweek)

[dontcare77ghj]

Pup

Steve x reader x Bucky

Masterlist      Sleep Series Masterlist      Halloween/Supernatural Masterlist

Notes: Mentions of a past abusive relationship.

The bell dinged softly alerting you to the presence of a customer.

“Two seconds please.” You called, leaning down and grabbing the small pup off the table along with her feeding syringe. Walking into the front of the store you smiled at the two men standing nervously before you. “Hi, how can I help you today?”

“We’re looking to adopt a new pet. Preferably a dog but we really don’t mind as long as we fall in love with them.” The brunette with long hair told you.

“Great.” You chirped, smiling at the two. Shifting your hold on the small puppy, you raised a section of the counter for the men. “Come on through.”

The two came through and once you closed the counter you showed them to the back room.

“So, why don’t I give you two some time to look around and see who piques your interest?” You suggested, making the two smile.

“Thank you, doll.” The blonde said.

“Of course. Give me a shout if you find anyone.” You said before moving back to the feeding station. “Are finished Maeve?” You asked as the pup stopped suckling fake nipple. “Alright let’s get you weighed.” You said, placing the Labrador on the scale.

“Can I ask what you’re doing?” The brunette asked, coming to sand next to you.

“I’m trying to make sure this little girl is growing up like she’s supposed to.” You told him, trying to keep the squirming puppy still. “Would mind watching her for a second?” You asked. “I need to get another sheet from the office.”

“No, I don’t mind.” He said, picking the pup off the scales. “Hey there little girl.” He cooed, making you smile before you quickly went into the office. It took you a little to find the needed sheet in the clutter of the office, but you finally found it under the desk.

“Who the hell would put this under the desk?” You grumbled before moving back into the show room. “Sorry that took so long the boss before me left the office a mess and I haven’t had time to organise it.” You apologised and smiled at the two who were talking to the puppy.

“It’s no problem doll.” The blonde told you, giving you a smile.

“So, did you two find anyone your interested in?” You asked, taking the dog back from the brunette.

“Actually, we both really like that little one.” The brunette told you, pointing to the dozing dog in your arms.

“I’m sorry guys, but she’s not available for adoption now. She’s only a couple weeks old and she still needs round the clock care.” You told them and they gave you disappointed looks.

“Oh, that’s a shame.” The blonde said.

“Ok, I can fix this.” You said, putting the dog back in her blanketed crate. “She’s about three weeks now so she’ll be ready for adoption in about six weeks. Why don’t you two give me your names and a number where I can reach you both and when she’s ready, you can both take her?” You suggested making the two grin.

“That sounds perfect, doll. Do you have anything for us to write on?”

“Here.” You said unlocking your phone and handing it to the brunette.

“We haven’t introduced ourselves. I’m Steve Rogers and this is my partner Bucky.” Steve said, reaching out a hand for you.

“Y/N L/N.” You introduced, shaking his hand. “I knew you looked familiar. I’m just very distracted today.” You commented as Bucky handed you back your phone. “Alright, all set. I’ll let you boys know of any updates.”

“Thank you doll.” Bucky said. “It means a lot.”

“It’s not a drama.” You told him with a smile. “I’ll see you two soon.”

It turns out you didn’t have to wait long before you saw the two Avengers again. They came into the shop again two days later and then a few days after that. In fact, they made it a point to come into the store at least twice a week.

“Wait so you actually jumped out of a plane?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at the man. It had been four weeks since the two of initially come in and the three of you were currently sitting in the puppy pen. Maeve was sitting on Steve’s lap while you and Bucky played with the crawling pups.

“Without a parachute.” Bucky added, making your jaw drop in surprise.

“Do you have no regard for broken bones?” You asked Steve. Bucky burst out in loud laughs as Steve sighed.

“I’m a super-soldier. I heal very easily, and I didn’t even break anything.” Steve defended himself.

“That time.” Bucky grumbled.

“That time? Have you done it more than once?” You asked, making Steve look down in shame. Before Steve could answer your phone began ringing. You grabbed it quickly before the noise could freak out the animals and sighed at the name. “I’ll be right back.” You told the two before moving into the office.

“What took you so long?” The voice on the other end demanded.

“I thought I told you not to call me again.” You snapped. “How did you even get this number?”

“Baby girl, you should know by now you’re mine.” He chuckled. “Now, baby girl, why don’t you tell me where you are, and I can pick you up for dinner?”

“Peter, I don’t know how many times I can say this but fuck off. Don’t ever call me again and if I ever see you again, I will call the police.” You snapped and hung up the phone. You let out a deep breath before plastering on a smile and walking back into the room with Steve and Bucky.

“Who was that, doll?” Bucky asked as you sat back next to him.

“Just an idiot.” You said, picking up a seven-week-old chihuahua. “No-one worth the time.” You added. “Now, Steve, back to the conversation before. How many times have you jumped out of a plane without a parachute?”

“You know what? I just remembered something I want to live, and I have the feeling Bucky will kill me if I say anything.” Steve said, making you laugh.

“You’re right I would. And then I’d bring you back to smack you.” Bucky said with a mock serious expression, making you laugh again.

“You two are too much sometimes.” You said with a grin and shook your head. “Do you two want some coffee?” You asked, going to stand.

“No, you sit, I’ve got it.” Steve said, placing Maeve on Bucky’s lap and then standing.

“Are you sure Steve? Because I can make it.” You told him, watching as he moved to the pen door.

“You did it last time. It’s my turn.” Steve told you before moving into the office, you sat back down next to Bucky and immediately had a pair of cocker-spaniels sat on your lap.

“You’re really good with animals.” Bucky commented, watching as you played with the canines. “They all seem to love you.”

“Well I love them too. I’ve always connected with animals more than humans.” You told him.

“Not really a people person either, doll?” Bucky asked, making you shake your head.

“Not really no. I’ve never really bonded well with people, but with animals it’s always been the opposite.” You said, smiling as the two dogs in your lap began play fighting.

“I’m not really a people person either.” Bucky said. “I prefer staying in, but Steve is such a people person. I think he’s always been a people person.”

“Actually, I’ve always liked people, but they didn’t like me.” Steve announced, coming back into the room balancing three cups in his hands.

“What idiots they must’ve been.” You said, opening the pen for him. Taking your cup from you noted he made it perfectly. “Holy shit Steve. How is this better than when I make it?”

“Because Steve is good at everything.” Bucky said, taking his mug and kissing the blonde. The three of you sat together for the rest of the day, drinking coffee and sharing stories until they had to go.

As the boys left and you were closing up for the day, you couldn’t help but shake your head.

“Get a grip Y/N. They’re gay, they’re together. You can’t have them.” You sighed before laying your head on the desk.

“No Buck, don’t let him take that dog to any vet in this city.” You said, holding the phone between your shoulder and ear. You had just fed the last of the litter of kittens someone had brought in last week and were attempting to get them to use the bathroom while you spoke to Bucky. “It’s not worth his money or time, tell him he can bring the dog here and I’ll give him a free once over.”

“Are you sure doll?” Bucky asked.

“Yes, every vet in this city is an asshole and will make you wait ten years before they actually get to you. Just bring your friend and his dog in and I’ll check him over.” You promised, weighing the kitten and smiling.

“Thanks doll. I’ll let Clint know and we’ll be there shortly.” Bucky said before hanging up. You placed the phone down and moved over to the incubator and placed the kitten inside.

“There you go Aragog.” You cooed as he crawled over to his siblings. The bell sounded out front making you smile as you closed the incubator. “That was fast.” You commented, walking into the front room. You stopped dead in the doorway at the man before you.

“Hey baby girl.”

Peter. He’d seemed very nice when you met him eight months ago but the longer you were around him, the more of his true colours you saw. He was rude, enjoyed putting you and other people down and on the odd occasion could be very violent to you and others.

The second you realized who he really was you got out the hell out of dodge. You moved into another part of the city, changed your number and blocked him in every way, shape and form.

“How the hell did you find me?” You snapped, crossing your arms and glaring at the man.

“Baby girl, how many times do I have to say this? You’re mine, I’ll always find you.” Peter said, coming closer to you.

“Get the fuck out of here, Peter.” You demanded, pulling your phone out of your pocket. Before you could do anymore Peter had jumped over the counter and pushed you against the wall.

“What are you going to do with that, Y/N?” he questioned mockingly. He held both your wrists in one of his hands and squeezed them until it hurt and you dropped the phone.

“Get the fuck off me, Peter.” You snarled, bringing your knee up to meet his groin. You moved away from the wall, attempting to move away from him only for Peter to grab you by the arm and pull your body into his.

“Why do you always make everything so complicated?” Peter questioned, holding onto you tightly. “C’mon darling, you know your life has no meaning without me in it.”

“You are a fucking piece of shit, Peter.” You snapped, attempting to shove him away. “You an abusive asshole and I want nothing to do with you, get the fuck out of my store or else.” You threatened.

“Or else what?” He asked. Before you could reply the bell dinged again and this time Steve, Bucky and Clint walked in. Seeing Peter was distracted, you pushed yourself away from Peter and grabbed your phone from the ground.

“Is everything okay, doll?” Steve asked, looking at you concerned. You let out a shaky breath and nodded.

“I’m fine. Peter was just leaving.” You said, narrowing your eyes at the bastard. Peter was still staring at the three Avengers before him nervously.

“Fine, but I’ll see you soon.” He vowed, looking directly at you. You gritted your teeth as he left the store before plastering a smile onto your face.

“Hi! You must be Clint. Come on through you to the back. Steve, Buck, can you show him to the examination table. I’m right behind you.” You said, lifting part of the counter for them to come through.

Bucky walked behind the other two and the dog and stopped to look at you. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bucky asked. “Who was that?”

“It was no-one.” You told him, giving what you hoped was a reassuring smile. “And it was nothing. I’m fine.” You said. The two of you followed after the two men who already had Clint’s dog on the table. “Hi, I’m Y/N.” You said, reaching a hand out to Clint.

Clint shook your hand and gave you a smile. “Clint, but these two probably told you that.”

“And who do we have here?” You asked, reaching down to pet the one-eyed dog.

“This is Lucky.” Clint introduced. “I’m worried he might be ill.”

“Alright, let me set a few things up and see if I can help you.” You said. You quickly grabbed what you needed and began to check the dog over. It was a simple infection, but you gave Clint a prescription for an antibiotic and assured him Lucky would be just fine.

Clint thanked you graciously, took the antibiotic, thanked you again and left. Steve and Bucky decided they were going to stay for the rest of the day.

“You two can grab Maeve and head over to the pen. I’m just going to the office for a minute, I need to fill in some paperwork.” You said, before hurrying into the office. You shut the door behind you and slid to the floor.

You let out a few shaky breaths, attempting to keep the sobs at bay. It was only when your phone beeped, and you saw a new message from Peter that the dam broke.

“Y/N? Y/N, can you open the door for me?” Steve asked, rapping on the door. “Please Y/N.”

“Just a minute.” You said, hurriedly wiping the tears off your face. You took a few deep breaths before opening the door to see both men standing before you.

“Doll, what happened?” Bucky asked, coming into the office and crossing his arms as he stared at you. You looked between both men and sighed knowing they wouldn’t leave this alone.

You directed them both to the couch and told them the whole story. Both men became angry as you told them what Peter had done to you and promised to help you try and get a restraining order.

After explaining the story, you quickly cleaned yourself up and the three of you moved into the puppy pen. Where you stayed, drinking coffee and talking about happier, non-sensical, things until you had to close up.

“Hey doll, can we ask you something?” Steve asked as the three of you stood in the front room.

“Yeah shoot.” You said, giving him a smile.

“Would you, uh, would you maybe, I don’t know, want to see us outside this store?” Steve stammered, making Bucky shake his head at the man.

“He means, would you like to go on a date with us?” Bucky corrected.

“Aren’t you both gay though?” You asked, heart beating quickly. Could this actually be happening?

“We’re Bi.” Steve said. “And we’d really like to take you out.”

“In that case, I’d love to go out with you both.” You smiled giddily.

“Great!” Bucky said with a grin. “How about we text you about it tonight and we work out a day?”

“Sounds great.” You replied. The two left, not without giving you a peck on the cheek, and you retreated into the back room and picked Maeve up with a large smile.

“I’m so glad they picked you little girl.” You cooed, kissing her soft cheek.

“Hey sweetheart.” Bucky said, coming into your office with a tray of coffees. “Your favourite husband’s here.” He added with a smirk. You looked up from your paperwork and smiled.

“Hey honey.” You greeted, kissing his cheek and taking a coffee from the tray. “Where’s our other husband?” You asked before taking a sip of the hot beverage.

“Here.” Steve announced, coming in with a four-year-old Maeve next to him.

“Hi darling.” You said, walking over to him and kissing him. “Hi sweetie.” You cooed, kneeling to hug the dog. “What are you three doing here?” You asked the men.

“Do we need a reason to stop by and see the woman we love?” Bucky asked, standing behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

“No you don’t, but the last time you said that, you broke stove.” You said, smirking at the brunette.

“To be fair that was my fault.” Steve admitted, taking Maeve off her leech. “But this time there is no ulterior motive. We got bored at home and wanted to see you.”

“And maybe see the new dogs you got yesterday.” Bucky added. You shook your head at the man who leaned down to kiss you. “But mainly because we love you.”

“I love you both too.” You said as you pulled apart. “And yes, you can play with the new dogs.” You added and with that Bucky was off. You and Steve smiled at Bucky’s retreating figure.

“He’s going to try and take home a new dog, isn’t he?” Steve asked, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Probably.” You said as the two of you, plus Maeve, followed after Bucky.

If the man actually did bond with a dog ad wanted to take them home, it was very likely neither you nor Steve would object. After all it was the pooch next to you that brought the three of you together.

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