#actually not goodnight because i’m making his spotify playlist but! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

miekasa · 4 years ago

Text

NICE.

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

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

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

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

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

+ word count: 19k. i’m sorry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, baby. I love you.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Get off my line.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no—of course not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was almost three thou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It wasn’t mine, I was—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what’s it matter to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not avoiding him,” you frown.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sound like you speak from personal experience.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“His parents?” Jean cuts you off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you… told Eren yet?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Skeptical, you unfold your arms and open the envelope. You don’t know what you were expecting—a card, maybe tickets to a musical or something; but what you definitely weren’t expecting were two tickets to Paris.

“France?” you look up, tickets in hand, “You don’t get it do you? You can’t just buy all of this shit, jet us off to Europe and expect everything to be okay.”

“No, no it’s not like that—I swear!” he interjects, hands moving sporadically, “It’s just, well… Can we sit? Then I can explain everything.”

Eren looks at you with those big green eyes and that sad pout to his lips, and you find yourself sighing and taking a seat on the couch against your better judgement. There’s a small smile to his lips when you do—a little victory—and he sits next to you, your knees resting against each other as you face him.

He’s shaking, and your resolve to punish him with whatever solid exterior and half-assed silent treatment dissolves as you take his left hand in your right, and recall your conversation with Jean. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s me, Eren. You can talk to me.”

When he feels your smaller hand envelop his, the shaking stops, and for a moment, it feels like he can do this, like everything is okay. He smiles, and takes a deep breath.

“The other night, you were right, about my mom and her boyfriend coming home,” he starts, words slow and heavy, “I didn’t even know she was coming—I knew she was visiting this month, but she didn’t tell me when, and I thought it was going to be just her, you know? But then she showed up with him, and, well, I don’t know. I was upset. She’s been home for a week now, and we haven’t even gone to dinner or anything.”

He pauses, and you squeeze his hand for reassurance, “We were supposed to get lunch on Thursday, but she cancelled. Had some meeting or something, I don’t know, I don’t care. Friday comes and she says she wants to have dinner, right?”

You nod, he continues. “I thought it was just going to be us, but he was there. That’s when she told me that… that they’re…” he squeezes his eyes shut, “They’re engaged.”

Your mouth falls into a small o-shape. Everything made perfect sense now.

It’s not that Eren didn’t love his mother, quite the opposite actually. He’s a mama’s boy through and through; she’s his role model, his everything, he adores her. Her career as a designer often takes her on long business trips, most frequently as prolonged stays in Paris, so much so that she relocated her primary office there shortly after Eren graduated high school.

Now, she only visits home for one or two weeks at a time, sometimes only for the weekend. Upon her decision to permanently relocate, she planned to leave Eren under the unofficial supervision of Mikasa. Instead, Eren bought Mikasa her own three-bedroom apartment in Midtown (according to his logic, it was better for her to have her own place than to move in with Jean), and a shared two-story penthouse for the both of you that overlooks Central Park.

Eren misses her more than he cares to admit, but he puts on the same facade every time she comes home because he hates the company she brings.

Paris is where she met her newest boyfriend, Mitchell, and Eren swears he hates that man with every fiber of his being. It’s not saying much, though, not when Eren’s hated every single one of his mother’s past romantic partners, right down to his own father.

“Is… is that why you—”

“Rented a brand new Corvette and went drag racing at one in the morning?” he chuckles, “Yeah. It was stupid, I know, but I was just angry, I guess. I dunno what I was feeling, but it wasn’t good.”

You nod, wrapping both of your hands around his now and offering him a warm smile. He smiles back, just for a moment. “That’s what the tickets are for, actually. The wedding.”

“They’re getting married in France?” you question, to which he nods, “On the first? Isn’t that a little short notice to plan a wedding?”

“I think you’re underestimating the power of Carla Jaeger,” he chuckles, “Apparently, it’s been in the works for a few months now. He proposed with fireworks or some shit. Said she wanted to tell me in person, though.”

“This ticket is for next week,” you say, rereading the dates on the papers. “The wedding is three weeks from now.”

“Well, I kind of figured we could take a little vacation before then,” he grins, “I texted most of the boys earlier, and they can probably come to the wedding, but I want to spend some time with you before it gets hectic, you know? Consider it an end of the semester present.”

Your eyes flicker down to your hand, still wrapped around Eren’s, when he starts to trace circles into your skin, “I thought I just told you, you can’t jet us off to Europe to fix things.”

“You did,” he hums, “And I know I can’t—I’m not trying to, I just… Truthfully, I reserved the plane and the hotel a few weeks back and it really was just going to be a surprise for us—well, more like a gift for you because I know you’ve been busting your ass in chem—but then… everything else happened, and I think a break sounds perfect before I watch my mom get married for the sixth time.”

You watch him continue to toy with your hands for a while, processing your conversation. It was typical of Eren to surprise you like this, so you can’t figure out why this particular present leaves you feeling warmer than usual.

“You sure you don’t need a break from me?”

Eren beams and takes the opportunity to lace your fingers together. “Nah, you’re annoying, but not Jean level annoying.”

You scoff, “I’m telling him you said that.”

“It’ll sound better coming from you, anyway,” he shrugs, “Besides, I might just murder Mitchell if you’re not there with me.”

You chuckle, on the verge of accepting his proposal, but the mention of Jean prompts another thought to cross through your mind. “I’d love to, but I… I don’t know. I don’t want Armin to spend the first few weeks of winter break here all alone.”

This Christmas would mark one year since Armin had seen, or even talked to, any of his immediate family members, with the exception of Erwin.

Last year, you all tried to salvage the damage by sticking around so, at the very least, he didn’t have to feel alone. You and your friends decided that Armin ought to be celebrated, not ostracized for any aspect of himself, so you all chipped in for a cute, impromptu trip to the Catskills so that everyone could be together and close to home.

This year, however, there seemed to be quite a few conflicts of interest. Even if Armin was one of the boys who was planning on attending the wedding, you doubt he had plans leading up to it. You know that Marco, Bertholdt, Mikasa, and Jean had invited him to go to Aspen with them, but Armin declined the offer. Similarly, Connie, Sasha, Annie, Reiner, and Ymir would be off to Dubai as soon as classes ended; an invitation Armin had also turned down.

You weren’t sure what Erwin’s plans were, though you’re certain they involved his own friends in some way or another. At the very least, it was unlikely that he would leave his younger brother completely stranded over the break; but you didn’t want to make plans without knowing Armin wouldn’t be alone.

“He won’t, actually he’ll be closer than you think,” Eren reassures you, “Hange and Moblit wanted to go skiing anyways, so Erwin is taking all of them to the Alps instead of Aspen. Armin doesn’t know yet, but he’s going with them.”

“Shouldn’t Erwin spend his break campaigning, and not skiing? Last I checked, he wasn’t too popular in Queens”

“Ah, you know Erwin,” Eren shrugs, “He has a way of making people devote themselves to him. He’ll win the election with or without campaigning, trust me—the point is, that little baby Armin will be safe and sound under Erwin’s protection, and you don’t have to worry about him.”

“How come you get to call him a baby?”

“Because I’m a hypocritical asshole who doesn’t deserve you, but is hoping you’ll come with me anyway.”

Eren smirks, but there’s a genuine undertone to his words as he moves his fingers to toy with the ring around your pointer finger. The same one he gave to you two Christmases ago. Well, kind of.

The ring he originally gifted you was a Harry Winston piece, with an encrusted band that wrapped into two sunflowers, both made of classic, white diamonds with emeralds sparkling in the center. After seeing the design, and the price tag, you demanded that he take it back, or at the very least, get it sized to fit on your index finger or thumb so that people didn’t get the wrong idea.

Instead, he came back with a simple, silver chain for the original ring to hang from, and the current ring on your finger; a rose gold band with tiny diamonds studded around it. Likely equally as expensive, but more appropriate according to you.

“Fine. But you have to be on your best behavior,” you agree, paying no mind to Eren’s thumb twirling your jewelry, “Do you promise me no drag racing or antics of any sort while we’re there?”

Eren shakes his head at the memory, eyeing the first ring that sits against your chest.

He smiles. “I do.”

The afternoon after your last exam, you bid the remainder of your friends goodbye, grab your bags, and hop on a plane with Eren. It arrives in Paris, but you’re rerouted off to Nice before you can so much as blink at the Eiffel tower; you’d be staying there for the two and half weeks leading up to the wedding, in a small villa.

You had to hand it to him, Eren really outdid himself. It’s dark and nearing three in the morning when you arrive, but even in your sleepy stupor you can admire your accommodations. The villa is secluded, the perfect distance from the water, and decorated lavishly almost to your exact liking. You wouldn’t be surprised if Eren sprung it on you that he’d bought the place, and wasn’t merely renting it for this vacation.

Every day after that, Eren proves he was honest in his intentions of this being a getaway gift to you. He’s planned every activity under the sun—from hot air balloon rides, to helicopter tours, to jet-skiing. The days are certainly fun and filled with beautiful memories, but there’s something special about Nice at sunset; something about the sound of gentle waves brushing up against the beach, and the spotlights carved from sun-cast shadows on the buildings.

It’s just after dinner time, bordering on your eighth night here, when you and Eren are walking along the cobblestone streets that border the beach, the length of your sundress flowing every which way with the breeze, and the tail of Eren’s blazer flailing like a cape behind him.

He looks nice tonight, but, truthfully, he always does. He claimed he hadn’t put on the casual green suit because of your outfit, but you swear he was wearing khakis before he saw your dress. The tips of his ears go red when you tease him about it at dinner, but it doesn’t really matter to you; he would have looked good, regardless. Those suits are made for him, after all; tailored to fit perfectly, and designed by his own mother.

The streets tend to settle down after six, locals and tourists retreating indoors or heading to the beach to relax and draw in the evening. Tonight, however, there’s much more commotion than usual on your route.

“Maybe we should take the long way,” you suggest. On the tips of your toes, you realize that there’s some kind of special event happening in the square, filled with lights and music that grows louder with every step you take.

But the crowd and the lights and the smell of food only piques Eren’s interest. “No way—let’s check it out!”

You don’t have the time to refute before his long legs surpass your own stride, headfirst into the sea of people. You can only follow with a smile and a shake of your head. The soft green of his suit jacket serves as your guide as he navigates through the crowd, but the closer you get to the center, the more people there are.

You can feel palms of your hands growing uncomfortably warm as you become hyperaware of just how many people there are. You clutch the end of your dress in your hand, for both practicality and as a sort of comfort mechanism, as you try your best to calm the anxious wave threatening to crash against you.

With a deep breath, you begin to walk again, unaware of Eren’s actions until you physically walk into his hand, long fingers poking at your belly. You hadn’t realized he stopped walking, or that you’d caught up with him, and your eyebrows crinkle when you look down to see Eren’s left hand extended behind him and towards you, palm facing upwards.

He doesn’t say anything, or look back at you at all. Only wraps his larger fingers around yours when he feels the weight of your hand in his, and continues to guide you through the crowd, his pace slower, and hand firm around yours.

The mass of people becomes more spread out when you approach what appears to be the center of the event; and it looks like a party, maybe a wedding of some sort. There’s food and champagne galore, and more than enough happy guests dancing along to upbeat music in the streets.

Eren’s eyes light up as he takes in the scene, “You wanna dance?”

“What—Eren, no!” you refuse, “We cannot crash these people’s party!”

“Why not?” he counters, without a care in the world, “Seems like an open invitation to me! Come on!”

And for the second time that evening, you find yourself being pulled into his schemes; this time in the direction of the open space dubbed dance floor.

You’re both terrible and ostentatious and people start to watch, but it doesn’t matter because you’re smiling too wide and laughing too hard to care. Eren has a way of moving both with and against the music, forcing your body to follow his lead.

He shouts something over the noise, but you don’t have time to register his words before he laces your right hand with his left, and places his right hand on your waist. There’s a blink of confusion for a moment before you’re being swept off your feet and into a dramatic dip. You don’t have time to secure yourself against his shoulders, but Eren does a fine job of supporting you with a single arm against your back.

From what you can tell the song is far from over and the dramatic pose is completely unwarranted, but you and the crowd alike are victim to his charm. You indulge yourself, looking up at him with eyes too fond to memorize every feature of his face in this moment; the way he’s laughing with that big, dumb, wide smile of his that makes his nose crinkle and his eyes light up.

You’re too busy looking at him to hear Eren’s voice calling out to you, or even realize that he’s moved you from your pose to standing back upright. He’s equal parts amused and concerned at the glazed over look in your eyes.

“Hello? Anybody home up there?” he teases, elongating the vowels and squeezing your waist to alert you.

The reminder of his hands on your hips pulls you back to reality, your eyes fluttering down to his arms, then back to his face. It feels stuffy suddenly, too close to function.

“Yea—yeah! Do you wanna get a drink? Yeah, let’s get a drink!” you exclaim, haphazardly pointing and walking towards the food.

You don’t see it, but Eren looks on with glittering eyes, his verbal agreement heard only by himself as you veer towards the buffet. He can still feel your body in his grip, still see the specks of gold in your pupils as he lingers on the back of your silhouette lovingly. And before you can realize, he snaps himself out of it—an out of body experience similar to yours a few moments ago—before catching up with you.

You end up socializing for much longer than intended. Eren makes friends with everyone, to no surprise, and, uncharacteristically, you feel influenced by his actions, and converse with a few people yourself. You let him take the lead, though. Partially because he’s better at it, and partially because you just like listening to him speak French.

“Hey, we should probably get out of here,” he whispers into your ear after waving goodbye to a lovely couple you’d just met, “Before the host of this party realizes we’re miles better than his actual guests.”

You nod with a smile, more than happy to play by his rules for the evening. He offers you his hand again, that same, dopey smile on his face when you take it.

He leads you out of the crowd and back on to the path to your villa, the smell of warm food and sounds of vibrant music growing dull as you venture further from the celebration. It’s much darker than it was when you began your trek back from the restaurant, but beautiful all the same.

Your sandals pad against the wooden dock that leads up the villa, and Eren unlocks the door silently, ushering you inside before entering behind you.

“I know I said I wanted to leave, but I’m not really tired yet,” Eren confesses, pulling his blazer off of his shoulders.

“Me neither,” you say, placing your small wristlet on the table with a shrug, “What do you wanna do though, I’m not—”

“Great!” he cuts you off, smile too big. You narrow your own in suspicion. That tone of voice with that look on his face usually meant something mischievous, at best. “Remember when you said the first time you’d smoke would be with me, and then pranced away and took a bowl from Hange and got high as shit at Moblit’s party?”

“Why does everyone remember Moblit’s party but me!”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles, waving the topic away, “Anyway… Do you wanna smoke now?”

You blink. “I… did you… smuggle weed all the way to France?”

“No, of course not!” he refutes, “…I got it here.”

You scoff, but don’t have the time to question him further before Eren’s tugging on your wrist and pulling you into the bedroom. You take to sitting on your bed while he rummages through his suitcase to retrieve a small, clear jar with several rolled joints inside and a lighter to match.

He shuffles next to you in the bed, mindlessly handing you the lighter while he unscrews the top off the jar. He takes out two of the joints, places one next to the jar on the nightstand, and tucks the other between his teeth. He asks you to hand him the lighter, and you do so wordlessly, distracted by the sight of Eren’s gaze and the blunt poking out his mouth.

“This’ll be fun, yeah?” He reassures you, “Technically, you let Hange take your weed virginity, but I’ll be better.”

“Can you not phrase it like that,” you roll your eyes, “You already took my virginity virginity, don’t be bitter.”

An all too smug grin settles on his features as he recounts the fact. “Besides,” you tack on, “I’ve never done it like this before. So, it’s still a first, kind of.”

Eren cups one hand around the joint, sparking the lighter with the other until it catches fire. He inhales, slow and deliberate, as if he were putting on a show, or a lesson, of sorts, taking the smoke into his lungs and out through his mouth.

You’d gravely miscalculated how attractive Eren would look doing this. Sure, he’s hot, you knew that, but the pronunciation of his jawline when he exhales, and the confidence with which he drags on the blunt is a stark reminder to you. He takes a few more hits, just as slow and sensual as the first, and the room begins to feel warmer.

“Come closer,” be beckons, smoke rolling off of his tongue with every syllable.

You snap yourself out of the haze of your imagination and scoot closer to him. He silently hands you the joint, and it feels heavy between your fingers. At the distance, you take in the smell—pungent and off-putting, but too familiar.

Eventually, you bring it to your lips, careful not to let your tongue press against the tip, and inhale slowly, like you’d seen Eren do before. You do your best to hold the smoke in your lungs for a bit, but seeing as the last time you did this you were amped up on adrenaline and drunk off your ass, the task proves to be much more difficult. It tickles before becoming uncomfortable and you exhale ungracefully, puffs of smoke punctuating your coughs.

Eren watches with a grin, amused at the sight of you fanning the excess smoke away with your nose scrunched in distaste. “You should have warned me you were gonna cough like a bitch.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you whine, trying to hide the hint of a smile creeping onto your face. You hand the blunt back to him, “You’re supposed to teach me, not tease me, asshole.”

Eren pauses his laughter, unsure of what to make of your tone; rushed, a bit embarrassed, but testy. It’s quiet while he stares at you, trying not to let the implication of your words run wild in his mind; but it’s futile when you’re pouting like that, the room is growing foggier, and he’s been semi-hard since you accepted his offer.

“Fine. Watch and learn,” he breathes, words coming out more jagged than he’d intended.

This time, he completely exaggerates every motion; he inhales at a tantalizing pace and flutters his eyes closed while he lets the smoke swish in his mouth, down his throat, and expand into his lungs. He cranes his neck upwards, and purses his lips to let the clouds exit in the streamline that follows the slope of his jaw.

Maybe it’s the drugs getting to you, but your mind is filled with nothing but sheer clouds that aren’t thick enough to block out thoughts of Eren. The weed is unattractive, potent in smell, and all kinds of wrong; yet, everything about him is soft, sultry, and pulls you in.

“Wanna try again, or do you need another lesson?”

You faintly mutter a profanity under your breath. His words end with giggles, a sign the drugs have already begun to take their effect on him, his expression is still smug. You forget Eren knows just how attractive he is. Motherfucker.

“Actually,” he cuts your train of thought, “I have a better idea, come ‘ere.”

Eren beckons you forward again, closing the gap between your legs so that your knees graze each other under the fabric of your clothing while you’re sat next to each other. He leans over, far too close into your personal space, as if to test something; he freezes when his nose is mere inches from your face, a dissatisfied scrunch taking over his features.

He reinstates his hold on your wrist, motioning your body backwards until your back is against the frame of the bed. He hums in approval, positioning himself next to you again, equally as close, but far more comfortable for what he has planned next.

“I’m—I’m gonna try somethin’, okay?” he stutters, the first word mistakenly coming out in broken German, “Just, don’t freak out on me. It’ll be good, promise.”

You nod, unsure of what you’ve just signed off on, but you don’t have time to ask questions. Eren takes another hit, then passes the blunt to his non-dominant hand. He turns to face you, leans forward, and places his free hand on the back of your neck to pull you closer; the expanse of his palm leaving room for his thumb to venture over the bottom half of your cheek.

Eren pulls you in until your lips are millimeters apart, and he can see the pattern of your eyes in beautiful detail. He shifts his hand now so that the majority of it covers your face, the pad of his thumb running across your bottom lip. He applies the perfect amount of pressure to pry your willing mouth open, and then, finally, exhales.

This time, you can taste it. It’s woodsy, and bitter, but the sweet undertones dance on your tongue. This time, there’s more to think about than just the smoke in your lungs; like the burn of Eren’s hand on your neck; the pressure of his thumb against your bottom lip; the proximity of his lips to yours; the look in his eyes.

“Feel good?” he doesn’t bother to pull away before asking, and the words ghost over your lips with the remaining smoke. You nod; he smiles. “Wanna try again?”

You let out a breathy note of affirmation, and then he’s inhaling and exhaling into you, and you welcome him with pried lips and a heavy thumping in your chest. The confidence with which he maneuvers his body and the drugs is nerve-wracking, yet comforting at the same time; he has an expertise and power that intimidates, but compels you to follow.

Together, you finish the first blunt, and Eren lights the second without missing a beat. His hands are more demanding this around; they guide you into submission, and he’s pleased to find that you’re willing to listen.

After the third exhale, you stop focusing on his hands, and more on his lips. After the fourth, you think you might be high—not to the stars as you infamously were during Moblit’s party—but with a comfortable, dull buzz in your head. Everything feels a little fuzzy, out of touch, but you host a burning want for something more, something tangible.

You don’t know it, but Eren feels the same.

After the fifth exhale, Eren pulls away, the blunt a simple stub as he flicks it away onto the night stand, and you miss him being too close. You miss his hands, you miss his warmth, you crave his touch.

“Eren,” you call, unable to think of or see anything but him in the haze. He answers with a strained, “Yeah?” keening towards the sound of your voice, wide eyes flitting all over your face.

It’s too much, too close, too hot. That’s when you cup his jaw, pull him forward, and meld your lips together.

Kissing Eren is painfully familiar, and unnervingly satisfying. It’s certainly not your first kiss with him; and, yet he has a way of making you feel like it is while reminding you of your history. His lips are soft, and they taste like smoke and the chapstick you swear by because he refuses to buy or test out his own.

You pull away too soon, gauging his reaction with blown-out eyes, before dipping forward to have him against you again. Then again, and again, and again, until Eren is tired of your leaving, and his hands are back on your neck.

This kiss is deeper, Eren searching to satisfy the hunger aching inside of him, and you’re happy to comply when his thumb is pressing at your lower lip again. You open your mouth for him and he doesn’t waste a moment, brushing his tongue against yours experimentally, and then flush into your mouth.

He groans when you rake your fingers into his hair, and pulls back with a hissing noise when you scratch at his nape. Large hands move to grip at your waist, and he pulls you into his lap with a concentrated gaze—a brief second for him to admire the sight of you on top of him, before he resumes kissing you. He sucks on your tongue, rolls his past your teeth, and bites on your bottom lip.

You know he relishes in the sounds he elicits from you, and under any normal circumstance, you’re willing to put up a fight with him, but not now. Now, you let him unzip the back of your dress and snake his hands beneath the fabric. The rubbing motions of his hands turn into gripping, gripping into grinding, and eventually, an unfiltered moan slips past your lips when you feel Eren’s erection roll against you.

“Fuck,” he pulls back with a suck of your swollen lip, “You’re so hot.”

Eren quickly switches your positions so that he’s hovering over you. You chuckle lightly underneath him, taking the opportunity to run both your hands through his hair and cradle his head in your hold, “Haven’t done anything yet.”

“I know,” Eren murmurs, dipping his head down to press kisses into your neck, “Still so sexy. So pretty, always.”

Eren bites a hickey into your collar bone, and everywhere he can touch; your neck, your ears, your cheeks, your lips. Your moaning serves as the spark to keep him going, but he’s barely coherent himself the way you keep pulling at his hair and grinding yourself against him. Even through his clothes, you can feel how painfully hard he is.

He barely catches your tongue between his lips when you moan again, sucking harshly before bruising his lips over yours again. His hands are grabby again, finally pulling your dress completely off of your body, leaving it to form a puddle on the ground. They’re back on your as soon as possible, massaging over your tits, and running his index finger over your nipples.

“Eren... Eren, please,” you whimper, chest heaving as you look down at him. He rolls his index finger over your right nipple, with his left hand teasing the other with his thumb. You can’t tell if the look in his eyes is a product of the weed, or just his glassy, borderline predatory stare, but it makes you shiver with pleasure when he wraps his mouth around your nipple and sucks.

“I want you.”

“Want you, too,” Eren hums, pulling back with a thin trail of spit from your breast, before moving to give your left nipple the same treatment, “More than you know.”

You keen to him when he teases his teeth against you, finally having had enough you force him off of you with a tug of his hair. “Then take off your clothes.”

Eren blinks, wide-eyed but glazed all the same. He chuckles lightly, a blush spreading over his cheeks as he nods. He sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head, forgoing undoing the buttons, and pauses briefly with his hands over the zipper of his pants.

“Please tell me you’re not that gone that you forgot how to undo your zipper,” you tease him, chest still heaving from his previous ministrations. Eren smiles, doe-eyed and hazy, and shakes his head.

“No,” he reassures you, finally undoing his zipper and shimmying his pants off his legs, “Was trying to remember what underwear I was wearing. Didn't want it to be embarrassing.”

His honesty makes you laugh, and Eren pauses for a moment to soak it in. Even like this, even with him stumbling over the steps to undress himself, and you almost completely naked in front of him, he can make you smile. There’s something equally sexy and endearing about your giggles; a juxtaposition that makes him want to hug you or kiss you or something in between. And you—you like the look in his eyes even through your giggling; the way he smiles back and blushes and tells you exactly what he’s thinking.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “Don’t think mine are particularly sexy either.”

Eren hums, shuffling back on to the bed so that he’s between your legs, and leans forward to kiss you again. He still can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, his fingers immediately flying to your underwear and peeling them off your legs, pulling you closer despite the lack of space between your bodies.

“Yeah, doesn’t matter,” Eren echos, tossing the offending item to the side, before cupping your face in his hands, “I’d still wanna fuck you in your granny panties.”

“You wanna fuck me?” you question, eyes sparkling and hopeful.

“Yeah, I do,” Eren can’t help but to smile again, happy and high and drunk on you, too, “Will you let me?”

Your feverish nodding is all it takes for Eren’s mind to go hazy again; clouded with you, you, you. You pull him into a kiss, arching your body into his, and running your hands down the sides of his back. He moans at the feeling, punishing you by nipping at your lower lip and pressing your stomach back to the mattress with his palm.

Your eyes meet his as Eren lines himself up with your cunt, teasing your folds with the head; but it doesn’t take long before he finally pushes in, sheathing himself inside you completely without movement. He waits a minute, whether it’s to make you comfortable, or to gather his own bearings, you’re not sure; but when he’s ready, he flashes you a smile and waits for one in return, before he starts thrusting.

You know Eren’s not gentle; rough whether or not he intends to be by virtue of his size in comparison to you, but you seem to have forgotten just how capable he is of making you lose your senses. He has you gasping, grasping at him at him unintelligibly, feeling full with his cock inside of you.

Eren groans, borderline growls, when he feels you clench around him, when he sees you shaking beneath him. He could do this all; could watch you all day.

“So pretty, the prettiest. Prettiest girl, my favorite girl,” Eren praises, eyes raking up and down your thrashing body, “My favorite fucking girl.”

“You—you, too.”

“Yeah? I’m your favorite, too?” Eren coos, reaching out to guide your arms over your head, the force of his body pinning your hands down; you can hardly gasp before he lacess your fingers together, and gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“Promised you, didn’t I? That I’d be good to you, be on my best behavior,” Eren reminds you, leaning forward.

He eyes your necklace—eyes glued to ring around it—bouncing with your body. He bends his head down to kiss it, bites at the skin near it; a possessive streak overcoming him as the diamonds shine against you. “I said I’d treat you good, always. Meant it.”

He stutters, when you squeeze him back; fingers tightening around his hold, your pussy clenching around his cock. Your whining is insistent, and mixes with Eren’s low moans and guttural noises. Eren doesn’t let up his pace, fucking you fast and deep, and it’s only a matter of time before you feel a knot twisting in your belly.

You attempt to move your arms, searching for a release of the feeling building up inside of you but Eren is strong; stronger than you, and he keeps you in your place. Keeps your arms pinned above you, keeps his palms pressed into yours, keeps his lips hovering above yours, just out of reach.

“Eren,” you call his name through shaky moans.

“Yeah? What, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

And so he does, his lips needy and hungry over yours. Eren fucks you and kisses you through your orgasm, tasting your moans on his tongue in timing with him cumming inside of you. You don’t let up; kissing him lewdly while you both come down from your highs.

“So good,” Eren croons against your lips, down your jaw, into your skin, “So good for me.”

You both moan in chorus when he finally pulls out, Eren’s head laying on your collar, nose nuzzling into your neck. He lets your hands free, and immediately you wrap them around his back, holding him close as you both attempt to catch your breaths.

You don’t know how long you lay there like that, with Eren on top of you, and your thumb rubbing circles into his cheek while he sleeps soundly. Maybe an hour, maybe more, maybe less; but the euphoria of your sex doesn’t quiet seem to fade.

It might last all night, maybe even for the rest of your trip but you don’t mind. You think back to earlier in the evening, when you’d caught his gaze after your dance. The feeling isn’t all that different; warm, and fuzzy, and too much and not enough all at once. It feels good, it feels like Eren.

You hum softly to yourself, careful not to wake up the sleeping boy on your chest, when you realize exactly what these two moments have in common: a rare event in which Eren is still in front of you, steady and stagnant, no running or chasing; and you don’t want to let him go.

Sometimes Eren thinks you act oblivious on purpose just to fuck with him, because there’s absolutely no way you—or any human with a functioning nervous system and social cues—can’t tell that he’s completely, stupidly, and embarrassingly in love with you.

Long gone are his days of trying to deny it or get over it. He realized that sophomore year of high school—almost eight years ago—that no matter where he went, what kind of drug he inhaled, or how hard he tried, you’d be permanently etched into his heart. That doesn’t make it any less exhausting, and, in fact, only makes it more astounding that you haven’t caught on yet. Honestly, Eren’s considered hiring a private psychiatrist just to make nothing’s wrong with you.

Amazingly, the remainder of your vacation continues just like the former half. The only exception being that now you’re in Paris. And that he’s shamelessly coerced you into letting him fuck your brains out on several occasions. But besides that, everything’s chill.

Just two best friends traveling through France together and stopping to fuck in any semi-private location they can find. Just two peas in a pod walking along the Champs Elysées at damn near midnight. Just two best buds with linked arms tasting (see: feeding each other) every macaron flavor they come across while violinists play stupidly romantic, classical music in the background.

He knows he should probably talk to you about it, but for some reason he can’t. Like telling you would make it all too real, and give it a meaning that could so easily be taken away from him; give you a reason to want to leave him. Right now, it’s just a fantasy, and he’s free to keep dreaming, believing that he’s special and worth enough for the affection you’ve shown him.

He doesn’t want to be one in a list of your boyfriends, or fiances, or husbands; he wants to be your only one, and if he can’t be, then he’d rather be stuck to your side as your best friend. At least that way, in someway, he could remain special to you; not a forgotten, ordinary ex of your past.

Though, a best friend who he’s sleeping with regularly and he’s in love with and will always be in love with is starting to sound a lot like a husband to him. At least, the kind of husband he would like to be to you.

You call his name, asking him if he wants to try another sweet. Eren rolls his eyes. What he wants is to fuck you, and marry you, and have you bless his stupid little existence with two runts for kids that look like him but act like you so his life savings don’t run out by the time they’re twelve. But sure, he’ll settle for having you feed him another macaron in the meantime.

“This one tastes just like the coconut one,” he mumbles, chewing his way through the pastry you’d stuffed into his mouth whole.

It’s the seventh bakery you’ve stopped at tonight, and even though Eren’s growing pretty sick of the sugary treats, he’ll walk with you to every damn bakery in Paris tonight if that’s what you want.

He blinks at the thought. He’s so lovesick it’s disgusting. And he wouldn’t do a damn thing to change it.

“That’s probably because it’s almond and coconut flavored,” you say, wiping the stickiness from your fingers onto a napkin.

“I didn’t taste any almonds.”

“I don’t even think you could spell almond, much less tell me what they taste like.”

Eren simply pouts in refute, leaving you giggling at his expression. He doesn’t know if it’s possible, but you seem even prettier in Paris than in Nice. But, that’s probably his rose-colored glasses speaking.

“You think there’ll be macarons at the reception?” you question, biting into yet another pistachio flavored treat, “And if not, would it be rude to bring my own?”

He chuckles. “Yes, babe, I’m sure there will be macarons there.”

He’s always loved Paris, even when his mom moved away here and left him in New York, and he’d always loved it more when you’re with him. He feared that having to attend another, what he considered to be wasteful, wedding in arguably one of his favorite places in the world would leave a bitter taste in his mouth; but, thankfully, he’s only fallen deeper in love since being here.

“You sure you won’t be sick of them by tomorrow?” he asks, watching you debate between taste testing another variation of vanilla bean or rosé.

“How could I get sick of them?” you answer offhandedly, not sparing him a glance away as you choose the pink snack. How could he get sick of you.

“By the time we get back to New York you’ll have forgotten all about them,” he scoffs.

“Don’t worry I’ll quit it soon. I’ll have to eat something solid if I wanna take my meds and go to bed,” you spew with a smile, unaware of what you’ve actually just said, “But they are delicious and I have no regrets.”

Eren pauses. Then so do you, mouth stuffed with sickly sweet.

“I mean—”

“I know, you know,” he cuts you off, “About the meds and stuff.”

You look like you could pass out, or scream, or cry, or everything in between. Eren figures saying more is better than saying less, so he continues.

“I saw a bottle in the bathroom a few months ago,” he admits shyly, but careful about his tone, “Didn’t understand half the words on the label, but it had your name on it so I just, uh… Googled it.”

Of course he knows. Eren’s always kind of known, just never had the words to express it. He imagines that’s what you’re feeling right now.

“Oh,” you finally gape, “Why didn’t you, um… you know, like, say… anything?”

“It seemed like your secret to tell,” Eren shrugs, features softening out, “Besides, I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to.”

Eren’s always been better at showing than saying, anyway. He hopes that his actions, small as they may seem, might have provided you with any sort of comfort in the past few months. Maybe even before that, too.

“Oh,” you repeat, continually blinking at him, “That’s… that’s it? You’re cool with it?”

Now it’s Eren’s turn to blink. “What do you mean am I cool with it? They’re your meds.”

“Yeah, but like… you’re not mad I didn’t tell—”

“Of course I’m not mad,” he cuts you off with a soft smile, “It’s not really my business. I mean, like, you’re my business because I care about you, but you have your own private stuff, too, which is cool. Besides, when I was, uh, researching it, I learned that it can be hard to tell people stuff like that even if—”

Eren shuts up when he feels your weight against him and your arms wrapped around him. Shell shocked, he takes a moment to hug you back, and slowly comes to rest his chin atop your head after leaving a flurry of kisses.

“You didn’t have to look it up or do any kind of research, you know,” you mumble softly into his jacket. Eren borderline chortles, but only hugs you more tightly.

“Of course I did. If not for you, then for myself, because I meant it when I said I’d never seen half the words on the prescription before in my life,” he replies, heart glowing at the sound of your small chuckles.

He’s expecting an equally witty response, but you surprise him when you pull back just enough to face him, a hazy smile on your face. “You’re amazing, Eren.”

Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush—fucking idiot.

“Yeah, I’m pretty great,” he boasts, leaning back into the coolest pose he could muster up while ignoring the growing heat creeping up his neck. It’s all in vain as you reach over to playfully tug at one of his ears.

He thinks you’re pretty like this. All the time, but most notably when he has you in his arms. So pretty, that he has to lean forward to kiss you; you don’t seem to mind, if the way you smile into the kiss is any indication of your feelings. Eren finds himself mirroring your grin; moving his arms from around your waist to the sides of your face.

The workers in this poor little café probably hate the two of you, but he doesn’t fucking care. He’s got his favorite girl in his arms right now, and you taste like almonds and coconuts and like the love of his life.

And he should tell you. Eren wants to tell you, and he finds himself wondering if those same intrusive, fearful thoughts were part of the driving force behind your own reason to keep your secrets from him.

You pull away from him, hands lightly draped around his neck, and you smile like you’re shy—like he hasn’t known you your whole life. Still, Eren finds himself smiling back; and thinks that if you were brave enough to tell him how you were feeling, then he should do the same.

“(_____), I… I gotta tell you something,” he starts, voice soft as his fingers curl around your waist a little more tightly, “Though, I’m kind of hoping you already know.”

You blink at him, almost innocently. Eren bites the inside of his jaw; you’re going to have to stop doing that before he jumps you again.

Better now than never, he supposes. He tries to shake his nerves when he takes your hands in his, completely covering them with his palms, and closes his eyes. Despite that, you try to offer him comfort, squeezing his fingers as best you can; and Eren takes that moment to thank his lucky stars for whoever decided to put you in his life. Because he knows that no matter what, even if he royally fucks this up, you’ll find some way to be there for him.

He slowly blinks his eyes open again, gaze resting on the ring around your neck. A faded chuckle escapes his lips when looks at it. The only one who got the wrong idea about his gift was you. But, he supposes that’s his fault; he never did explain it, after all.

“It’s nothing… It’s just that, I’m in—”

But Eren’s startled by a voice that makes him freeze. He almost wants to believe he misheard it, but he can hear the telltale clacking of vintage heels on the floor of the bakery and he knows that he didn’t mishear a thing.

Eren turns his head, and sure enough, there is his mother, in all her five foot glory, adorned in designer clothing from her beret to her shoes. With a fucking street urchin on her arm.

“Well, well, well, what a lovely surprise,” Carla beams, red lipstick perfectly in place even after a long day of wear.

Eren’s eyebrows draw together, as he takes in his mother and her fiancé standing in front of him. He can just barely register you calling out towards her, carefully maneuvering yourself off of his lap, and into the neighboring chair; but still keeping your right hand wrapped around his left. He can feel you squeeze it—whether to give him comfort, or warning, he’s not sure yet; probably both.

“It’s so good to see you!” you beam, excitedly offering her and Mitchell a seat across from the two of you at the table. Eren opens his mouth to refute, but you squeeze his hand again; a warning.

Carla leans forward to encase you in a hug, exchanging cheek kisses, and leaving Eren to stare at the street rat across from him. Mitchell seems to know better than to make eye contact with him, irises scattering from Carla’s back to the décor of the bakery while the two girls catch up.

“We missed you at the rehearsal dinner on Sunday,” Carla recounts, eyes fluttering to Eren’s briefly. One look into her son’s eyes, and she understands why; one look into his mother’s eyes, and Eren knows she has him all figured out. “I was worried you might not show at all.”

Eren strategically averts your gaze when you turn your head towards him, choosing to look at his mother instead.

“I didn’t even know there was a rehearsal dinner,” you tell her, tone polite, but Eren can hear the clear jab directed towards him, “I’m sorry, I—we would have gone, otherwise.”

“No need to apologize, darling,” Carla smiles, “I’m sure you two were very busy.”

“We were,” Eren cuts in, words definite. He sees a hint of surprise flash in his mother’s eyes briefly, expertly covered up with her sweet demeanor. She only nods in understanding, sitting back a bit to wrap her arm around Mitchell’s.

“What are you even doing here, Ma?” Eren questions, even as you do the same with his hands under the table, “Isn’t it bad luck to see the groom before the wedding.”

“After the third or fourth wedding, you grow tired of pleasantries and superstitions, my love,” she replies, “This place makes Mitchell’s favorite macarons, we thought we’d share a few before the big day. Maybe get some tea as a pre-celebration.”

The topic of sweets has you speaking up once again, engaging both his mother and Mitchell in a discussion about them, and your other findings from bakery hopping earlier. If Eren didn’t love you to pieces, he would have left the table a long time ago.

It carries on much longer than he can bear to endure; almost an hour of you, and his mother, and Mitchell making pleasant conversation while he tries his best not to brood beside you, but it’s futile. He feels like a little kid again. Stuck at the dinner table with his mother and a man he was being forced to get to know, only for him to become a stranger to him in a matter of months.

Eren grinds his teeth into each other when you laugh at something Mitchell says. He’s not going to sit through his any longer; or ever again.

“Well, this has been fun,” Eren says, voice blatantly monotonous as his cuts through the conversation, “But we should all probably head back go to bed. Big day tomorrow.”

“Eren, we should—” but, he stands up quickly, hand wrapping around yours to force you upwards too.

He doesn’t care to look at you, knowing the dissatisfied expression he’ll be met with. He fishes for his wallet and pulls out too many Euros, neatly tucking them under an unused knife to pay for the meal.

Eren’s steps out from between his chair and the table. “We’ll see you guys tomorr—” But is stopped before he can take three steps away.

His mother’s hand wrapped around his wrist. She stands, significantly shorter than Eren’s full height. “Actually, Eren, could I borrow you for a bit?”

And he doesn’t want to, because he knows exactly the conversation waiting for him. But he looks down at her, lets his eyes flicker to you, and back to her, and he knows he doesn’t have the heart to walk away. Not even if he tried.

He sighs with a shallow nod. He can feel your hand on his shoulder, the proud smile on your lips when you tell him that you’ll meet him back at your hotel. Mitchell ensures him and Carla that he’ll make sure you get back safely, and Eren still can’t stand the guy, but he’s grateful that he can at least be of use for something.

Eren kisses you on the forehead briefly, a promise to you and himself that he’ll finish his confession later. After all, he probably should come to terms with the woman who taught him what love is before he vowed to love you for the rest of his life.

The walk to his mother’s hotel is silent, Eren choosing to keep to himself, hands stuffed in his pockets to prevent his mom from holding them. He’s probably acting like a child, but isn’t that what he is to her; isn’t that she treats him as.

“Look, Ma, you don’t need my approval to marry him,” Eren grumbles, when they finally exit the elevator into the hotel room, “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Of course I don’t,” Carla offers him a small grin, even if he won’t look at her directly, “But it matters to me.”

“Why does it matter now? It didn’t matter with Keith, or Henry, or Henri with an I, or any of the others,” Eren mumbles, reluctantly taking a seat on the stool opposite the vanity.

His mother tracks his movements with soft eyes and an amused grin as Eren absentmindedly bends a knee and begins to fiddle with the hem of his pants. Just like he used to when he was upset as a child.

“It mattered then, too, Eren,” she tells him, sitting on the stool and facing him.

He’s surprised by her words, his wide eyes giving him away even if he attempts to act unfazed. “It didn’t seem like it.”

Carla opens her mouth to speak, but closes it, words stuck in her throat. She watches Eren’s hunched figure, her tall son not even bothering to look her in the eyes. She exhales slowly; if he were five feet smaller, he’d have tucked himself under her arm, still refusing to look at her, but he’d have snuggled his head into her side while he pouted anyway.

“I suppose it didn’t,” she admits, “In the end, the love wasn’t enough to make it last, then.”

Eren is quiet for a bit at that, pulling at his pants leg. “And… and you love him enough, now?”

“It’s more than love, Eren. It’s... happiness—for yourself and another person—it’s being okay with somebody knowing you now, and forever. Whichever version of you that is.”

“Then why did you marry them before?” Eren asks, “If you knew it wasn’t enough, if you knew it was just going to end up as another big mistake.”

“Maybe the marriages were a mistake, and some of what came with them, but I don’t think the feelings were,” Carla muses, “Love is never wasted.”

“How can you say that?” Eren questions, disbelief and exasperation painted on his face, “Of course it is—you wasted your time, and your money, and your—your everything on those people who couldn’t care less about you now!”

“Eren—”

“You let them into our house,” Eren speaks over her, “You let them into your life, and they left. They always left—”

“Eren—”

“—And you even let some of them come back! Everyone, you let everyone have another chance, another anniversary, another wedding,” He’s ranting, crying, hot, irrational tears streaming down his face; hiccups interrupting his speech, “So—so, so if it’s not wasted and everyone gets another chance and another chance and another chance—why didn’t he come back, huh? For his?”

Eren’s standing now, arms flailing every which way during his breakdown, but his mother doesn’t try to stop him. She lets him continue, hears him out.

“If it’s love—if it’s not wasted, and it’s real—then why didn’t he come back? Why didn’t he want to? Why—why didn’t he want me? Why did I end up the bastard?”

Eren looks his mother in the eyes for the first time in the duration of their conversation with that final question; with his vision blurry, and chest heaving, and cheeks wet. Carla has no words to say; can only carefully open her arms, and wait for her son to come crashing into them. And he does; and it rains and pours, and Eren holds onto his mother for dear life, and onto the pieces of her breaking heart.

“Am I not good enough to have that kind of love?” Eren asks through tears, “Am I not special enough to want to know?”

“Eren,” she finally speaks, moving to cradle his head in her hands, “You don’t have to be special or good, to be known or loved. It’s enough that you were born. That’s enough to make you deserving of love.”

She doesn’t mind the tears against her palms or the hiccups of Eren’s breathing, “And you already have it.”

And Eren looks at her with eyes wide and wild like a child, staring at the first person to have ever loved someone as messed up, and plain, and ordinary as him; and he can feel more tears bubbling at his eyes.

“Ma, I’m—I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, wrapping his arms around her even tighter, chin resting on her shoulder while his shake through his tears, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Carla hugs her son as close as she can, like he’s five years old and the apple of her eye and she can take all his pain away. “You don’t have to be. You’re my son, and I’ll love you always.”

It feels like they have all the time in the world like that, to hug and cry and apologize; but Carla hopes Eren knows that he was always forgiven; that he never had anything to apologize for in the first place.

“She loves you, too, baby,” she coos, holding Eren as tight as possible, “But you have to let her know that. That you accept it.”

“Do you think she knows?” Eren asks, words muffled into the fabric of her clothing, “That I love her, too?”

“I do,” Carla confirms, pulling away to look at Eren in the eyes; his beautiful, shining, green eyes, “But I don’t think that either of you really realized it. I mean, you did give her an engagement ring, darling.”

Eren huffs at the memory, “She thought it was a gift.”

“Because you gave it to her as a gift.”

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“Love has a way of making people blind,” Carla muses, “Especially two lovesick semi-adults with too much money on their hands.”

Eren’s cheeks grow pink at the accusation, “It’s your money!”

“Yes, and I’m very happy to have it,” Carla chuckles, motioning for Eren to stand up. He does, and she looks up at him with glimmering, proud eyes. “Now, go, shoo. You have a girl to propose to, don’t you? There might be two Jaeger weddings this weekend.”

Eren nods, certain of himself for the first time in a while. He turns on his heel with a vigor igniting his footsteps, but pauses when he reaches the elevator. He makes a sharp turn, running back to his mom one last time, and squeezing her suddenly, and tightly against him.

“I love you, mom,” he says; the words too foreign on his tongue, and he vows to not let them be a stranger to his vocabulary from here on out.

“I love, you, too, Eren,” Carla calmly wraps her arms around her son one last time, “And I always will.”

You half-expected your walk back to your hotel with Mitchell to be painfully awkward, but he proves to be a pleasant conversationalist, even in Carla’s absence.

You know that Eren isn’t fond of him, but you wish that he would at least give him a chance. There’s no way to know if a marriage—if any relationship—will last forever, but, sometimes, you think it’s not about knowing about forever; but, rather about wanting it to make it there; about willing to go the distance with that person.

You can see that want, that willingness that works alongside love in Mitchell and Carla’s relationship, that stands out from her past marriages. You get the feeling they’re going to last; and that, most importantly, they both want it to, too.

It’s quiet out as you both walk the streets of Paris, Mitchell taking the time to point out small notes in architecture that interest you. You readjust your jacket as a gust of wind washes over you, careful to make sure your necklace doesn’t snag against your clothing.

“That’s a beautiful ring,” he calls to you gently.

“Thank you,” Surprised, you quickly let out an embarrassed cough, looking down to your left hand resting atop the uppermost button on your coat. “It was a gift.”

“I meant that one,” Mitchell corrects, carefully gesturing to his own neck to indicate that he was talking about the ring on your necklace, and not the one on your finger.

“Oh, thank you,” you repeat, “That one was actually a gift, too.”

The older man hums, continuing your walk to your hotel. “Must have been one hell of a gift. I don’t know many people who give out engagement rings as presents.”

“Oh, no, no, no, it wasn’t—it’s not an engagement ring,” you tell him, feeling a warmth creep up your cheeks even in the chilly atmosphere of the night, “Eren gave it to me, actually, a few years ago—it was a Christmas gift.”

“Eren, huh?” Mitchell smiles fondly, “That makes sense. Carla tells me how much he cares about you.”

“You—she does?” you stutter. Mitchell nods. “I—I mean, I care about him, too.”

“Enough to accept an engagement ring from him, it seems,” Mitchell taunts, “I’m no specialist, but I know a Harry Winston piece when I see it. They’re not cheap.”

“Trust me, I know,” you scoff, “I almost killed him when I saw how much he spent on it.”

“And you took it, anyway?”

“Well, he—he was supposed to return it,” you defend yourself, “Because I didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea! But he just, well, he gave me the other one instead, so I wear that one on my hand.”

Mitchell pauses, just as you both stand to the entrance of your hotel. “And what was the wrong idea you didn’t want people getting.”

“That... that...,” you pause, thinking back to that Christmas day.

Even though Eren is known for spending ludacris amounts of money, the ring came as a genuine surprise to you. A couple thousand on shoes, sure—you’re victim to that yourself; a couple hundred thousand on a lavish vacation wasn’t out of the ordinary, either; but a million, maybe even more, on a ring that you could have only ever asked of him in your dreams was another thing completely.

And, sure, even a few million didn’t mean much to you or Eren at the end of the day, but it wasn’t just the price; it was the object of the money, too. To accept a house, or a car, or a jet for that amount is something you could rationalize; but a ring seemed foreign, and far out of your league.

Then there was the display and value it held beyond money. It’s beautiful, gorgeous, but more than that, it’s tailored to your exact liking. The synthesis of your aesthetic and everything you could ask for, garnished with the memory of Eren in the very design; the diamonds you love, the flowers that remind him of you, and the way they stems wrap around each other and the petals meet in the middle.

A small gasp leaves your lips and instinctively, you reach to clutch the ring in your hold. There was no way this was an engagement ring... Eren hadn’t proposed to you when he gave it to you—in fact, he was so casual about it, that it had you stunned that he hadn’t thought to consider that other people might think it meant something more than what he intended it to be.

But, looking back, it seems like you’re the only one who didn’t understand what was going on. Because Eren told you, even then, that he’d wanted you forever; you didn’t know how to hear him. It was all right there—not just in the ring, but in all his gifts, in the entirety of your friendship.

Eren loves you, more than you could ever know.

“It’s an engagement ring,” you say aloud, but more to yourself than to Mitchell, “Oh my god, it’s an engagement ring.”

Mitchell can’t do anything but smile at your revelation. You’re practically bouncing off the walls, connecting the puzzle pieces of your relationship in the middle of the street at damn near midnight, but you don’t care; because it finally feels right, and it finally, finally all makes sense.

“He, but he never pro—oh my fucking god, I’m going to kill him.”

You feel elated and confused and happy and murderous all at once. Eren wanted to marry you; Eren loved you. He wants you for the rest of his life, and you’ve been too blind to see it this entire time.

Still, you think that maybe a verbal proposal might have helped to open your eyes a bit.

“Mitchell, I have to—”

You’re cut off by the echo of your name coming from the opposite end of the street, and you can just barely make out of Eren’s figure in the faded lights of the street lamps. His name falls from your lips like a whisper, and you hardly register Mitchell’s amused, soft laughter from beside you.

“I think that’s my cue,” he says, patting you on the shoulder, “I better get back to Carla. Something tells me you two have a bit to talk about.”

You can barely nod at him, eye still wide and stunned, but a smile on your face even in your fearful anticipation. You don’t have time to thank him before he turns away, bidding you goodnight; and then you have something else to focus on, as Eren’s footsteps grow louder, and his silhouette grows sharper the closer he gets to you.

He practically crashes into you, chest heaving, hair wind-swept and wild from his running. He puts his hands on your shoulders, to steady himself physically and mentally, labored breaths ghosting over the top of your head.

“Hi,” he finally squeaks; and that stupid, big, dopey grin is on his face.

It’s ridiculous, so utterly ridiculous that you can’t help but greet him back. The two of you stand there, smiling like fools for god knows how long, before the realization strikes you for a second time.

Eren opens his mouth to finally speak, but a pained squeal leaves his lips instead as he feels the back of your hand slap his chest. “Ouch—hey, what was that for!”

“What the hell do you think you were doing proposing to me without telling me?” you screech, packing another punch to his chest for good measure, but it’s a poor barrier and does nothing to stop your tears from falling, “You’re an idiot, I should kill you for this, you know that, Eren Jaeger?”

Eren laughs softly, only to be heard by you in close proximity. He takes your offending hand in his, and reaches for your other, pulling both of them between your bodies. He can feel tears welling in his own eyes, as he looks down at the necklace, glimmering perfectly under the moonlight.

“In my defense, the first thing you told me to do when I gave it to you was to return it.”

“I might not have said that if you told me what it meant,” you can hardly choke out a laugh through your tears; and Eren can’t stop his from falling either, “It’s insane, you know. This whole thing—to ask me to marry you at 19. For me to not realize until we’re 21.”

“I know,” Eren agrees, inching closer even though there’s barely any room between you, “I know. But I know I love you, every version of you. I always have, I always will.”

You close your eyes as Eren’s hands move to your face, gingerly sweeping your tears away from your cheeks. He feels too close, it feels like too much; but you don’t want him to move.

“You know... if you had asked me, then,” you start, blinking your eyes open with a sniffle; you’re met with Eren’s emerald greens one with far too much hope and love glimmering in them, “I—I don’t even know what I would have said.”

“And if I asked you now?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, slowly raising your hands to wrap around Eren’s wrist, and lower them to your neck, before looking at him again, “Ask me.”

Eren blinks, carefully trailing his hands up and around your neck, nimble fingers undoing the clasp of your necklace. He hardly lets the chain pool into his hand before it’s tossed aside, and the ring is still between his thumbs and index fingers as he lowers himself on to one knee.

“You are the love of my life, and there’s not a single version of life—a single version of you, or me—where I don’t want to be with you forever,” Eren says, “And you know how shit I am with my words, but I fucking mean it. I swear to you, that I’ll do my best every day to show you how much you mean to me; marry me, and I’ll prove it to you, I swear, I will.”

Your lips are wobbling at Eren’s confession below you, and you can just barely beckon him upwards in your state. He’s hardly back on two feet before you’re pulling him against you, ghosting the word “yes” on his lips before you kiss him.

You both melt into the kiss, Eren’s hands skillfully cupping your cheeks, while he keeps the ring in his hold and bruises your lips together.

“You don’t have to prove it to me, Eren,” you assure him, hand shaking when you pull apart and let him slip the ring onto your finger—where it belongs, “You already have.”

For his first birthday as a married man, Eren requested something intimate. He wanted just a small celebration with all of your mutual friends, some good food, alcohol, and lots of fun.

Supposedly simple and intimate for him entailed renting out the top floor of the Whitney, which was currently encasing an exhibit portraying some kind of abstract modern art that allowed for a very drunk Eren and Armin have to entertain themselves by trying their best to recreate the paintings using very flawed couples aerial yoga.

The art, paired with the dimmed lighting, Jean’s choice selection of overtly sexual music, and Eren’s pick of overpriced champagne also meant that Marco, Bertholdt, Connie, and Sasha found everything ten times funnier than they were—which meant they were a million times louder than usual.

Jean stands next to you by the bar, watching as Eren attempts to hold Armin above his head by holding on to just his waist. They’re unsuccessful, of course, resulting in both boys toppling onto the ground as the majority of their older friends laugh along.

“Lucky me, I get to take him home at the end of the night,” you drawl, turning to the bartender to order another drink.

She smiles, easily preparing your martini and sliding it you with an inquiry. “That’s your boyfriend? The tall one with the brown hair?”

“No,” you sigh, eyes closed for a moment before taking the glass between your fingers. “That’s my husband, unfortunately.”

× even more notes: this fic. is my baby. it’s been a draft of mine for over two years at this point. it’s gone through various fandoms but i’ve never quite been able to complete and post it, so i’m very happy that it’s finally here! i hope you all enjoyed, and i just wanted to say that i’m glad to finally have been able to share this with you all!

#attack on titan #aot x reader #snk x reader #eren x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines #eren smut #eren fluff #levi x reader #I DONT WANNA TALK ABOUT IT

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nbrook29 · 3 years ago

Text

Kiss or Slap part 2

part 1

Robbe stands in front of the mirror, eyes critical as he assesses the forest green shirt, plucking at the collar that’s digging uncomfortably into his neck. It’s not like the shirt is ugly; the problem is that it’s not and that it looks a bit too formal. But then again, Robbe wouldn’t know for sure since he’s never been on a real date before. He’s feeling a bit helpless in that area, to be honest.

He has a half a mind to text the boys and ask for advice, but just as the thought passes his brain he scoffs because it’s just silly; the only thing he would gain from doing that would be merciless teasing for weeks on end. Thanks, but no thanks.

Sighing, he glances in the direction of the hall, debating with himself whether asking for Zoe’s opinion is the right option here, but deep down he knows that otherwise, he’s gonna be standing i front of that mirror agonizing over his appearance for the next twenty minutes if someone doesn’t talk some sense into him.

The way Zoe’s eyes widen in surprise when he enters her room lets him know that yes, he is overdressed.

“Too much?” He scrunches up his face, feeling a bit self-conscious.

“Well, I mean... you look really nice, but, um, maybe go for a t-shirt instead?” Zoe suggests, looking almost apologetic. Robbe hovers in the threshold, still not totally convinced.

“Yeah?”

“You clearly feel uncomfortable in that, plus he’s not taking you to an expensive restaurant or something so I think you should just go for chill,” she pauses, trying to remember something. “That pink t-shirt you have? You look really cute in it! You should wear that.”

“I don’t wanna look cute, Zoe, I wanna look hot,” Robbe blurts out, pink blooming on his cheeks when Zoe coos at him in that annoying way she always does and he immediately covers his face. “Stop.”

She giggles at his embarrassment, patting his arm consolingly as she pretends to give him a once over. “You do look hot, no matter what shirt you’re wearing.”

“Yuck, that sounds weird coming from you.” Robbe fake-gags and gets a smack on his chest. “I’m outta here, thanks.” Before he manages to close the door, Zoe catches his arm and shoots him a comforting smile.

“And calm down. He’s already into you, he won’t care what you’re wearing, Robbe.”

It’s easier said than done. Ever since he woke up, he’s been a giddy, anxious, yet excited mess, butterflies flying rampant in his stomach, fingers drumming absent-mindedly on the nearest surface, and he’s-

Well.

He’s been kinda freaking out.

Somehow (he has no idea how), he managed to keep his cool during that faithful afternoon a week ago when a boy came up to him with a dumb YouTube challenge, he’d even call himself flirty and bold.

He’s not so sure he’ll be able to provide a repeat performance tonight. Not with that particular charming smile directed at him, almost making him whimper because no one should have the right to be that handsome. At the time, the infatuation was laced with disappointment and anger so Robbe guesses that’s what helped him keep his cool.

Only to melt into a pile of goo minutes later when Sander’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment over what popped on his phone screen.

Bambie eyes

Robbe smiles at the memory, trying to keep it small and not look like a psychopath that’s grinning to himself for no reason. It proves to be difficult though, those damn butterflies not easing out when an image of Sander combing his fingers through his longish bleached strands pops into his mind, uninvited, but oh so welcome if Robbe’s being honest.

Back in his bedroom, he fishes out the pink t-shirt from the drawer, sending a thank you to the past Robbe who finally did his laundry last Wednesday. His comfort level is up immediately after he takes the green shirt off and pulls the pink one over his head; the material doesn’t dig in anywhere, and it’s just... him. He doesn’t feel like a clown anymore.

A quick look at his watch and he curses under his breath. If he doesn’t want to be late, he needs to leave in five minutes tops. It’s probably better this way since it means less time for freaking out. Once he sprays a bit of cologne on his clothes and grabs his wallet, he gives himself one last look in the mirror, fingers attempting to tame his curls at least a little, but it proves to be a lost cause. As usual. His hair just has a mind of its own. He doesn’t let himself obsess too much about it though, and as he closes the door behind the flatshare his mind wanders to two weekends ago, the corners of his lips twitching on their own.

“You look like an angel with those curls. I should get you a halo or s’mthing.”

He’s in his personal space all of a sudden and as Sander’s breath grazes his face, Robbe’s own breath stutters, but the freakout has no time to breakthrough on his features because Sander’s eyes swivel up, glazed with alcohol as he tugs gently at one of the brown strands.

“I really like ‘em, you know? They’re so... silky. And pretty.” A lightbulb goes on in his head, his lips widening in a smile. “You’re so pretty.”

Drunken confessions never really seemed particularly sweet to him, but with Sander gazing at him like he hung the moon and the stars, his jaw slightly open as if in wonder, it was difficult for Robbe to feel anything else than fondness, heart fluttering in his chest, so enamoured with the boy with white hair that it would have blushed if it could.

That white hair and green eyes have been the main stars of his dreams ever since.

Okay. That’s not entirely true. There were glimpses before that. After all, Sander had been the first thing he noticed at the Academie. But at the time, he had only been his looks to Robbe, golden skin and intriguing smirks, face scattered with moles and legs for days.

And lips. Lips that looked soft like a rose petal.

He had dreamed about those lips a lot then.

He still can’t believe his brain holds the memory of kissing them with his own.

Again. Peak boldness for him.

And yet, he’s so nervous now, walking fast-paced to the nearest tram stop, praying his chaotic energy won’t make him look like an idiot once he’s faced with Sander again. His only saving grace, the only reason the full on freakout seems to be kept at bay is the reminder that even though Sander is way out of his league, he’s also a bit of a dork, and that honestly makes Robbe feel better.

He’s a hot dork though.

But a dork nonetheless.

Deep down Robbe hopes he’s gonna become his dork.

The city passes behind the window in a whirlwind of colors, creating the perfect background for him to get lost in his thoughts, daydreaming to the sounds of the playlist crafted specifically for him, courtesy of Sander. As Bowie sings about absolute beginners, a notification ping pulls him back from his musings, lips smiling on their own when he sees Sander posted a photo.

And what a photo it is, fuck.

A part of his face, edges smudged with shadows leaving only his eye in focus, dark eyebrow curtained a little with wet bleached strands, everything in black and white aesthetics because Sander rarely does colors, Robbe came to find out.

With eyes completely open

But nervous all the same

He wonders if the lyrics relate to their date or it’s just his wishful thinking.

Quick fingers like the photo and then take a screenshot of his own Spotify to send it to him. Robbe doesn’t have to wait long for the reply, a string of “🤯” blowing up his phone followed by “I’m so proud 🤧”, which again confirms that Sander is, indeed, a dork.

Robbe shoots him a “😂” and scrolls up a bit to check the address again.

Robbe: I watched the video

Robbe: It was cool 😎

Sander: Oh yeah?

Robbe: But somebody cut me out of it 🤔🙄

Sander: I told them to, it was too personal 😌

Robbe: Oh 🙃

Sander: + You're too pretty for our dumb videos 🤷🏼‍♂️

Robbe: 🙈 stop

Sander: You are 🤷🏼‍♂️

Robbe: You're making me blush 🙊

Sander: Well good, you're cute when your cheeks are all pink 😏

Robbe: 🤪

Sander: But you're always cute so 🤷🏼‍♂️

Robbe: Okay stop haha

Sander: 😎

Robbe: Thank you tho 😊

Sander: You're welcome x

Sander: Now go to sleep, I need you to be rested for tomorrow!

Robbe: Tell me where we're going 🥺

Sander: Nope

Robbe: Please 🥺

Sander: Nope 😌

Robbe: How should I know you're not gonna kidnap me or sth 🤔

Sander: Robin! I would never! 😟😟

Robbe: Robin?

Sander: Yeah

Sander: You like it? :)

Robbe: I think so :)

Sander: Good 😌

Sander: Oranje Street, that's all you need to know

Sander: Goodnight Bambi Robin 🦌😏

Robbe: Shdjskahaggfdsk 🙈🙈

Sander: Hehe

Sander: 😚

Robbe: 😊

The Robin part pulls another involuntary grin out of him again, the jitters in his stomach intensifying, but now they’re more anticipatory than nervous. He checks his hair in his selfie camera, running a hand through it to mess it up a little just when his stop comes.

The neighborhood is busy with the Friday rush and he has trouble finding white hair in the crowd from where he’s leaning on the lantern. Swaying awkwardly he keeps looking around, feeling his stress levels raising with each second and telling himself to get a fucking grip.

“Hey, Robin.”

His poor heart just can’t catch a break today.

Jumping a foot above the ground before swiveling around to smack Sander’s chest, the first thing he sees is his toothy grin, face smug at almost giving Robbe a heart attack.

“Asshole.” His grumble is all for show, the corners of his mouth pulling up when Sander presses a soft hello kiss to his cheek.

“Sorry, didn’t wanna scare you.” He could win awards for least sincere apologies ever, but Robbe would lie to himself if he said he didn’t find his playfulness attractive. Also, he’s still trying to get his heartbeat under control that has less to do with actual scare and more with the warm breath grazing his ear and the fanthom feel of lips on his cheek.

“Sure you didn’t.”

Sander chuckles at his deadpan face that lets him know Robbe knows he’s full of shit. Raising his arms in capitulation, he says another sorry before giving him a not so subtle once over, his features softening.

“You look really pretty.”

His voice sounds uncharacteristically shy, Robbe notices, and he keeps biting his lip nervously. This sudden shyness looks exceptionally endearing on him.

Eyeing his t-shirt critically, he cocks his brow at Sander, hand scratching his head in a self-conscious move. “Thank you. It’s nothing special though.”

“Then I guess it’s just you,” Sander replies, shrugging matter-of-factly, and keeps giving him that charming smile that weakens Robbe’s knees.

But he still rolls his eyes on him, snorting as he mutters “smooth” to which Sander pretends to hold his chest dramatically, swearing it’s not a line and that he’s being honest.

“Okay, okay, let’s say I believe you,” Robbe gives in after being defeated with a strong case of puppy eyes. “Now come on, tell me where we’re going.”

The faux-serious expression on Sander’s face melts into a full of promise smirk. “Prepare to be mind blown!”

And then he takes off, firing a wink over his shoulder at Robbe who’s gaping at him, flabbergasted. This mixture of confidence and shyness taking turns emanating from Sander has a peculiar effect on him, making him follow the boy without another question. He’s intrigued, curious to find out what’s underneath this cockiness that Robbe has a feeling is all for show, a cover up, but for what he has no clue.

They fall into an easy conversation on the way to their destination, interrupted with a string of Robbe’s guesses as to what that destination is and Sander shooting him down everytime, his smile getting fonder with each pout directed at him. So far it’s been way less awkward than Robbe feared, familiar almost, safe, melting away the anxious lump in his stomach. The good-natured teasing reminding Robbe of his relationship with Zoe or Milan, only the furtive yet lingering glances they keep shooting at each other when they think the other is not looking the sign of this being more than just a friendly hangout.

“Any plans for the Eenvoud sequel?” They’re crossing the street when Sander asks the question, tongue in cheek, which makes Robbe scowl in disdain. Even though internally he’s pleased Sander went and looked him up online. He was less pleased with the teasing that ensued a few days ago.

Sander: I had no idea

Robbe: ?

Sander: That I'm going on a date with a star

Robbe: 😂 what

Sander: Music star 😏

Sander: Or should I say

Sander: Dance star 🤔

Robbe: Oh fuck

Sander: You're v e r y talented Robbe IJzermans

Robbe: Shut uuuuuup

Sander: 😂

Robbe: You weren't supposed to see that 😭

Sander: Why not? You're so cute in it 😌

Robbe: 🙈

Robbe: Please don't hold it against me

Sander: Never :)

Robbe: You're gonna hold it against me aren’t u

Sander: A bit :D

Robbe: 🥺

Sander: But in a loving way!

Robbe: Guess I have to now go and find blackmail material on your channel 😌

Sander: As if you hadn't already 😏

Omg you're so full of yourself 🙄

Sander: 😛

Robbe: Should I be expecting hoards of fans throwing themselves at you when we're out?

Sander: Haha no

Sander: Maybe a few ;)

Robbe: Great, now I'm even more nervous :(

Sander: Why are you nervous? 🥺

Sander: Are you nervous about our date?

Robbe: Well um

Robbe: A bit?

Sander: I'm nervous too

Sander: But that's because I wanted to go out with you since I saw you on campus the first day

Robbe: I wanted that too

Sander: Oh 😌

Robbe: Yeah :)

“Fuck off,” he barks out a laugh, shoving him without much force once they’re back on the sidewalk. Sander pretends to be offended with the attack, huffing and shaking his head, but then bumps him with his hip all the same, smug when Robbe splutters in indignance in turn.

“Keep this up and I’m gonna rethink my forgiveness.” Robbe’s tone is lofty, even if his eyes scream he’s just teasing, an attempt to rile Sander up.

The boy’s eyes widen comically, hand flying to his chest. “You wouldn’t do that to me, Robin.”

There’s that nickname again, making his breath catch again, and the only response he can manage now is a flirty smile, or at least something that is supposed to look like it.

The afternoon heat subsides on their way to Sander’s mysterious place, but Robbe’s still glad he left that green long-sleeved shirt at home when they slow down and Sander turns to him with an expectant look.

“Carnival?”

“I didn’t remember you giving me your number, but I did remember your preaching about cotton candy being the superior junk food,” Sander rushes with an explanation like he feels his choice needs a proper justification. “And it just so happened that a carnival came to Antwerp this weekend. I thought it was a sign?” He scratches his nose, his stance a little unsure as he awaits Robbe’s reaction.

His eyes grow bigger with each passing second until Robbe beams at him and tells him how much he likes the idea. Sander lets out a loud phew, face relieved when they enter the area. The place is packed, but that’s okay because Robbe loves the vibe and how close Sander keeps walking next to him because of it. The loud music is not the best for talking, but they soon find other things to do, marching from booth to booth, getting drinks and trying out silly games, the teasing competitiveness quickly coming out. Sander really wants to win a plushie for him, but he fails spectacularly, his sulking remedied only by a kiss on his cheek.

Robbe eats his weight in cotton candy, childlike joy on his face while Sander watches amused and keeps calling him cute. The Ferris Wheel was supposed to be their next stop, but when it turns out it's out of service, Sander shoots him a desperate look, apologizing for this lame outcome like it's his fault. But Robbe is having so much fun he barely cares they lost their chance at a kiss on the top, knows the night's still young and they'll get their chance somewhere else.

They try out a few other things, laughing and having a great time together before Sander gets weirdly quiet.

"Do you, um, do you think we can go sit down for a bit? To talk?" Sander keeps avoiding his eyes as he asks, but Robbe doesn't miss the flicker of vulnerability in his face, and he feels his heart jump in his chest. He's a bit taken aback at this gear change, but Sander's clearly bothered with something and he wants to be there for him so he just hums and follows him to the bench outside.

"There's something you need to know."

Robbe steals himself for the worst, muscles tensing as he holds his breath.

“I’m bipolar,” Sander finally blurts out, and Robbe’s heart breaks for the insecurity in his eyes, eyes that are now darting all over his own face, trying to be furtive, yet clearly assessing his reaction. “I just-, I want to be straight with you from the get go cause I feel like this may be going somewhere and I don’t want to lie, or, omit anything.” He pauses, frowning a little as he looks down, and something awfully similar to a broken heart shadows his features. “I don’t ever want to keep it a secret anymore.”

Robbe doesn’t say anything, waiting for him to continue, but Sander misinterprets the silence.

“It’s, um, it’s okay if you don’t wanna get involved with me now or something, I get it, I’m a lot to handle.” Scratching his head awkwardly, his lips morph into a wistful smile, and Robbe knows he needs to put a stop to these thoughts.

“Hey,” he starts softly, waiting until Sander’s ready to direct his eyes back on him. When he does, he shoots a smile at him of his own, but there’s nothing wistful about it. If it matches what he feels, Robbe’s quite sure it’s close to adoration, actually. “Thank you for telling me.” Sander takes a deep breath, sitting straight as if he’s preparing for a rejection. “My mom has schizophrenia, you know?”

Green eyes blink up at him. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Robbe lets his smile widen. “And she’s an amazing mom. She just-, struggles sometimes, and there are days that are really shit days. But I can’t imagine her not being here. Because she’s amazing. And I love her. With or without a mental illness.” He presses his thigh against Sander’s, trying to ease his nervousness as he continues. “I still want to give us a shot. Cause, um, I think that, um, well, you’re really hot, I mean cool, I meant cool, well...” Why does he have to be so awkward? He peaks at Sander after his unfortunate little slip and feels his cheeks flush under his small grin.

“You think I’m hot?”

Robbe whines in protest because now Sander’s just being a little shit, torturing him even though he knows exactly what his stammering means.

He hides his face in his hands. “Obviously, since I’m on a date with you, smartass.”

“It’s always nice to hear.” Sander nudges their shoulders and it makes Robbe look up, just in time for a wink. “Especially from a cutie like you.” He holds his gaze, a small smile playing on his lips, and as Robbe gets drowned in his green eyes, distracted, Sander lifts his hand to push a few locks away from his forehead. The brief contact of his fingertips with Robbe’s skin is enough to raise goosebumps on his skin, and he really hopes Sander didn’t notice, that he doesn’t know how gone he is for him already.

He already mourns the lack of contact when Sander pulls away, something akin to shyness on his face now as he’s fiddling with his fingers, and it’s comforting to see he’s not the only one around here being affected.

It’s what gives him the guts to do what he does next, without second-guessing himself again into a spiral. He gets up off the bench and takes Sander’s hand in his own, their fingers tangling right away like it’s their second nature, and nods in the direction of the sidewalk.

“Come on, I’ll show you my favorite spot around here.”

The initial surprise at Robbe’s bold move is quickly replaced with a beaming smile as Sander squeezes his hand gently and gets up too, laughing when Robbe bumps their shoulders teasingly because hey, he’s still a teenage boy and sometimes likes to act like it. Also, he needs to do something to distract himself from the fact that he’s holding Sander’s hand. The fact he can feel a thumb softly grazing his knuckles, almost absent-mindedly, does not help. He'd think their playfulness and cheek kisses would make it all easier for him, and yet here he is.

He’s feeling carefree and drunk on his feelings and this evening and Sander’s smile and when they get close to the spot, Robbe sets his hand free and jogs over to the small ice cream booth, turning around to do a small “taa-daa!” with a big grin. Sander’s laugh at his shenanigans is music to his ears and he loves how the previous frown is now officially gone from his face, features softening instead, eyes twinkling as he calls Robbe a dork, entwining their hands anew the second he’s in his close proximity. Robbe scoots even closer, like an invisible magnet is pulling them together, getting lost in his presence, the smell of his aftershave that carries notes of citrus and something woodsy, masculine, combined with the intoxicating scent of Sander’s leather jacket. The air changes around them, gets charged with tension, Sander’s face changes too, green eyes darting to Robbe’s lips that get dry under attention, and he licks them subconsciously. Just when Tiana Major9’s voice coming from the booth speaker sings when they collide, it’s a beautiful disaster, their faces tilt towards each other, Sander’s hand reaching up as if to cup Robbe’s cheek.

Robbe barely contains his whine when a loud crash from the booth ruins the moment, catching the same frustration on Sander’s face in the corner of his eye. The loaded silence is buzzing in his ears, nerves picking up and he feels awkward again, not sure whether he should just go for it or wait for a better moment.

Sander’s chuckle brings him back from his overthinking, smiles crookedly down at him. “Come on, you gotta tell me your favorite flavor.”

His tone is light like the almost-kiss didn’t happen, but the subtle pink at the high of his cheeks gives him away. It looks like the world’s most exquisite blush, blended perfectly with the shade of his skin that has already been painted light golden with the early summer sun rays. It distracts him for a moment, his gaze stuck as his eyes wander slowly from one mole to another, lingering on his lips that are just as inviting as they were a few seconds ago, tempting Robbe to make that move, but then he feels Sander taking his hand again, this time interlacing their fingers and pulling him out of his trance.

Robbe is a vanilla guy and he can see the joke at the hip of Sander’s tongue, but thankfully, the boy refrains from the comment, the huge eyeroll he receives probably stopping him in his tracks, and he only gnaws on his lip, trying to keep the laughter in. He goes for mango, which yuck. Sander doesn’t appreciate his reaction, and they easily slip in the previous banter, ending with him smearing a bit of the ice cream on Robbe’s cheek, lips sucked in as he giggles quietly at his scandalized face.

“You’re such a fucker!” He immediately gets him back for that and they’re close to full on ice cream fight until Sander yells truce, hands protecting his face from the onslaught of Robbe’s sticky hands. Robbe smiles triumphantly at his capitulation, and goes back to licking away at what’s left of his treat.

“It kinda fits you.”

They’ve been strolling along the river for a while now, the full moon shining its light on the side of Sander’s face, making his hair look icy white.

“What?

“The mango flavor.”

Sander furrows his brows in question, waiting for an explanation. Robbe shrugs a little, eyes tracing the soft ripples on the water as he tries to find the right words.

“Mangos have a hard peel, but have a soft inside.”

“Sooo, you’re saying I’m… mushy?” Sander wrinkles his nose at his words and it’s a truly adorable sight.

“No, I’m saying you can seem, um, intimidating and unapproachable, unattainable.” His eyebrows furrow more with each adjective. “But once you get to the inside, so once someone gets to know you, you’re none of these things,” Robbe pauses, swaying their joined hands a little as he peeks at Sander’s face. “You’re nice and sweet and stuff. Even with your edgy black and white aesthetics,” he adds as the second-thought, grinning when he gets a deadpan look in return. It quickly morphs into something softer, beautifully confirming Robbe’s words.

“Okay, let’s say I’m a mango man. In that case, you’re a cutie pie,” Sander says matter-of-factly, always needing to have the last word, and Robbe can only laugh helplessly, trying not to combust under his intense glance. “Also, my black and white aesthetics are amazing, by the way.”

Robbe doesn't dare to argue with that, and he also agrees with the statement so he admits as much, making Sander very pleased.

They walk way into late hours of the evening, huddling closer together with each passing hour in search of warmth against the coldness of the night, or at least that serves as the main excuse. Sander has him bursting in fits of giggles sharing crazy stories from his shopping assistant job and Robbe finds himself opening up about his videotaping passion, a little shy when knowing about Sander's photography skills, but the boy's eyes shine bright when Robbe mentions it, and he's so attentive and interested in everything he has to say on the topic, of the small details he geeks out about that it makes fuzzy feelings swim rampant in his stomach; it's the kind of attention he's been unknowingly yearning for, and here it is, served on a golden plate and in a package so beautiful it makes him swoon.

And he also walks him home, acting all gentlemanly and offering his jacket when the shivers shake Robbe's body a bit. What a catch.

“So, um,” Sander starts as they reach the front door of Robbe’s apartment building, his face mostly covered in shadows cast by the street lanterns. “Kiss or slap?”

The answer to the question is obvious for both of them, but Robbe can’t stop himself from teasing him a bit, scrunching up his face in a deep thought, eyebrows frowned, making Sander scoff impatiently, which is exactly the reaction he was hoping for.

Still, he needs to push him a bit more. “Hmm, I’m not sure. I should probably go with the slap for that ice cream incident.” Sander plays along, heaving a regretful sigh, before turning those pretty eyes on him, lips in a pout and hands put together in a praying motion.

“A kiss?” Bottom lip juts out and he’s just too cute for words, Robbe dropping his facade immediately, not stopping his beaming smile anymore.

He also can't fucking wait any longer.

“Okay, I gue-”

Soft lips crash into his, not letting him finish the sentence, Robbe’s clumsiness almost making him topple over, but Sander’s there to catch him, sure hands squeezing his hips and sending small shocks through his body. He rests his hand on the back of Sander’s neck, giving in to the need to bury his fingers in that messy blond hair, and he tugs, just a little, but it’s enough for Sander to sigh into his mouth and pull him closer. Robbe loves the reaction, whimpers quietly as he parts his lips just right for Sander’s tongue to slip inside, to tease at the soft skin inside of Robbe’s bottom lip. It’s all over after that, the kiss morphing from something soft and sweet to tongues sliding together, teeth clinking almost painfully in their desperation, the kiss tasting of mango ice cream and cotton candy, and it’s the best Robbe has ever tasted.

It’s better than he imagined, Sander’s hands caressing his sides as he slows down the kiss so sweet and tender, it pulls at every single one of his heartstrings. He can’t believe he has this wonder of a boy in his arms, kissing him so good, making him dizzy.

The kiss stops eventually, but they stay put, as close as before, the tips of their noses grazing against each other, warm breaths and fluttering lashes, fingernails scratching at the skin that’s covered in goosebumps.

“I have to go,” Robbe murmurs between the miniscule space between them, giggling quietly at the immediate frown his words cause.

“Nooooo.” Sander hides his face in his flushed neck, pressing a kiss there too because why not. “I need more kisses.”

And who is Robbe to tell him no, he goes willingly when Sander lifts his chin up for another one, his mouth a little puffy now. He lets him have it, not that it’s any hardship; he’d stay here all night, just lazily sliding their lips together in a never ending dance.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Sander asks when they break apart. “I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You know, he’s very important to me, has been in my life for years so his opinion kinda matters a lot.”

His words take Robbe aback, but he tries not to show his discomfort, even though Sander must have felt how tense his body went. He doesn’t seem to find it weird, his face still smiling as he keeps talking about this he that’s apparently so important.

“I hope he’ll like you. He’s perfect, you know?” Actually, Robbe does not know and he’s getting kinda annoyed. He’s pretty sure waxing lyrical about someone else on a date is a faux pas. “I mean, except for leaving fur on anything he touches.”

What.

Robbe’s eyes swivel up to look at him, the corners of Sander’s lips twitching and his face a picture perfect of impishness. He groans in protest, smacking his chest because Sander did it on purpose to pull a reaction out of him and it’s not fair, damn it. He crosses his arms which proves difficult to do when there are still hands firmly holding his hips, keeping him close.

Sander rests their forehead together, swaying them a little to put a smile on Robbe’s grumpy face. “He’s a Norwegian Forest breed and his name is Major Tom.”

And this time it’s Robbe who has a hard time to keep his giggle in because oh my god, what a nerd.

“I wonder where that came from,” he ponders in a voice as serious as he can manage, but Sander sees right through him, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“It’s the bestest name ever, I’ll have you know.”

He gets shut up with another kiss, last one, the sweetest out of all of them. Then, Robbe steps out of his embrace, not trusting himself to end this when Sander's hands are touching any part of his body, and tells him a quiet goodnight, backing into the front door with Sander's soft sleep well ringing in his ears and a huge smile threatening to spread on his face.

Sander: May your dreams be filled with cotton candy 🍬🍭

It only takes a minute for his phone to ping.

And maybe some mangos too 🥭

Robbe: Just need one 😘

White-haired mangos 😘

Goodnight ❤️

#wtfock #my fics #sobbe

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pepperonijem · 4 years ago

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ii. yakap || marahuyo

ii. yakap → series masterlist

Yakap (v.) Filipino: to embrace, to hug.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Filipino!Reader

Warnings: there are a few words and phrases in Filipino, but I have provided a glossary at the bottom with the translations! (Also, absolutely no plot, just fluff and vibes.)

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: Sometimes love is slow-dancing in the kitchen. Sometimes love is slow kisses before bed. Sometimes love is just being in his arms.

A/N: I'm so sorry I let you all think this series was dead. TBH I have had a hard time trying to write this series, and have made many attempts in the last two years, but this is the first time I've actually felt proud of what I wrote.

I even made a playlist to go along with this chapter! It's a playlist of new and older Filipino love songs that helped me to write this chapter. (Also follow me on spotify while ur here)

“Bago tayo magkayakap sa dilim…”

“So wait, what’s this song about again?”

“Well they’re talking about holding each other in the dark,” you chuckled as you handed the washed plate over to Peter. “But like… suggestively.” His eyebrow shot up as he finished wiping the plate before putting it away and you playfully poked his side.

“I’ll be sure to remember that one,” he smirked at you. “Yakap sa dilim,” he repeated with his best effort at a Filipino accent. You couldn’t help but smile up at him as he spoke, admiring his efforts at getting to know your culture. Every day felt like you were giving him more of you to love and he was embracing every bit of it.

Looking back, you’re not sure why you were ever nervous to share these things with Peter, or anyone for that matter. You had come a long way from the person who was afraid to eat their lunch with a spoon and fork at school, who was anxious of the weird stares when you spoke to your mom in Tagalog over the phone, who hid their heritage in an effort to fit in. You only ever wished that it hadn’t taken you so long to be proud of your culture.

Now, you enjoyed any opportunity you could to teach him more about the Philippines, about your language, your food, but especially your music. There was something about Filipino love songs that just made you feel both nostalgic and just kilig. It was an easy way to sum up how you felt about the brown haired boy standing next to you.

He returned your smile before planting a kiss on your forehead. The next few moments passed in silence with nothing but soft music playing through the speakers on your phone as you finished washing up the dishes. It had been a quiet night. Dinner and domesticity. And with Peter, it was all you needed for a good time. Once the last of the dishes had been put away, you suddenly felt his arms wrap around your waist as he spun you around to face him.

“Dance with me,” he smiled softly, his hand cupping your cheek. “It’s your favorite song.” You felt the calloused pad of his thumb, barely there, ghosting over your cheek. He pulled you in close, so that your head was resting on his chest and your arms draped around his neck. You felt the warmth of his breath as he rested his cheek on the top of your hair. The familiar scent of his Midtown sweater filled your nose and you let yourself relax as the two of you swayed side to side with the music.

“At ngayon, nandiyan ka,” you began to sing softly along with the music. “‘Di mapaliwanag ang nadarama.” You felt Peter smile against you and you wrapped your arms tighter around him, pulling him closer. The song was one of your favorites because of the way it captured how you felt about the boy dancing around the kitchen with you. The way you felt about him was something you couldn’t put into words. Two languages and you still would never have the right words to tell him how you cherished him, but nothing could keep you from trying.

Now, you’re here, and I can’t explain what I feel.

Peter hummed along quietly. He was more than familiar with the song, hearing you play it in your car, on the piano, or just absentmindedly singing to yourself. Although he couldn’t make out many words in the song, he had picked up enough to know that the title, Ikaw at Ako, meant You and I. It was enough for him to understand you were thinking of him every time you played it, including right now.

The excitement from knowing that, in this quiet and small moment, all you were thinking about was him was enough to send his heart into overdrive. He didn’t need to understand every word to know that the feeling of you in his arms, of having these intimate moments, was something he wanted every day for forever.

As the song came to a close Peter pulled away, lifting both hands to rest on your cheeks. His thumbs traced across your cheekbone gently, but with a subtle desperation, like you were a dream he was afraid to wake up from. His smile was soft, but his eyes wandered around your face, trying to remember every detail and you wondered what was going on in his head. Afraid to break the silence, you brought one of your hands to cover his.

“Mula ngayon, hanggang dulo, ikaw at ako.” The last line of the song floated over the silence that had come to rest between the two of you, dissolving it like a cloud. You smiled into Peter’s hands. “From now until the end.”

Your eyes fluttered closed as Peter’s lips descended on yours, landing in a slow kiss. Even now, you could feel him smiling against your lips. As the next song began to play over the speakers, Peter pulled away and rested his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he breathed out so quietly you would have mistaken it for a sigh until he added “mahal kita.”

It wasn’t the first time you heard him say the words out loud, but they sounded more familiar than anything. It was like hearing a song from your childhood 15 years later and still knowing every word. It was like coming home after a long day.

The words escaped your lips before you could even think. “I love you too, Peter.” The grin on his face spread to the corners of his eyes before he kissed you again, and again, and again. He continued to pepper you with light kisses until you laughed and tried to pull away. He let you go before grasping your hand, lifting it up above your head, inviting you to twirl into him once more.

“One last twirl,” he promised. “Then it’s off to bed for us.” You landed with your back against his chest as Peter began to leave kisses on your neck, knowing exactly how ticklish you were, just to hear you laugh again. “I love you,” he whispered between each one, repeating it like he couldn’t believe you were real.

Somehow, one last twirl turned into six more songs and two pudding cups. It wasn’t until you let out a yawn that the two of you realized how late it had gotten. The pudding cups were thrown away, the speaker turned off, and pajamas were slipped on. You raced Peter to bed, sliding into the covers. He let you beat him, happy to tuck you in before sliding in next to you.

As Peter reached to turn off the lamp, you took the opportunity to snuggle closer to him, resting your head on his chest and draping your arm around his waist. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, whispering goodnight against your skin. His fingers trailed against your arm and you let out a small chuckle.

“What’s so funny, love?” He asked, sleep laced his voice with a light rasp.

“I was just thinking of that song,” you answered.

“Which song?”

“Yakap sa dilim.”

-------

Glossary:

"Bago tayo magkayakap sa dilim" || before we embrace in the dark

"Yakap sa dilim" || embrace in the dark

"Kilig" || the feeling of butterflies and romantic excitement

"At ngayon, nandiyan ka na" || and now you're here

"'Di mapaliwanag ang nadarama" || I can't explain how I feel

"Ikaw at ako" || You and I

"Mula ngayon, hanggang dulo, ikaw at ako" || from now until the end, you and I

"Mahal kita" || I love you

#peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker fan fic #peter parker imagine #peter parker #tom holland #tom holland fluff #fanfic #tom holland x reader #peter parker x filipino!reader #peter parker angst #harrison osterfield smut #tom holland x filipino!reader #spider-man

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dex-xe · 3 years ago

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I’ve made Spotify playlists inspired by each of the ghosts and I’ve made these little written pieces to talk about them. if you wanna read them, please go ahead - if not then enjoy the music!!

This is the Captain's playlist:

Moonlight Serenade - Glenn Miller

This is one of my favourite like old WWII style songs, I just think it’s beautiful and really great to dance slow to (at some point in my life I will dance with my husband or wife to this song in our little kitchen, and then my life will finally be complete). It’s in Doctor Who (in The Empty Child) and Jack and Rose dance to it in front of Big Ben, like it’s a really great scene in one of the best episodes of Dr Who ever. So good and a great WWII song.

Soldier - Trixie Mattel

Yes, I know this is about Katya’s issues and everything that happened with that but like it is also like very accurate to the Captain’s arc. Like “soldier, take your time” is like yeah?? I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I don’t believe the Captain is even remotely aware of the fact he’s gay cause like I don’t reckon he understands love or the fact that he’s got feelings like that, I don’t think he knows so yeah take your time to figure it out yeah, Captain.

We’ll Meet Again - Vera Lynn

This song seems to have taken a new meaning in pandemic times but Havers leaving Button House and (I assume) never returning but like the Captain staying at Button House completely in the dark as to what happened to Havers and therefore living with the possibility of Havers returning.

HEAVEN - Troye Sivan & Betty Who

Obviousssss, but this song was such an integral part in me figuring shit out about my life. Like, I was 14 and a massive Troye fan when it came out and (growing up in a working class, strict religious, small town family) the music video was literally my first understanding of the fight for queer rights. I knew about LGBTQ+ identities and identified as a variety of queer labels at the time I was completely unaware of the entire struggle that had come before me and seeing photos and footage of this fight for the first time was O.o Anyway, I'll stop talking about myself and say that I’m incredibly happy with the hc of the Captain trying to learn a bit more about queer history in his journey to accept himself.

In Our Bedroom After the War - Stars

The poor Captain, let the man love I beg. I have so much love for stories and hcs of the Captain being sweet and being in love like pls ily.

Achilles Come Down - Gang of Youths

This might actually kill his gay little soul but by good it would be worth it!! I’m gonna go off on a bit of a philosophy tangent but what were ya expecting from me honestly: the sample used in Achilles Come Down is an extract from a 1942 essay by Albert Camus who, alongside Kierkegaard and Nietzsche and the like, wrote about the concept of ‘the absurd’ which is a tricky concept but a reallyyyyyy simplified version of it is basically the idea that humans constantly search for a meaning and purpose for life and the universe but the universe does not provide answers to that which causes human distress. Basically, what I mean to say like isn’t that concept just so Captain?? Like he searches for meaning in war and can’t see life beyond the war because that provides him purpose, you know?? But yeah, it’s a banging song and I’m sorry about the tangent.

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy - Queen

Ya saw this one coming :P Well he just is a good old fashioned lover boy so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

William, It Was Really Nothing - The Sm*ths

Even just the name being right is like *chefs kiss*. Yes there are lines in this song that are just shit and reallyyyyyyy show the views of M*rrisey and his general shitty behaviours.

It’s a Long Way to Tipperary - John McCormack

It’s just a fun song.

You’re Somebody Else - flora cash

LGBTQ+ staple really, ik it’s about being trans but I wanted to include it because of the recent Ben Willbond interview when he talks about how he’s interested in the contrast of a confused authoritative figure. Like the Captain is such a contrast and I love that in characters.

It’s Been a Long, Long Time - Harry James

Like I’ve said repeatedly, I wanted at least a little bit of time specific music for each of them I could. So yeah there’s a few for the Captain, WWII music is such a vibe tbh.

The Boxer - Simon & Garfunkel

I’ve always interpreted the song as being about loneliness and well, Captain my boy that you. Like he’s literally surrounded by people 24/7 but is so very alone. When the others are all watching tv in Redding Weddy and the Captain is just sat in the window watching for Havers is just so pretty and I think it’s really telling of the relationship he has with the others.

The Arrow and the Aim - Nadia Reid

Pretty pretty song, the voice is *mwah* but that’s irrelevant.

Ramblings of a Lunatic - Bears In Trees

Okay but like yes. The Captain is so alone like despite being around people literally all the time - not being able to escape you might say. Is he aware he’s different? Like what goes on in his head, will we ever know?? Cap, you gotta start talking to people, man. You gotta open up cause you will go crazy, Ik it’s been 70 years fella but seriously you’re gonna go crazy soon.

Death with Dignity - Sufjan Stevens

Just a beautiful song, and yeah with the Captian being the way he is and so focused on the war and military and the idea of "death with dignity" is pretty prolific. Given that we're fairly sure the Captain never saw any action, would he be considered to have died with dignity?? Maybe, maybe not idk.

I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major General - Arthur Sullivan & John Reed

That one scene where Alison is trying to sleep and the Captain is just sat beside her bed singing this. Like that’s so funny XD It’s his little head bob as he sings like that’s so good.

Kiss Me Goodnight, Sergeant Major - Arthur Askey

I remember my nan had an Askey record and she used to play it all the time and this always made me laugh cause 5 year old me couldn’t get the image of a really strong and tough soldier being all motherly and yeah I just wanted to include it :D

Teddy Boy - Paul McCartney

The Captain’s name is Teddy, I take no debate on this. Just the idea of the Captain’s backstory, like a childhood backstory for the Captain genuinely makes me cry. I know a lot of people have shared their stories of their interpretation of the Captain’s childhood and they’re all sad and I love them all :’) (Specifically a big fan of Operation Keep Calm on AO3 and what they’ve done with the Captain’s character and story, 10/10 would recommend but it’s not finished and I really hope it is at some point ily).

O Captain! My Captain! - The Static Shift

Just an interesting song, yeah? “I believe I’m in my prime”/“In my bally prime”, you get it XD

John My Beloved - Sufjan Stevens

I love this song (no I’ve never seen the film and no don’t really intend to) It’s just sweet, you know, and the religious elements etc yeah that’s good.

#bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts captain #Spotify

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minyoongiest · 4 years ago

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Positions || KNJ (M)

• pairing: Namjoon x reader

• rating: MA/18+

• type/genre: smut, fluff, multichapter, idol!au, established relationship, nurse!reader/single mom!reader/stylist!reader

• word count: 5.7k

• summary: After a long day working at the hospital in Seoul, you’re ready to spend some alone time with your man, and since your daughter is staying with her aunt for the night, Namjoon has some ideas for how to work off the stress of your day.

• contains: explicit language, explicit sexual content, oral (both receiving, not simultaneously), vaginal sex, multiple sex positions, multiple orgasms, creampie

• note: a commission for K. Thank you so much! I loved doing this, and I hope you like it!

(translations are at the end)

|| ao3 ||

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

As soon as I shut the door to my car, I let out a sigh of relief. I like my job. (I like more that it pays my bills.) But no matter how much I like it, being on my feet all day and trying to do a million things at once so patients are taken care of and the doctors and my supervisors are happy is exhausting. I am so glad to be off and that I don’t have another shift for forty-eight hours because I need a break.

Checking my face in the sun visor mirror, I’m pleased to find my eye makeup is still intact. I was pretty sure by this time I’d look like as haggard as I feel, but my eyeliner is still perfectly winged, and my mascara isn’t even smudged. Tilting the mirror, I turn my neck to check my hair. It’s in a tied back for function, but practicality doesn’t trump style. Not for me, which is why it’s sleek and straight rather than just haphazardly thrown into a ponytail.

“Time to go home and get out of these scrubs,” I murmur, starting my car.

My phone rings as I’m pulling out of the parking garage, and my heart flutters when I see his name on my car screen. I use the button on the steering wheel to answer.

“Hey, I’m just leaving the hospital.”

“Oh, good. Are you on your way to pick up my angel?”

“Actually, I have two days off, so my sister is picking her up and keeping her for the night.”

His angel is my daughter from a previous relationship. Her dad split before she was born, so it was just me and her until Namjoon and I randomly matched on Tinder. At first, I wasn’t actually sure it was really, truly him because Namjoon being Namjoon it seemed like it was definitely a hoax, but I agreed to meet up with him just to see, and what was supposed to be a hookup turned into a fancy dinner date followed by a casual lunch date and then drinks at his apartment after work which turned into a naked sleepover…

That sort of went on for a few months, in which I introduced him to my daughter through pictures and stories, and then they met in person, which was exciting and nerve-wracking for me, but she adores him, and he adores her. So on the night of our sixth month anniversary when he asked how I felt about us moving in with him, there wasn’t much for me to think about.

“Oh,” he says softly. “So, we’re alone for the night?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t have to be up for work?”

“No.” I bite my lip as I stop at a red light and flip on my turn signal. “I do have to go get her before noon though, so I can’t be in bed all day.”

“That’s okay,” he answers quickly. “I have a schedule before that, so I’ll be up.”

“Are you still at the studio?”

“Yeah. I want to get a few more things recorded before I head home. Do you want me to pick up takeout on my way?”

“That would be great. I have some stuff to do around the house, and I had an email about a styling job I want to look into, so that works for me.”

“Okay. I’ll see you at home. Later, baby.”

“Bye.”

He hangs up, and my phone switches to a Spotify playlist. As I drive the last few miles, I do a mental rundown of the things I need to get done before he gets home. In addition to looking into the styling contract, I want to get the dishes in the sink washed first and then cut up the fresh fruit in the fridge for my girl’s lunches next week, and if I have time go ahead and fold some of the clean laundry sitting in the basket in the laundry room.

The actual first thing I do when I walk into the apartment is take off my scrubs and hop into she shower to wash off my day, literally, since I work in healthcare. When I get out, I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top before I go to the kitchen to start loading the dishwasher. While it’s running, I do the fruit which isn’t my favorite thing to do since it gets boring, but it’s so much easier to pack lunches when the fruit is done and ready to grab from the fridge.

Finally, I settle down on the couch with a glass of champagne and my computer to go over the details of the styling job. Since I already knew it would require the most of my time I have before Namjoon gets home, I saved it for last. After I skim the entire email, I take another sip of my drink before setting my glass aside and scrolling back up to the details that pique my interest—what designers their looking for, what the concept of the style is, and how soon they need it done. If those things work for me, the next thing I’ll look at is compensation, but I have to be interested enough to want the job first.

“Gucci…Balenciaga…Dior…” I mutter to myself as I make notes in a separate window on my computer.

As I look slowly through the email again, I’m thinking of what connections I have with which designers and if I can put something together. Before I had my kid and went back to school to be a nurse to support her, this is what I did. During that time, I met a lot of people in the industry, so I know someone pretty much everywhere.

“Oh, if that’s the concept…” I close my eyes for a second to picture different pieces from different collections.

“Dior.”

As soon as I say it, my phone starts to ring, making me jump. I see my daughter’s face on the screen and realize how late it is. She must be going to bed.

“Hey babe,” I answer, closing my laptop and setting it aside.

“Hi, Mommy.”

“Are you having fun at your sleepover?”

“Yes, Mommy. We made cookies and then we went outside and then we had pizza and played games and then we watched Rapunzel and had ice cream.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of things.”

And a lot of sugar. I’m not mad at my sister. She can spoil her if she wants. I’m just surprised she’d do that to herself knowing my kid is going to be bouncing off the walls until she crashes.

“Mommy, when are you coming to get me?”

I sigh and ignore the way my heart gets all soft. “Tomorrow at lunch time.”

“Okay, Mommy…” I can hear her frown, and I hate it.

“Do you have your pillow?” I stand and start to check her bedroom. If she doesn’t have it, she won’t sleep, and as much as I want a night to myself, I also need my kid to sleep.

“Yes, Mommy, and my pajamas.”

“Oh good.”

I start to ask her another question when I hear the door open, and I turn to look as Namjoon comes in holding a paper sack with our takeout order.

“Hey, baby,” he says quietly, his stupidly pretty face splitting into a grin.

Fuck. Those damn dimples. I can’t.

I see his eyes go to the phone in my hand before he asks, “Who are you talking to?”

“JOONIE!”

I jerk the phone away from my ear as my daughter shrieks into it.

“Oh, let me talk to her,” he says as he rushes to put the food down on the bar top and hurries over to me.

I hand him the phone and watch as he lifts it to his ear.

“How’s my angel tonight?” he asks gently, sitting down on the arm of the couch. “Oh really? … Well that’s good. Did you have fun at school?”

I press my lips together as I wander over to the food and start pulling things out of the bag.

“Well, maybe Monday it’ll be easier,” he says quietly. “Okay?”

He laughs softly, and I can’t help but look over at him. God, he really loves my baby.

“Goodnight, angel,” he whispers. “Do you want to tell your mom goodnight? … Okay, I’ll tell her.”

He hangs up, and I pretend I wasn’t spying as I set out the rest of the food.

“She said she misses you,” his low voice rumbles into my ear as he comes up behind me, his arm sliding around my waist.

“She’ll be okay.”

“She also told me to kiss you goodnight for her,” he says softer.

“Oh yeah?” I tilt my head back to look at him.

“Mmhmm.” He leans down a few inches and his lips brush mine, a pleasant shiver running down my spine.

Damn those soft lips. Why do they feel so good?

“I don’t think that’s the goodnight kiss she meant,” I whisper.

“Oh, you want another one?”

He smirks and leans down to kiss my cheek, his arms squeezing tight around my stomach.

“Quit. Quit!” I pull away. “We need to eat still.”

“Hmm. Okay, but I’m coming back to this later.”

“Sounds good to me,” I mumble as he walks around the counter to the fridge where he grabs a beer.

“What do you want to drink?” He glances over his shoulder at me.

I sort of finished the champagne already, so I shrug and say, “I’ll have what you’re having.”

“Cool. Do you want your own or some of mine?”

“Some of yours is fine.”

He nods, and I wait for him to grab his food and head to the couch before I follow him, setting mine on the coffee table while I get comfortable before I reach for it again.

Namjoon talks to me while he eats. About anything. About everything. He tells me about work (at least vaguely), about what memes the members are talking about in the group chat, about changing his hair color… Aside from the occasional comment, I eat and listen to him. I could say more, but just listening to him talk makes me happy.

When we’re finished, he gathers up our trash and then decides to take the bag out because it’s too full to close the trash can. While he’s gone, I go to empty the dishwasher. I mean, normally, I would leave it especially since we’re alone for the night which is rare and usually means something very naughty and very fun is going to happen, but the cabinet has literally no plates or cups in it, and I don’t want to forget and have to rush to do them later. Plus, I have a bunch of nervous energy, and I need to do something until he gets back.

The top rack is empty and I’m halfway through the bottom rack when Joon comes into the kitchen.

“I figured you’d be in the bedroom,” he says in a low tone.

“I was killing time.” I shrug. “And now that I started I might as well finish.”

“Let me help you.”

He reaches down and grabs the rest of the plates and moves behind me, reaching over my head toward the cabinet, so close his chest touches my back.

Which is when I feel it.

Feel him.

Thick and hard and pressed against my ass.

I suck in a breath and bite my lip.

“Baby, you okay?”

“Fuck the dishes,” I whisper.

“What?”

Turning around carefully, still pinned between him and the counter, I look up at him, while at the same time sliding my hand down between us, cupping his firm bulge.

He winces, and I see his eyes flash.

“I want this,” I murmur as I give it the faintest squeeze.

He grits his teeth and grabs onto the counter next to my hip.

“Shit,” he mutters.

I start to ask what that means when suddenly he grabs my waist and lifts me onto the counter.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

“You started this,” he says roughly as his eyes darken with arousal and he steps between my thighs, reaching for the waistband of my pants.

“Wait, right now?” My voice gets higher, and I bite my lip.

“I’m starting right now.”

I don’t get to ask what that means because his hands start pulling on my sweats and I almost slide off the counter before I reach back and push up on my wrists so they’ll slide off.

My panties go with them.

Oh God. My bare ass is on my kitchen counter. And Namjoon is between my knees. Cool air glides over my exposed pussy and I bite my lip, fighting a whimper.

“Mmm.” Namjoon’s eyes travel over me, landing on the now-pulsing place between my thighs.

Instinctively, I try to close my legs, but his hips are in the way.

“Don’t hide from me,” he says softly, his fingers trailing over my skin, from my knee toward my hip, along my inner thigh. I stop breathing as the edge of his fingertip traces the outside of my lower lips.

He leans closer, bending so his face is right there. My hands grip the edge of the counter tightly as a rush of wet saturates between my legs.

“I think I want dessert now,” Namjoon says softly as he straightens.

“What?” I blink.

I—He just—I thought we were going to—

All of the sudden he drops to his knees, and my spine goes rigid. He moves closer to the counter, his large hands on my legs, his eyes on my pussy. He pauses, and my eyelids flutter closed. I try not to moan as he exhales, a warm stream of air hitting directly against wet slit.

“Joon…” I swallow. “What are you–”

“Eating,” he rumbles, his mouth brushing against me as he says it.

My back arches instantly as his tongue dips in between my lips and runs the length of me.

“Namjoon,” I gasp as his large hands slide under my thighs, lifting them, pulling them apart as he tilts his head and plants a gentle kiss right there.

He kisses again. Harder.

And then he starts sucking.

First on one side. Then the other. And slowly from the front to the back. My back arches, forcing me further into his mouth, and I moan loudly. Without missing a beat, he tilts his head and sucks deep, his tongue darting out again, teasing me. I swear under my breath and one of my hands slides down into his hair.

His eyes lift to mine, and I feel the heat of them where his thumbs are slowly pulling me open. He smirks, and I feel it in my nipples, which tighten painfully right before he lowers his head again, his soft lips rubbing over my throbbing ones before the flat of his tongue laps them, the tip flicking across my clit.

“Son of a bitch,” I whisper.

He laughs against me, and I swear I almost come. Except he stops.

“Namjoon, what are you waiting–”

I choke on my question when he suddenly sucks hard, his teeth grazing my lips before his fingers pull me open and he tongue drives inside.

I swallow a scream as my head flies back as he fucks me with his mouth. Sucking and licking and his tongue moving in and out of me. He quickly adds two of his long ass fingers, which only makes me crazier. My hand on the edge of the counter is holding on so tight it might be cutting into my palm. The other is fisting his hair, my thighs clamped around his face as he devours me.

He grunts against me, and I whimper at the sensation. I’m so close I could cry.

“Joon,” I plead softly. “I want… I want to–”

One of his thumbs rolls over my swollen clit at the same time his tongue and fingers thrust deep. I come instantly, exploding in his mouth as I fall back on my elbows, moaning his name. His hands move to my ass, pulling it off the edge of the counter and against his face as he continues to suck and lick my wildly spasming pussy. When I come down, his tongue runs along my slit one last time before he puts my bare ass back on the counter and climbs to his feet.

“I can’t feel my legs,” I whisper as he rests his hand by my hip, leaning in to kiss me.

“Mmm.” He smirks against my mouth, and I realize I can taste myself on his lips.

I get wet instantly at the thought, and reach up to put my hands on his shoulders.

“I guess that means you’ll have to carry me to the bedroom,” I murmur.

He makes a low growling sound as his large hands yank my hips against his, my trembling legs instantly locking around his ass, as he lifts me off the counter and starts down the hall. My lips land on his neck (because how can I resist?), and I suck gently as my hands slide over his massive pecs down over his abs, toward his—

“Ah!” I gasp as my back hits the wall.

“You just came in my mouth,” he grunts into my ear as my hands pull at his belt. “And you’re still this horny?”

I can’t answer because his lips land on mine, pushing my head back against the wall, distracting me completely from unbuttoning his pants. I nip at his plump lower lip, and he grunts, taking control of the kiss. My lips part in surprise, and I whimper as his tongue slides over mine. My arm curls around the side of his neck, one of my hands driving into his messy hair. His fingers dig into my ass as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss even more.

He presses forward, pinning me completely to the wall, before his hands let me go. I let out a small scream, tearing my mouth from his, my hands going to his shoulders to keep from falling.

“Namjoon, what are you doing now?”

“Clothes,” he curses.

His fingers curl into the hem of my top, and I jerk as he yanks it over my head, leaving me completely naked.

“Better,” he whispers, his eyes traveling over my exposed skin with awe.

“The bedroom is so close,” I remind him, looping my arms around his neck and teasing the curve of his ear with my tongue.

He grunts and his hands return to my ass, lifting me higher, causing my boobs to bounce. I moan softly when my nipple grazes his lips.

“Bedroom,” he says softly.

“Yeah,” I tilt my head down and kiss the side of his jaw. “The faster the better.”

His soft lips press against my neck, and I quit breathing for a second as he moves us out of the living area. My eyes flutter closed as he begins sucking on my skin. Gently at first and then harder. My hand moves down again, over his chest and abs, zeroing in on his fly. I’m already naked, so my first priority is to even the playing field.

I get his zipper down and his teeth sink into my neck in surprise when my fingers brush against the feverish lump behind it.

“Shit,” he groans. “Let me get to the bed first,” he grunts. “If you keep that up, I’ll drop you.”

“Don’t you dare.”

I try to sound threatening, but it’s hard when his fingers are clenching at my bare ass, holding me tight to his hips, the bulge of his erection grazing against me. Instead it sounds weak and desperate. Which is exactly how I feel right now.

“Mm.”

He moves faster, his lips abandoning my neck as he pushes into the bedroom and throws me on the bed. A small cry leaves my throat, and I whirl around on all fours to look at him.

“What the hell, Namjoon?”

“’Bouta come in my pants,” he swears softly, reaching over his head to pull his shirt off with one hand.

“What?” I blink.

“Nothing,” he says as he swallows, tossing the shirt aside. “Come here.”

He stalks toward the bed, and I scrambled backward.

“Hey, whoa, slow down.”

“Slow down?” He stops at the edge of the mattress and raises a single eyebrow.

A jolt goes through my pussy, and I feel hot all over.

“You were all about going fast two seconds ago,” he says in a low tone.

“Well, yes, but you’re being really…”

“Horny?”

“Aggressive,” I whisper.

Fuck. It’s so hot.

Both his eyebrows rise, and I bite my lip.

“You want me to stop?”

“N-no…” I slide off my side of the bed and walk around the foot.

His eyes follow me, and then his body as he turns to face me when I stop in front of him.

“What are you doing?” He frowns in confusion.

“I just was thinking…” I reach down and unto the button of his pants. “You got dessert on the kitchen counter…”

A throb hits between my legs as I say it, and I clench my thighs together.

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, what about me?” I look up at him as I edge my fingers into the waistband of his pants. “I don’t get some?”

He opens his mouth and I slide my hands into his underwear, my fingertips instantly finding burning, turgid skin.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hands reaching out to grab my wrists. “Hold on.”

“I want to blow you,” I whisper.

“I guessed that.”

His face twists in pain, and for a second, I almost feel guilty.

“Let me sit down first.”

I pull my hands out and wait while he shoves his pants down and off and reaches for his underwear.

“I want to do that,” I pipe up, putting my hand on his shoulder.

“Oh?” His eyes flick up to mine, and I gently push his torso, urging him to sit.

His fine ass lowers to the mattress, and I slide my hands down his chest and abs and over his thighs as I get on my knees in front of him.

I reach for the band of his underwear and tug, squirming as his mammoth cock springs free. He hisses and his hand on the bed fists the sheets.

The longer I look at it the wetter I get. It’s not just big, it’s angry. Red with veins everywhere, the thickest one running up the underside. I swear I can see it throbbing. The head is visibly swollen with precum glistening at the slit. I’m a little surprised his zipper didn’t bust open trying to contain it.

I reach out to touch it, and he tenses.

“I’m not going to bite it,” I mumble.

He makes a low sound, and I put one hand on his thigh as I reach out with my other one and run my fingers from top to bottom.

God, it’s on fire.

The heat of it shoots straight from my fingertips to the aching spot between my legs.

“Ppalli-ga,” he grunts, and I know I have to move faster.

From how hard he is, I can tell he’s already close. It won’t take much for him to blow.

Moving closer, I bend my head and lick up one side. One of his hands lands on my head, and I immediately repeat the motion. His grip tightens, and I begin licking everywhere. It doesn’t take long before he’s ready. (Not to mention he’s leaking precum like crazy.) When I’m done licking him, I sit back to catch my breath.

Fuck, it’s thick. I always forget how sore my jaw is after I blow him. Probably because I enjoy it so much that I don’t care.

“Goddammit, baby, suck me,” he groans, and I look up to see his head thrown back and the veins in his neck popping.

Wetness floods between my legs, and I gasp, gripping his thigh tighter.

His hips come off the bed, and I jerk back to avoid being smacked in the face with his dick.

“Okay,” I murmur. “I’m starting.”

He nods, or rather, jerks his chin forward, and I lower head, the bulbous tip sliding between my lips.

“Oh my God,” he groans.

I suck slowly at first and then harder as I move up and down. I use my fingers to toy with his balls and to tease the base until I’m ready to take all of it.

I hold my breath as I tilt my head and open my mouth as wide as I can, forcing his massive length between my lips. My jaw pops, and I wince.

His fingers slide into my hair and grip tight as I start to slide up and all the way down again.

“What are you doing?” he grunts suddenly. “Stop. Stop.”

I do but only because he sounds worried.

“I want to do this,” I tell him instantly. “Don’t make me stop now.”

“I’m hurting you. I can feel it,” he murmurs, letting me go.

“Well stop feeling it.” I frown at him, straightening my spine. “All you should feel is orgasmic.”

“Baby–”

“Let me deep throat you, Namjoon. I want to make you feel good.”

He sighs, and I lick the tip of his cock again.

“It does feel good, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “It feels fucking amazing.”

“Then don’t stop me, okay?”

“Fine.” He leans back, presenting his big dick to me again. “Go ahead.”

Before he even has the whole word out, I have him in my mouth again. I have to figure out my breathing as I go, making sure to suck deep and not graze him with my teeth. I move faster and suck harder with every entrance, ignoring the way his tip feels ramming into the back of my throat.

He starts swearing softly. And then louder. And then all at once in a mixture of Korean and English. His hand goes back to my hair and holds tight as his hips start bucking into me.

He’s going to come soon. I’m certain of it. Bracing for his load, I continue to suck and lick at his thrusting cock.

Suddenly he pulls out, practically standing as he fists my hair and holds my head still where I can’t get my mouth on him.

“I’m gonna come,” he gasps, his raspy voice sending small vibrations through my whole body.

“Okay, so?” I ask hoarsely. “Let me swallow it.”

“Don’t wanna wait to get hard again,” he explains gruffly. “I want to come inside you but not in your mouth.”

“You have a long refractory period,” I remind him. “You could still fuck me even after I suck you dry.”

“Not this time,” he shakes his head, the veins in his neck still popping. “I’ve been thinking about this all day, and I have things I want to do before I come.”

“Can you last that long?” I ask softly, my eyebrows rising as I glance back at his swollen, wet cock.

I’ve gotten him off enough to know he’s at his absolute limit right now.

“I just need a minute to come down a little,” he says breathlessly. “Then I can keep going.”

“Mmm…okay.”

“Get up on the bed.”

I climb off of my knees slowly, ignoring the tiny bursts of pain in my knees as I crawl onto the mattress. He stands next to the bed, and I watch him inhale and exhale slowly as he regains control over his urge to come.

“Namjoon, if you need to finish, I can–”

“I got it,” he interrupts gruffly. “Lie down on you back for me.”

I blink as he starts to climb on the bed.

“Now, baby. Spread your legs.”

He’s still close, I realize, but he wants to do this anyway, that’s why he’s in such a hurry.

Quickly moving up the bed, I turn onto my back with my head in the pillows like he said. Before I can breathe, he’s on top of me, his giant pecs in my face, his fucking huge biceps on either side of my head.

“You ready for me?” he grunts softly, his fingers dragging through the wet between my legs even as he asks it.

I gasp instead of answering.

“Mm.” He nods, biting his lip. “That’s a yes.”

“Joon…”

“This is going to be rough,” he says quietly. “Can you handle that?”

“Yeah. I can handle—ah!”

My words dissolve into a sharp cry as he suddenly drives into me. My legs lock tight around his hips as I feel it—the fat tip, the thick shaft, his balls against my lips. All of it hot and pulsing and stretching me wide. My pussy squeezes around it, and I hiss his name like a swear word as my back bows off the bed.

“Fuck, your pussy is a miracle,” he groans.

“You’re so thick,” I moan at him. “A little warning next–”

He moves again. Pulling out and thrusting back in. I choke on my sentence and grab onto his broad shoulders. He keeps going, fast, rough just like he said, pounding into me. One of his hands slides around my thigh under my ass to hold me steady. His other slides inside to the front of my slit, his large thumb zeroing in on my clit which he begins rubbing furiously.

“Namjoon!”

I don’t even feel it building before I’m coming as he continues to growl and jerk against me. I’m not done when he pulls out.

“Wha-what are you–”

“Next position,” he gasps as he grabs my legs and flips me onto my belly.

“I’m still coming, Joon. Wait–”

He doesn’t. Instead, he hooks an arm under my hips and pulls them up, forcing my knees open with his own before he puts a hand on my back and gently pushes my cheek into the pillows.

“Oh God,” I whisper.

His other hand rests on my ass squeezing lightly before I feel him pushing into me again.

“Oh God!”

He slams back into my still-coming pussy, and I whimper into the pillow. It feels so good and so deep—even deeper than before.

“You okay?” he leans over me, his hand coming up to cup my breast. “Too much?”

“Don’t stop,” I murmur. “It’s too good.”

I hear him laugh in surprise, and I feel it in my nipples, which he’s doing a fabulous job toying with. Suddenly, he grabs my whole boob in his hand and starts rutting into me. My knees spread wider on their own and I grab onto the pillow with both hands, my mouth parted in a silent moan.

“Baby?”

“I’m coming,” I hiss. “Again. Harder this time.”

I squeal when he sits up suddenly taking me with him. I’m still full of him, straddling his thighs, which are resting on his heels as he continues to jerk into me, his hands on my chest holding me to him. I grab his wrists with both my hands without thinking. My head falls back on his shoulder, and I press my lips to his neck. My body feels exhausted and overstimulated and like I’ll never stop orgasming.

He grunts sharply, and I feel his hips tense.

“Come with me,” he whispers, his lips landing on my shoulder.

“I can’t,” I choke.

Or I am. I can’t even tell now.

“Just one more,” he bites out. “Now. Now!”

He drives up into me as he comes. My walls spasm at the hot fluid spurting inside me, and I gasp as I another orgasm hits below my belly, racing up my spine, down my aching legs and up into my nipples. He buries his face in my shoulder, and I struggle to catch my breath as I finally come down. He’s still coming even after I’m finished, probably because he kept bringing himself so close to an orgasm only to delay it again and again. When he finally relaxes, he lifts me off of him slowly, and I lie down on my stomach in the bed next to him.

“I need to clean up,” he says gruffly. “Clean you up too.”

I nod because I’m so exhausted I’m not sure I can speak. When he comes back with a rag, I roll onto my side and wince at the ache in my legs.

“What?” He frowns instantly. “Did I hurt you? I was too rough, wasn’t I? Fuck.”

“No.” I shake my head at him. “I really liked that.”

“Oh…” He blinks. “You did?”

“I came like four times or something,” I remind him. “I definitely liked it.”

“Well…good.”

He runs the rag between my legs and over my thighs, and when he walks away, I grab his pillow and pull it under my cheek.

“Are you going to sleep now?” he asks softly when he comes back.

“Mmm. I don’t know,” I whisper. “I could. You wore me out.”

“I was hoping to watch a little TV first.”

“Okay,” I mumble, “but body is a puddle, so, if we’re going to cuddle, you’re going to have to pick me up.”

He yanks on some sweat pants and climbs in bed beside me.

“I can read if you want to just go to sleep now,” he says quietly.

“Mm.”

“You have to sit up though while I put this shirt on you.”

“Why?” I yawn. “I can sleep naked.”

He clears his throat, and I watch his eyes skim over my body.

“Trust me,” he says hoarsely, “you need to put on this shirt.”

I bite my lip as he reaches over to help me into the oversized FG shirt. I collapse into his pillow again as soon as it’s on, the warm, soft fabric that smells like him making me even sleepier.

“Goodnight, baby,” he murmurs as he reaches over me to grab his book off the nightstand.

“Goodnight, Namjoon.”

My eyes flutter closed as I feel his soft lips press against my temple, and then I fall into a blissful, post-orgasmic sleep.

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

Translations:

Ppalli-ga - go fast

#networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet #hyunglinenetwork #bangtanhq #btswriterscollective #btsguild #houseofddaeng #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #bts fanfiction #my fic #bts fic #namjoon fic #bangtan fanfiction #namjoon fanfiction #my comms

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puckmeupfam · 5 years ago

Text

First Move | Mikko Rantanen

Word Count: 3164

You knew a lot about Mikko. You knew he was funny and goofy and easily excitable. You knew that if you walked into his apartment (even after knocking and waiting at least thirty seconds) there was a good chance that he wouldn’t be fully clothed. You knew that you kinda sorta loved him. And you knew that he was utterly oblivious. Which is exactly why you danced around him for such an embarrassingly long time.

After an at-home win, you tagged along with Mikko and the rest of the guys to whatever bar they were into at the moment. The adrenaline from cheering them on and the rush of the arena made you lose your inhibitions a bit even without alcohol. Which is precisely why you trailed behind the rest of the group. And when you stumbled over to their U-shaped booth there were no seats left, leaving you to dramatically sigh and mumble something about going to grab a chair. You felt a hand snake around your wrist and turned to see Mikko patting his lap, you didn’t need any clarification because these types of things always seemed to happen when you two were together. So without another word you slid into his lap. Everyone else seemed to fade away just a bit. You couldn’t seem to focus on the joke Josty was telling or the girls who were trying to buy Gabe a drink even though he kept very obviously flashing his wedding band. It was just your heartbeat and Mikko’s thumb rubbing circles on your thigh. These were the times when it was a little too easy to forget that you and Mikko weren’t you and Mikko. You were friends. Close friends. Handsy friends. But friends nonetheless.

“Where are you going,” he mumbles after you’ve tapped his arm to let you up. The group of you had only been at the bar for about an hour but it was starting to hit you that you’d been up since six-in-the-morning with no real downtime. You turn to him and smile a little, “I’m going home.” He throws on an exaggerated pout and shakes his head which just makes you giggle and continue to try and free yourself. Finally, Mikko stands up with his arms still wrapped tightly around you.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re going.”

“I didn’t invite you to come home with me, Mikko,” you try to scold him but it’s so hard to be even fake mad at him.

“Who says we were going to your place?”

As it turns out not going to your place meant that he was taking you to the 24-hour diner nearby and ordering milkshakes and fries. It wasn’t long after you and Mikko had become friends that you’d started taking him here. And it wasn’t long after that that he’d developed a fondness for dipping the salty fries into the sweet dessert. The only problem with going was that you had to keep it a secret from Nate but that wasn’t too hard since both of you mutually would do whatever it took to avoid him being mad at you. Between Nate and Gabe you got your fair share of lectures. Nate was a bit more of a disciplinarian, crossing his arms across his chest before referencing his diet and exercise plan. Gabe’s hurt more because he would pull that whole I’m-not-mad-I’m-just-disappointed-thing, but at least he would always end it on a pep talk and a funny joke.

While you were a lost in your thoughts, Mikko took the opportunity to snag your milkshake and drink half of it in one sip.

“Hey,” you shouted, reaching across the booth to slap whatever of him you could reach, “now I’m going to get your germs!” Instead of responding or apologizing to you, he just clutched his temples repeating “brain-freeze.” It was hard to be sympathetic towards him and his brain-freeze after he stole your drink and still had a bit of hot fudge dripping down his chin, so you just leaned back against the upholstery. You had a smirk on your face as he was clearly trying to milk this for all it was worth to get you to laugh and forgive him. “Oh poor baby,” you said in a sickly sweet, teasing voice. And then a yelp from you as he swiftly kicked you underneath the table.

The first real turning point in your relationship came during a team barbeque. The sun hadn’t even set yet but Mikko had already managed to get a little past tipsy because apparently watching other people cook was too boring for him to do sober. You were sipping at a lemonade when Gabe came to stand beside you. Since you were at an advantage being sober and all you used it as an opportunity to get some certifiable blackmail material on your dear sweet best friend. This came in the form of daring him to do a cartwheel. You had your phone recording him as he tried to square his stance. He looked up at you across the yard and you counted to three to try to coax him into actually doing it. The cartwheel ended up not being all that bad. His blood-alcohol level worked against his upper body strength but he ended up landing on his feet… even if he did end up rolling on to his ass not ten seconds later.

You were fully aware that the majority of the video would end up just being your hysterical laughter but it was well worth it to get Mikko’s gymnastics prowess on video. As you put your phone in your back pocket, Gabe spoke up.

“He really is something isn’t he?”

“Mikko? Yeah, definitely.”

After your response, Gabe turned his body to fully face you and put a hand on your shoulder. “(Y/N), I’m not in charge of you, I’m not your captain. But I still feel like it might be my job to give it to you straight,” he said. You didn’t know how to respond to this so you just raised an eyebrow.

“Listen, Mikko really likes you. You really like Mikko. We both know he’s not going to make a move… so do you see what I’m getting at?”

“Ummm…” was the only response you could find. Gabe sighed deeply in a way that almost made you a bit offended.

“(Y/N). I’m telling you right now. If you want to get with that,” he waved his hand in Mikko’s direction, “in the next millennium, it’s going to be on you.”

Gabe’s words had haunted you for the next two weeks. They were said in a teasing tone but they were all too real. You knew he was right. Mikko wasn’t going to bring long-stemmed roses to your door and give you some dramatic speech about how you’re the one for him. If anything was going to happen between you it was probable that it would be based on you asking him out. And, like, are you confident in yourself? Yeah. Are you independent and funny and smart? Definitely. The problem was that you knew that you couldn’t live without Mikko as your friend. The chances that he would flat out reject you and then block your number were low, you’d admit that. But the what-ifs got to you more than you’d care to admit.

Which is why you’d been hesitant to accept Mikko’s invitations to hang out. You’d declined his FaceTimes even though they were your nightly tradition. You even skipped their latest home game, texting Mikko after the fact to say that you were just too busy that night. And in all his obliviousness Mikko still knew you so when he confronted you and asked why you were avoiding him you knew you’d have to face the music and see him face to face even if it killed you. Which is how you found yourself in his kitchen cooking dinner for the two of you. You’d gone shopping before you came since there was very little you could make with his cabinet of Finnish coffee.

A soft Spotify playlist was going in the background when Mikko came into the kitchen freshly showered with wet hair, still smelling like his body wash.

“(Y/N), change the soooonnnnggggg,” he whined as he made his way towards you.

“Why,” you said. If you were going to come over to Mr. Millionaire’s house and cook dinner for him you felt like you could put on whatever songs you wanted, even though you were already reaching for your phone to change it to a different playlist.

“We can’t dance to this,” was his response which... was really unfair because you were wrapped so tightly around his finger that it would take professional means to get you loose. You stopped reaching for your phone and instead moved to turn down the heat on the stove. Spinning around to stand face to face with him you felt like this was your chance. With the calming light of the candles you had forced into his apartment and full of all those love hormones which flooded your brain whenever you were around him, it was almost painful for you not to kiss him right now.

“Mik- I really, really like you,” you told him, staring straight into his chest. He pulled your chin up to make eye contact. Looking at you for a minute trying to read your expression. And, finally, instead of responding he just leaned in to kiss you, trying to tell you everything he needed you to know. You melted into him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he lifted you onto his kitchen island. As he moved to plant open-mouthed kisses against your neck, you wondered how you’d lived your whole life without this.

One night, a few months into your relationship, they had a game and would be getting back into Denver in the middle of the night. Before going to bed you texted him goodnight and to have a safe flight. It’s a few hours later when you jolt awake, hearing your front door opening. You’re all wrapped up in your blankets, heart racing, as you hear footsteps and something being knocked over in your living room. While the average person might go into some fight-or-flight response your brain immediately goes to “okay this is it I’m going to die,” as you bring your fluffy blanket up to your chin. That’s when your bedroom door opens and none other than Mikko “Hot Wheels” Rantanen walks in and flops on top of you in your bed.

“You scared me so badly,” you say with a gasp and with very little remorse in his voice he mumbles a weak sorry into your neck and moves to go to sleep. While you want to be mad at him and maybe kick him out and maybe throw a high heel at him, you don’t. Because he’s here. And he’s warm. And you’re being lulled to sleep as if you have a weighted blanket draped on top of you. And you love him.

It’s just when that thought encases every brain cell you have that said weighted blanket starts whining. With a sigh, you bring your hand up to card through his hair. You know him well enough to know that that’s what he was wanting, like the golden retriever he is. He nuzzles his head further into your neck and you realize that being utterly head over heels in love with him isn’t bad… or scary… it’s good, and it makes you feel like everything is going to be okay… forever.

You were well aware that the first summer after you started dating would be difficult. It was hard enough to be without him during road trips. And you’d gotten used to tangling your legs with his as you were falling asleep. Or hearing him groan shortly after your alarm goes off, feeling him roll on top of you to try to keep you in bed for “just five more minutes.” But here you were, a little over a week before he was supposed to leave. He wasn’t packed. He hadn’t even pulled his larger suitcases out of his closet.

Mikko was sitting on the sofa while you were criss-cross-applesauce on the floor. Something was playing on Netflix but you weren’t paying it any attention. He had a leg not so delicately draped over your shoulder that he used to kick your head which thoroughly shook you from any I-Love-Mikko related daydreams you may or may not have been having. You spun around to face him as your jaw dropped, just to see that he was laughing.

“I’ve been saying your name for five minutes,” he said. You felt like you would have noticed that but you weren’t confident enough to argue so you just continued to stare at him waiting for him to tell you the dumb joke or ask you the weird question that you knew was coming.

“Come to Finland with me,” was all he said. Not a question, a plea, or a favor. A statement. He wanted you to fly almost five thousand miles with him to go to his home country. As much as you wanted to go, you couldn’t just up and leave for the summer. You had responsibilities. And a life. And you didn’t speak Finnish.

“Mikko-” you started, but he cut you off. He knew what you were going to say so he cut you off with a “plllleeeeeeeaaaaaaaassssssssseeeee.” And he knew he got you when you tilted your head back and sighed. With a wide smile, he pulled you into his lap so you were straddling him and leaned in to kiss you. Just before your lips touched you shoved your hand over his face. “Wait, I can’t just go right now, but we can try to plan it out so I can go see you for a few weeks if that’s okay with you.”

“If that’s okay with me,” he mimed in a feminine voice trying to mock your expressions, even going so far as doing a fake hair flip, “of course it’s okay with me.” You leaned in to kiss him for a few seconds until he pulled back beaming, “Babe! You’re coming to Finland!” A giddy smile came across your face and you couldn’t help but cheer, “I’m going to Finland!”

The time before you were able to make the trip was excruciating but finally, the day arrived and you were stepping off the airplane. You were in a country that you’d never been to before but loved already. It felt like there was a magnet in your belly pulling you to baggage claim where you knew he’d be. It had been a long flight and when you finally landed and switched your phone off of airplane mode, it had been flooded with his texts. Tracking your flight, complaining about how long it was taking, and finally, a message that he was here waiting for you.

You were watching your feet as you stepped off the escalator but when you lifted your head it was hard to miss all six feet and four inches of Mikko. He smiled when he locked eyes with you and that’s when you noticed that he was holding up a homemade sign reading “Welcome to Finland (Y/N)!” in his scratchy handwriting. There were some drawings around the words and you were able to make out a Finnish flag and what looked like two stick figures holding hands. At this point, you couldn’t contain yourself anymore and quite literally ran into his arms. He didn’t miss a beat and wrapped his arms around you, lifting you up as you hiked your legs around his waist.

“I missed you… so much,” he whispered and you noticed that his accent had already gotten a bit thicker and his frame a bit sturdier as he was able to stop pushing himself to the limit like he did during the season.

As he set you back on your feet, you beamed up at him and said, “I’m so happy to see you.” His response was a blush, a shrug, and some mumblings about how you see his face every day. “Yeah, but seeing you through the phone is different,” you exclaimed cheerily as you threaded your fingers through his and pulled him and your bag towards the exit.

In the car on the way to his place, he kept his hand firmly in yours. But as soon as you arrived you pulled yourself free and sprung out of the car to meet his dog. You were quick to get on the ground with him and the dog was quick to flop on you and start licking your face. A minute later you heard Mikko laughing and peeled your eyes open to see him standing over you, phone in hand. He reached down to pull you up and started dragging you over to the swing on his porch.

You asked, “what about my bags?” And Mikko just scoffed, “we can get them later, I haven’t seen you in so long. We aren’t going to unpack all of your stuff right now.” He was right and you knew it. The chances that all your stuff would end up unpacked were probably very low and you were likely going to just live out of your suitcase while you were here.

Mikko sat on the swing and pulled you so your legs were draped across his and you were tucked into his side. You were utterly content to sit like that with the rocking of the swing, the faint breeze, and Mikko’s lips kissing the side of your head every so often.

Being without him was so hard. You honestly weren’t sure how you had survived being “just friends” for as long as you had. Now that you had Mikko, you could hardly pull yourself away from him for five minutes without feeling an ache in your chest. If his clinginess towards you since you landed was any indication, he clearly felt the same way.

It was then that your conversation with Gabe flooded your mind once again. You loved Mikko. Almost definitely since before you started dating. Probably since the moment you met. But once again it was looking like you’d have to make the move and be the first to say those three words. As you took a deep breath, trying to hype yourself up, Mikko spoke.

“(Y/N)... I really, really love you.”

You weren’t making eye contact, if anything he was pushing your face further into his chest so you couldn’t pull away. But you moved his arm down and pried your head up. You brought your hand up to stroke your thumb across his cheek as you leaned in to kiss him. It looks like you wouldn’t be making the first move again after all.

“I really, really love you too, Mikko.”

#mikko rantanen #mikko rantanen imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #colorado avalanche #m.rantanen

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kimmietea · 5 years ago

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Double Yikes! Part 1 (Ben Hardy x Reader)

Summary: Ben and Reader go on their date.

Warnings: Dirty thoughts, cursing...sickly sweet touching moments

Continuation of Yikes!

A/N: Wow ok hi everyone! Is this actually happening? Im actually posting this! So i decided to break up Double Yikes into 2 parts. First of all because it has been way too long and i feel awful for making you all wait and 2 because I’m struggling with the end and I'm hoping this will buy me some more time. I don’t bite so please tell me what you all think. Do you hate it? Love it? Want more? Tell me all of it. I love to hear from you. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list for when part 2 is finished. Ok I think that’s it...oh don’t forget Italics is reader thinking to herself in her head. Alright let’s do this!!

TagList:: @borhapqueen92 @radiob-l-a-hblah @gwendolyns-stacy @coincidence-ithinknots-blog @mythicmazzellos @hardforbenhardy @onceuponadetectivedemigod

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“Wait wait, read it to me again.” Morgan said stuffing the last bit of her lunch into her mouth. You were both sitting in your office for lunch, talking about Ben and your upcoming date that night, when he texted you as promised a few hours before.

“It says 'Do you mind if I pick you up for our date? I really want to be a perfect gentleman.' Then there are the fingers crossed emoji and in brackets '🤞(please say yes).' You read and flipped the phone around to show her.

"Want to be? Hell he already is."

"I'm so nervous. He still didn't say where or what time. What if I don't get out of work in time to shower? Oh god I'm gonna smell on our first date. What am I gonna wear? If I don't have enough time to shower then I might not have enough time to change. Oh god what if i wear what i'm wearing now. He's gonna look and smell so good. All showered and sexy in whatever he's got on and I'm gonna be this gross, smelly potato still in her clothes from work. Im freaking out!" You were spiraling.

"Alright calm down. One thing at a time. Let's come up with a reply. Do you want him to pick you up?"

"Of course I do." You smiled. "Better chance of a goodnight kiss."

"Or a good morning kiss" She muttered.

"Morgan!" She held her hands up in defense.

“I’m just saying what you’re thinking.”

She’s not wrong

“Oh shut up and help me.”

Together you came up with a reply and he responded with the time he would be by to pick you up and the dress code, to which he described as 'Fancier than work but not the royal wedding.', because he refused to tell you where you were going, causing you to stress about it for the rest of the day. At least you would have enough time to shower and change.

By the time you left work, you were nothing but a big nervous mess. When you got home you had 2 hours to get ready before Ben would be there. You went straight to the shower making sure every bit of you was clean and any place that needed shaving was taken care of just in case things ended the way Morgan said they would.

You were definitely not the type of girl to sleep with a guy on the first date but there was something about Ben. A pull you just couldn't explain. A need to be close to him but at the same time a need to be far away because you were so nervous you may vomit all over him. Plus this very well could be the last time you see him, him being an actor and his career on the verge of skyrocketing and all. So why not make the most of it if the opportunity arises.

After your shower you spent way too long in the closet trying to pick something to wear. You finally decided on what Morgan called your "Posh Spice Dress". It was a simple black dress that stopped mid thigh, with thin straps.

Hair and makeup came next and you kept things simple. Minimal makeup and a simple, messy sort of bun with a few pieces falling around your face. You received a text from Ben notifying you that he was on his way. Shoes on, wallet and keys in purse. You snapped a quick picture in the full length mirror and sent it off to Morgan as promised.

The knock at the door made you jump and almost drop your phone.

Jesus that was fast.

You could feel your hands start to sweat and your heart pound as you walked to the door.

Breath you manic, it's just a date. Breath.

You opened the door and the breath you just talked yourself into taking was stolen from you. Ben was dressed in a wonderful black suit and dark green shirt, making his eyes stand out. His hair was tousled just enough so a piece hung over his forehead. He was looking at the floor but when the door opened he looked up. He shook his head to get the stray piece or hair off his forehead but it did nothing but make you weak in the knees.

Fuuuuck! You beautiful bastard. My god, I'm gonna be distracted all night.

The effect he had on you must have shown on your face because his cheeks were a light pink.

"Hey." He smiled.

"Hi." You managed to get out. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek. You were grateful you were still holding the door otherwise you'd be on the ground.

"Wow you look... absolutely stunning." You looked to the ground to try and hide the furious blush that was now burning your face.

“Oh um these are for you.” He handed you the small batch of daffodils you hadn't noticed he was holding.

“My favorite. How did you know?” Trusting your knees wouldn't fail you, you moved inside and gestured for him to follow. In the kitchen you found a vase and filled it with water before turning to face him.

“I may have called the office and asked Morgan.” His bottom lip pulled between his teeth. You clenched your legs together and did everything you could not to moan out loud.

How inappropriate would it be if I jumped him right now?

“Sorry. That’s kinda creepy now that I say it out loud.” He laughed.

“No it’s not creepy. It’s thoughtful. They’re beautiful, thank you Ben.” You reassured and touched his arm gratefully. He nodded and when you turned to place the vase on the counter he let his fingers brush where you had touched his arm.

“Ready?” He asked, clearing his throat.

“Yep.” You grabbed your things and headed out the door to Bens car that was waiting in the parking lot of your apartment building. Keeping up his promise of being the perfect gentleman, he walked you to the passenger side and opened the door for you. His hand on your lower back the entire way. Once you were both settled in the car he passed you his phone, spotify was pulled up.

“Alright D.J. do your thing.” He said, pulling out of the lot and onto the street. You laughed and took the phone from him.

Ok do NOT fuck this up!

“Ah the real test.” You scrolled for a little.

“You probably think I'm going to play something Queen.” You saw the smirk on his face but he stayed silent.

Don’t be a cliche bitch.

“While i do love Queen, I'm sure that's all anyone ever plays for you now and I refuse to be that person.” You hummed and scrolled through his playlists. Surprisingly you had a lot of the same taste in music.

Should I pick something funny? Maybe a love song? No, to mushy.

“Oh I got it.” You said before clicking the one you had chosen. ’Thank you’ from Led Zeppelin. Just the right amount of lovey without being obvious. You watched his face as the music started. The smirk faded and a soft smile appeared.

“Why yes boys, she’s not just a pretty face, she’s got great music taste too.” You joked. His face didn’t change. He turned to glance at you before returning his eyes back to the road, smile still in place.

Oh shit. No real reaction.

“So, how’d I do?” You asked. You felt almost nauseous with the butterflies in your stomach. He looked to you again, a look you couldn't place.

"Perfect." He answered in almost a whisper. There was something more to that answer, you could feel it. There was tension in the car. Not a bad one, not a sexual one. Just an energy, an electric charge. This wasn't going to be just a regular date.

I wonder if he can feel that too.

Before either one of you could break the tension your phone chimed with a text message. You took your phone from your purse to see a message from Morgan.

‘YAS you sexy bitch! Get that dickin’ down girl!’ You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up and out of you.

“What’s so funny?” Ben asked.

Oh shit

You put your phone on silent and put it back in your purse after texting her back a thumbs up and a winking emoji. The mood in the car shifted, it was light, fun and you could breathe normal again.

“Just Morgan being Morgan.”

“Is that the ‘Let me know if you need me to get you out of this awful date and I'll make something up.’ text?” You laughed and shook your head.

Nope, just my best friend wishing me good luck on tryin to sex you up tonight.

“No, actually believe it or not, we didn’t even have that conversation.” You told him truthfully. The thought of coming up with an escape plan in case things went south didn’t even cross your mind. His smile grew.

“Feelin’ pretty good about this date then?” He chuckled, doing his best to joke but you could hear the nerves in his voice. You turned your full attention to him and put your elbow on the middle console, your chin resting in your hand, a warm smile on your lips. He pulled up to a stop light as you answered.

“Very good.” He turned to look at you, his smile still soft, that look in his eyes you couldn’t place was still shining at you. You watched as his eyes moved all across your face, as if he was doing his best to capture every inch of it, commit it to memory so he would never forget.

Oh my god please kiss me.

The mood shifted again and you found it hard to catch your breath.

There is no way he isn’t feeling this. It’s too strong.

He brought his hand up and let the back of his knuckles gently run along the side of your face.

How have I not noticed how full his lips are. I bet they feel amazing.

“Me too.” He whispered.

Oh god I'm in trouble.

The light turned green, the mood shifted again and Ben continued to the restaurant. As if that intense moment hadn’t just happened. All the mood changes were making you dizzy.

The rest of the ride was nice, you chatted about little things, his upcoming projects, how the rest of your work day was. When you pulled into a spot at the restaurant, Ben jumped out and ran around to your side of the car opening the door for you and offering his arm. You grinned at him and looped your arm in his.

Once inside and at your table, a perfect cozy spot in the corner, Ben pulled your chair out for you. You recognized the name of the restaurant, ‘Ember’ . It was the new hot spot. It was only open a few months and already the reservation list was booked up till a year and a half from now.

How did he get us in here? He doesn't seem like one of those actors to use his name or the fact that he’s an actor, to get what he wants.

You stopped looking at your menu to look at him, his eyes were roaming the page.

“I have to say, I’m a little impressed you were able to get us here on such short notice.” He laughed and glanced up at you.

“Don’t be. The head chef, Ryan, is a close mate from back home. I had to beg him for about an hour after I left your office to get us a table.”

Ugh. The cutest.

“That and while i'm in town I owe him 3 nights of babysitting his 4 year old daughter, Olivia, so him and his wife can go out. So yeah not too impressive.”

Jk, that was the cutest. And now I'm picturing Ben with a 4 year old. I am fuckin done for.

“I wouldn’t say that. I find the fact that you called my office to find out my favorite flower, begged your friend for a table at his restaurant and gave up 3 of your nights to babysit all to have dinner with some girl you just met 10 hours ago kinda impressive.” He smiled and set his menu aside.

"Well she's definitely not just some girl." You also put your menu aside, your head tilted sweetly to the side.

"Oh no?"

"No, she's special." Your heart skipped a beat. That same electric feeling from the car was back.

Fuck.

"Well she thinks you're pretty special too." His face went red and he looked down at the table to try and hide it. The waitress approached the table. She was young, early 20s for sure, pretty and clearly recognized Ben. The electric feeling was gone again.

"Hi, I'm Kate. I'll be your server tonight. Can I start you off with a drink?" She said a little too sweetly. She angled herself towards Ben, her back slightly to you. You could already feel yourself getting agitated.

Please do not fuck up my night with this man you little hoe.

Ben ordered a bottle of wine for the two of you after looking to you for the okay which you gave with a smile and nod. Kate leaned into him just so as he ordered an appetizer for you to share. You were not normally a fan of guys who ordered for their dates but something about the way Ben did was incredibly sexy.

"Is that alright my darling?" He asked. His eyes were wide and innocent, a slight blush on his cheeks.

He's so considerate. And completely oblivious.

You could see the annoyed look on Kate's face as he addressed you. You smirked.

"Of course, whatever you want. I trust you." You said and placed your hand on top of his that was resting on the table. His smile grew so wide it took up his entire face.

He's gonna kill me with that smile.

He flipped his hand over in yours so he could hold it properly. He glanced down at them then back up to you, a questioning look on his face. You smiled and squeezed his hand in reassurance. His wide smile was back again.

"I'll go put this in." Kate said, trying to pull his focus.

"Thank you." He replied and held the menus out of her to take. His eyes never leave you. You felt a surge of confidence pull through your whole body. She huffed, took the menus from him.

"Don't we need those to order?" You asked.

"Oh, Ryan said he wanted to make us something special. For us to just order an appetizer and wine and he would take care of the rest."

Wow VIP treatment. I'm seriously impressed.

Kate rolled her eyes and turned to leave.

"Oh Kate, could we also get some water please?" You smiled at her. You couldn't help that it was a little smug. Before she could answer Ben brought your joint hands up to his lips, placing a kiss to your knuckles before returning them to the table.

Perfect timing you charming bastard.

"Of course." She answered with a fake, forced smile and left. Your eyes returned to Ben. His smile was shining, addictive and contagious. You could feel yours growing to match. The conversation flowed easily. You talked about everything. Gone were any awkward moments. It was like you had known each other for years vs. only a few hours. You both were still shy and nervous at times but were growing more confident and comfortable as dinner went one. After you both had the amazing meal Ryan prepared for you, he came over to the table.

"Well well if it isn't little Jonesy." He laughed and threw his arm around Ben's shoulders, pulled him close and tousled his hair.

"Mate come on. I'm on a bloody date. Stop it." He struggled to get out of his friend's hold. Ryan laughed and placed a big smacking kiss on Ben’s cheek.

“Muah! Missed you mate.”

“Yeah yeah I missed you too. Now get off of me.” He shook him off but he was grinning the entire time. Ryan shoved at his shoulder with a matching grin before turning his attention to you.

"You must be Y/N, It's a pleasure to meet you." He said, offering his hand to shake.

"And you. Thank you so much for that meal. It was amazing. You are very talented" You gushed and met his hand with yours.

"Great taste and extremely beautiful." Ryan said letting your hand go and leaning into Ben's side.

"That she is." Ben answered, his eyes trained on you. Your heart fluttered.

"She's far too good for you Jonesy." Ryan joked.

"Don't I know it." You were sure your face was red and flushed.

Well that couldn't be more untrue. I'm so worried you're going to realise I'm just an average girl and then you'll be gone.

"Alright shove over, let's catch up for a bit." Ryan said grabbing a chair from a nearby table and pulling it up to yours. Ben slid his chair over to make room.

Oh shit, here we go nerves.

He was now sitting next to you rather than across. His arm instinctively draped over the back of your chair.

Okay, okay deep breath. Fuck he smells so good. No more deep breaths.

The boys chatted away, mostly about what they've been up to and Ryan's family. Ryan asked what you did, you told him and explained that was how you and Ben met.

"You know I would love to do a piece on you." You said taking a sip of wine. Having Ryan there had calmed your nerves, took some of the pressure off. You were relaxed and you could tell Ben was too. He leaned back in his chair, arm still draped over the back of yours. You were lent forwards, elbows on the table engaged in the conversation.

"Me?" Ryan laughed surprised.

"Yeah, I think the people would love to learn about the head chef at the new hot spot. I mean only if you're interested that is. You don't have to. Just a thought."

“That sounds good. Jonesy can give you my number, give me a call and we’ll set it up.” You smiled, feeling proud.This was gonna get you some serious points with your boss.

“Alright, I'm going to stop hogging your date and get back to work. Y/N it really was a pleasure meeting you. I look forward to seeing you again.” He said leaning over to place a kiss on your cheek.

“Jonesy I’ll see you soon for babysitting.” He laughed, hugged his friend and whispered to him.

“She seems perfect for you mate, don’t fuck it up.” Ben laughed and kissed his cheek the same way Ryan had upon arriving at the table.

“I’m sending you guys some desert so get comfortable.” He said before leaving. You turned to look at Ben over your shoulder, he was grinning at you.

"What?" You asked, now matching his grin. He brought the hand that was draped over the back of your chair, up to your exposed back and let the tips of his fingers run across the skin. Despite feeling hot all over, you shivered and goosebumps appeared.

"I've never seen him take to someone so fast. Especially someone I'm interested in."

Ok butterflies, calm down.

“I guess that means I'm pretty awesome.” You joked and leaned back in your chair, turned towards him, your knees now touching. His hand moved to the side of your face. He brushed a piece of hair behind your ear and let his finger gently continue over the shell of your ear, down your jaw and across your chin. Your heart was hammering in your chest. His touch was so soft and gentle you couldn't help but lean into him slightly.

Fuck. Me. Up.

“I’d say pretty awesome doesn't even begin to cover it.”

I swear if you don't kiss me right fuckin now i will exploed.

As if he was reading your thoughts he leaned in slowly, giving you the chance to pull away. He was so close now, you could feel his soft, warm breath across your face.

"Here's your desert." Kate, the waitress interrupted and placed a plate of chocolate covered strawberries on the table between you.

God damn it!

She had a satisfied smirk on her face.

Bitch

Ben pulled back, cleared his throat and offered a weak smile to Kate. It took everything in you not to huff and pout like a child not getting the toy they wanted.

"Chef asked me to give you this." Kate said and passed what looked like the check to Ben before leaving again. You watched as his eyes traveled over it and a grin spread across his face.

"Cheeky shit." He laughed and handed it to you. It was a note from Ryan.

Dinner is on me. Not because of you Jonesy, cause your beautiful date. She charmed the pants off me. The wife's gettin lucky tonight! Hope you are too.

A warm blush spread across your cheeks.

"Well that was very sweet of him." You said trying not to focus on the "hope you get lucky" comment.

"He likes to embarrass me." Ben laughed and nudged the plate towards you. "Strawberry?"

You both ate your dessert and continued to chat. You couldn't believe how easy it was to talk to him. Sure you still got nervous and giddy when he smiled at you and your heart would speed up, making your hands sweat but for the most part your nerves had calmed down enough for you to hold a conversation without stumbling over your words and flushing at the smallest up turn of his lips. When you finished Kate returned to the table to remove the plate and ask if you needed anything else.

“Actually may I borrow your pen?” Ben asked. She nodded and handed it to him. A hopeful look on her face. He took the note from Ryan, turned it over. You watched over his shoulder as he wrote:

Thanks for dinner you sexy man. See you soon for babysitting.

And signed it with a heart.

Kate looked disappointed.

Ha!

“Oh me next” You said, getting an idea. You searched your bag for your lipstick. Red lipstick wasn’t really your style but Morgan had convinced you to buy it once and it’s been in your bag ever since. You put it on, making sure to get it in the corners and lay it on thick. You could see Ben watching you out of the corner of your eye. His mouth was parted slightly and his eyes followed your hand as it traveled across your lips. You smirked at him a little as you rubbed your lips together before pressing your lips to the paper, leaving a perfect kiss mark. You wrote a quick thank you next to it.

“He’s gonna love that.” Ben said, his voice deep and a little rough.

Holy hotness batman

He gave Kate her pen back and asked if she would pass the note back to him. She agreed and left with the plate and note. Ben stood and held his hand out to you.

“Ready love?”

Your heart jumped a little.

Fuck I hope i never get used to hearing that

“Ready” You slyly wiped your sweaty hands on your dress before placing your hand in his. He helped you up and intertwined your fingers, pulling you close to his side as you both walked out of the restaurant. The car ride back to your apartment was filled with laughs. Ben was telling you stories about him and Ryan and all the crazy things they used to do, how they met, how Ryan met his wife and when Ryan asked Ben to be Olivia’s godfather.

When he pulled into the parking lot of your building he insisted on walking you to your door. ‘All part of the perfect gentleman package’ he told you. He took your hand again during the elevator ride up to your floor and swung your connected hands slightly as he walked you to your apartment and released it when you stood in front of the door.

Ok, goodnight kiss, let's do this!

"Thank you Ben, I had a really great time." He took a small step forward and placed one hand on your hip, your heart sped up. His hand felt heavy and the heat coming from him being so close spread through your entire body.

"So did I. Thank you for agreeing to go out with me tonight. I never do this kind of thing but I couldn't leave your office without a definite way to see you again." He laughed a little to ease his nerves, his head leaning slightly closer to you.

Oh god ok, breath

"Well I'm very glad you did." You said, much softer than you intended. Ben had his bottom lip trapped between his teeth as his eyes traveled over your face, landing on your lips. He was close and you could feel his breath across your face again, like at the restaurant. His heavy hand still firm on your hip, his thumb now rubbing along soothingly.

Please kiss me

He brought his other hand up to the side of your face, letting the tips of his fingers run over your cheekbone.

Pleeeease kiss me

You took a chance and placed your hand at the nape of his neck, letting your fingers intertwine in his hair. He smiled and licked his lips.

PAH-LEEAS KISS ME DAMN IT!

"Y/N, can I kiss you?" He whispered.

FUCKIN FINALLY!

Too afraid you'd actually say what you were thinking, you nodded. He smiled and leaned in slowly to close the space between you. You instantly felt an electric shock travel through you causing you to move closer towards him and tug on his hair. He moaned into the kiss and slid his hand from your hip to your back, pulling you flush against him.

You sighed at the feeling of him being pressed against you and your lips parted. Ben wasted no time and slid his tongue along yours. You moaned and let your unoccupied hand glide up his torso, feeling his tight muscles under his shirt to rest on his chest. Ben's hand that was near your face moved to join his other on your back.

Your entire body was on fire, your head spinning, either from the intensity of the kiss or the lack of oxygen, you weren't sure. Just when you were about to pull back to see if he wanted to move things inside, he slid one of his hands down to rest on the curve of your ass.

You whined and pushed back into his hand. He moaned and gripped your ass roughly, causing you to involuntarily snap your hips forward into his. He moaned again and finally pulled away. Ben was panting heavily, his lips were swollen and red, his cheeks flushed and warm. You were sure you looked the same.

Alright, say something cool and invite him inside

You opened your mouth to speak but he beat you to it.

"I can't do this." Your heart dropped and you could feel the color drain from your face.

A/N: Sorry for the cliffhanger but i need to make sure you come back! Don’t hate me!

#Ben Hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy smut #yikes #double yikes

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rickyxginaa · 5 years ago

Text

Request: Could we get one about Ricky finding out Gina is staying

Part One

*****

Ricky turned his car off as him and Nini were sitting in her driveway in silence.

“Hey,” Nini placed her hand in Ricky’s to grab his attention, “Are you okay?” Ricky stared at their intertwined fingers, remembering the look on Gina’s face when she noticed them holding hands just moments earlier. He felt like he had done something terrible knowing that he probably should have mentioned to her that he was now dating Nini. Ricky asked himself if he really should have.

He knows that him and Gina weren’t exactly your most platonic friendship. The pair had been seen flirting multiple times in rehearsals, in the hallways and basically anywhere else you could find them. He reminisced on all of their conversations they would have late at night when the other couldn’t sleep or the times where her face would light up whenever he would sing to her one of his songs he’d been working on. Finally, Ricky thought back to the homecoming dance and their ride home afterwards.

That damn kiss on the cheek.

Who knew that one little peck could change him forever?

But then she went away.

Gone just like that, no phone calls, no text messages. She just ... left.

Ricky’s world was turned upside down for days. He didn’t have the same eagerness to show up to rehearsals as he did before. Whenever he thought of a funny joke, he would turn to tell Gina and stop himself because she wasn’t sitting there next to him. Gina had no idea how much she hurt Ricky which is why he remained distant from her when she came back for the show. And now that she’s staying? Ricky didn’t know what to do.

So he decided to go back to what he knows best, Nini. The one thing he knew in his life would never have any change was their relationship and he found comfort in that. Ricky tightened his hold on Nini’s tiny hand, “Yeah, I’m just tired. Nothing to worry about.”

Nini dropped her eye contact with Ricky and looked down towards her lap. Her thoughts were running a million miles a minute. With her acceptance to YAC, Nini had a huge decision to make. Go and pursue her dreams or stay here with all her friends and family. She knew what the right choice was but it didn’t make things any easier. She did have to handle one thing first which happened to concern the handsome boy sitting right next to her.

Sure, hearing him saying those three words she’s been waiting to hear him say for months was amazing. But as much as she loved hearing them, she had to question if either one of them truly meant what they said back in her dressing room or if they simply got caught up in playing the roles of Troy and Gabriella and having to act lovey dovey with each other for the past few weeks.

She knew she loved Ricky, there’s no doubt in her mind that he will always have a special place in her heart. He was her first love, her first everything.

But then life happens, and maybe her first love wasn’t meant to be the only love in her life.

Nini turned towards Ricky, “Can I try something real quick?” And before he even had a chance to answer, Nini grabbed his face and kissed him. When they pull apart, Nini’s mind was made up. Their kiss in the dressing room and their kiss now felt the complete opposite. Like the passion was only there before because they believed they were doing the right thing by getting back together.

“Did you feel anything?” Nini questioned.

Ricky paused, and as much as he wanted to lie and say that yes, he did feel something, he knew he couldn’t.

“It’s okay. I didn’t either.” Nini gathered his answer without him saying a word.

Ricky leaned back against his seat, “Do you think we made a mistake?”

Nini let out a laugh and sighed, “I think we made a huge mistake.” Silence fell among the teenagers, both of them contemplating on what to do next.

“What do we now?” Ricky asked the million dollar question.

“Well, I think we go back to being the best friends we used to be. We were always good at that.”

“Yeah we were, weren’t we?”

Nini waited a moment and spoke again, “I think you should go to Ashlyn’s, Ricky.” Ricky gave Nini a look, unsure of where she was going with this. Nini wasn’t as naive as everyone perceived her to be. She picked up on what was going on between Ricky and Gina for weeks and how close the two have gotten. At first, she was jealous but now, it puts everything into place.

“I need to focus on myself for a while, like seriously this time. And you, need to go talk to a certain someone.”

“So does this mean we’re broken up? Again?” Ricky couldn’t help but feel a weight lifted off his shoulders.

“Yep, and we couldn’t even last a full day! But I most definitely broke up with you this time.” Nini and Ricky both fell into a fit of laughter. There was no bad blood between them whatsoever, just two stupid teens making stupid decisions at the wrong time.

Once their laughter died down, Nini reached over to hug Ricky, “Thanks for the ride home. Goodnight Ricky.” Nini grabbed her belongings and exited Ricky’s car. Ricky watched as she entered her house, waving one last goodbye to her.

He knew what he had to do.

*****

The doorbell rang, interrupting the game of Twister that was happening in the middle of Ash’s living room. Big Red accidentally flinched at the sound therefore causing everyone to pile on top of one another. Gina, EJ, Carlos, Seb, Ashlyn and Red all burst into laughter as they tried to untangle themselves and failing miserably. Eventually, Gina was able to pull herself free, yelling to everyone that she’ll get the door.

Party games apparently weren’t the group’s forte so Ash decided to turn on her Spotify playlist at full volume and everyone collectively started to dance around each other, having the time of their lives. Gina smiled at the sight as she walked towards the door. This was all she’s ever wanted, and now she has it.

As she opened the door, she came face to face with the one and only, Ricky Bowen. Gina was taken aback at first, and then made sure no one was looking before she stepped outside and quietly closed the door behind her.

“I thought you said you were going home.” Gina tried to mask her hurt as she spoke.

“I was. Then I realized I had something more important to take care of first.” Ricky’s hands were shaking as he fought the urge to just take her in his arms and never let her go. But he knew he couldn’t do that, not now at least.

Gina crossed her arms and looked everywhere but at Ricky, knowing that the second she made eye contact with him, her emotions would pour out of her. She had just gotten him and Nini out of her mind and here Ricky was, forcing her to remember that he wasn’t hers, and he never will be.

“What, Ricky? What was so important that you had to come here?” Gina could tell her facade was starting to slip but she really just wanted to go back in with her friends instead of dealing with whatever Ricky had to say. She knew deep down that she was actually happy for them, that her two friends found love with each other once again. She just wasn’t really great at showing it.

“Nini and I made a mistake. We knew we only went back to each other because we were caught up in everything that was happening at that time and we thought getting back together was the answer.” Gina’s silence allowed Ricky to continue, “So, she broke up with me. We decided we were better as friends and honestly, that’s all we will ever be.”

Gina was shocked. Out of all the things she thought Ricky would say, it definitely wasn’t that. She tried not to get too excited because she knew that things never go the way she wants them to and she refused to let herself get hurt again.

“So, what does that mean?” She anxiously asked.

Ricky stepped closer to her, “It means that I want us to go back to what we had. Before all the drama. If that’s okay with you?”

A part of Gina wanted to say no, to push him away again to protect her own heart. But another part of her figured that maybe for once in her life, she could just let herself be happy. Here he was, the boy that made her heart skip a beat by just one look, the boy who takes up her thoughts 24/7, asking her for a second chance. How could she say no?

Gina’s lips formed into a small smile as she nodded, “That’s more than okay with me.” Ricky let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he grinned from ear to ear.

“Do you want to come in?” Gina giggled, unable to control her sudden happiness.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Ricky follows Gina into the house with the music still blasting and all the theater kids inside cheer happily as they see Ricky come in. Ricky makes sure to greet all of his peers before he goes to find Gina, who’s dancing to the beat of the music. He saunters up to her, holding out his hand.

Gina furrows her eyebrows, “I didn’t really think you were the dancing type.”

Ricky shrugs his shoulders, “Guess there’s a lot of things we still have to learn about each other.” Gina smirks and happily takes Ricky’s hand as they dance wildly among all of their friends.

Maybe there was hope for them after all.

a/n: i wasn’t even planning on a second part and i def didn’t mean for it to be this long BUT we had to have our rina happy ending :,) again thanks to the lovely @itspassionfruit for the request!! i hope you liked it <3

#rina #ricky x gina #rina fic #rina fanfic #rina fanfiction #gina porter

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intrulogical · 5 years ago

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additional analysis for the logan spotify playlist because i didn’t get to cover two songs!

somehow, in my country, two songs are blocked???? which. i guess this is what happens when you live in an archipelago in southeast asia, but whatever. ready for some more logan angst? (this won’t be as intricate or as concise but pls bear with me)

(continuation of this post which has my full analysis of logan’s spotify playlist with around 8300 words!)

the watchtower by the do speaks of logan’s diligent observance and how he chooses to isolate himself from the others often when he is experiencing personal problems. it’s clear in the first verse that logan views that hiding away from others, possibly in his room, is his coping mechanism for whenever he thinks he is “breaking”. this is actually something evident throughout the series, especially in moving on and in lntao wherein logan offered to go away when he thought he did something wrong. while he does hide away from the other sides, he still makes sure to watch over them. this shows logan is a selfless side, urged to help the others even if a problem arises between them. this is also very evident in the episode moving on because even if logan wasn’t present in patton’s room, he still communicated to the others through thomas. and when you think about it, the solution for the problem at hand came from thomas in that episode, showing that logan will make his way to prioritize the other sides no matter what in the hopes that any problem could be fixed quickly.

i do think that this song confesses that logan is quick to feel ashamed over something and wants to hide himself from the others when he is embarrassed. logan works most efficiently when the others don’t realize how much he’s hurting. this is why in the episode moving on, when logan sinks out, he was able to calmly help the others through thomas.

summary: logan is very observant of the others and tends to overthink. whenever he believes he made a mistake in front of the others, he immediately feels like he needs to fix himself and go away because he believes that he works more efficiently if the others don’t see how flawed he is. again, he’s obsessed with being seen as perfect, no surprises there.

what i do for u by ra ra riot has one clear message: logan is willing to sacrifice anything to become the perfect version of himself for thomas, even if it’ll hurt him. logan is incredibly selfless, and this song practically shows that, and he prioritizes thomas over anything. while the song admits logan wants thomas to live a fruitful life, it also admits that logan is neglecting himself because of it and he thinks nothing of it.

the song’s message is very simply but god, how many times do i have to repeat that this boi needs more recognition for how much he’s suffering through just so he can help thomas. he does care for the others, but it’s difficult for the others to recognize his efforts.

while i don’t wanna add any more shit to this analysis, i think i have to bring up that i kinda got a few more thoughts to breach by clipping. because i think it foreshadows that something dark or something evil is going to escape unto the show. i’m not sure if it is a new side that’s being released or something within logan that is escaping. i just know that logan is panickedly warning the others of it and knowing what happens in the song, the others don’t listen, consequently letting whatever this evil thing is to unleash.

ok that’s it goodnight everybody take care and also watch out for logan because… if logan feels ashamed and often hides his shame by staying in his room, i wonder if logan would appear next episode *eye emoji*

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #logan sanders #my post

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starryphilfics · 4 years ago

Text

Miss you already

Words: 2.0k

Ao3

“Are you sure you have to go to this convention?” Dan asked, leaning on their front door whilst Phil stood on the doorstep about to leave for a work trip for one night. Dan sighed, he was nervous because of Phil being away, he had only been left with Amelia on his own twice before. Also knowing he won’t sleep well tonight, he could never have a good night's sleep without Phil beside him.

“I’m sorry, love. But I do need to go to this. It’ll only be one night, I’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon. You’ll be fine.” Phil answered softly, walking closer and rubbing his thumb on Dan’s cheek to comfort him. Smiling fondly at his husband, Phil hated leaving Dan even if it was just for one night, he knew how anxious Dan got without him.

Dan and Phil heard small pitter-patters of footsteps running down the stairs, and running to the front door. He looked down to see Amelia, looking up to him smiling a big toothy grin. “Papa, are you going now?” she asked, eyebrows creasing in confusion and sadness. Her grin fading.

He lent down hence he was at the same eye level as his daughter, he did this often as he read in one of his parenting books that it shows that their equals but also does have some authority. “Yeah, I do, lovely. I’m sorry” Phil apologised, he moved closer to Amelia and leant in for a hug, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her in closer. Amelia sunk into the warmth of her father and smiled as she felt protected and happy. Phil moved his arms away from her and went back to being at her eye level, he moved forward and lightly pressed his lips against his daughter’s forehead, smiling.

“You’ll be good for your daddy won’t you? I don’t want to hear that you’ve been misbehaving.” Phil asked Amelia, he was really hoping that she would behave for Dan.

“I promise, Papa!” Amelia spoke, smile beaming when she was looking at Dan. “Bye, bye papa! I’ll miss you lots and lots” she replied as she was running off back to her playroom. Phil got back up, from being on his knees, and looked at Dan. He was smiling endearingly at their daughter, looking back to where she had ran off too. Dan looks back to Phil and instantly beams just by seeing his face.

“God, I’m going to miss you.” Dan says as he moves into Phil closer to hug him, as Phil wraps his strong arms around Dan’s body as Dan rests his head on Phil’s shoulder. “I’ll miss you too” Phil whispers into Dan’s hair for Dan to just about hear. They enjoy this, wrapped in each other's body whilst relaxing in the comfortable silence surrounding them. Breathing slowly and matching the other’s breathing.

“Right, I seriously do need to be heading off now, otherwise I’ll be late,” Phil says sadly, pulling away from their hug. He leans up and pecks Dan’s chapped lips and stays there for a few moments.

“Let me know when you get to the convention centre please, Phil? I wanna know that you’re safe. I love you lots.” Dan replies, already worrying about if Phil is going to get there easily and safely. “Of course, bear. I love you.” Phil says as he’s picking up his bags on the doorstep and begins to walk off to his car that he shares with Dan.

“Have a safe journey!” Dan shouts as Phil walks off. Phil puts his bags in the boot of his car and then jumps into the driver’s seat, he turns back to his husband and waves goodbye to him. Dan watches as he sees their car drive off into the distance, and lets out a sigh. He turns around and shuts the door and begins preparing himself for tonight, knowing full well that Amelia will most likely have a tantrum about not being able to say goodnight to her papa.

He walks towards the playroom and says excitedly to his daughter “Right, do you want to watch a film, love?” wanting her to enjoy the time alone with her dad. He smiles lightly, watching his daughter from the doorframe, sitting on the carpet with some girls dolls and dressing them in pink, floral dresses and combing their tangled hair out.

“Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!” She shouted eagerly, running past Dan and through the hallway, down the stairs and to the living room. Jumping onto the sofa and sprawling out. She picks up the quilt their friend, Bryony, had made them and wraps herself in it, turning to her dad to show she's ready.

“What film do you wanna watch?” Dan asks, remote in his hand, turning the tv on and opening Netflix.

“Frozen! Daddy, I want Frozen!” “Okay, honey. Only if you behave though. Are you going to behave?” “Yes!!”

Dan puts Amelia’s favourite film on and sits beside her to enjoy some father daughter time alone. He sighed, happily. If she would be this calm and peaceful today and tomorrow, Dan would be happy. But of course that was too hopeful.

He pulls his phone out quickly to text Phil, even though he knows he’s driving and wouldn’t be able to reply for an hour or two, he thinks it would be nice for him to read it when he arrives at the hotel.

Dan: Hey, love. I know you’re driving, but I miss you already. Amelia laid together watching Frozen, behaving well, hope you're driving safe, love you.

Dan is making lunch when his phone pings, he decides to ignore it, thinking it will be his grandma texting complaining about her bingo friends yet again.

He carries on cutting up some veg and bread for Amelia to have a sandwich for lunch, humming along to his spotify playlist.

“Amelia, hun. Your lunch is ready, come sit at the table.” Dan says to his daughter, Dan and Phil had always tried to install manners into their child from a young age but when one of her dads wasn’t home she was known to try and disobey the rules.

Whilst he waits for Amelia at the table, he takes his phone out of his pocket to check his texts. He’s surprised when he sees it is actually Phil, texting him to let him know he’s arrived.

Phil: Hey, bubs. I miss you lots, I've just arrived at the convention centre, bring on all the interviews! I’m glad Amelia is behaving, I told you so! Love you lots. Xxx

Dan smiled whilst reading the message, sometimes he realised how happy he was that he no longer works on Youtube. He did not miss all those conventions, as much as he did enjoy meeting the people behind the comments, it was tiring and busy.

Dan: I’m glad you arrived safely, good luck pal. Glad i don’t have to do all that! Have a lovely afternoon. Xxx

Amelia came walking into the dining room and jumped onto the chair where her food was placed in front of. “Has papa got to his hotel yet?” she asks, with a hint of worry in her eyes.

Dan grins at his daughter with warmth adopting his eyes, “Yeah, he just texted me. He’s fine bubs”

8:21

“Hey, love. It’s time to go to bed.” Dan told Amelia as he picked her up from the sofa to take her to her bedroom. He smiles gently at her sleepy face.

“Noooo, I’m not tired” she whines, fully knowing she is actually tired but doesn’t want to admit it. “I want papa! Pleaseeeeeee”

“Bubs, you were meant to go to bed an hour ago! Papa won’t be happy to hear you’re still awake. You don’t want too upset papa do you?” Dan pleaded, knowing Phil was at a youtube party and didn’t want to worry him with his problems.

Knowing Phil though, he was most likely sitting in a corner with a few close pals, chatting away to them about how worried he was. Ranting about how much he missed Amelia and Dan.

“I just wanna say night night to him” Amelia begged, her bottom lip jutting out, knowing Dan will cave. For a 5 year old, she really was so clever and knew how to get what she wanted.

“I think papa is still working, love. We can call him in the morning and then you will see him at lunchtime?”

“NO! I. WANT. PAPA. NOW.” Amelia shouts, accentuating each word.

“Don’t talk to me like that! I’m your dad and I'm telling you to behave!” Dan reprimands.

“No! I want my papa!”

“You will listen to me and do as i say! It’s way past your bedtime missy!”

“NO!” Amelia shouts, whilst crossing her arms in a stubborn protest. Sitting down on the floor, refusing to move. Dan's impatience started coming out, all he wanted was to lay in bed and watch a cozy film.

“Fine, I’m only allowing this so you’re not tired tomorrow. I’ll be telling papa that you misbehaved and you will not be watching telly tomorrow! Are you sure you want this?”

“I. Want. Papa.”

Dan sighed, pulling his phone out from his pocket and searching through his contacts for Phil. Pressing the dial and walking over to the door frame to privately talk to Phil quickly.

“Love? Are you okay? What’s happened? Has somet-” Phil rambles through the speaker, clearly already worried if something’s happened.

“Phil, i’m fine, we’re fine. Amelia is having a tantrum. She wants to say night to you.” Dan speaks, voice instantly growing softer at the sound of his husband's voice.

Phil sighs through the speaker phone, “Let me just go somewhere quiet a second.” Dan hears some footsteps and crashes as Phil walks off somewhere until he hears a door click shut, “Put me on speakerphone?”

“Papa!!” Amelia excitedly shouts, instantly jumping up and running to the phone.

“Love, are you not behaving for daddy?” Phil spoke seriously.

“I just wanna speak to youuuu”

“I’ll say goodnight but be a good girl, we’ll talk tomorrow about your behaviour, hm?”

“Okayyyyy”

“Right, love get into bed. I love you lots, honey.”

“I love you Papa, i miss youuuu”

“I miss you lots and lots, but guess what?”

“What? What? What?” Amelia repeats, immediately getting excited.

Dan watches their exchange, feeling so grateful to have fallen in love with a man who is so good with kids. They had the perfect little family, and that was enough for them.

“I’ll come home earlier if you promise to be a good girl for daddy! How does that sound?” Phil continues speaking to Amelia.

“Please, Papa!”

“I’ll try to get home for breakfast tomorrow, baby. Yeah?”

“Yeah!” Amelia shouts, a grin filling her face.

“Okay, love. Now go to sleep, yeah?”

“Yes papa.”

Dan slowly walks up to Amelia, who was snuggled into her duvet and blankets and slowly takes his phone back and lightly presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Goodnight beautiful” He fondly whispers to Amelia, smiling at her.

“Goodnight, bubs” Phil says over the phone.

“Goodnight Daddy, Goodnight Papa!”

Dan slowly walks out the room, gently closing her bedroom door and tip-toeing to their bedroom to carry on talking to Phil.

“ I didn’t interrupt anything important, did I?” Dan speaks, worrying Phil was busy.

“No, I was just at a boring influencer party. I wanted an excuse to leave anyway.”

“Good, okay. Guess you’re coming home a bit earlier than planned tomorrow then?”

“Yeah, i miss you guys already, it hasn’t even been a day!”

“I miss you so much, I’m excited to see you.”

Dan was sitting on the sofa, watching Amelia sit beside him finishing the jigsaw puzzle she started yesterday, when he heard keys in the lock of the front door, immediately looking up to see the door opening and his husband walking through smiling at them.

“Hello, you two.” Phil says fondly, happy to be back home with his husband and daughter. Amelia looks straight up to see her dad and drops the puzzle piece and runs towards Phil.

“I missed you, Papa.”

#phanfic #dan howell #daniel howell #phil lester #amazingphil #phan #domestic phan #parent!phan #parent phan #domestic dan and phil

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azritesx3 · 5 years ago

Text

“A Devil’s Love” Chapter 5: Goodnight

Description: Chloe’s best friend is back, and Lucifer’s charm can’t seem to affect her either. Is she also a miracle child? Or something…more? [Story starts during S2 Ep4, Female Reader Insert]

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AN: Updated March 14, 2020 - Grammar AN: Updated July 19, 2020 - Grammar, Major story change

Rating: Teen Warning[s]: Swearing

Show Timeline: Season 2, after episode 11

Spotify Playlist /// AO3 Fanfiction Net Wattpad DeviantArt

Tag List: @ayanna-wild, @anushay1998, @emiwrites3reads, @i-am-canada-13, @heart-of-pots-and-pans, @tinyybiceps, @jessicarene99, @lucifersnipnips, @givemebooksorgivemedeath, @sailor-earth-1

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Despite you being extremely nervous about having Lucifer of all people take care of you, the drive from the hospital to LUX was pleasant.

Lucifer followed all traffic laws. He even went five miles per hour under the posted speed to ensure you didn't bump around too much. He also picked up on your "outing" that music calms you, so he plays the radio at a reasonable volume to an alternative pop station.

The song "Devil Devil" by MILCK starts to play, and you hum along.

"You're going to have to sing it, darling."

"What?" You look over at him and get a bit defensive, "Why?"

"As your nurse, I have to make sure your lungs are all right. Since I'm sure you won't let me rest my head on your chest for a listen," he looks at you sideways and gives a cheeky grin, "or let me kiss you until your breath gives out for a test."

"Well, you're right about that." You look straight ahead at the road and wish you could cross your arms effectively.

"Then sing."

You sigh loudly and stay quiet. You decide to sing the last part of the song to please your "nurse", but also because you couldn't resist any longer.

You take the shape of Everything that I'm drawn to You take the shape of Everything that I'm drawn to But your eyes Are dead and red, red as rust

Do not try me Devil, Devil Cannot buy me Devil, Devil You won't make a fool of me, oh no What makes you so special, special To think I would ever settle For that devious dance between me and The Devil, Devil

You look over at him when the song ends and give him an eyebrow raise, "Does that satisfy you, my nurse?"

"Perfectly." His wide smile and gleaming eyes are trained on the road.

For the next fifteen minutes of the ride you and Lucifer sing along to the radio. You hum towards the end because your throat starts screaming for water.

The calm atmosphere of the car ride is abruptly cut when Lucifer pulls into his parking garage.

You two pass by the part of the garage where your car exploded. The damage to the garage was fixed with new cement. The area where your car was parked was still surrounded by crime tape, but your car was gone and there was a cleanup crew. You also pass by Agent Monroe who was getting the footage inside the security office.

When Lucifer felt the air change around you he grabbed your left hand and rubbed his thumb soothingly over your knuckles. He parks his car in his spot, then releases your hand and steps out of the car. He steps over to your side and opens the door, but you don't move. You're still frozen from the memory of the explosion.

"I can carry you if you'd like." He leans down and whispers in your ear.

That snaps you out of it, "What?"

He chuckles, happy to have you back, "I know you feel safe in my arms." He winks at you.

"Just get me my crutches, Lucifer." You pull your legs over the side of the car.

"Come now, darling. You let me push you once, so how about you let me carry you once?"

"You already did when-"

"Yes, yes let's not bring that back up. It doesn't count anyway. You were, well." He stops himself then looks at you with the saddest puppy eyes you ever saw on a man, "Please?"

"Ugh." You sigh up to the ceiling, then look over to the side trying to hide the blush forming, "Fine." You barely audit out.

Lucifer doesn't even reply, and in a blink of an eye he has you in his arms bridal style and walking towards the elevator. You refuse to meet his eyes when he looks down at you with a smile, but you do admit to yourself that you do feel safer...for some reason.

Thank God no one is seeing this.

The elevator bings and the doors open up to the penthouse, "Where would you like to go, darling?"

"I actually want to rest for a bit," you answer truthfully. These emotions and memories from that night were draining you a considerable amount.

He starts walking towards his bedroom.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" You say, "Don't you have another room?!"

"Just Maze's old room, but her mattress is much too firm. Little demon likes it rough." He smiles down at you, "My bed is much softer."

"But-"

"Not uh, darling." Lucifer puts his finger on your lips and you freeze, "Only the best for my patient." He continues the walk. When you two arrive he pulls his sheet aside and lays you down on his bed.

"Oh…" you cover your mouth with your hand as your face heats up. Lucifer just laughs.

His bed is very soft, but not too soft that you instantly sink down.

He pulls the sheets over you, and you have to force yourself to keep from nuzzling into the soft fabric.

Lucifer kneels down in front of your face, "I'll wake you in an hour or two. The doctor said these bandages have to come off soon so you can wash and get fresh ones."

"Mmm," you hum a reply, your eyes already drooping.

Lucifer chuckles again and gives you a soft kiss on your head, "Rest well, K9."

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"You still haven't fished anything up yet?" Lucifer talks on his phone to Maze as he walks back to his car to get your belongings.

"These FBI ticks are real pains in the ass, Lucifer." Maze responds agitated.

"Guess I'll have to pull the Devil charm on them." Lucifer frowns at the crutches in his backseat. Anger refueling a bit.

"I doubt their 'desire' would be to tell you whatever they know."

"Come now, Maze. I can get anything out of any human." He slings the duffle bag over his shoulder and holds the crutches under his arm.

"Well if you find this guy before me you better let me know! I want to kick his ass, too."

"Devil of my word, dear." Lucifer hangs up and starts back to the elevator.

"Mr. Morningstar!" Lucifer looks behind him and sees that FBI agent, Monroe, walk towards him.

"And here I thought you were done with me," Lucifer tells the man as he approaches.

"I thought I should give you my card." Monroe pulls a business card from his suit pocket and hands it to Lucifer.

Lucifer takes it and eyes it, "And why would I need this?"

"Just in case you learn of anything, or if anything happens here during Ms. Earth's stay."

Lucifer raises a brow at the man, "Are you expecting something to happen, Mr. FBI Agent?"

"Not in my hopes at all, Mr. Morningstar. Just a precaution. If need be I can provide extra security-"

"K9 doesn't need your protection." Lucifer stands full height at the man in intimidation. He smiles at the human, "She has the Devil watching over her."

"Of course." Monroe takes a small step back and bids Lucifer farewell.

"Hmph." Lucifer huffs at the man's back and continues back on track to the elevator. He crumbles the card and throws it in a trash can.

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The sound of nearby running water makes your throat scream, reminding you that you forgot to ask for a drink before the nap.

You stretch on Lucifer's soft bed and squint your eyes open. You see from the wall of windows that the sun is now setting and that Lucifer left you a glass of water on the nightstand. You slowly lift yourself up and grab the cup.

"Good evening, darling!" Lucifer comes from his closet with a smile, holding your crutches. You hum in acknowledgment and thanks as you down the water.

"My shower is running lukewarm water to the Doctor's orders, sorry." He lightly chuckles at the inward groan you make. Lukewarm showers were basically cold, and you hate cold showers.

Stupid burns.

Lucifer positions the crutches on either side of your arms when you finish the water. You grab onto them as Lucifer helps you on your feet. Once you achieve a balance you head into his bathroom in his much too large closet.

Seriously, how many expensive suits and shoes does one guy need?

You step into his bathroom that's as big as his closet. The decor is the same sleek black with hints of brown and gold. To your left was the largest double vanity set you've ever seen. Each sink was accompanied by its own large antique mirrors on the wall. To the right, you see he has two toilets and they had their own little room with doors. Straight ahead almost the entire wall was his shower, with the right corner housing a large jacuzzi tub.

"You look like you have many questions about my washroom, my dear." Lucifer laughs at your various facial expressions as you take in the room.

"I do, but considering your lifestyle and just how many people you bring up here, it all makes sense."

"Smart woman."

You walk further in and just now notice that Lucifer had laid out your pajamas on the vanity, as well as all your bathroom essentials around a sink. He even brought one of his dining chairs in for you to sit on.

Lucifer motions you over to the chair and you sit, leaning your crutches against the vanity. Lucifer starts unbandaging your left arm.

He looks at your already scabbed up arms quizzically, "Do burns usually heal this quickly on you humans?" He asks as he undoes the right arm bandage.

"Don't think so. Every doctor I see are always surprised by my healing rate. Their only explanation for me is that it must be something genetic."

"And you have no idea if that's true because you have no recollection of your parents?"

"Yup." You reply as you raise your now free arms slightly in the air and work your fingers and elbows.

Lucifer kneels and undoes the bandage knot at your left ankle. You allow him to untie it up to your kneecap before you stop him, "I can do the rest from here." Lucifer just pouts at you and you raise your brow in a pointed look that said: "you really think I'd let you go all the way up". He starts at the right ankle as you finish up the left side.

"Need me to help you get undressed, or help scrub you up?" Lucifer smiles flirtatiously down at you as you finish the right leg.

You smile genuinely and shake your head before looking up at him, "You already know my answer to that, Lucifer."

"Can't blame a Devil for trying." He walks over to his shower and opens the glass door for you, so all you have to do is hop on in with your crutches, "Scream my name seductively if you need me." He winks at you then leaves the bathroom, closing the door.

You catch yourself smiling at the door before shaking your head to snap out of it.

You slowly stand. You lean against the vanity as you slowly put more and more weight on your feet. Satisfied you wouldn't fall, you remove your shorts and place them on the vanity. Both hands go to opposite bottom corners of your t-shirt and you lift up-

"Hello there!"

You push your shirt back down and slam back onto the chair, biting your cheek from the pain of such fast movement. Face blushing madly, you grab your shorts and lay them on your lap, covering yourself the best you can.

"LUCIFER!"

"Oh drat, I was hoping to catch you in your bra as well. Oh well. Those lovely lacey boy shorts will have to do." He winks at you from the bathroom door.

"What do you want, Lucifer?!"

"Oh, just popping in to ask what you'd like for dinner." He answers nonchalantly.

You give him dagger eyes, "You couldn't have asked me before you left?"

His shrug is such a big fat lie, "I forgot."

"Liar." You hiss.

He just smiles devilishly at you, "Sooo?"

"I don't care, Lucifer. Surprise me. Now get the hell out!"

"Alright, dear. I promise I won't enter again without you asking me to." He nods his head then closes the door once more. After waiting a minute to make sure he was gone, you grab your crutches and hobble your way to the door, locking it.

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The shower took a bit longer than you expected. Not only did you have to go slow to make sure you didn't peel the scabs too soon, and boy was that hard while in that freezing water, but it was hard to not think about all the women and men who have probably showered here. Plus knowing you had to sit in the very spot where a lot of…stuff had most likely happened and came out, was very distracting.

Once you were completely dried, clothed, and hair had been thoroughly combed you crutch your way out of the bathroom.

Stepping around the corner into the entryway of Lucifer's bedroom you see that Lucifer had set up two trays on his couch. From what you can see there's two black cereal bowls that hold something white and two small white bowls that hold an assortment of cut fruit. Each table also has its own drink, one with whiskey and the other with what you hope is water and not vodka.

Lucifer puts some silverware on the trays then turns around. When he sees you he gives a wide smile and gestures to the food, "Dinner is ready, my dear!"

You go over to stand next to him and look down at the trays. What was in the black bowls was ice cream.

"Ice cream? Really?" You look up at him with a smirk on your face.

"You disapprove?"

"Of course not! It's friggin' ice cream, but why?"

"Apparently a good thing for patients to eat after spending time in the hospital is fresh fruit, dairy, and protein. You seem like the kind of woman who would skip right to dessert after leaving that dreadful building."

You raise a brow at him. He's right, but you hide the feeling of how he seemed to already know you from your face. You can't tell what that feeling is in your chest.

"And how do you know what's good to eat after a hospital? Experience?"

"Hardly. I, how you humans say, 'googled it'."

You burst into laughter, "You're taking this nurse thing really seriously."

"Why wouldn't I? I truly do want to make sure you heal fully."

You stop laughing when you hear the seriousness in his tone. You look up at him and see no humor in his eyes. Instead, you see the look of worry in a man who thinks he's guilty.

You hold onto his hand in a comforting way, "I'm fine, Lucifer, and I do very much appreciate what you're doing for me right now. So please, stop thinking that what happened is somehow your fault." He looks into your eyes and gives a small smile, giving your hand a small squeeze in response.

You smile, satisfied, "Now let's dig into dinner-ssert already."

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You wake up to the morning LA sun streaming through the penthouse's wall of windows. You stretch your entire body out on Lucifer's bed and revel in the aftermath of having the best sleep of your life.

Last night with Lucifer was actually pretty fun. As you two were eating he turned the tv on to some comedy channel. "Laughter is the best medicine I'm told," he had said. You two had enjoyed some friendly banter while also making fun of the comedian's bad jokes. When midnight rolled around he noticed your struggle to keep your eyes open. He turned off the tv and helped you up off the couch and sent you to bed, like a good nurse.

You stretch your arms above you to take in the damage. You told Lucifer that it was best not to wrap up your arms and legs. Since the wounds were already scabbing it was best to let nature's air do its thing. And you were right, a lot of the scabs on your arms were already ready to come off.

Don't know what it is about my body, but damn if I'm not always grateful for fast healing.

The urge to pick them off was strong, but you knew that would be incredibly rude and disgusting to do on Lucifer's bed.

You rise to a sitting position and turn to the side of the bed. You stand up slowly to test pressure on your feet. Thankfully, it feels like you're able to walk on your own now, but only as a slow waddle. The wounds on your feet and ankles still aren't fully healed yet.

Maybe I should at least wrap them up.

You waddle your way into the bathroom and run into-

"Butt." You stand stone still in the doorframe. Eyes wide, you take in Lucifer's naked body as he stands in front of a sink brushing his teeth.

He rinses his mouth then turns his head to you, "Good morning to you as well, K9!" He says with a shit-eating grin, "Like what you see?"

You believe your body has turned as red as a lobster. You quickly turn around and give him your back, "Why are you naked?!" You ask his closet.

"I sleep naked." He replies so damn nonchalantly.

"Well can you please put some clothes on!"

You hear him sigh, "You know, I'm getting a serious case of deja vu right now. Are you and the Detective related?"

"Lucifer."

"Fine fine." You hear some shuffling behind you, "Alright, I'm all covered. Promise." You turn slowly around and see that Lucifer has wrapped a towel around his waist. He's facing you with a motion of his hands that says "all good now". You take in a breath of relief and Lucifer scoffs, "I'll never understand why you humans fear seeing your own kind naked."

You were going to reply to him, but he turned around.

And you saw his back.

Those scars…

You could faintly hear Lucifer call out to you as you fell to the ground. You couldn't see the real world anymore. Visions of what you think are memories you've forgotten flash by.

He stands before you. His glorious wings the color of your darkness. Dressed in armor with a sword at his hip, he addresses you, "He has heard you and has sent me to give you what you seek." His voice is booming. Deep and rough. Not kind.

Your body screams at you-

"Earth!" You blink away the visions. You're back inside Lucifer's bathroom.

Lucifer kneels to your left. His arms hold your back up so you are sitting instead of laying. His eyes and face are filled with concern for you.

For me.

"Darling, what happened? Are you alright? Should I call the hospital?" His eyes are searching yours.

"What happened to you?" You ask. Your voice sounds dead to you.

Lucifer pauses, noticing your voice tone as well, "...to me?"

"Your back." You press on, "What happened? Who did that to you?"

Lucifer stares at you, "Maze did. That's where my wings were and I told her to cut them off as a spit in my Father's face."

You shake your head violently, "Stop with that whole Devil shtick, Lucifer! I need to know the truth, please."

"It's not a shtick, K9!" You could see the pleading in his eyes. He wants you to believe him. Needs you to, "I never lie. Especially not to you." You close your eyes and take deep breaths in and out.

Calm down, Earth. Those visions were fake. You're crazy. Lucifer's crazy. None of it was real.

"K9?" Lucifer whispers to you and you open your eyes again.

You're back to normal, "I'm sorry, Lucifer. I don't know what came over me. I'm fine."

Lucifer just stares at you for a bit, then he places a hand on your cheek and keeps locked eye contact with you, "Earth," you felt the air change and could hear a slight difference in his voice.

What's he doing?

"Earth," Lucifer repeats, and he keeps your eyes locked with his, "What's wrong? What happened to you, darling?"

You just stare back with a look of complete confusion, "Umm. Are you trying that mojo thing Chloe talks about?"

Now Lucifer is looking at you with complete confusion, "...Yes. What...Are you sure you're not related to her?"

"Lucifer. I'm ok now." You remove his hand from your face and break eye contact. You lift yourself up and walk over to one of the stalls, "Just...just leave me alone for a while today, ok?" You close the door, not waiting for his reply, and rest on the toilet.

It's a long while before you hear Lucifer move, but eventually he does, "Alright, darling. I'll be down in the club if you need me." You hear Lucifer shut the bathroom door. Finally, you are alone with your thoughts.

What in the actual fuck is going on?

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"Lucifer!"

Maze walks down the steps and heads to her Devil, who was currently hunched on a stool at the bar counter with the ever trusty whiskey in hand.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Maze asks as she leans on the bar next to him.

"Just stewing over whatever His 'plan' is, yet again," Lucifer replies to the bar and takes a shot of his drink.

"Well, maybe this will cheer you up because it sure does cheer me up."

"What?"

Maze leans her face to his and whispers with an evil grin, "Want to go deal some punishment on one of those bomb fucks?"

Lucifer lifts his brow. His sour mood all gone, now replaced with his Devil side, "Just one?"

"The ticks still haven't found the one responsible for the bomb that actually blew, but that other bomb? They found the kid who's known for making that kind, and," Maze's grin grew more and she licks her lips, "with my own persuasion I got him to tell me who ordered it."

"So, who's the champ getting a special treatment from the Devil?" Lucifer stands up and fixes his suit, making himself more presentable.

"Dear old 'Mum'."

Lucifer's body went completely still. Maze watches as his eyes process the information. They go from shock, to disbelief, to those beautiful red eyes she loves so much.

Lucifer says nothing. Just takes long strides out of the building. Maze laughs mechanically and runs to catch up with him. No way was she missing this.

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You're curled up on Lucifer's couch watching some mind-numbing television when you hear the elevator doors chime open. You brace yourself to talk with Lucifer, but when you turn your head to look it's Chloe who steps out.

"Hey, girl." Chloe motions for you to stay sitting. She comes over and sits next to you, "How are you feeling?" She asks as she hugs you.

Confused. Scared. Sad.

"A lot better." You say hugging her back.

"I can tell." Chloe smiles as she takes in your appearance, "No bandages, barely any scabs left, and you're curled up in your weird sitting position."

"Haha." You give your BFF a sarcastic laugh and an eye roll.

"Where's Lucifer?" Chloe notices now the vacancy of flirts and sass remarks.

"He said he'd be downstairs for most of the day."

"I didn't see him down there."

"Really?" A small bubble of relief pops in you.

"Yeah. Some nurse he is then for not telling you." Chloe shakes her head in disapproval.

"Actually Chloe he's been-" You pause for a second to relive the time you spent yesterday with him. You can't help the small smile that appears on your face, "He's been a pretty good nurse. I'm only alone right now because I asked to be alone. Not his fault."

"Hmm, well anyways I came to not only visit you, but to also tell you some good news!" Chloe's smiling now.

"Yeah?"

"I didn't have any news for you last night, but this morning Agent Monroe made a breakthrough. A small one, but that's better than nothing." Chloe sits crossed-legged on the couch facing you, "He managed to find out who the maker of the second bomb is, the one that didn't go off."

"Any way I could guess who?"

"Doubt it. Remember back when I asked you to look into that real estate murder because Dan was too busy with another case?"

You think back to that day when you and Lucifer first worked together. Now a bubble of happiness pops in you, "Yeah."

"Well that case was a bomb one, and he found the guy responsible for it. More of a kid than a guy, actually. He's a pizza boy who makes bombs on the side."

Your eyes go wide.

"Yup." Chloe continues, "Turns out that bomb was one of his, but he claims that he only makes them. He doesn't actively use them."

"So, who'd he sell that bomb to?"

"He won't tell, of course. Before Monroe was about to break him his lawyer stepped in." Chloe scoffs in disgust and annoyance, "Mrs. Charlotte Richards has become a real thorn in the precinct's side."

Your jaw falls open, "Charlotte Richards is a pizza boy's lawyer?"

"Yeah. That is pretty weird...why?" Chloe looks quizzically at you.

"She was at the restaurant Lucifer took me to that night, and I did not get good vibes from her. She really didn't like me being out with her son."

Now it was Chloe's turn to have her jaw drop, "What?!"

"What?"

"Charlotte Richards is Lucifer's mother?!"

"Yeah. Or stepmom, I'm not entirely sure," you take in Chloe's shocked appearance, "You...didn't know did you?"

"No, I didn't!" Chloe flops back on the couch, "Honestly, though, it makes complete sense."

"Sooo," you try to continue the conversation, "You said Charlotte stepped in right when that boy was about to spill the beans?"

"Yeah...she even paid his bail for making the bombs." You could see the wheels turning in her brain, "You said she was there that night with you two?"

"Yup."

"Did it seem like a coincidence that she happened to be there?"

"She said it was a company dinner, but I somehow doubt that."

"Hmm...maybe I could go question her colleagues," Chloe says this more to herself than to you.

"Woah, wait a sec Chloe. You think Lucifer's mom might be on this?"

"It's just speculation. You said she didn't seem to like you, and she has some sort of...aura about her." Chloe gives you one more hug then stands up, "I'm going to head over there to investigate. I'll call you if I find anything." Then she's in the elevator and the doors shut.

Oh shit.

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The Goddess of creation stands over her wooden work desk. She gathers up the last of the report papers and puts them inside her bag.

"Mother!"

The Goddess looks up to see her Lightbringer enter her office. She wasn't surprised to see him. She could hear his strong footsteps enter the building.

"Yes, son?" She walks around from behind her desk to the front to be closer to him.

"How could you?!" Her son's clearly angry. She sees that demon of his enter the room to stand behind him. It draws out its blades and twirls them while grinning at her.

"How could I, what?" She tilts her head at her son. Complete innocence.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about!" He points his finger at her. His voice grows deeper and deeper with each sentence.

The Goddess just crosses her arms and leans against the desk. She rolls her eyes, "I don't see why you're so upset. She's just a human."

"First Azrael's blade," he steps closer, "and now you tried, nae, wanted to kill Earth.". He's right in front of his mother's face now.

"Well, I didn't kill her."

"That's it mother." Lucifer's Devil face is fully out now. The Goddess cringes at that hideous face her ex has given their beautiful son, "Your time here on earth is finished." Lucifer's demon steps closer, daggers ready.

"You can't kill me, Lucifer." The Goddess stands her ground. She doesn't fear this "Devil".

The demon scoffs, "Of course he can. Stop stalling."

"I'm not stalling, creature. I'm telling the truth." She sees her son's Devil face raise what would be a brow at her, "You can only 'kill' me by destroying this body. Do that, and you've murdered a human."

"The human, Charlotte Richards, was dead before you entered her," Lucifer responds.

"True, but when I entered her I felt her soul." The Goddess lifts her head in triumph, "Charlotte Richards has been connected back to her body, even in death."

"You've gotta be fucking with us." The demon peers at her.

The Goddess gives the demon a disgusted look, then focuses back on her son, "Kill me and you murder a human. Your Father's number one rule."

"Like I care about His rules."

"True, but you, my son," the Goddess holds the Devil's face in her hands, "you are not a murderer."

The Devil's eyes search her face, but she ends up winning. Lucifer drops his Devil face.

"We can still punish her!" His demon pleads to him.

He raises his hand to silence her, then he removes his mother's hands from his face and takes a step back, "You even think about going after her again, and I will become a murderer."

Lucifer walks out of her office and, after a lot of evil glaring, his demon follows him out.

He may be pissed now, but he should thank his Father for Chloe having her back turned to him and being too focused on questioning the workers to notice his departure.

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Lucifer steps out of his elevator entering his penthouse. He looks up and sees you standing by his piano with your belongings packed up next to you.

"I'm feeling better now." You reply to his questionable eyebrow raise, "I don't want to take too much of your hospitality."

"You're no trouble, K9."

"I...I know." You look down at your clasped hands, "I just want to go home now. Get back to life."

Lucifer's silent for a bit, "I'm sorry if-"

"No no." You raise your hand and walk to him, "You have nothing to be sorry about, Lucifer. You've been a wonderful nurse." You give him a small smile, "Thank you."

He looks slightly taken back, but returns your smile with his own, "You're quite welcome, my dear." You nod to him, then grab your things and head to the elevator.

"K9, wait." Your finger hovers over the elevator's button, waiting. "How do you plan on getting home?"

"Oh, I was just going to call a cab."

"Please, let me take you home instead." You couldn't tell what kind of emotion was showing in his eyes, and you don't think he knew either.

Your heart constricted and your stomach was doing flip flops, but you give him a smile and nod your head, "Ok."

The ride to your apartment building was a quiet one, but it was a welcoming silence. Every now and then you'd catch Lucifer looking at you, and he would catch you looking at him.

You arrive at the building and Lucifer walks with you inside and to your door. You unlock it and step halfway inside before turning around to face him.

"Goodnight, Lucifer."

He smiles at you, "Goodnight, Earth."

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Lucifer sits at his piano. A lite cigarette laying in an ashtray and a glass of whiskey in front of him. He plays the tune to Les Friction's "Torture", but stops when he hears his elevator door ding open.

"Detective?" Lucifer can't help the surprised tone in his voice, "It's a bit late for a case isn't it?"

"I'm not here for a case, Lucifer." She walks closer to him and he stands up from his piano bench to face her properly.

"Is everything alright?"

"I hope so." Chloe's hands interlace together in a nervous matter, "Earth told me she went home. I figured now was a good time to talk to you."

"About?"

"Us, Lucifer." Chloe walks closer to him until they're almost touching.

"I want to talk about our kiss."

#a devil's love #lucifer netflix #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer #azritesx3 #azookiex3 #fanfic #fanfiction

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lgbtyrus · 5 years ago

Text

Two Exes on Mars

Part 2/?

Words: 2,566

Amber walked into TJ’s bedroom that night asking, “What was that about?”

“What was what about?” TJ asked her, looking up from his desktop. He wasn’t even covering the fact that he was looking at picture of Cyrus. Amber sighed and walked over behind him as he kept clicking.

“Why did you ask Buffy about Cyrus?”

“Because you won’t tell me about Cyrus.”

“It’s not my place. I worked hard to build my relationship with Cyrus, and I wasn’t going to let you throw it away.”

“I just want to know if he’s okay. You won’t even give me that much,” TJ sighed, clicking through Hanukah photos.

“Why do you even want to know, TJ?” Amber asked him. She’s always been mad at TJ for dumping Cyrus, no doubt. Especially because they both still loved each other. “You completely broke his heart.”

TJ didn’t say anything before whispering, “I’m sure he’s fine now.”

“You don’t know that, actually,” Amber said, angry at her brother. Talking about Cyrus always led to both of them fighting or both of them crying. He couldn’t guess where this was going to lead to.

“Because you won’t tell me,” TJ reminded her, continuing to click through New Years Eve photo. It was Their sophomore year of high school when someone had taken a picture of them kiss. It was one of the many pictures that broke his ribcage and punched his heart.

“You don’t deserve to know, TJ,” Amber rolled her eyes, sitting down on his bed. TJ knew this was going to take a while.

“I still think of him every day. I don’t even know if I’ve gotten any better. I somehow always hope that I could run into him at MSU or see his face when I’m walking through Shadyside during visits, but I haven’t seen him since graduation.”

“He’s in California living his best life.”

“So he’s happy there?” TJ asked her, turning to look at her. There was a photo of Cyrus with their late cat Macaroni on his lap on his screen currently.

“I wouldn’t know,” Amber shrugged.

“Don’t you still talk to him like once a week?” TJ asked her, frowning. “Why won’t you tell me, Amber?”

“I already said that it’s not my place, TJ,” Amber said. “If Cyrus wanted you to know how he’s doing, he’d respond to your messages that you are too scared to send.”

“You can’t just text your ex out of the blue and ask how they’re doing Amber,” TJ rolled his eyes.

“Me and Jonah are literally best friends,” Amber rolled her eyes more dramatically to mock him.

“That happened years ago, though.”

“Okay then,” Amber crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, “wait years.” TJ glared at her before going back to his desktop, continuing to go through photos. He found one of him and Cyrus at the swings. Andi took them on a weekend she came down to visit, so they looked professional. TJ printed a few of the pictures from this day out, and they were currently in a box in the attic of his home.

“I think I made a mistake, Amber,” TJ sighed, once he landed on his all time favorite photo. It was him and Cyrus at junior prom, slow dancing in their matching tuxedos. His eyes teared up just looking at it.

“I know you did, TJ,” Amber remorselessly said. “I don’t know how you thought breaking up was going to hurt less than doing long distance.”

“Is it always going to hurt?” TJ asked her, staring at other prom photos.

“Considering you let go of the guy who was probably your soulmate, yeah. It will.”

Winter break came along Cyrus was finally back in Shadyside. Amber was literally holding TJ hostage in his room, not letting him leave. She stood below his chin, but his fear of hurting her was the only reason why he just didn’t barge past her.

“You are not leaving this house, Tom Jacob,” she said, holding her arms out.

“First of all, it’s not that,” TJ rolled his eyes, “second of all, I’m not going to go see Cyrus.”

“Do you take me for a fool, Thomas Jose?” Amber scoffed, looking up to give him a dirty look. TJ didn’t bother to look at her. He kept his head looking up as she continued to scold him, “You have made no attempt to leave this house the entire four days you’ve been here, but you hear me, on a private phone call with Cyrus that he’s going to come back home today and all of the sudden, you shower?”

“I shower every day, Amber.”

“You know that’s not my point, Tyler Jackson!”

“You don’t remember what TJ stands for, do you?” TJ asked her, still not making eye contact.

“Of course not,” Amber told him. “But still, you’re not leaving this house to go crush all the progress you and Cyrus have made.”

“I just want to have a conversation with him, Amber,” TJ said, trying to blink away the tears that were forming before she noticed. That would be terrible.

“About what? ‘Oh hi, Cyrus,’” Amber started to mock his voice, “’I just wanted to see how you were doing after I got your heart and dragged it through the dirt!’”

“Okay, Amber!” TJ yelled and look at her. “That’s enough.” Amber and him looked each other in the eye, and Amber was clearly trying to figure out if he was tearing up. TJ wasn’t exactly a sensitive person but certain topics like Cyrus let the waterworks unscrew.

Amber didn’t say anything else before making her way out of the room and saying, “If you want to see him, at least text him first. Give him the option to say no.”

His door shut close and TJ laid back on his bed, rubbing his face roughly. He didn’t have Cyrus on social media anymore, and he had his number still, but he doesn’t know if it’s changed or if Cyrus blocked it. He hasn’t texted him since that one time he replied to him saying goodnight. Out of all of the nights since the breakup, that was the worst one. He still loved him with his entire being that night. He probably still did.

TJ took out his phone and looked for Cyrus Goodman. He’s been wanting to this for months, but he still didn’t know what to say.

TJ: Hey

That’s it? TJ wondered. Hey is all I can say after all I did?

TJ: I know this is out of the blue. I just wanted to know how you’re doing.

For almost an hour, TJ laid in his bed, listening to music. Spotify was really the only social media type of thing he had Cyrus on, and he often saw that he would listen to music they had dance parties to or napped to. It was how he knew Cyrus was feeling and boy, was he often listening to his sad music playlist.

Cyrus: I’m fine. I just got home.

TJ’s heart beat went out of control. He didn’t know if he was going to get a text back, but he also didn’t plan for what to do with himself if he replied. He didn’t even know what he wanted out of this conversation. He wanted Cyrus, but he wasn’t sure what side of Cyrus.

TJ: Glad you’re home safe.

TJ couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Cyrus: Are you home too or??

TJ: Ya I’ve been in Shadyside for a few days already.

Cyrus: What have you been doing this whole time?

TJ: Nothing tbh. I’ve just been home.

Cyrus: Want to do something?

TJ did not think this was going to happen. TJ did not think Cyrus would even ask to see him. He was wondering if Andi and Buffy were coaching him text at that very moment. No. Buffy would kill both of us before we ever met up. What is Cyrus thinking?

TJ: They need help passing out toys in West Shadyside at the Elk’s tonight at 6. I volunteered. You wanna come with or do something else later? I figure you’re tired.

Cyrus: No that sounds fun I’m down

TJ: Okay I’ll pick you up at 5:30.

Cyrus: See you then

TJ had three hours to get out of bed and get ready, but he didn’t move until he only had thirty minutes let before having to pick up Cyrus. He also didn’t want Amber to see him, either, so he waited for her 5PM nap. He really couldn’t lie to her now.

He got out of bed and dressed himself in clothes that have been sitting in his closet for a while. While changing, he recognized a white shirt hanging up with a T-Rex on it and realized that was one of Cyrus’ favorite shirts. He had wanted to give him back that and a few other things after the breakup, but he never found it in him to go to him. He felt like he would just succumb and beg him to take him back. He still had no idea what was going to happen when they sat in the car for a while.

TJ grabbed the shirt before heading downstairs and going to his car. He might have not been at Cyrus’ in a while, but he definitely had the route stitched in his heart. His heart pounded faster and faster in his chest as he approached the house where so much happened. He had been wanting this for roughly 8 months, but he never thought to prepare himself.

He pulled up to the driveway and before he could text him, Cyrus was already walking to his car. Everything on the inside and outside of his body burned. And he felt like throwing up. But at the same time, he wanted to kiss him hello. TJ unlocked the car and Cyrus sat inside, the tension rising above what they were used to.

“Hey, Cyrus,” TJ said, failing to sound as casual as possible.

“Thelonius,” Cyrus said. TJ couldn’t help but let out a sharp laugh as he pulled out of the drive way. “How’s MSU?”

“Fun. Exhausting. College basketball was fun in theory, but it drains me. I get a math tutor for every assignment I have to do. It’s a little embarrassing.”

“I don’t think it’s embarrassing. You’re going to school for free to do what you love, and this is just a small part of it.”

“I guess you’re right,” TJ told Cyrus as they passed by a park they would have dates at. It looked so shady at night with its flickering lights and thin blanket of snow. “How’s California?”

“I like it there,” Cyrus said. “I’m glad I went.” TJ’s heart felt a weird pang, and he didn’t like it.

TJ whispered, “Me, too.”

“Their theatre program is great, and I get to do a lot of writing. Still don’t know if I’m more journalism or screenwriting, though.”

“Still planning on doing a script about society on mars?”

“I’m halfway done with it. I’m thinking a two hour movie? Hopefully I use it as my senior thesis.”

“Really?” TJ smiled. Cyrus had been wanting to write a script about Mars for the longest time, he was just always busy. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Thanks, Teej,” Cyrus said softly. It made TJ’s heart melt and if they had still been together, he’s positive he would’ve pulled over right now and proposed to him. “So why did you volunteer?”

“Amber and I were going to do it together because we would get toys from here when we were little, but she’s mad at me right now, so yeah,” TJ said, shrugging slightly.

“Why is she mad?”

“I kept asking questions about you, and she told me to just ask you myself.”

“Which you did.”

“I did. She does not know I’m with you right now actually. I don’t think she would’ve let me leave the house if she knew I was coming to pick you up.”

“Why?” Cyrus chuckled.

“I don’t know. I think she feels the need to protect you.” Cyrus sighed, and TJ knew he rolled his eyes without looking at him.

“Everyone thinks I need protecting like in middle school. I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

“I know, Cyrus. You’ve always been able to.”

After handing out toys to over 300 kids in Shadyside, TJ and Cyrus walked out of the event, shoulders touching. TJ knew this was the most dangerous game to play, but he’s never exactly been anti-adrenaline. He wondered what Cyrus was thinking the whole night because according to a few words he said, Buffy and Andi had told him to ignore his text message completely.

“Want to go get a breakfast dinner?” TJ asked him as he unlocked the car. Out of habit, he opened the door for Cyrus who got in without saying anything.

“Take me there,” Cyrus said before shutting the door. TJ got in the car before taking off to a diner nearby. It was barely 9PM.

“Do you still have a curfew?” TJ asked him.

“Honestly,” Cyrus turned to look at him, “I have no idea. I just told my parents I’d be back without saying where or with who I was going. They haven’t texted me. Is this adulthood?”

“Probably.”

“Where are we going?”

“Jo Anne’s.”

“Wow. I haven’t been there in maybe two years?”

“Really? Me and Amber go eat there all the time when I’m down here.”

“How often do you come home?”

“At least once a month since school started. I’d come over every weekend if I could, but basketball hasn’t really let me. Maybe next semester I might. I got Fridays off, so I could just come Thursday afternoons.”

“Isn’t it a two hour drive to and from?”

“An hour and a half if you take the cuts. Less if there’s nobody else and you speed a little.”

“You’re going to get pulled over one day.”

“It’s fine,” TJ told him, grinning.

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t tell you so when you’re in jail,” Cyrus looked over at him and gave him a smile. They were walking like they did when they were dating. Why did he let him go so easily? He wanted to lean over and kiss him so bad.

When they got to the diner, they sat across from each other. The waitress brought TJ a coffee and Cyrus a hot cocoa, promising that their orders would be ready in less than 20. TJ’s leg was dancing up and down while Cyrus sat calmly across from his, his hands folded on top of the table while he looked out the window.

“Why did you break up with me?” Cyrus asked quietly.

“Cyrus,” TJ whispered, feeling his heart rip in two.

“I just want to know the real reason, TJ,” Cyrus looked at him. “The real reason.”

“There is no real reason,” TJ shook his head. “Just what I told you when we broke up.”

“Was it worth it for you at least?” Cyrus asked him. TJ bit his lip and looked down at his coffee as if it would tell him how to say.

“No,” TJ looked up at him and frowned. Without thinking it twice, he confessed, “I still love you.”

Part 2!! I don’t know if I want to do a really angst filled ending or just end it on part three with what I have building up. I’ll see as I write lmao. Also thank ya’ll for reading this fun little thing. Here’s the tag list! Let me know if you want to be added or removed! <3

@istillwearyourdenimjacket @moonlightrush @luna--min @tj-looked-back-kippen @fromtheparty @bambikippen @homosexualearthworm @keylla-dunspeh @marvelous-me-always @tomohisa61896 @yeeterparkerbio (its tagging you as bio not boi?? is this you) @way-too-many-fandomss

#stars writing #andi mack #tyrus #tj kippen #cyrus goodman

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gwilyoubemine · 5 years ago

Note

Having an argument with your boyfriend Gwilym and then Brian (being the father figure he is) comforting you as he heard, Brian then telling Gwilym to make up with you and everyone living happily ever after :)

i loved this a lot. i have an presentation exam tomorrow and here i am at 1am (nearly 2am oooops) doing this. what we can gather from this is that ayse is very silly. i hope you enjoy this! it’s a tad long.

going to the pub for the night was gwilym’s idea. you found a decent spot right at the back, an empty booth- which was a score on a busy friday night. you spent the first hour drinking and laughing over random nonsense. you talked about your day, argued over which movie you would watch later. you settled on a 80s movie and gwil was adamant on watching back to the future. you, on the other hand, wanted to watch the breakfast club. and after an intense debate concerning which movie was the ultimate choice, you both ended up chuckling over how silly it was to debate over such a thing. you decided that you would watch both movies and gwil gave you a kiss to seal the deal, mumbling an ’it’s a date then’ whilst flashing you his signature smile.

gwil also proposed that you both take a trip to the countryside at the weekend. and the thought of spending some quiet time with gwilym had you grinning in excitement instantly. long car rides, expanses of grass and trees, lakes that you could sit by. you gushed about how brilliant the idea was and teased that you would be in control of the music during the car ride because of the questionable songs he often played. he gave you a look of mock hurt and kicked your leg playfully under the table. “i caught you listening to my spotify playlist last week and i saw you dancing along!”

when gwilym had to leave to take a phone call, you hadn’t expected company. shortly after gwilym left, a man appeared at your table. he had blonde hair that fell into his eyes and a smile that was all teeth. “can i sit here?”

“i’m waiting for someone actually.” you told him, offering him an apologetic smile.

nevertheless, the man took a seat opposite you and you raised a brow at him, a gesture he seemed to take no notice of. at this point, you found it hard to ignore the alarm bells going off in your head, what would gwilym say when he got back?

“what if i offer to buy you a drink?” the stranger asked, his lips stretched into that big smile again. “you can’t possibly say no to one drink.”

“i think i could.’ you said, folding your arms over your chest. "and i also think you should be leaving.”

“you want me gone so soon?” he asked, feigning hurt. “can i not sit down next to a pretty woman and offer her a drink? there’s no crime in that.”

“maybe if that same woman is waiting for someone else and has already stated that clearly.” you mumbled, trying hard to control the annoyance bubbling up inside of you.

“i think you’re just saying that in an attempt to make me leave” he probably thought he was coming across as charming but you were honestly a few seconds away from storming off and finding gwilym. the phone call must have been a serious one for it to last that long- work perhaps, or maybe a family issue.

“c'mon, entertain me for a little while.” he leaned closer to you and you found yourself freezing, unable to pull away. his strong cologne quickly filled your senses. “the whole uninterested act isn’t fooling me.”

“can i help you?” an angry voice suddenly questioned from above you, just as the stranger’s hand had settled against your hair. the intensity behind gwil’s words had you sitting as far back in your seat as possible, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

the man opposite you looked up at your boyfriend with wide eyes, clearly unable to come up with anything to say. “i was just offering to buy her a drink, man. no harm done.” he said after being prompted by gwilym to answer him.

“well, she doesn’t need a drink from you.” gwilym practically growled out, his eyes burning holes into the other man’s face. it was almost as if he was daring him to stay in that seat for any longer. “if i were you, mate, i would get the fuck out of here.”

the man scrambled away with a quiet “talk about possessive’, leaving you and gwilym in silence. the noise coming from the rowdy table nearby felt so much louder all of a sudden.

and that was probably the time for you to say something. to at least look at him. instead you kept your eyes planted on the table in front of you for what felt like an eternity, unable to meet his eyes.

"we’re leaving.” he said eventually, his voice tight. you glanced up at him to see that his jaw was locked and that the same look of anger was still plastered across his face. you were used to his features looking so gentle and kind. soft eyes that followed you around in admiration, an angelic smile that made you ache with the want to kiss his lips.

“gwil, can we talk about this?” you choked out, quickly fixing your bag over your shoulder.

gwilym looked away from you and mumbled something about not being in the mood. the walk back to his car was silent, and the absence of conversion only resulted in your thoughts circling at what felt like 100mph.

gwil kept his eyes firmly on the road and made no effort to talk during the ride home. he didn’t even connect his phone to the speakers to play his music. you found yourself missing his questionable song choices. missing the conversation you would usually engage in when driving home.

“gwilym.” you started, his name sounding a little shaky. “there’s really no reason to be mad. he was just a random man who appeared in front of me and i told him i was waiting for someone. he was just really persistent!”

gwilym sighed, his hands curling around the steering wheel more tightly. “so i’m not allowed to be angry? is that it?”

“no, i-”

“did you even register how close that man was to you, y/n? he was inches from your face. and his hand was going straight for your hair.” gwilym took a breath to calm himself. “why didn’t you move away from him? or at least tell him you had a boyfriend.”

“i just froze, okay…i don’t know what happened… and i told him to leave. maybe i could have been firmer but regardless of that, i still don’t see why you’re so angry with me.”

“can’t you just accept that i am pissed off right now? why does this have to be about you and how you feel like i shouldn’t be angry.” he snaped, moving his eyes from the road for a second to look at you. you stared back at him in shock, your stomach dropping. gwilym rarely ever acted this way. the expression on his face and the tone of his voice made you feel sick. “i don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

that night was awful. you both got ready for bed without exchanging a single word, and the sick feeling in your stomach only got worse as time ticked by. you sat on the bed with your legs pulled to your chest and thought about all the ways to start conversation back up. maybe gwilym was right, maybe you just needed to accept he was angry. you certainly would have been fuming if you saw a random woman all up in gwilym’s face.

gwilym emerged from the bathroom in nothing but his boxers. the navy ones you bought him last christmas. the sight only made your heart clench more painfully. his boxers clung to his ass in the most sinful way. he always looked good like this, with his broad chest and thick thighs on display. and your eyes were always hungry to take in as much as possible. on any other night, you would have wrapped your arms around his neck and whispered against his lips how hot he looked. and he would have grinned in an amused manner, cocking an eyebrow as his hands settled on your hips, murmuring out a “oh, do i, love?”

but there was none of that tonight. gwilym kept his eyes on the floor as he made his way over to the bed, clearly unhappy with how the night had played out. he crawled under the covers and you joined him shortly, painfully aware of the tension between you both. and with a barely audible “goodnight” he turned onto his side and closed his eyes. it seemed like forever until you got to sleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

the next morning, gwilym was no where to be seen. he had left early in the morning, and with no note telling you where he had gone. you ate your breakfast alone, wondering where gwil was and mulling over how badly last night turned out. you had never seen him so frustrated.

when the door bell rung around noon, you had no clue as to who had come by to pay you a visit. brian may’s concerned face was not what you expected when you finally got up to open the door.

“brian?” the shock was evident in your voice.

“hello y/n, can i come in?” he asked and you were quick to usher him inside, asking if he wanted a cup of tea. he declined with a polite smile and took a seat beside you on your sofa. his hair seemed curlier than ever, an endearingly chaotic mess of ringlets.

“to what do i owe this lovely surprise visit?” you questioned, folding your arms over your chest. you shot him a small smile. “or did you just want to say hello to me?”

“it’s always nice checking in on you, love, but there is a reason for my visit.” he settled his hands on his knees, his expression more serious now. “gwilym popped by a little earlier to discuss some things, just about the bohemian rhapsody special coming up in july. but with that aside, he looked quite upset. looked like he had lost some sleep to terribly honest with you.”

you stayed silent as brian continued. he obviously knew gwilym’s bad mood had something to do with you. “i’ve never seen the boy look so bloody upset. he didn’t want to talk about it but i got it out of him in the end. i heard you had somewhat of an argument last night.”

you sighed quietly, lifting your eyes to meet brian’s. “yes.” you exhaled, not bothering to hide how down you felt about the whole matter. “it was so stupid, just over some irrelevant guy at the pub. nothing even happened but gwilym was still so angry.”

“it happens to all of us.” brian murmured softly, wrapping an arm around you to give you a friendly squeeze. “y/n, i don’t know exactly what happened between the pair of you last night but i know gwilym, i reckon he was just feeling hurt about the whole thing. you know he gets jealous, love.”

“i know, i know. it just sucks when we’re not talking. it’s the worst feeling when i know gwilym is mad, especially when it’s to do with me.”

“that is completely understandable. i had a little talk with him that seemed to make him feel a bit better, i think i knocked some sense into him. he went to run some errands but i’m sure he will be back soon. i just came by to check if you were okay.”

“that is so sweet of you, brian. and i’m sure i’ll be fine soon. i just hope gwilym feels better.”

“he’ll be fine too, you two are strong. you’ll be back to being all cuddly and lovely before you know it, trust me on that one. and with that being said, i should be off. m'taking anita out for lunch so i can’t be late for that.”

you gave him a tight hug and showed him to the door. “thank you again, brian. i hope you have a lovely time with anita.” he flashed you his signature smile and gave your arm a squeeze. “anytime, love.”

thanks to brian, you already felt better about the whole situation with gwilym. you were ready to put it behind you. and when the door bell rang an hour later, you strode over to it with confidence, preparing yourself for facing gwil and apologising if need be.

as soon as you opened the door, a bouquet of flowers was being thrust into your hands. gwilym’s hands were on your cheeks within seconds, his lips capturing yours in a longing kiss. “m'sorry for being an jealous idiot.” he panted against your lips, the pads of his thumbs caressing your cheeks. you were still clutching onto the flowers. you looked down and saw that they were carnations, a mixture of pink and white.

you placed the flowers down next to you on the floor and reached for gwilym, your arms circling around his frame. “it’s okay. i’m sorry for not telling that guy to get lost.”

“no, you handled the situation fine, love. it just angered me to see another man so close to you.” he murmured, his gaze fixated on your face. “just seeing him flirting with you as i walked back over to our table had my blood boiling. i really handled the situation badly, i shouldn’t have been mad at you.”

“i understand, i would have gotten jealous too. let’s just move on from this, okay? that man was not worth the trouble.”

“sounds great. i love you.” gwilym murmured, his hand moving to tuck a piece of stray hair behind your ear. he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips as you drew him closer, your lips chasing his.

“i love you too, gwil.”

after a few minutes of non-stop kissing, gwilym pulled back to mutter something against your mouth.

“brian was here, wasn’t he?”

“yep.”

#hope you like it #help i should be sleeping #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee #headcanon

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niallsfoolsgold · 6 years ago

Text

Thin Walls and Fireworks

it’s been months since i last posted any work and i’m really sorry for that, i just haven’t been feeling my writing. this story is probably filled with typos because i haven’t edited it yet, and i have really mixed feeling about the whole thing (mainly the ending). thanks for reading at your own risk!

(not my gif!)

There are three things you should know about Emery before you really start reading this: 1. She wakes up at exactly 7:13 am every morning (she has literally timed how long it takes her to get ready and get to uni so that she can get a maximum amount of sleep every night while still having five extra minutes in case a traffic jam happens). 2. She listens to her spotify playlist specifically made for her morning showers everyday and she sings along because it helps her wake herself up faster. 3. The walls in her apartment are extremely thin. She quickly found the third thing out when she consistently heard music—different guitars and pianos mainly—blasting throughout her home at 1 a.m. within the first month she lived there. She tossed and turned on the frigid December night, and prayed to whatever god there was that the music would quiet down. Yeah... her prayers went unanswered.

She was annoyed to say the least. Her boss had called about an hour ago and said that she would have to work the next day after she had asked for one day off after working every day for the past three weeks. So she had pulled her thick grey comforter over her shoulders to hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra, pushed her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose, and took a quick glance in the mirror to make sure that she didn’t look too hideous. After that, she trudged her way out her door and down the carpeted hall, hoping that whoever lived next door wasn’t a complete asshole—her old neighbors in her previous apartment were which was one of the contending reasons for her moving elsewhere. She raised her hand to knock on the door, and mentally stopped herself, taking a deep breath and wondering what the fuck she was going to say. She hadn’t mentally prepared enough to meet someone new, especially not if they were rude, but she knocked on the door anyways; softly, but hard enough that it would be heard even through the music. When the door opened up, it was not what she expected, not at fucking all. Standing there was a tall, decently-muscular-well-built, gorgeous, greek god of a looking guy. He looked like the type of person she would allow to stab her twenty times if he asked nicely; hell, she would let him stab her even if he was rude. And if she wasn’t already ashamed of how messy she looked before she had seen this guy—it didn’t help that she remembered her landlord mentioning that he was famous—she really was now. “Can I help you with something?” She’s pretty sure he has the most angelic speaking voice she’s ever heard. He literally seems like he could possibly be a walking angel, coming second in the “perfection” genre only to Jesus Christ himself (she only thinks that because she’s almost certain that Jesus must’ve been decently perfect... being the son of God and all). She feels like she’s almost lost her voice, like she’s all choked up and unable to breathe just at the sight of this guy. Her eyebrows are raised only in the slightest before her lips begin moving and words are created. “Um—yes actually,” she speaks softly, “I really don’t mean to be rude or come off as pushy in any rude way, b—“ She’s cut off before she can even finish, but she doesn’t even care because she’s cut off by a breath of laughter from him before he looks back up at her. “It’s the loud music mixed with the thin walls, yeah? I’m really sorry about that. I’ve been gone since you moved in I guess so I’m not used to having a neighbor,” he spoke. She nods her head lightly at him. “That’s exactly it, actually. I’m sorry for asking,” she begins, “it’s just that I’ve got a early shift in the morning and rest is needed, ya know?” “It’s fine, don’t worry,” he offers another polite smile, and fuck, she nearly melts like a popsicle on the Fourth of July. She mutters “goodnight” to him and he does the same back as she’s turning to speed walk back to her apartment down the hall. Her heart feels like it’s about to beat out of her chest. *** Emery had a long day so far. That’s really all she wanted to say about it; it had just been a really fucking long day. It started out by thinking she overslept, and therefore freaking out about being late for work, only to find out that her boss had forgotten to tell her that her shift had changed to a night shift and she didn’t have to be in until five this evening. That threw her incredibly off track for the days activities. She went from there to get some last minute things from the store that she forgot when she had done her grocery shopping, but she realized in the checkout isle that she had left her wallet at her place and all she had was about $7 in her pocket. She decided to use that money to buy some coffee to wake her up, but then some asshole bumped into her in the shop and spilled her coffee all over her white shirt, and then proceeded to yell at her like it was her fault. And fuck, by the end of all this happening, it was only ten in the morning. So yes, she was absolutely batshit pissed at how fucking terribly her day had been going. She had finally managed to make it back to her apartment and wanted nothing more than a hot shower to relax her, and then maybe take a nap before going to work later on. She slings her jacket onto the dining table and kicked her shoes off by the front door. She really didn’t even bother to get clothing to change into in the bathroom (living alone really had its perks; she could walk around naked if she pleased, just not on the balcony, and not with the curtains opened). Stripping herself from her clothes and making sure the water was the right temperature beforehand, she hopped into the shower with her bad day playlist that’s titled “for your stressed-out-bitchy days”. She hummed along softly, singing the words softly as she got farther into the song. She was really confused when she started hearing singing from the other side of the wall; singing the exact words at the same time she was. Shawn—her devilishly handsome neighbor—was someone that she had only talked to a few times since she had asked him to turn his music down a couple of weeks earlier. He was nice, literally almost always. She had never seen him in a bad mood, and he often talked to her if they happened to get into the elevator at the same time, or if they passed each other in the hallway. He asked simple questions about her, like how old she was, how long she had lived here, stuff like that. In some cases it could have been weird, but he seemed nice enough and simply a friendly person. There was no doubt in her mind that her greek god of a neighbor could actually hear her, but it made her giggle just a bit when he had even joined to sing along (although it wasn’t that surprising since she had recently learned from her landlord that the reason he was famous was for singing). It was dumb that something as stupid as her next door neighbor singing along to her music—who we can’t forget is absolutely gorgeous—made her day seem a little bit better than it was before. She dries the wet drips of water off of her body with the white, fluffy, hotel-like towels that she loves more than her own life. Everything was quiet when the music was off. No more singing through the thin walls with Shawn, just quiet. In all honesty, she was kind of happy for the quiet, even though his voice was still kind of angelic. It had been such a long ass day, she was just ready to lie down before going to work. So after drying her body off and changing into her most comfortable items of clothing—her favorite pair of leggings and a sweatshirt that was much too large for her—she crawled into her bed, turned on her most relaxing music, and drifted off to sleep. *** Words are unable to describe how much she dreaded to go to work later on that evening after she woke up. It was still a bit rushed getting ready for work, but thank fuck that the owner of the bar was chill and her work attire consisted of jeans and a black shirt (of any kind, just no graphics), and having her hair up. After changing and slipping on her favorite coat, she put her hair up, put on one of the best faces of makeup she probably ever had in a short amount of time—honestly though, her eyeliner is on fucking point—and left with her keys and purse in hand. The backdoor to the bar squeaked a little bit when Y/N opened it up, setting her things in her designated shelf that the manager had bought so that the employees things wouldn’t be unorganized and disheveled everywhere. Her name tag was on the same shelf and she pinned it onto her shirt after taking her coat off. “Hey darlin’,” one of the workers, Tess, spoke to her, Tess’ sweet southern accent dripping from her lips. Tess was a twenty-something year old girl that had moved from Georgia in order to try be closer with her dad (her parents had divorced when she was young, and she had always described her mother as “a backstabbing, no good, pussy-ass-bitch, who deserves to choke on her boy toy’s dick”... she really has a way with words, okay?-). Tess had been there for Y/N since they had started working together, the both of them becoming close friends quickly due to not knowing another soul within a hundred miles. They weren’t necessarily sisters, more like each other’s favorite cousins at family reunions; they gossiped about other people, shared problems, and talked about the cutest guys and girls (because honestly fuck people who say you can’t love who you want to) that came in and spilled all the tea about each interaction with said guys. (Tess actually has a girlfriend named Margot, but honestly the two in the relationship knew that Tess was a natural flirt and couldn’t stop herself even if she tried, despite the both of them being very in love with one another.) “Hey love,” she responded, giving a small grin to the girl that she adored. Tess gave a small wink in return, making Emery’s grin grow wider. The bar wasn’t very busy right now, but that was mainly because it was only five o’clock and most people were just now getting off work while Emery was just getting started. It was weird to have a working schedule like that, and it sucked ass when it came to studying during the school year. But once again, her manager, Mark, was pretty chill—besides the times when it was obvious that the place was going to be busy, just like on Friday nights like this one—and allowed her to get off in time or come in late, just so that she could get some of her school work done. The first two hours of her seven hour shift were brought as hell. People shuffled in and out, maybe buying a drink or two, and then leaving immediately after paying. It annoyed her that people did that sometimes. If people were only going to buy one drink, then why not just buy a bottle of whatever they wanted from the store? Then they would be able to have one drink every night for a long time. She was certainly surprised when Shawn walked in the bar, a couple of guys following him in and she assumed they were probably his friends. They were all laughing about something that must have been said outside and cracking more jokes to go along with it. She did her best to ignore all of it—more specifically just all of them in general because she refused to get internally flustered with Shawn like she had when they first met—and went back to combining some of the partly used alcohol bottles with others. It was boring but it would also maybe get her out of socializing with someone that made her really fucking nervous for no reason. She almost did it too, almost got away with pretending to be distracted until— “Hey, neighbor.” She looked up from the two bottle in hand and nearly choked on thin air. There he was, Shawn, looking fine as hell and all he was doing was standing there. “I didn’t know you worked here,” he commented again. She placed she bottles on the bar and leaned against it, fake confidence taking over he features. “If you come here often then I’m not sure how. But then again, I’ve worked here for seven months this and this is the first time I can remember seeing you around,” she replies. Her cold hands were so close to shaking but she did her best to still them. “Hmm,” he hummed, “Well this is the first time I’ve been home for more than a couple days in about seven months, and I didn’t know about this place up until one of my friends,” he paused, turning around and pointing to one of the guys in the group that walked in with him, “told us all about it last month.” She raised her eyes at his comment, slowly nodding her head once, letting him know that he must’ve been correct. He doesn’t say anything else, just looks at her for a minute and now she’s really fucking nervous with her fake confidence fading away into a imaginary black hole. “Oka—Uh, well do you guys want anything to drink, or are you just really wanting some conversation?” she’s freaking the hell out inside. She wonders how she got those eighteen words out of her mouth. He nods, looking back at his group and does a quick count of how many people were in it before turning back. “Just 6 beers is all.” When she takes the tray of beers to the table he and his friends are sitting at, she can her them laughing again, and the doubt makes her wonder if they’re laughing at her or at something else, but she hopes it’s the latter. She gives a quick smile as she places the dark glass bottles in the table before turning around and going back to behind the bar. *** The night didn’t seem to last long enough. Contrary to what she had assumed, the shift she worked tonight wasn’t that bad. It was filled, but not overcrowded—despite it being New Year’s eve, but then again, most people were at clubs instead of actual bars—which made her job eighty-five percent easier than usual. Plus, most of the people didn’t care how long they waited; they were just waiting for the year of suffering to be over with. Shawn and his friends ended up moving to the actual bar counter and made conversation with her while she made drinks. They had all been curious to know what it was like living next to Shawn, to which she responded with “fine, besides him blasting music late at night when I have to work the next morning.” He had playfully rolled his eyes at that, to which she winked at him when no one else was paying attention (and fuck when that happened she was so confused because where the hell did that little bit of confidence come from?). That’s what the entire night consisted of; laughter, questions, and subtle flirting between Shawn and Emery. A pang if disappointment came inside her when they announced they were leaving after only about an hour and half of staying, but it felt a little better when they had promised to come back, and even better when Shawn winked at her on his way out the front door. She did her best to clean up as fast as fucking possible in order to get back to her apartment, promising Tess that she would do everything in her power to stay awake long enough tonight to call her and tell her why and how she knew the “super hot famous dude that looks like he could be a fuck boy but is most hopefully not” (a.k.a. Shawn). She knew she drove fast on the way back; and it wasn’t to see Shawn even though she almost hoped that he would blast his music loudly again so that she could go over and just see his face again, but he didn’t. He was pretty quiet, actually, and she almost thought there was a possibility that he wasn’t even home until she heard faint humming from the other side of the wall. She smiled, rolling her eyes at the fact that he seemed to love music so much that he couldn’t go without listening to some for of it (even if it was himself) for more than an hour. But the humming didn’t seem to stop, and then music was turned on, and then the music was turned up just enough to keep her awake. Her feet patted across the tiled floor and into her her slides, the top half of her body engulfed in a hoodie that was much too large for her, her hair falling loosely and messily, and her face clean and free of makeup. She knocked on his own door, and it swung open almost instantly. He was still dressed in the same clothing from earlier, looked almost the exact same, but his eyes were a little bit more soft and sleepy (basically just fucking adorable, but what’s new?). All he had to do to know what she needed was look at the slightly raised eyebrow; it was the same look she wore just a couple of nights ago. Emery opens her mouth but Shawn beats her to it, “Turn the music down?” There’s a small smirk on his face. She slowly blinks with a nod. “You got it,” he says. She turns around to walk back to her place with her hands in the pockets of her black Adidas sweatpants when he catches her attention again with his voice. “Hey, um,” he pauses and she turns to face him again, “fuck, this may sound really weird and kinda creepy ‘cause we’ve only talked like, I don’t know maybe five time, but do you wanna come in?” She raises her eyebrows at him with the tiniest grin at how nervous he seems to be with his rambling. If this is how she is, then she really understands why he seems to be smiling at her so much, but she doubts she’s actually this cute while doing it. “It’s just that it’s New Year’s Eve, and I have no idea if you’re alone, maybe you’ve already got people or a person at your place, but I know that it sucks to be alone because you see everyone together and shit... but if you are alone, you’re welcome to come over. Only if you want to, obviously,” he rambling again and she doesn’t even bother to hide the little grin that’s growing on her face. “Yeah,” he looks at her with his eyebrows raised just a little bit. “I’d love to come over. Let me grab my phone and I’ll be right back?” He nods and she practically speed walks back to her place, grabbing her phone from her room and going back out the door, but not before looking in her little mirror to make sure she looked at least somewhat decent. Fuck, she was freaking out. *** Emery decided that Shawn is possible her favorite person now (and for sure her favorite celebrity, even though she knows he’s so much more than that). It was a little half past eleven, and both Emery and Shawn were half drunk/a little tipsy on an unknown type of champagne that Emery insisted was amazing—and obviously Shawn trusts her word on alcohol because she’s a fucking bartender. It’d be weird if she didn’t know—and Shawn just happened to have a bottle of it. They were giggling at the stupidest things, sitting next to but facing each other on Shawn’s sectional, and waiting for the ball drop in New York. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me that your brother was choking on a lego, and you didn’t do anything about it?” “I was five, Shawn! I didn’t know what to fucking do!” Emery exclaims back. “Plus, he was fifteen years old, he knew better than that anyways.” He shakes his head at her jokingly and she looks up at him. “What about you?” she takes a sip of the sparkling drink from her glass. “Do you have any siblings?” She can see his eyes light up slightly when she asks him this. “Yeah, a little sister. Her name’s Aaliyah, she’s five years younger than me, and she’s fifty times more awesome than myself,” he chuckles. Emery smiles at how much he seems to care about her, even if he’s hardly talked about her. She’s about to open her mouth to say something when cheering from the tv that was mounted up on the wall erupted, taking the attention of both of them. It was the countdown. She started mouthing the numbers along with all the people in New York, shifting in her seat to get a better look while Shawn does the same, the ball slowly dropping until— “3... 2... 1...” and suddenly everyone went crazy. A smile take over her face and she looks over to Shawn, and it almost seems like he might have been looking at her already, but it’s hard to tell because it’s dark and she’s still a little drunk. She does know one thing though, he’s smiling back at her, and he’s a little drunk too. “Happy New Year,” she smiles, her voice is quiet and soft and sweet. And once again, even though she a little intoxicated off of champagne of all things, she thinks she might melt when he smiles drunkenly right back at her. “Happy New Year.” She wants to kiss him just a little bit. She’s not really sure if that’s because she drunk, because he pretty, or maybe because she’s had a little crush on him for a while, even though she doesn’t know everything about like some girls do. But she knows that she wants to know him like that. She wants to know his favorite color, and how much cream and sugar he puts in his coffee (or if he does at all). She want to know why he plays music so fucking loud, and if he likes sunrises or sunsets more. Fuck she just want to know it all, because this crush she’s got is so fucking big, and she want to have it even after she knows these things. But she doesn’t kiss him, because she remembers that she was supposed to call Tess when she got home, and that was about an hour and a half ago. So she pushes her self up from the couch, and she stumbles just a bit but catches herself. “I should probably go,” she says. “I was supposed to call Tess, so she could be freakin out.” Shawn just nods, and she wants to say he looks disappointed, but like it was said earlier, she’s a little drunk and it’s really dark. He stands up too, walking her to the door and even going as far as “walking her home” even though her apartment was only about fifteen to twenty feet down the hall. They stood outside of her door, his hands in his pockets while she fiddled around with her keys (her door had an automatic lock on it; safety first obviously). She finally managed to get the door unlocked, opening it slightly, then turning slightly to wish him goodnight, and that’s when they both realize how close they actually are to each other. Her breath gets caught in her lungs just a little, and she can see that his breathing has increased. They’re both nervous, at least nervous enough, and seems like years pass with how close they’re standing to each other while the both stare at each other, eyes only flicking to each other’s lips when the other isn’t paying attention. He’s the one that leans down, and she knows that she can’t be imagining it, because when his lips meet hers it’s like the New Years fireworks have started all over again, and she’s freaking out. It’s soft, and slow, and she feels like she’s dying inside, but only in the best way possible. But then he pulls away, and she’s a little disappointed, but at the same time she can’t be. She offers another small smile, and he gives one back, and their both muttering “goodnight” to each other at the same time while blushing profusely. Next thing she knows, she’s shutting her door door with a heavy sigh, but a huge smile on her face. And all of this is because Emery has a huge fucking crush on her greek god of a neighbor that blasts music through the thin walls.

#my writing #sm #shawn mendes #shawn mendes fic #Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes x y/n #shawn mendes x oc #shawn mendes fanfiction

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