#shoutout to 'and you call me up again just to break me like a promise' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miekasa · 3 years

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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goldenlaurelleaveswrites · 2 years

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Juleka vs. the Forces of the Universe ch 13

Juleka vs. the Forces of the Miraculous iii

Juleka vs. the Forces of the Universe (AO3)

Sorry for the delay in posting this everyone! This chapter took a lot longer than I anticipated. I was had 95% of this chapter written and then I ended up hating it so I scrapped everything except one scene. Then rewriting took a long time because, well, Min said it best, "Fight scenes are to writers what hands are to artists." I struggle with fight scenes, a lot, so I really wanted to take my time with this. Also, I definitely overthought this chapter a lot 😂

A big shoutout to the LBSC crew for helping motivate me to finally get this edited, and a big thank you to Ver for listening to me whine and complain about how much this chapter was kicking my butt, and for helping me come up with the idea for All-Seer. And thank you to all of you for your patience and support.

___________________________________________________________

“Juleka Couffaine…”

She was not supposed to be seeing this.

“…this is the miraculous of the tiger.”

She was not supposed to be hearing this.

“It grants the power of stealth…”

This could not be happening.

Because she definitely was not supposed to be a hero.

There was no way. She had seen too much. She had heard too much. She knew too much.

Was witness protection still an option?

“…will you use it for the greater good?”

Ladybug held out the open box —a red and black spotted one— that contained a panjas bracelet. Her face was a mask of confidence and strength. But she could see the cracks of the facade in her eyes. She had been fighting this akuma for over an hour. Chat Noir had been fighting it too. Sort of. But his help had seemed less than helpful from what she had seen on the news…

She could see the stress and weariness in Ladybug’s eyes.

When she had told Marinette she could ask for help, this had not been what she had had in mind! She had meant that Ladybug should ask for Luka’s help! He was already Viperion! Surely he would be a better choice?

Besides, she wasn’t a hero!

But…

Her mind flicked back to their talk from last night. She had told Marinette she could—and should—ask for help. And she had…

She had called on her.

She needed her help.

And she had promised Marinette she would have her back.

And she wasn’t one to break a promise.

She reached out and took the miraculous. “You can count on me.”

***

How did Marinette do this?

How did Luka do this?

Her heart lurched into her throat again as she leapt off another roof. She spared a split-second glance to the side as Ladybug swung past her in a blur of scarlet and black. At least Ladybug was next to her, in case she didn’t stick the landing…

Her heart slammed back into its proper place in her chest as she landed on the roof. But amazingly, like her last six landings, it didn’t hurt. Not even the slightest. It was like the suit absorbed all the shock.

Well, all the physical shock.

Because she was still a little overwhelmed by the fact that she was literally running around Paris beside her friend, wearing a magical piece of jewelry and on her way to fight a supervillain.

To say nothing of all the- the changes the suit brought.

Everything felt… different.

It was like there was iron in her bones and steel in her muscles. She had never been able to run this fast or jump this high. Not even close. And she had never been able to hurl herself into the sky, only to land in a graceful roll and keep on running with the wind.

And everything was just… Colours were brighter. Shapes were sharper. Sounds were clearer.

And there was something… buzzing in her. Some tingling, buzzing, electric feeling that filled her to the brim.

It was like she had been plugged into an amp.

“This way.”

Silently, she nodded and followed Ladybug down into the street below.

She landed in the street with a grace that wasn’t quite her own but had slipped over her like a second skin the moment she had transformed. She had never been particularly clumsy. Not like Marinette. But there was something about wearing the miraculous… Was this what it was like for Marinette to be Ladybug?

“M’lady!” Chat Noir was hurrying towards Ladybug, who had landed a couple of feet ahead of her. His focus was so securely trained on Ladybug, he hadn’t even seemed to notice her yet. He was already reaching for Ladybug’s hand, no doubt to try and plant another kiss on it.

She stepped forward with a quiet cough.

“I brought help,” Ladybug said firmly, snatching her hand back.

He still hadn’t looked at her—his attention was still wholly on Ladybug—but she didn’t miss the sour look that crossed his face at the mention of the word help. Chat’s eyes lingered on Ladybug for far too long. But then, when he finally looked at her, his eyes flashed. And oh, wasn’t that a green-eyed monster there.

But then, something else flickered in his eyes.

Something that looked a lot like reassurance.

He grinned at her.

He had obviously decided she wasn’t competition for ‘his lady’s’ affection. But given the way his grin didn’t quite reach his eyes… ‘He’s never been very enthusiastic about bringing on more people. He’s really possessive of the time we spend together.’ Marinette’s words echoed in her mind.

“Hey there,” he said in what was obviously supposed to be a suave manner. Too bad it was ruined by, well… everything she knew. “I’m Chat Noir. And you are?” he asked as he bowed to her.

Oh.

Shoot.

She hadn’t actually thought of a name yet.

“Purple Tigress,” she blurted out.

It was a little basic.

But she had committed.

And at least the Tigress part was cool.

“Purple Tigress?” Chat stared at her. And then suddenly, he was right beside her- nuzzling against her. “Me-ow! That makes us practically family!”

Oh gross.

She stepped back, and he stumbled. But he straightened up quickly enough to make it look like he had done it on purpose. And he was grinning at her and- had Adrien always been that short?

Well, short wasn’t the right word. Because he was pretty tall. And yeah, she had always been taller. But…

She shook her head. That didn’t matter right now!

She turned to Ladybug as she flexed her claws. “So, what’s the plan, Ladybug?”

***

She was going to scream.

It wasn’t enough that Hawkmoth couldn’t give Marinette a day. Just one day. Just one measly day to rest. No! He had to go and make a pain in the butt akuma the day after Marinette had spilled her heart out to her, sobbing over how exhausting it all was.

But that wasn’t enough.

No.

Chat Noir wasn’t being even remotely helpful.

The plan had been simple; Ladybug and Chat Noir were to distract All-Seer so that she could use her power to sneak up on the akuma and swipe the crystal lodged into his head. Normally, Ladybug—or Chat Noir—would have been able to sneak up on any old akuma just fine. But All-Seer was… well, the name was pretty self-explanatory.

The akuma reminded her of the greek myth Luka used to tell her about Argus, what with all of the eyes covering the akuma’s body. It was those eyes that had kept Ladybug and Chat Noir on their toes and away from the akumatized object. Because no matter how sneaky anyone was, the akuma literally had eyes in the back of its head. And shoulders. And arms. And legs. And… well, everywhere basically.

Add in the fact that the akuma was ten feet tall, with an arm span to match… it wasn’t exactly helping matters…

She shook her head to clear her thoughts and narrowed her eyes at the action below.

Ladybug was trying to catch All-Seer’s arms in her yoyo to give her a better chance at getting in close and getting the crystal, where the akuma was hidden. But All-Seer was making it hard for Ladybug; she had to keep dodging his blows and attempts to grab her or knock her off her feet. And every time she swung her yoyo, All-Seer saw it coming. No matter which direction it was coming from.

And Chat… Chat wasn’t even following the plan despite multiple snapped prompts to do so.

Chat was supposed to be attacking All-Seer from behind. The akuma would still be able to see him. But the plan was to keep All-Seer’s attention as split as possible, to give her as many opportunities as possible to steal the crystal. But he kept sidling closer to Ladybug—likely to keep up his constant stream of flirting—even as she moved away to try and keep them on opposite sides of the akuma.

Her grip on the overhang tightened. Chips of stone dropped onto the awning far below her as her claws dug into the stone of the overhang she was hiding under.

There was nothing that would bring her more pleasure than to go down there and smack the grins off of All-Seer and Chat Noir’s faces.

But Ladybug had told her to remain out of sight until it was time; she hadn’t wanted All-Seer to have any idea there was a third hero hanging around. So she grit her teeth and dug her claws in a little deeper.

And she watched.

And waited.

Ready to pounce.

Ladybug ducked out of reach of All-Seer. She watched as her friend rolled under a car abandoned haphazardly on the street and came up on the other side of it. Ladybug jumped onto the roof of the car and sprang up in the air, lashing her yoyo with lightning-quick speed.

It was enough to catch All-Seer off guard.

The yoyo wrapped around one of the akuma’s wrists. Ladybug sprang back and ran around a lamppost, using it as an anchor to help hold the akuma’s arm.

“Chat! His arm!”

All he had to do was keep All-Seer’s other arm occupied, and it would be easy-

Chat lunged. And she watched as the plan fell to pieces in front of her.

“I’ve got this one, m’lady,” Chat called and then added with a smirk sent about two feet to her left, “Tigress. Cataclysm!”

Chat leapt for the crystal and was promptly snatched out of the air by All-Seer. All-Seer swung Chat like a club. In his flailing, Chat reached out to grab something and caught hold of a car. Which promptly turned to dust under his touch. Chat did managed to sink his claws into the akuma's hand; All-Seer yowled in pain and fury as he hurled Chat into the air. She grit her teeth as she watched Chat sail through the sky before disappearing far out of sight.

The eyes on All-Seer’s back narrowed in her direction, and she pulled herself further up into the crevice under the overhang.

“Tigress? Where is this so-called Tigress?” All-Seer bellowed.

She heaved a deep but quiet sigh of relief. If he was asking where she was, then that meant he hadn’t seen her yet.

“Hey! All-Seer! Forgotten about me already?”

“On the contrary, bug. I just wanted to squash two pests with one fist!”

Something crashed, and the sound was quickly followed by a yelp that had to have come from Ladybug.

It seemed now was going to have to be her opening, whether she liked it or not. Because there was no way she was leaving Ladybug to deal with the akuma on her own.

“Camouflage,” she whispered. As soon as the command left her lips, her body tingled with what she was quickly learning was the feeling of magic. The tingling was gone almost as fast as it had appeared, and when she blinked up at her hands clinging to the overhang, she couldn’t see anything.

She grinned, then peeked out from under the overhang.

“Where’s your little friend, Ladybug?” All-Seer crooned as the eyes on his body swivelled in every direction, looking for her as he tried to pull Ladybug off her feet. Watching him was making her a little nauseous.

All the more reason to finish this fight.

She let go of her hold on the overhang. She was in a free fall. Racing towards the ground so far below.

Her heart was in her throat again.

But the wind ripping past her, flowing through her hair was… exhilarating.

She twisted midair, angling her body towards the side of the building whose underhang she had hidden under. Not hidden. Waited. Her claws caught against the stone, slowing her descent into a controlled fall. Halfway down, she kicked her legs up and used them to push off the building and down towards the centre of the street where Ladybug was fighting All-Seer. She loosened her bolas from around her waist as she hurtled toward the ground.

She landed in a roll, and as soon as she was upright, she flung her bolas. They became visible again as soon as they left her grasp. But that was still too late for All-Seer.

The akuma howled in rage as her bolas wrapped themselves around his legs, binding them together. He teetered almost, overbalancing, but managed to stay upright. Barely.

“Where are you?” All-Seer roared as he swatted blindly with his one free arm. She ducked and rolled out of the way of an errant strike.

“Right in front of you,” she snarked from behind him. She vaulted over his arm as he swung it in the direction her voice had come from, catching a flash of Ladybug’s smirk as she kicked off of All-Seer’s arm. She twisted in midair to land in a crouch beside him. He wavered, almost toppling over, but he managed to keep his balance.

“Tigress, I need my lucky charm!”

“Got it!”

Ladybug released All-Seer’s arm from her yoyo. The akuma tried to make a grab for Ladybug, but she was ready for him. She leapt into the air and came down hard on the giant hand reaching out for her friend. All-Seer yowled in pain as she dug her heels in on her landing. He tried to swipe at her, to grab her. But she was too fast.

And it was next to impossible to catch a moving target that was invisible.

She evaded his other hand easily, leaping to handspring off his shoulder, shoving him forward as she pushed off of him.

Forget how Luka did it. How had she done that?

It had to be the suit.

Which was a shame.

She could get used to doing stuff like this.

All-Seer stumbled forward and fell flat on his face, unable to stay upright with his feet still caught in her bolas. Somewhere out of sight, she heard Ladybug summoning her lucky charm. A flash of red light shone from behind a car as the akuma shouted, angrily ripping the bolas from his ankles. He began to swing them as he stalked towards the car.

They came dangerously close to Ladybug’s hiding spot.

But she was not going to let him get to her.

“Hey! Four eyes!” Maybe not the most original—or accurate—insult, but it would do. “Over here!” she sang, kicking his knee out from under him before ducking and rolling to the side. “Nope! On your left!” It would be his left. If he was facing the opposite direction. “Behind you! Over here!” She grabbed onto his swinging arm and slashed her claws across the back of his hand.

She bit back the pang of guilt. Yes, he was a civilian, but right now, he was an akuma that could do a lot of damage given the chance. And she hadn’t scratched him too deeply. Only enough to make him drop her bolas.

He yowled as he stumbled, shaking his hand violently. Enough so to dislodge her.

But a tigress was a cat.

She landed on her feet behind him.

He swung again, and she dove to the ground, sliding far out of his reach. A flash of scarlet caught her eye. Ladybug was holding a chisel in her hand, her gaze darting around wildly. It seemed to lock onto the crystal attached to the top of the akuma’s head. Then to her yoyo. Then to her bolas. But then her gaze kept darting around. Like she was looking for something she couldn’t-

She dove towards All-Seer, tucking into a roll as she hit the ground. She grabbed her bolas and tossed them to land at Ladybug’s feet.

“Ready when you are, Ladybug!” she shouted as she scrambled out from under the enraged akuma.

Ladybug’s eyes darted around again, likely trying to determine which direction her voice had come from. Her miraculous beeped. Three minutes left. It was about time they wrapped this up. She saw the hesitation in Ladybug’s eyes for a millisecond. But then confidence settled onto her face.

Confidence and-

“Tigress, go high!”

Ladybug hurled the chisel high up into the air, then snatched up the bolas with her suddenly free hand. She heard the familiar zip of Ladybug’s yoyo whizzing through the air as well as what sounded like a whip cracking. Her bolas, probably. But she didn’t have time to stop and look.

Ladybug had trusted her to catch the lucky charm.

And she was going to catch it.

She trained her eyes on the chisel as she darted through the street, trying to track its path through the air. Her gaze followed it towards-

She sprinted forward, dodging the yoyo and bolas as Ladybug whipped that at the akuma’s feet to keep him on his toes. She shoved the akuma. Not enough to topple him. But enough to send him off balance. All-Seer windmilled his arms to try and catch his fall as he pitched back, which gave Ladybug the perfect opening to catch his arms in the yoyo and bolas.

With the akuma restrained, he made the perfect springboard.

She leapt onto All-Seer’s shoulders and tensed every coiled, steel muscle in her legs. And then pushed off hard. She could hear Ladybug grunting with the effort of restraining the akuma. She just had to hold on a little longer…

She snatched the chisel and twisted in the air before plummeting back towards the akuma. All-Seer grunted and staggered as she landed on his shoulder. Gripping the chisel with both hands, she brought it down hard on the crystal.

It shattered, and a black butterfly fluttered out.

The familliar zip of the yoyo split the air. All-Seer's muscles rippled under her feet.

"This isn't over!"

She dove off All-Seer’s shoulder as his hand, no longer trapped by the yoyo, closed around the air she had just been occupying. As she rolled out of All-Seer’s reach, she caught sight of Ladybug swinging her yoyo towards the butterfly.

“No more evil-doing for you!” Ladybug cried as she caught the akuma. A moment later, a silver butterfly flew away. But the akuma-

Right. The Lucky charm.

“Ladybug!” Ladybug’s head snapped in her direction. “Catch!” She tossed the chisel to Ladybug—which turned visible the moment it left her hand—who caught it easily. The next thing she knew, the miracle cure ladybugs were swarming through the air in a wave of glittering light.

***

“I’m sorry, again… for Chat…”

“You don’t have to apologize; he’s the one that made the fuss.” She frowned at the memory of the sour and disgruntled look that had crossed Chat’s face when he had returned, only to realize she and Ladybug had already dealt with All-Seer. He had been even more disgruntled when she and Ladybug had made a quick exit, prompted by a beep from her bracelet.

“Still-“

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

Ladybug looked like she wanted to protest. But then seemed to change her mind and smiled at her instead. “Come on, this way,” she said before leaping off the side of the roof they were standing on.

They landed in an alley a few blocks from where the Liberty was moored. Once they had checked to make sure the coast was clear, she let her transformation drop.

The steel that had infused itself into her muscles was gone, as were the heightened senses. But that something that she couldn’t quite put a name to was still there. Fainter, like it had faded to nothing more than background noise. But she could feel it was still there.

“You were amazing!” Roarr—the kwami, because apparently, that was why they were called—well, roared as she flew into her face to nuzzle her cheek.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, trying to fight down the heat in her cheeks.

“None of that! You’re a tigress! Don’t you forget it!”

“That’s enough, Roarr,” Ladybug chuckled, motioning for the kwami to return to the bracelet. She watched as Ladybug tucked the bracelet into a little box she pulled from her yoyo- it was the same box the miraculous had been in when she first asked her to don it. By the time Ladybug was tucking the box back into her yoyo, she couldn’t help but frown “But Roarr’s right. You- what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she stared to say but thought better of it when she saw the way Ladybug’s face crumpled in concern. She didn’t want her to think Chat had gotten to her or anything like that. “It’s just… you seem… you seem shorter than usual. I mean shorter than I remember you being. From when you’ve helped me before,” she rushed to correct herself. “I guess I just didn’t notice it earlier. With the akuma and all-“ she broke off as Ladybug began to chuckle.

“I’m not shorter. You’re standing up straight.”

“What?”

“You aren’t slouching.”

What? She glanced down at herself. She still looked the same but… she shifted her shoulders, and sure enough, they weren’t hunched the way they normally were…

“It’s nice to see.” She blinked in surprise, but Ladybug just smiled at her before adding, “You really did do an incredible job today. We- I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“No problem. It was nice to have a chance to actually do something. Instead of just running or hiding. Or being Hawkmoth’s puppet.”

“Shadowmoth, actually.”

“What?”

“He’s calling himself Shadowmoth now. I guess, when he started using the peafowl-“

“Shadowmoth? You have got to be kidding me!” Ladybug blinked at her in surprise. No doubt she hadn’t been expecting her outburst, but… “That has got to be the lamest and most cliché villain name I’ve ever heard! And that isn’t even a kind of butterfly! Or Moth!”

Ladybug blinked at her again, and heat started to flood her cheeks. But then Ladybug snorted. They both jumped at the sound, Ladybug’s eyes widening as if she hadn’t expected herself to make that noise. The next thing she knew, her friend was bent over double, howling with laughter.

It was nice to see.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Ladybug wheezed as she wiped at a stray tear. “It’s just… I haven’t laughed like that in a really long time. I needed that.”

“Glad I could help,” she chuckled.

“Then, if I need you again… can I call on you?”

She smiled. “Anytime. I’ve got your back, Ladybug.”

***

“Juleka, I need your help again.”

Two days.

That was all Shadowmoth had given Marinette since the last akuma fight.

Two measly days.

Didn’t he have anything better to do than terrorize Paris and try to beat up teenagers for magic jewelry?

Of course, he didn’t.

He was Shadowmoth.

If she ever got her hands on him…

“Let’s do it.”

***

She wove around the knight’s blows and strikes, dodging with the inhuman grace her miraculous granted her. She kicked the knight in the head, her boot clanging against his helmet as he crumpled to the ground. She whirled, spinning her bolas above her head, and lashed them at another oncoming knight. The weights at the end shattered the sword before the knight could even fully raise it. She ducked and swiped to knock his feet out from under him.

She hadn’t had a chance to ask why D’argentcourt had been akumatized again. But she was just glad that this time, she wasn’t one of the ones waving a sword. Although, she would be a lot happier if there wasn’t an akuma in the first place. This was the sixth one in ten days.

And Shadowmoth had seemed to catch on that Ladybug was calling in Purple Tigress on the regular now. Ever since her second akuma battle, he had been giving all of his akumas brainwashing abilities. Chat seemed to think three was a crowd, but Shadowmoth seemed to be under the impression ‘the more the merrier.’

She twisted and turned through the onslaught of approaching civilians turned knights. And Chat Noir. He was somewhere in the midst of them. But it was impossible to tell him apart, given the minute the beam of light had hit him, his suit—and thankfully his miraculous—had disappeared into the armour.

She had to bite back a groan at the thought. He hadn’t even needed to jump in front of Ladybug! She had already been swinging out of the path of the beam of light intended to put her under the akuma’s spell. It would have flown harmlessly under feet.

It would have.

If he hadn’t needlessly thrown himself in its path. And made himself part of the problem.

She grabbed two of the knights, clashing their helmets against each other as she went. She tried to soften their fall as they crumpled to the ground, likely unconscious. They were just civilians. They had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. It wasn’t their fault they were attacking her and Ladybug.

But it wasn’t like she could exactly let them keep attacking.

She fought her way through the crowd of civilians turned mindless knights. Ladybug’s yoyo was a red blur as she swung it, striking knights down and keeping the rest at bay. She grabbed the shoulders of two knights that were approaching Ladybug from behind and vaulted over them, pushing them to the ground as she leapt over them. She landed behind Ladybug and immediately turned so they were back to back.

They flowed and danced around each other, blocking incoming blows and dealing out strikes of their own as they covered each other’s backs.

“Any idea where he went?” she asked as she cracked her bola, using it to shatter more swords.

“I think he’s heading towards the-on your left!” She slashed her claws, forcing the knight that had tried to get the jump on her back. “I think he was heading towards the tower.”

“Why do they always head for the tower?” she grumbled. “You would think it was the only place in this city- Duck!” She felt Ladybug drop to the ground behind her. She loosed her bolas and swung them in a wide arc around the two of them to force the knights back. She didn’t have as much range as Ladybug’s yoyo, but the weights at the end of her bolas were heavier and dealt more damage per blow. “I am so over swords,” she groaned as another one was swung her way.

“You and me both,” Ladybug grunted from behind her.

They needed to get out of here before they were completely overwhelmed.

They were out in the middle of the Jardin des Plantes. And surrounded by a sea of brainwashed civilians in shining—and in some cases dented—armour. There was no way to sneak away. Not unless she used her power. But that would leave Ladybug in a lurch. And Ladybug’s yoyo had a long range, but there was nowhere for it to latch onto for her to swing them to relative safety.

She struck another knight down, muttering an apology under her breath for the umpteenth time. She knew they would have no memory of it and that any damage inflicted would be cured by the miraculous cure. But it still…

“We need to-“

Whatever Ladybug had been saying was lost as a thunderous roar ripped through the air. It was so loud, the force of it almost knocked her off her feet. Against her better judgment, she slapped her hands to cover her ears. Thankfully, the civilian knights seemed just as pained by the sound. Many were clutching their hands over their helmets.

“What was-“ A dark shadow flew overhead. She craned her head to look up. “You have got to be kidding me!” She had signed up to fight Darkblade. She had not signed up to fight a dragon.

Somewhere, the Universe had to be laughing at her. She just knew it.

“It must be a sentimonster!” Ladybug shouted over the clattering of metal as the knights, having recovered from the roar, were starting to collect their dropped swords and advance. “We need to get out of here and find some cover!”

The dragon swerved in the sky, banking back to fly towards them.

“Just tell me when!”

The dragon opened its mouth-

“Now.”

The dragon bellowed another roar, so deep and forceful, she felt it in her chest.

Around them, many of the knights dropped their weapons as the roar reverberated through their armour. Shadowmoth obviously hadn’t been thinking of acoustics when he sent out the sentimonster; the knights’ armour was catching and echoing the sound like bells. It had to be more than unpleasant for the poor, brainwashed civilians.

But it was a perfect distraction for her and Ladybug.

They began fighting their way through the crowd. She cut a path with her claws and bolas as Ladybug stuck to her back, swinging her yoyo as a shield to cover their retreat. The dragon was still flying overhead, but every time it opened its maw, Ladybug struck it with her yoyo. Around them, the knights were beginning to recover now that the dragon wasn’t roaring.; they moved as a mass, trying to block their way.

And to separate them.

There was no way she was going to let the knights separate them.

They moved as a unit. But their progress was slow; fighting through the crowd of akuma minions was far from effortless. For every knight that went down it seemed three more joined the mob. And having the dragon looming overhead was hardly helping.

Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her arms were heavy, even with her enhanced strength, and her lungs were beginning to burn. They were still so far from the buildings- Ladybug couldn’t latch onto any to swing them to safety from here…

She grit her teeth. They had come this far. She was not giving up. Not when Ladybug needed her.

But this wasn’t working-

“Tigress,” Ladybug muttered under her breath, just loud enough for her to hear over the din of clattering metal and a whizzing yoyo and beating of wings. “How good is your aim?”

Her aim? She cast a quick glance over her shoulder. Ladybug’s gaze was pointed skywards, and she suddenly understood.

“Just tell me when.”

“Throw on three. Then cover me, and be ready to grab on.”

“Got it.”

“One.”

She slashed at an oncoming sword, cleaving it in two with her claws as she spun her bolas with her other hand.

“Two.”

She kicked hard against a knight’s chest plate, sending him clattering back into another group of knights. The group fell like dominos. Her bolas were a whizzing blur in her hand, gaining momentum with every rotation.

“Three! To your right!”

She feinted left, dodging an oncoming attack and whirled to the right. Her eyes locked onto her target. With all her might, her muscles screaming in protest, she hurled her bolas into the air as the dragon’s jaws unhinged. She didn’t watch to see if her aim had been true. She dropped to sweep the legs out from under more knights as Ladybug lined up her shot.

The dragon’s shadow was streaking and swerving erratically. As Ladybug watched and waited for her opening, she slashed her claws at any knight who dared approach.

She heard the yoyo whiz through the air-

“Tigress!”

She delivered a final, roundhouse kick to a knight, then turned. Ladybug was already being lifted off the ground, her yoyo securely wrapped around the dragon above them, with her hand outstretched. She jumped and clasped her hand around Ladybug’s as the dragon carried them off.

***

She sank deeper into the sofa cushion, her cheeks burning. Around her, her friends gasped and chattered as they watched the replay of the live footage from the battle earlier that day. One of the news helicopters had managed to get footage of her and Ladybug fighting their way through the knights-

“That was so cool!” Kim crowed. “Did you guys see that? How Tigress just threw her rope thingy, and bam! She got it on the first try!”

“Yeah, we’re all watching this, Kim,” Alix scoffed, rolling her eyes. “But it was pretty wicked," she added as the screen showed a replay of the bolas clamping the dragon's jaw shut.

“Very impressive indeed,” Max agreed off-handedly as he continued to putter away on his tablet.

The screen cut to a video of her and Ladybug riding the dragon towards the tower.

“That must have been so scary!” Rose gasped around the hands covering her mouth as the screen showed Purple Tigress snapping the keychain that had been clasped around the dragon’s neck. Ladybug snatched the feather out of the air with her yoyo as she launched herself toward the tower from the dragon’s back as it dissolved in mid-flight.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Mylène chewing anxiously on her nails. “But where did Purple Tigress go? Did anyone see her make it onto the tower?”

She leaned further back into the cushions, trying to hide her smile. It wasn’t like she could go and tell Mylène what had happened…

“No- Wait! What was-“

“Dudes!” Nino brought his hands up to clutch his head, eyes glued to the screen as the video showed Tigress dropping down behind Darkblade from the shadows.

She couldn’t help but allow herself a small smile.

In the moment, it had felt so seamless, fighting beside Ladybug. They had found their rhythm easily. They had found it during the fight with All-Seer, and it had only grown stronger and more fluid the more she fought by her friend’s side.

Watching the fight, it was almost like a dance in a way. The way they pushed and pulled and flowed around each other, covering while the other struck or ducked. They had been on the same wavelength. They had needed so few words to know what had to be done and what the other needed of them.

“Look at how she turned invisible!”

“That doesn’t make sense, Kim. How can we look at her when she goes invisible?”

“You know what I mean.”

“She- watch!”

Her friends watched with rapt attention, gasping and crying out as they watched the battle unfold. By the time the footage got to the point she had broken the sabre the akuma had hidden in, her cheeks were on fire. She sank even lower into her seat as the others carried on about how cool the new hero was and how awesome she had been. They had no idea the hero they were so engrossed with was sitting right next to them.

It was kind of impossible not to smile.

Especially when Marinette, who was looking more rested these days, chimed in her agreement in a bright, bubbly voice. “Purple Tigress is amazing!”

She pretended not to notice the way Marinette glanced at her out of the corner of her eye.

“I wonder if I’ll be able to get an interview with her…” Alya mused. “That would definitely boost my ratings.”

“She's so cool,” Rose squealed, latching onto Ivan's arm as she jumped in her seat. Ivan nodded in agreement.

“She and Ladybug work really well together too,” Mylène added. Her comment was met with more chatter of agreement.

“By our calculations,” Max said, “Ladybug’s efficiency in dealing with akumas has increased significantly since bringing in Tigress.”

“Yes! ” Markov added cheerily. “On average, Tigress’s involvement reduces the time spent battling an akuma by nearly thirty-six percent!”

“I definitely need to get an interview with her.”

The only one who didn’t seem impressed was Adrien. Which was unsurprising. He was looking put out and, if you looked, downright annoyed. He was still agreeing with the others. But his words were half-hearted and mumbled without an ounce of sincerity.

But for once, it seemed their friends weren’t paying much attention to him. They were too engrossed in Ladybug and Purple Tigress fist bumping as they steadied D’argentcourt to keep him from falling to notice the sour look on Adrien’s face.

“Shouldn’t we start rehearsing now?” Adrien asked, that note of sourness creeping into his voice as the others continued to sing Purple Tigress's praises.

***

She had always found Mr. Banana annoying. What with his obnoxious earworm of a jingle, that stupid catchphrase of his—he was a banana! Not a peach! Yes, they were both fruits but still!—and the garish costume with the soulless eyes… Maybe annoying wasn’t a strong enough word for her feelings for the fruit mart mascot…

But whatever he was, he was infinitely worse as an akuma.

It was like his annoyance factor had been dialled up by a hundred! And to add insult to injury, it felt like Shadowmoth wasn’t even trying with this one. At least, not in the costume department. Although maybe that was a blessing given some of the more recent akumas…

The only difference in Mr. Banana’s akumatized form—because Shadowmoth hadn’t even bothered to give him an akuma name— was that his eyebrows were cartoonishly downturned, and there was an exaggerated frown on his face.

Oh yeah, and there was the sceptre that shot beams of light that brought fruit to life.

“Fruit shall reign supreme!”

She grabbed a giant strawberry as it tried to punch her and pulled it off its leafy feet. The beam of light Mr. Banana had shot toward her struck the strawberry. But given he had already brought the berry to life, it didn’t do anything. She hurled the humanoid strawberry towards the akuma and twisted out of a peach’s oncoming attack.

She skidded to a stop and took a breath as she took stock of the situation.

It was pure, fruity chaos.

Muffled screams filled the air, coming from the giant cantaloupes the size of cars that Mr. Banana had trapped civilians in. She had already freed some of them, but the fruits Mr. Banana had brought to life—or at least semi-life because really, they were just giant zombie fruits—continued to mob her and the rest of the team. She had no choice but to focus on them

She grit her teeth as she slid under a pineapple. They may have been brainless fruits, but there were a lot of them. It had been just their luck the grocery store nearby had just gotten a shipment of produce in… She snapped her bolas at an apple; the weights smashed through the fruit, and the spell on it broke. A normal-sized apple—that was halfway to applesauce now— dropped to the ground. She turned and pounced on a watermelon, raking her claws across it. It also hit the ground, sliced to bits.

Slash.

Punch.

Kick.

Swipe.

Strike.

Dodge.

Repeat.

Her bolas were moving so fast they were nothing but a blur as she slashed with the claws of her other hand. A shadow crossed in front of her, and she turned just in time to duck under a mango. It sprayed juice everywhere as she struck it with her bolas before it dropped to the ground in the ever-growing pile of fruit at her feet.

For mindless minion fruit, the fruit around her wisely backed up a step as she flexed her claws. She had already made fruit salad, and she wasn’t opposed to making more. Keeping her bolas swinging, she turned in a tight circle to check on her teammates.

Chat was nowhere to be seen. He was probably still recharging, having run in headfirst without thinking and wasted his cataclysm escaping from the canteloupe Mr. banana had trapped him in. Ladybug was perched on top of a tree, dodging beams of light as she tried to catch Mr. Banana with her yoyo.

Her eyes narrowed on Viperion.

He was perfectly able to hold his own. Of course, he was. He had been a hero longer than she had. And he was smart. Perfectly capable. And despite being more of a strategist than a fighter, he wasn’t bad in hand-to-hand combat.

But they were all being overrun, and his lyre wasn’t serving him well. It gave him no way to protect his back the ways her bolas and Ladybug’s yoyo did. It didn’t offer him much range either unless he threw it, which would leave him empty-handed.

And it seemed a banana had caught on to that.

Oh no.

She was already moving, tearing her way through the crowd of fruit, swinging her bolas and slashing her claws at any fruit too brainless to get back.

The only one who messed with her brother was her.

And that went doubly so for supervillains and evil, magic fruit.

What was her life?

“Viperion! Duck!” Thankfully, her brother listened to her. He dropped to the ground, just in time for her fist to sail through the air. Her hand sank into the over-ripe fruit. It flashed a bright yellow, then dropped to the ground to join the rest of the fallen fruit. “Gross,” she muttered, shaking banana slime off her hand.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” she said, turning so they were back to back.

She lost track of time as they deflected blows and kept the attacking fruit at bay. But they just kept coming. They were vastly outnumbered, and Viperion hadn’t had a chance to set his power yet. She glanced over the mob of fruit and caught sight of Ladybug sailing towards them. Her mouth was set in a tight, determined grimace, and her hand was outstretched. Like she was ready to grab…

She swung her bolas far and wide, being careful not to hit Viperion. The fruit had no choice but to back up or be made into a smoothie.

“Viperion, put your foot in my hand. When I get to three, jump.”

“What-“ he glanced back over his shoulder, and his eyes flashed. “But what about you?”

“You take priority. We’re going to need second chance. Besides, I can get out of here easy,” she grunted as she whipped her bolas towards a mango that had tried to step into the area she had cleared for them. “They can’t attack me if they can’t see. Now do it.” She whirled and clasped her hands. He put his foot in them, bracing himself against her shoulders.

“Viperion! Tigress!”

“Three!” She yelled, hurling him up with all her strength. “Camouflage!” She leapt over an apple as her power washed over her. She landed on top of a honeydew and paused, just long enough to look up. Ladybug had caught Viperion and was swinging away. They both cast a glance back at where she had been, blue and green eyes searching. But of course, they wouldn’t be able to see her.

But Ladybug didn’t look worried. She knew she could handle herself.

With a smirk, she turned her attention back to the fruit. She slashed her claws across the honeydew, leaping off it like a springboard, and began making her way out of the crowd of fruit that was blindly looking for something they couldn’t see.

***

“Pound it!” She exchanged smiles with Viperion and Ladybug as the four of them bumped fists. Chat smiled too. But his didn’t reach his eyes. And there was a sour note to it too. Apparently, he had seen Ladybug swing onto a roof with her arms around Viperion and his arms around her, and he hadn’t been all too happy about that. Never mind the fact that they had had to hold onto each other so she wouldn’t accidentally drop him…

He also seemed put out at not being beside Ladybug in their loose little circle. She hadn’t missed the look he had given Viperion. Or her, for that matter.

“You did a great job!” Ladybug smiled. It was a general statement, but her blue eyes were trained directly on her.

“Yeah,” Viperion agreed quietly. “And thanks again, you really saved my skin out there.”

She shrugged. “No problem. Just doing my job.”

Chat sniffed at that. “Yeah,” he muttered.

“Well, we couldn’t have done it without you. Either of you,” Ladybug said with another bright smile. She didn’t miss the pink tinge in Ladybug’s cheeks as her eyes darted to Viperion.

***

“I meant what I said earlier. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

She smiled as she passed the miraculous back to Ladybug. “Like I said, it’s no big deal. I was just doing my job.”

“Maybe,” Ladybug hummed thoughtfully, looking down at the panjas bracelet before looking back up at her. “But having someone I can rely on… it’s a big deal to me.”

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screaming-for-eternally · 2 years

Text

“...In One Grave.”

Skin. Blue as the sky skin. Cayde had a list of things he knew would likely never happen: Zavala getting that stick out of his ass, War Beasts learning to fly, and him getting flesh back. Of course, none of these things had come true, even the last one. As real as that skin felt, it wasn’t really his skin. The other presence in his head, who was understandably panicked at suddenly being shoved out of the driver’s seat, indicated as much. “Hey man, I know this is a new and horrifying experience for you, but freaking out isn’t going to help.” “Oh I’m sorry, I forgot it was common courtesy to remain completely calm while my body gets stolen. My bad.” “Hey come on, that’s not fair, I didn’t steal your body...on purpose...I think.” Well it was true. One moment, he was lying near death on the floor of that prison, the next he, was here, in the body of the man who fucking killed him-. No no no. That wouldn’t do. This...this wasn’t Uldren. Had his face, but it wasn’t him. Having said that, he would fault him for not getting rid of that emo fringe but he’d worry about that later. For now though... “Crow...are you alright?” And that would be the kid’s Ghost. “You’ve been sitting there for a while.” “I’m fine Sundan-Err I mean.” Cayde started, but caught himself. No you idiot, it’s not Sundance. This is Crow’s Ghost, and Sundance was in thousands of pieces because he was a damned idiot who thought he was invincible. “Glint. His name is Glint. Just thought you should know.” “Oh, well, thanks.” “I’m fine Glint...just...tired that’s all.” Glint gave him a look that said he wasn’t fully convinced, but the lil’ guy seemed content to let it go for now. “Alright...who are you...and why are you stealing my body?” Well...crap. Had to throw him that curveball, did he? Well, he sure wasn’t gonna say “Oh I’m the guy your previous incarnation killed.” Luckily Cayde was always...alright at lying or bluffing his way out of these situations at the very least. “Love’d to tell you buddy, but spoiler alerts you know. And only a real jerk spoils something for someone else.” “I’m not getting an answer from you am I?” “Not telling you who I am, but I’ll give you my name. It’s Cayde by the way.” “Brilliant. Well nice to meet you Cayde. Could you at least give me my body back? Please tell me you can do that?” “I think I can do that. Just need to, relax. I’m good at that. But you gotta promise me one thing. Get rid of that stupid emo haircut.” Crow sighed. “Of course, not only do I get possessed, it’s by an insufferable jackass. Can’t ever catch a break, can I?” “Relax, I’m joking with ya. Anyways, I’ll try to make it up to you bird brain. How does some ramen sound?” “Sounds nice, I suppose. Just, don’t call me bird brain again, alright.” Yep, this sure was gonna be something. ______ Shoutout to @echosong971. Love her “Cayde haunts Crow” thing and decided to try my hand at it.

#destiny #destiny 2 #destiny au #cayde #cayde 6 #the crow #crow

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imthebadguyyy · 3 years

Text

You're All Mine

Pairing - Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Fandom - F1

Summary - Things get slightly out of hand at a party where you decide to act up, and Lewis shows you just exactly who you belong to. P.S - He makes you wear that damn jacket.

Warnings - smut, swearing, possessiveness (brought to you by the fashion king that is Sir Lewis Hamilton, because that jacket did things okay?

A/N- OC (Thomas) has nothing to do with any of Lewis's friends in real life.

Also shoutout to @grandestrategia and @lights-out-in-monaco for helping me 💙

✯⌃⌄☼♥︎

iThrowing a party to get together was always a fun idea to get the chance to socialize, meet new people, dance, get drunk and spend quality time with your friends and family. But throwing a party after three back to back race weeks was not really a great idea, mainly because it meant your boyfriend groaning and moaning about how he didn't want to spend time with anyone else but you. That was exactly what was happening at present, as you swiped a tube of crimson lipstick across your lips, while Lewis sat on the bed, in a black shirt and his purple customised jacket, with his arms crossed across his chest, reminding you of a toddler who was told to go to bed early.

"I don't get why you had to throw a party today, of all times" he grumbled for what felt like the hundredth time that day. "Okay baby, I love you, I really do, but I swear, if you say that one more time I will strangle you" you replied, setting the lipstick back down, and reaching for a bottle of perfume on your dressing table. "I'm just saying, I feel like spending time with you now, and yes, I love that you decided to call my friends and family over, but I kinda just wanted to have some you and me time" he said, eyes following your movements as you sprayed the perfume behind your ears, on your wrists, and lightly over your body, "You'll have me to yourself from the moment they leave, till you have to fly for your race again. And I promise, we can do whatever you want" you said, reaching up to smooth your hair. Far too preoccupied with fixing the flyaway strands of hair, you didn't notice him standing up and standing right behind you. "Whatever I want hmm? I know exactly what I want baby. But I just can't get it right now. You know why? Because I want to bend you over and take you right here, right now. But because you decided to throw a party instead of spending time together, you'll have to wait a little longer than necessary to have my head in between your thighs, my fingers in you, and my cock in your cunt. And guess whose fault it is? Yours, my darling. It's your fault" he growled in your ear, smirking when a soft moan slipped past your lips.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? For me to bend you over and take you here? When our guests could be here at any minute?" he continued, lips resting just near the outer shell of your ear. You couldn't even answer, feeling the arousal grow in between your thighs, as your heartbeat seemed to slow down for just a second, before it seemed to hammer against your chest almost as if it wanted to just burst out of your chest. "Tell me darling. Would you like that?" "Ye-" your reply was cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing, signalling the arrival of one of your guests. "Saved by the bell, hmm? You didn't have to answer. But I promise baby, when they're gone, I'm gonna make you scream my name so loud, if our neighbours aren't on a first name basis with us tomorrow, I'll be very, very surprised. And leaving you a aroused, horny mess, he went down to open the door.

✯⌃⌄☼♥︎

About half an hour later, the party was in full swing. You had invited some of your friends and some family members, and turning to look over your shoulder, you saw Lewis chatting with his dad and Nicolas, a glass of wine in his hand as he laughed at something his brother told him. Smiling, you turned back, to see one of Lewis's friends making his way over to you, two glasses of champagne in his hand. You enjoyed mingling with his friends, and you had met Neymar Jr, Odell Beckham Junior, and other really awesome people. Smiling at Thomas, who was one of Lewis's newer friends, you accepted the glass, your third glass of champagne and your fifth drink all together, hovering between the lines of tipsy and drunk.

Thomas, (the friend, idk I just made him up) offered you a glass of champagne, and you gladly took a sip, enjoying the buzz as the alcohol ran through your veins, filling you with a calm happiness. Maybe it was the alcohol in your veins and the promise of a really good time that made you decide to push Lewis's buttons just a little bit, to ensure that you were really in for it. Giggling at a joke his friend made, you threw your head back laughing, letting your hand rest on Thomas's shoulder, before letting it move to your hair, twirling a strand of hair around your finger, teeth sinking softly down onto your lower lip.

From where he was standing, Lewis looked over to see where you were, his grip on his glass tightening when he saw you laugh and rest your hand on his friend's shoulder. His eyes darkening when he saw you twirl a strand of hair around your finger, and bite your lip softly, knowing all too well what you were doing. It was working. As you giggled again, tilting your head back laughing, and nodding a quick 'I'll be back soon', to his dad, he walked towards the both of you, his eyes fixed on the way you kept twirling your hair around your fingers.

"Hi baby. You having a fun time?" he asked you, standing next to you and wrapping an arm around your waist. "Yeah I am! Are you having fun?" you replied, letting your head droop onto his shoulder. "Yeah I am my love, thank you so much for planning it" he murmured in your ear, ignoring the fact that his friend was standing right in from of him, probably getting a free show. His hands splayed out on the leathery material of your black skirt, enjoying the coolness of the material and the feel of a section of your skin against his palms. The black outfit you had put on was a black leather top and skirt, that clung onto your body like a vice, as he moved his hand to the back of your skirt, moving so Thomas couldn't see what he was doing.

"And what about you Thomas, are you having a good time?" you asked the man, feeling Lewis tense up behind you. "Yup I am! Thanks so much for inviting us all, its a great party" he replied, flashing the both of you a smile. "We're glad you're having fun" Lewis replied, his hand moving to your ass, squeezing ever so discreetly. "Yup I know! Great to see you too, man! Your last races have been great, you deserve a break" Thomas kept talking, blissfully unaware of how you were squirming, your arousal pooling in between your thighs as he ran his fingers up your thighs, in between your underwear and the skirt. He moved his body so the lower half of your body was not visible to anyone else.

Pressing your lips together to keep a sound from escaping, you tried your hardest to hold yourself together, but it was damn hard when you could begin to feel the liquid threatening to run down your thighs and make a mess in front of everyone. "Moving your hand to the back to squeeze his thigh, silently begging him to just take you to the bedroom and fuck you senseless. Feeling your desperation, Lewis smirked softly, before turning to Thomas. "If you don't mind Thomas, I think I left my phone in the bedroom, I'll just go get it" "Yeah sure" Thomas replied, as you turned and made your way up the stairs to the master bedroom. But before you could go and sit on the bed, a pair of arms grabbed you around your waist, and pulled you into the master bathroom that was connected to your room.

Lewis turned your body around, the rough movement taking your breath away, before he crashed his lips down onto yours, his hands sliding down to your as again, squeezing hard, causing a moan to slip out your lips, your arms tightening around his neck. "I saw you trying to rile me up baby. All giggly and flirty, and that whole fiasco with you messing with your hair, hmm? Only I can pull your hair, and only I can tug on it. You like it when I do that, don't you? When I tug your hair, and your head falls back, and those sounds slip out of your lips and I can see how much you like it" The moan that slipped past your lips went straight to his cock, hardening under his pants.

"Words baby, words. Do you like it?" he asked, his fingers running along the waistband of your leather skirt, tugging the skirt down your legs. "I do, I really do! please, please do something, I need you so bad" you whined, your hands unbuttoning the buttons on his shirt, and tugging his purple jacket down his shoulders. "Patience my baby. Good things take time. So desperate for it, I can see your wetness dripping, but you aren't getting off that easily after that stunt you pulled. But I promised you that I'd give you a good time, and I always keep my promises" Another desperate whimper left your lips, and you dragged the jacket down his torso, letting it drop to the floor.

"No no no. I want you to put that on. Or even better..." he mumbled finishing his sentence halfway, picking up the jacket from the floor. He pushed you down on the bed, grabbing your wrists in his hands, before pushing you back up to the headboard. Then he took the jacket up to your hands, tying one side to the headboard of the King sized bed, and the other end around your hands. "There we go, all tied up and gorgeous for me. Do your wrists burn with my name baby? Do you like how my name is tied onto your skin?" he asked, eyeing how the 'HAMILTON' part of the jacket was tied around your wrist. "I bet you like it don't you? That stinging sensation? I cannot wait to taste you my love, all wet and dripping for me" he continued, moving down to press his lips to your neck. He pushed his tongue out onto your skin, sucking the spot before licking over the spot repeatedly, letting his teeth sink onto a pulse point, shifting in his pants when his cock twitched at the moan that fell from your lips.

He ventured lower and lower, till he reached your chest, taking your nipple into his mouth, licking the sensitive nub, letting his teeth graze your areola. Above him, you were struggling against your bonds, wrists straining against their restraints., desperate to touch him, to feel his skin and his glorious muscles under your hands, but you couldn't, because your hands were bound, literally, "Oh my god please Lew, please let me touch you, please I need to touch you baby" "Not yet princess. You were a bad girl, and bad girls get punished my love. I'm not going to let you even graze my hand, if you don't shut that pretty little mouth of yours, before I do it for you" he growled back, feeling his own arousal grow as you whimpered again. He let his fingers fondle your other nipple, tweaking and pulling before taking it into his mouth too, as you felt the wetness run down your leg, soaking into the bedsheet.

Moaning again, you pressed your thighs together, desperate for some friction to relieve you of the throbbing pain in your core, the amount of arousal you were feeling making you feel like you were drowning in some sort of strong sea current, as Lewis's lips travelled lower, and his breath fanned over your throbbing cunt. "I can't wait to taste you my love" and with that he dived in, giving you almost no time to adjust, as he fucked you with his tongue, and his fingers toyed with your clit, sending you towards your high, before biting the sensitive bud softly "You taste like fucking candy love" "Oh fuck fuck fuck Lewis, I'm gonna -" you managed to gasp out as the gasp turned into scream of frustration when he pulled away. "What the fuck? Why'd you do that?!" you gasped out, chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Because like I told you, bad girls get punished" he replied, shoving his pants down his legs, before leaning over and grabbing a condom, pulling his calvin keins down his thighs, as his cock sprang free, smirking when you moaned at the sight, "Taking a good look baby?" he asked, crawling over to you. "You're just really gorgeous" you replied, straining against the jacket. "I know" he replied, pushing his rings off of his fingers. "No don't. Keep on em. I like em" you said, earning a smirk from the man again. "Want me to fuck you with my rings on? I'd love to" he said, watching as you squirmed again.

"Baby please let me touch you, I want to touch you so bad, please!" you practically begged, tears of frustration filling your eyes. "No baby. I'm going to fuck you with your hands tied and I'm going to mark you up" he replied, sliding the condom on and leaning over you, positioning his cock at your entrance. "Ready baby?" he asked,smiling a little as you nodded, the both of you moaning in sync when he pushed into you, your walls clenching onto his cock, as he settled into you, moaning when he sunk into you bit by bit. He gave you a few seconds to adjust, before he pulled out, making you let out half a moan and look at him questioningly, before he slammed back into you. You weren't expecting that, and a strangled scream left your lips when he filled you to the hilt, before bottoming out in you, hips snapping repeatedly into you, his cock moving inside you.

You moans and groans echoed off the walls, as your hands burned, the desperation in you threatening to drown you again. "oh my god, you feel so good, you fuck me so good, now baby please let me touch you!" you practically screamed, your voice catching when he angled his thrusts so the tip hit your g spot repeatedly. "Okay my love, you deserve it now. My baby desreves to touch me now, doesn't she?" "Yes please, especially when you fuck me this good, almost too good to be true" you stammered out clenching down on his cock again, feeling the slight stutter of his hips as you did. Lewis reached up to untie you, letting the jacket fall to the floor, and moaning when your hands dug into his back, scratching down his back, as he hissed at the feeling, loving the feeling of your nails raking down his back. "Fuck baby, do that again" he growled. "Only if you choke me" you moaned back, feeling him stutter again, and let out a moan.

His eyes widened, not completely used to you being so bold, but loving the wild side you let out. He reached up, wrapping his hand around your neck and squeezing a little, groaning when you let out a choked moan. "Harder" you moaned, feeling his cock twitch in you. "Oh fucking hell baby, I didn't know you liked it rough" he moaned, tightening his grip on your neck, cutting the air off ever so softly, snapping his hips into you faster, as your nails raked down your back even harder, leaving marks that would definitely hurt the next morning.

"That feels so good, oh my god, I love you so much" you gasped out wrapping your hand around his, causing him to squeeze a little harder. "Oh fuck, I'm gonna cum my love" Lewis moaned, groaning when you moved your hips thrusting up to meet his thrusts. 'Oh fuck" Lewis groaned, before releasing into you ,his finger reaching down to rub your clit repeatedly. Your moans echoed in the room, as he pinched your clit, as you squirted all over his cock.

Panting, Lewis sunk down next to you, chest rising and falling. "That was so good" you gasped out, resting your head on his chest. "Was that too much? Did I hurt you?" he asked, kissing your forehead. "No no I loved it. You should do that more often" you mumbled. Just as Lewis leaned in to kiss you, there was a knock at the door, making the both of you jump apart. "Are the both of you done yet?" a voice asked, making you blush. "Oh my god. We forgot about the guests!" you gasped, making Lewis laugh, as he kissed you softly. "I know which one I'd rather do again" he mumbled, laughing when you kissed him back. "Don't go for round two, atleast let us leave first!" the voice yelled again, as Lewis stood up from the bed to get dressed.

"Oh and by the way, you're wearing that jacket downstairs"

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader smut #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton imagines #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton blurb #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 drivers x reader #lewis hamilton fluff

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shurisneakers · 3 years

Text

harmless (ix)

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

Warnings: cursing, sex jokes, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, anxiety

Word count: 3.9k

A/N: a lot of requests came in last week, so cool and thank you for sending them in!! i’ll try my best to write them if they weren’t originally what i had planned for this series bc they’re so cute kfjdghdf. also hey shoutout to @i-reblog-fics-i-like for suggesting the backstory thing!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

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Somehow it bypasses Bucky’s spam folder and is in his primary email. SHIELD tech is too advanced to let fake mails like this reach him and this doesn’t make sense. Unless it was one of the stupid dating websites he signed up for.

Leaving aside the obvious typo in the subject, he clicks on it, hoping it doesn’t unleash a virus onto his computer.

He’s instead greeted with a poorly Photoshopped picture of you at a bar with a martini in your hand. He doesn’t have to look too hard to see that the martini is, in fact, an emoji. Off to a terrible start already.

Right beside it is an even worse image, an imitation of an early Internet chat box.

Harbinger of Doom just sent you a message!

Come to the empty lot near lair. Bring goggles. 😩💦

Decline/Accept

He wants to strangle you.

______

“Why did you curse my eyes so early in the morning?” He spots you at the top of the lair, speaking loudly so that it hopefully reached you.

“What?” you yell back down instead. “If you’re saying something, I can’t hear you.”

He rolls his eyes. He pulls his phone from his pocket and presses on your contact.

He watches the look of confusion morph into one of slight surprise when you reach into your pocket and pull out your call.

“Don’t ever send an image like that to me again,” he says directly.

“If that one image is too much for you, how will we ever make our sex tape?”

His mouth opens and shuts like goddamn fish.

He can hear your laughter even without the phone.

“First of all- stop laughing- first of all, a sex tape is never going to happen. Second of all, I have a debriefing to go to, we need to make this quick.”

He holds up a finger when he sees you begin to say something. By the look of trouble painted all over your face, he knows it’s going to be a dumb innuendo.

“Thirdly, why are you standing there?”

“I watched The Last Airbender,” you say once your cackling dies down.

“I like that show.” He did. Peter sometimes watched it when he came over and Bucky more often than not joined in.

“I know, you told me.”

Oh.

“Okay, what now?”

“Put your goggles on.” You take one step towards the ledge.

“What are you doing?” The goggles don’t do anything to shield him from the sun, considering that they’re not tinted. Maybe he could invest in those.

You send him a smile, taking a step further. His walk towards the building turns into a jog, then a sprint when you’re basically standing on the edge.

You spread your arms out like Jesus Christ himself before flinging yourself off the building. His stomach drops.

His phone falls to the ground, discarded to the side as he sprints to break your landing.

It never comes.

Instead, a gust of wind smacks him in the face, forcing him a few steps backwards.

“I am now an air bender.” your eyes shone. “Kind of.”

Just like that, the show was ruined.

He wipes the dust on from his glasses that he now understands why you made him wear. Considerate, for a person who nearly just gave him a heart attack.

“Why.” It’s not even a question, just a statement.

“You know how the Tower has a giant ‘A’ on the side?”

He stares at you.

“I‘m gonna spray paint ‘asshole’ on the side of it.”

Pepper would not like that.

“That’s not even evil.”

“Yeah, but it’d annoy your super friends,” You do a flip midair, testing out the repulsors that were tied around your palms, “and I’m the voice of the people.”

You’re too high for him to reach. He doesn’t have his tools, or anything useful on him considering that he never had to use them before. He couldn’t even launch himself at you from the side of the building because you’d just move out of the way. He could jump really high but it would just have the same consequence.

He could talk and keep you distracted but that worked once, it wouldn’t again. At least not for long.

Fuck, he really had only one option.

He leaves you to do your somersaults and turns, walking over to where he dropped his phone. It’s an upgrade from the brick he was using a while ago, but not a high end Stark model. A smartphone, but barely.

He sighs, punching in the number and holding it up to his ear.

“Who are you calling?” you yell from above him.

“Go back to your shitty aerobics,” he yells back.

You pause for a second. “Was that a fucking pun, James Bar-”

The dial tone ends when someone picks up. He diverts his attention back to the call.

“Hey man, I-

“No.”

“You didn’t even let me finish.”

“It’s probably something stupid,” Sam doesn’t even sound annoyed, just uninterested.

“I need your wings.”

“I was right. Bye.”

It was a long shot anyway.

“Fuckin’ hold on a second.” He sees you disintegrate a concrete block by having it drop from the air. “You come here and fix this, then. She’s air bending now.”

“...like Avatar?” Sam unsurprisingly got the reference.

Peter’s interests were usually shared by everyone in the Tower, just because they had to compensate for the teasing he had to endure. It led to a lot of geeky documentaries and occasional musicals. Bucky wouldn’t be caught dead humming songs from Thoroughly Modern Millie under his breath.

“Yeah.”

“You want me to come and fight your girlfriend,” he says slowly.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Bucky urges, “and yes, I need help. Can’t exactly reach her when she’s twenty feet above me.”

“We have a briefing in 30 minutes. Why did you even go there today?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that. Just looks up at you smacking one of the repulsors against your thigh when it sputters for a second. It’s tradition.

“Well?” Bucky ignores his question.

“Fine,” Sam’s voice is distant for a second as he agrees. “Clint’s asking if he can come too.”

“Fuck no.” One of them was more than enough and Sam was way better at negotiation.

He hears a faint profanity from who he assumed was Clint before the call cuts.

He takes a seat on the ground and waits.

“You’re not going to make any effort to stop me?” You have your arms pressed to your side, palms pointed downwards to keep you afloat.

“I could just throw things at you again.” He makes a mention towards the small pebbles.

“I will fuck you up if you even try,” you warn. He lifts his arms in surrender. “So that’s it. You’re just going to sit there.”

“To be honest, I couldn’t care less if you painted the building,” he says with the least amount of interest he could muster, not that that was very hard.

“Do you not like your team?”

“I do.” He isn’t lying. “But they’re little shits.”

“I can draw a couple of dicks on their window, no problem,” you say offhandedly.

He looks up at you through his fingers. “That won’t be required.”

Although it was appreciated.

“Cool, so then I’m gonna go.” You make a mention of the utility belt on your waist. He looks at the many spray cans that decorate it.

“What colour are you going with?” he interrupts quickly. Fuckin’ Sam. What was the point of wings if he couldn’t get here in 2 minutes?

“Red, probably.” You look down. “I got purple and white just in case.”

“Building’s dark, red is good.”

“You really don’t care, do you?” You lower yourself down to the ground, a few feet ahead of him. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” For fucks’ sake, Sam. “You really don’t like superheroes, do you?”

“I don’t have anything against them.”

“Then why do you do this every week?”

This was wading into personal territory and he did not like it.

“Well.” Your eyebrows knit together. “Because I want to. It’s fun.”

“No other reason?”

“Do I need to have another reason?” You push your palm downwards, sending you back up into the air. “Can’t I just be evil because I want to?”

“Sure,” he says. He’s heard worse reasons. “Why not?”

“Besides, if you think I don’t like superheroes then you should meet Jake.”

“Who’s Jake?” He hadn’t ever heard you mention him before because he’d remember if you had.

“My roommate.”

“I didn’t see him when I came over.”

“That’s because we’re not conjoined at the hip.” It takes you a second to stabilise. “Besides, he grabbed the water while I got the bracelet but he refused to come say hi.”

Bucky looked down at his wrist. It was still there. He found himself fidgeting with it more often than not.

“He hates superheroes?”

“He has a valid reason.” Your eyes widen in worry when your head suddenly dips.

“What is it?” He knows the height at which you’re at isn’t very dangerous but if need be, he’s close by.

“Come find out.” Your eyes shone mischievously. “But yeah, no reason for me to be evil.”

“Not even a tragic backstory?”

“None. But if you want it, I can give you one, Barnes.” You test the waters, seeing how long you can lie horizontally. “Can’t promise you’ll like it though.”

“Try me.” He has time to kill. He’s a good listener.

“Well, it all started with my family- a troop of gorillas.” You flip over to lie on your back. “They practically raised me, they did. Until my gorilla mother died and I was all but consumed by grief and-”

“Your mother was a gorilla?” He entertains the notion.

“Or was it my father?” you ask thoughtfully. “I don’t know, I don’t remember. Anyway, I met a-”

“Just to clarify, none of this is real, right?” he interjects.

You stare at him. He stares at you.

“Bucky, that’s the plot of Tarzan,” you say slowly, “or at least whatever I remember of it... which I’m beginning to realise isn’t much.”

“Just clarifying.” He leans back again.

“Anyway so then when my mother, the deer-”

“Gorilla.”

“Whatever. Was killed, I escaped to some place-”

“Where?”

“Somewhere. And I stayed with these seven men-”

“Why seven?” He actually remembers watching this movie with his sister when it came out. An early memory, a bit faded. He remembers how long he saved up for the ticket.

“Because character development. And then I realised the reason my life was so weird was because there was a rat controlling me by pulling on my hair-”

“What the fuc-”

“If you ask any more questions, I’m going to stop.”

Bucky blinks at you. “So that’s your backstory.”

“Raw and uncut, baby.”

“Just to get this straight, your mother, the gorilla deer-”

“Witch.”

“Huh?”

“She was a witch who stole my hair.”

“Wha-”

He’s interrupted by the giant shadow cast by something that flies overhead.

Fucking finally.

He doesn’t even have to look up. Sam does a small glide to the ground, landing gracefully beside him.

Bucky finds you speechless but straightened up from your earlier posture.

“Buck,” Sam greets him.

“Sam,” he says in return, getting up from his place.

A grin spreads across your face. “Mr. Sam Wilson. No way.”

“You’re Y/N, I’m assuming?” Sam offers, posture relaxed. He clearly wasn’t here to fight.

“The one and only.” You tear your eyes away from Sam to glare at Bucky. “Barnes, if you had told me we were expecting guests, I would have dressed better.”

Bucky furrows his eyebrows in suspicion at you. You’d dress up for Sam.

You dressed up like a suburban tourist dad for him. He was feeling the offence incoming.

“Can’t count on him to be useful in any situation.” Alright, he did not call Sam just to have the both of you team up against him.

“Normally I’d agree with you but he did just invite you here, so...” you trail off, looking at Sam expectantly.

What the shit.

Sam smirks. Bucky switches rapidly back and forth between the both of you.

“I see why Buck keeps coming back every week.” It doesn’t take long for him to catch on, enlisting a feeling of triumph from you.

“I can’t see why he doesn’t just stay at home everyday if this is the view.” You gesture to him.

This is not what Bucky wanted.

“Okay,” Bucky interrupts, “what is going on here?”

“Pure chemistry, I’d say.” You’re half tempted to bite your lip to seal the deal.

“I agree.” Sam just nods, completely and utterly serious.

You think that you’ll give him a gift basket just for playing along despite meeting you for the first time at that moment.

“Get a room.” Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Maybe we will.” You tap your finger against your lip in thought. “How do you feel about Indian food, Sam?”

“Very positively.”

Bucky grits his teeth. “If you’re not planning to spray paint the Tower, can you just hand over the repulsers so we can go home for the day?”

You let out a small tsk in disapproval. “See what I have to deal with?”

“Can’t imagine how you do it every weekend,” Sam says dryly, not wasting a second in replying.

“Hello?” Bucky waves his arm around. “She’s the villain here.”

“Your face is the villain here.” You tear your eyes away from Sam only to glare at him. “He won’t even wear a cape. Why am I the only one who brings their A-Game every week?”

“Sam just get the damn-”

“You should wear a cape, man.” Bucky’s absolutely sure that even Sam knows it’s a ridiculous idea.

“I’m not wearing a fuckin’ cape,” he grumbles.

“What are your thoughts on swords, then?” Your finger finds a place under your chin in deep contemplation. “You’d look great with a sword.”

Bucky buries his face in his palms. “Sam, for the love of God.”

“Okay, alright.” Sam finally gives in with a small chuckle. He runs a few steps to get a small head start before launching himself into the air, whizzing past your levitating figure. He does a neat little flip midair before matching your height.

Showoff.

“How difficult are you gonna make this, Wilson?” you ask, a smirk on your face.

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky exhales, looking at the both of you through his goggles.

“What’s your play here?” Sam calls out loudly.

“Was gonna spray paint ‘asshole’ on the side of the Tower.”

“After the ‘A’?”

“After the ‘A’,” you confirm.

“Now that’s too small,” Sam tutted. “You gotta think bigger. Paint the whole Tower.”

“Sam!” Bucky looks horrified.

“Hmm.” You look like you’re considering it. “Don’t have enough paint for that though.”

“You’re an evil genius, right?” Sam casts a small glance at Bucky. “At least that’s what he tells me.”

“You talk about me?” You grin at the disgruntled man on the ground.

“I don’t,” he mutters, shaking his head. A lie.

“Yeah, so build something,” Sam points out. “Get some more paint. I’ll even tell you the best vantage points to spill it.”

“No, he won’t,” Bucky shouts from below.

“He’s just cranky because he didn’t get his prune juice this morning, ignore him,” Sam dismisses him.

Prune juice? He was a young 100, not ancient.

“What’s your favourite colour, Falcon?”

“I like red.”

As annoyed as Bucky is right now, he stores that away in his memory for later. He also knows Sam loves seafood and a good pair of shoes.

“A couple of gallons of red paint it is, then.” You lower yourself to the ground, Sam slowly follows suit until he lands beside Bucky.

“You know we can’t let you go without taking those, right?” Bucky tilts his head towards your invention.

You narrow your eyes at him. He doesn’t budge.

“I’ll tell ya what,” Sam pipes in instead. “I’ll keep them until you finish getting the paint and once you’re done, we’ll make an evening out of vandalising the Tower.”

Bucky may not enjoy his company all that much but he admires Sam’s diplomacy. Of course, you would never make it this easy while reasoning with him.

“That a promise, Mr. Wilson?” You raise your eyebrow at him questioningly but are already in the process of removing the things from your hand.

“Wouldn’t ever lie to you, doll.” He holds up his hand in a mock swear.

You walk towards Bucky and him, rotating your wrists to get rid of the soreness. “Bold claim for a man who met me ten minutes ago.”

“Feels like it’s been longer.” He sends you a wink and you can’t stop the laugh the escapes from you finally.

Bucky holds his hand out for the gadgets. You shrink away from him with a click of your tongue.

“Technically, he takes this round.” You send a nod towards Sam, dropping off the repulsors into his hand. “So he gets it.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“You gonna keep ‘em safe?” you ask Sam, this time a little more earnestly.

“Guard it with my life,” he says seriously, pressing his lips together in a line to avoid smiling.

“You’re both ridiculous,” Bucky cuts in.

“You’re going to be late.” Sam tucks the devices into his pocket safely. “You know how Steve gets when people walk in on his speeches. Do you even have a ride?”

“Got the motorcycle.”

“See you there.” Sam nods.

“Save me a place,” Bucky says to him.

“No.” He doesn’t even hesitate. “Y/N. It was a pleasure.”

“Still holding you to that evening, Sam.” You send him a smile.

“I’m countin’ on it.” He gives you a small three finger salute before taking off, leaving you staring after his retracting figure.

When the dust settles, Bucky awkwardly clears his throat. “Right. So that was that.”

“Dude,” you let out an exhale. “he’s so hot.”

He murmurs something unintelligible. It vaguely sounds like a series of threats but mostly a list of complaints.

“Don’t you have a meeting to get to?” You turn your attention back to him.

“Yeah.”

“Aren’t you going to be late?” You glance at the clock on your phone.

“I’ll just tell them I was on a mission.” Well, sort of. “Besides, what are they gonna do? Kick me out?”

“Fair enough.” You shrug. “Have a safe ride back.”

From what he knows of you and Sam, the both of you were kidding around. But he could never be too sure. He can’t even ask if you were serious about the entire thing because it’s none of his business.

Were the implications of having his mortal nemesis and other mortal nemesis date important enough to overrule that?

“Are you planning to skip your meeting, or?” you ask when he remains freezes in his spot, eyes glazed over like he’s thinking about something. “Because if you are, I know this great Thai place-”

“Don’t do that again,” he says instead, shaking his head to jolt him out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“Flinging yourself off roofs like that.”

“Why?” Because it scared the hell out of him, for one.

“Just don’t.”

“Oh please, like you’ve never done dangerous shit like that before.” You narrow your eyes at him, reading his face. “Are you telling me you care about me?”

“No.” His nose twitches. “Just don’t throw yourself off buildings when I’m around.”

“What about when you’re not?”

“As long as I’m not there to witness it.” He shrugs, spinning on his heel to leave. Technically he preferred if you didn’t do things like that at all.

“Fine. I’ll just have my clone try out all the dangerous stuff for me.”

He stops in his tracks. “You have a clone?”

“Well,” You squint, “no. But I’m working on it.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Bye Y/N.”

“You know, it sounds an awful lot like you’re saying we’re friends.” Your whole demeanour changes and he already knows what’s coming.

“I never said that,” he argues vehemently. “All I said was that I can’t have your murder on my hands.”

“Thus implying that we’re friends. In a fucked up, enemies kind of way.” You positively beam at him. “Aw, Barnes, that’s adorable.”

Adorable? Adorable?

“I hate you.”

“I love you, too, bestie,” you gush, dumb grin on your face. “I’ll make us friendship rings next time. What are your thoughts on matching tattoos?”

He wants to cry.

______

By the time Sam walks into the meeting room, the session’s already begun. He shoots an apologetic look to a monologuing Steve before taking his place at the nearest chair available.

Something sharp pokes his thigh. His wings are off and in the backpack beside him, but then he remembers your little inventions that were still in his pocket.

He tries not to make much of a noise while he pulls them out, giving them a look over to make sure they’re not broken.

“Watcha got there, Big Bird?” Tony asks lowly from beside him.

“Something that Barnes’ enemy made.” Sam holds it up slightly.

“The one he’s been rendezvousing around town with every weekend?”

“That’s her.” He’s about to put it in his backpack when Tony stops him.

“Pass that here for a second.” He recognises it immediately for what it is, interest piqued.

Sam hands one of them over while he puts the other back in the bag. It’s a metallic circle, not bigger than Tony’s palm, with a thick leather strap to tie it around your palm.

“She made this?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” Sam mentions towards Bucky who silently slips into the conference room, standing in the corner near the potted plant since there were no more chairs left.

“The balance has gotta be off on this thing,” he mutters to himself, wholly ignoring the brooding man standing in the corner like a Christmas tree.

“She seemed to be manoeuvring it fine,” Sam catches the eye of a lower ranking agent who makes the mistake of glaring at him for talking while the meeting was going on. A few seconds later the agent hastily looks away and doesn’t turn around for the rest of the hour.

“Could be better.” He uses a much more intricate model for his suits, although this isn’t even half-bad for a homemade version. “Do you know how long she took to make this?”

“Buck says she comes up with a new one every week, so I’m guessing that long.”

It had a few glitches but it was incredibly refined for a week’s worth of work.

“Interesting.” He gives it a quick overlook before handing it back to Sam who drops it into the bag.

He casts a swift glance at Bucky, noting how he wasn’t even paying attention to the meeting but rather to whatever he had tied around his metal wrist, fidgeting with it with his thumb.

Tony has an idea.

And that was generally bad news.

Next part

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

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monamourbladie-mb · 4 years

Text

Better?

Anakin Skywalker x reader [SMUT]

lets... not mention how long i was gone, okay? 😅 i won’t be gone like this again, i promise 🥺 i’ll get right back on requests and such, i just really REALLY struggled on this for some reason... ive got honestly no clue why but eh, here it is. i hope it was worth it! sorry the request took so long anons. 💕 ALSO big shoutout to @anakinswhore for lowkey giving me the inspiration to finish this 🥺 (everytime i almost scrapped this i remembered that my favorite fic writer on tumblr told me i got this, so i knew i couldn’t give up on this :’) thank you so much!

Plot: Anakin gets home from desling with the Bad Batch and is cranky. To help them both unwind, Anakin decides to bring Y/n with him while he showers.

WC: 2.3k

warnings: finger fucking, piv sex, unprotected sex [sorry it’s awkward to write condoms n shit like that— let’s pretend the force works to prevent pregnancy 😭]

Y/n had set down her holo communicator and sighed in frustration, looking at the time.

It was nearing 11 pm, and Anakin had yet to respond to her call. He had promised to call her the moment his mission with the Bad Batch was over, and it was almost 4 hours over the time he had promised.

She grumbled to herself and set it into her desk drawer, standing up and walking to their bedroom. Since it was getting late, she decided to start getting ready for bed. She decided to forego a shower and take it in the morning instead, her exhaustion and worry getting the better of her.

Sliding on her robe, she put her (h/c) hair in a small bun, laying on the bed. She pulled the sheets back and sighed softly as the cold, sheen silk covered her body.

Laying on her side, she did her best to suppress the fears of why Anakin was taking so long to talk to her - trying to stay in a positive mindset. But of course, the turmoil and constant loss from the War made her think differently.

As her mind grew darker, her need for sleep depreciated as she grew more worried. Huffing in frustration when some time had passed and she still hadn’t fallen asleep, she sat up and grumbled to herself.

It wasn’t like she could call Obi-Wan or another member of the council to see if he was alright - it could raise suspicion since, besides working alongside him during some battles, she wasn’t always in contact with him during the War.

Just as she was about to get up to get some water, the door opened and she felt Anakin’s presence through the Force.

She immediately jumped out of bed, retying her robe and rushing out to meet him. “Anakin! Are you okay? It’s so late-“ she began as soon as she saw him.

He sighed snd shut the door, immediately taking off his robe and throwing it over the back of the couch. “I’m sorry,” he said somewhat sternly, sounding exhausted.

“For what, Ani?” she frowned, crossing her arms. “Being late. As always...” he grumbled, walking over to her and kissing her cheek gently. “I didn’t mean to be, the mission went overtime, and we ran into some trouble.”

“Was it successful, at least?”

“Yeah, thankfully. Wasn’t at first, but, we got Echo home safe.”

“So... why do you seem so... down?” she bit her lip, following him into their bedroom.

“I’m exhausted, sweetheart. Completely drained. I’m sorry if I seem off, I was just put under tons of pressure between Rex and Hunter. They got in a big fistfight, and I had to break it up...” Anakin replied, sitting on the bed and sighing, resting his head in his hands.

“Oh, Ani...” she sighed, resting her hand on his shoulder snd rubbing it gently. “I’m sorry, I know the war is hard enough to deal with.”

He shrugged after a moment and grunted, leaning his head back as he sighed. “I think I’m going to take a shower and forget about this God awful day, I’m sorry.”

“That’s fine, I get it. I was planning on taking a shower too, actually, but I might later then.”

Anakin glanced over at her for a moment, sliding his tongue over his lips and letting out a low hum when she doesn’t move, “Aren’t you coming then?”

She raised a brow in confusion, “What? You want me to come with you?”

“You said you wanted to shower, right? Do it with me, no harm in that,” he responded.

She bit her lip, thinking about all the possible endings. She cautiously stood up, walking over to him, “You sure? I can wait, it’s no problem...”

“Y/n,” he said firmly. “What did I say?”

“You said come shower with me,” she repeated. Anakin nodded, “Well, do you want to or not?” he smirked slyly, crossing his arms and watching her curiously.

She took a moment to look up at him, moving up to kiss him gently, “Better get a move on then, you know I prefer it very hot,” she smirked.

He rolled his eyes playfully and deepened the kiss, moving his hands down her back slowly until she pulled away, “Now you’re the one holding us up.”

“Alright, alright, go and get things ready. I’ll be there.” He kissed her forehead gently then pulled away, walking out of the bathroom.

She suppressed a giggle and smile as she skipped to the bathroom, all the thoughts rushing through her mind as she imagined what could happen.

“You’re tired. He’s tired. I’m sure you’re just showering, don’t get your hopes up.”

Boy, that was a lie. She was brushing out her hair and Anakin stormed into the room, pressing her firmly against the counter, crashing his lips onto hers. She gasped into the kiss and dropped the brush onto the counter, gripping onto the counter sides to keep her up-right as he left no room between him, her, and the counter.

Her eyes fluttered close as he cups her cheeks, moving his human hand down the side of her face to her jawline slowly. “Take it all off,” he mumbles, his voice muffled against her soft lips. “I have other things in mind.

She whimpered against his mouth and pulled away for a moment, her chest heaving as she almost was gasping to catch her breath, “What about showering-?”

“Who says we’re not showering?” he smirked, undressing her with his eyes. She swallowed thickly at his gaze and moved to start striping down slowly, keeping eye contact with him.

“Now look at you, all riled up and nervous,” Anakin smirked crossing his arms and watching her.

“Don’t... don’t look at me like that,” she said softly after she got her bra off, her hands starting to tremble from excitement and straight nerves.

“Why not? It’s getting you to tremble, I like it,” his voice gets darker as he moved closer to her, kissing behind her ear. He moved his long fingers over her panties and hooked them in, slowly pushing them down as they fell to her ankles.

She felt shy and exposed as he pulled away to admire his prize, his eyes growing darker as he watched her. He moved his large hands to her smaller waist and pulled her flush against him, keeping his gaze on her face now, “Are you going to get in?”

She nodded, trying to pull away but his grip on her hipbones was too tight. He loosened his grip just enough for her to slink into the warm shower, and he followed suit right after.

He moved his hand to rub her back gently, keeping his ever-darkening gaze transfixed on her smaller body.

She purposefully tried to ignore him, keeping her back turned to his front as she wets her hair under the warm water trickling from the showerhead, trying to occupy her mind with anything but the obvious - she and her lover were showering together.

Anakin trailed his hands lower then moved so his front was placed firmly against her back, kissing the back of her neck, “Don’t ignore me, sweetheart. You’re on edge, let me help you.”

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous, I just,” she turned around and looked up at him and her breath hitched, gripping her hair tighter.

There her lover stood, towering over her with water droplets running down his long darkened brown curly hair onto his toned chest, the small droplets falling down his body over all his muscles.

An involuntary whimper escaped her lips as she shamelessly studied his figure, every inch, every angle... he was just perfect.

“You’re staring,” he smirked, his chuckle low as he pulled her flush against him, looking down at her with dark eyes, “take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Oh, shut up,” she said quickly, immediately slamming her lips onto his in a frenzied, heated swift movement. He let out a low growl against her lips in content as he pulled her as close as he could get her. She let out a soft moan into his lips as she felt his hard length press against her, causing her to shudder in anticipation.

“Now you’re needy, what changed, my love?” he pulled away from the intoxicating kiss to kiss and suck across her neck, making her moan softly, “I c-changed my mind,” she stammered, her mind blank and fuzzy with lust as her core began to throb with need.

“I can see that,” his voice was smooth yet deep, knowing he could do the slightest thing and get her riled up even further. He moved his hand and pushed her thigh up near his hip, moving it so he had more room as he danced his thumb over her clit slowly.

Her head fell against his chest and she let out tiny breathy whimpers against his skin, her hips jolting in surprise from the newfound pleasure, “Ani—“

“You’re such a needy little thing, aren’t you? You were acting all innocent earlier, and now that I'm rubbing my fingers all over you you’re a mess,” he clicked his tongue in teasing disapproval as he moved his pointer finger to slide into her heat quickly, alongside his middle finger.

Her eyes widened and she moaned loudly in approval, her heavy breathing against his chest quickening with each ministration.

“Ani, I j-just want you— please—!” she looked up at him with a lusty, needy gaze through her lashes, biting her lip to suppress more moans as he fucked her with his fingers. He grunted in response and curled them against her sweet spot, smirking at her reaction, “Is this what you wanted, sweetheart?”

“N-No—! I want your... i want y-your... fuck, Anakin!” she moaned in response, her hips starting to shake as Anakin knew how close she was already.

He chuckled darkly and leaned against her neck, sucking roughly over her already darkening hickeys as he started pounding his fingers into her harder, rubbing her clit faster, “Use your words, little one, I know you can.”

She threw her head back in ecstasy as she moaned, falling off the edge into bliss as Anakin fucked her through it with his fingers, his eyes wandering across her body now quivering from intense pleasure, water droplets falling from her hair down her breasts.

She went to speak when he silences her with an intoxicatingly passionate kiss, cupping her cheek with his metal hand as he helped her ride her high out, “Good girl...” he mumbled against her lips.

She felt completely out of breath, gripping his bicep for support as he pulled his fingers out of her, using his metallic fingers to brush away some of the wet hair from her face.

He moved her body further from the warm water of the shower so she wouldn’t get water in her eyes as he leaned her against the wall. Keeping his hand firm on her hipbone, he moved her thighs apart gently and began to pump himself slowly, his breathing picking up.

He looked in her eyes and saw an intense lusty gaze he hadn’t seen in them for awhile - and he immediately knew she wanted to continue. He moved his free hand to cup the back of her neck, moving her closer so he can kiss her deeply as he pushed himself into her quickly.

She gasped in surprise against his lips, her eyes fluttering closed as she felt him fill her up completely with one swift thrust.

She arched her back against him, gripping his back weakly as he immediately began rocking his hips into her at an unrelenting pace, grunting in her ear, “So fucking tight for me, angel... And so needy, letting me take you in the shower like this...”

She would never admit verbally just how much she loved his dirty talk, his dirty-natured words sending sparks throughout her pussy and her body as she gripped his hair tightly, “Please, this is all I’ve needed,” she moaned almost out of breath, her heart beating out of her chest as she tightened around him.

His loud growl in response edged her to start to roll her hips against his cock, and he smirked in response, leaning down to kiss across her throat, “So—fucking—tight...” he grunted into her ear, his cheeks burning bright red from the mixture of the hot sex and steamy shower.

Her legs buckled and he immediately gripped her closer to him and the wall, moving her to lean back against it more as he lifts her leg to get a deeper angle, causing her to cry out in ecstasy as the pleasure grew too great.

With her already sensitive, her high build much faster than usual and she gripped his hair tighter, digging her fingernails into the back of his head as she panted, her eyes rolling back, “Anakin—!” she moaned weakly.

He recognized that needy, breathy moan all too well as he knew she was close without her needing to say it. He kisses hot open-mouthed kisses across her throat and collarbone, moaning for her to cum for him as he lazily moved his finger down to rub her through her orgasm; the constant throb of her walls sending him closer to the edge.

She let out a loud breathy moan as her high overtook her, letting out small squeals and moans into his ear as it washed over her. She immediately felt numb as it ran through her, the sight of her moaning and the feeling of her throbbing harder causing him to cum. He leaned his head against hers, moaning shakily as he leaned against the wall to steady himself as he fucked them through it, his metal hand firmly on her hipbone to keep them upright.

Her breathing was shaky and uneven as they came down from their highs, and he kissed her hurriedly and softly, “Better?” she muttered against his lips. Anakin nodded softly and chuckled, pulling out after it had fully faded snd pulling them back under the direct range of the water, “Much, much better.”

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #hayden christensen #star wars #anakinskywalker #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x reader #star wars smut #hayden christensen smut #anakin skywalker x reader smut

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oro-e-diamanti · 3 years

Text

Quiet Music: Scherzo (Chapter Six; Part Two)

In collaboration with @bethanysnow

Butterflies getting caught in throats with no words to help explain. Time standing still with a heart breaking. Determination and a willingness to see it through float away in sleep.

Content | Fluff, slight smut warning, tw injury (nothing major, just a wrist injury)

Pairing | fem!Reader x Damiano

Word Count | 6644

Shoutout to @damianodavide, who was a superb help on this chapter and the real life nurse behind this one ;) 😘

***

Damiano’s head was spinning. As soon as he closed his eyes, Y/n’s face appeared in front of him, eyes hooded, lips plumps from just having kissed him, and an expression that promised a need for more. It left him bothered in a way that he knew would not let him sleep until he took care of it. Trying to pretend it was her feminine hand instead of his own rather undignified touch, he reached into the waistband of his underwear immediately letting out a hiss at the contact.

He was desperate for her, but if he couldn’t have her, his imagination would have to do. Pictures flashed through his mind as he moved his hand. Her on her knees, looking up at him through long lashes. He had already gotten a taste of the way she reacted when he complimented her, watching her eyes go wide as he called her a good girl. Her being good for him. Her on her back, ready to be devoured by him in any way he pleased. Feeling his hands go into her hair pulling her face up to look at him. Her bent over whatever furniture he could find, willing to let him have his way with her. Deeply, madly, irrefutably, he wanted it all. She was truly making him lose his mind. Her body and the way she moved were infatuating. Her laugh when someone did something dumb. The look in her eyes when she teased him back. He could still feel the kiss she left on his lips. He never wanted that feeling to end. Brava ragazza mia.

He came with an embarrassingly loud groan, unable to hold back or keep quiet. For a moment, in the silence, he wondered if anyone had heard. He was well aware that his room was surrounded by those of bandmates and crew, but he couldn’t remember who it was exactly anyway, and it didn’t bother him for long, his hazy mind drifting around once again.

***

“Where is your mind at?” Y/n looked up as Victoria pulled her out of her thoughts unexpectedly. Y/n had stopped in Victoria's room after breakfast, trying to keep tabs on what everyone’s plans were on their day off. She had meant to get some work done as Victoria was busying herself getting ready, but it had ended up with her staring into the distance, laptop almost forgotten on her lap.

“Oh, sorry. I’m here, what were you saying?”

“I asked where your mind is at.” Victoria fell forward laying on the bed. Y/n knew that the blonde was starting to learn to read her like a book and she wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.

“Yeah, um, listen. What would you say to someone that may have absolutely decimated her career, by maybe accidentally kissing her boss while they were all high?” She didn’t dare look at the bassist, bracing herself for whatever negative reaction would potentially come from this.

Victoria sat up in surprise, eyes wide and the hint of a smile playing on her lips. “I’m going to need a lot more information than that.” Without giving in to Y/n’s slight protest, she removed the laptop from the assistant’s legs, closing it shut and putting it away. “Tell me everything.”

“Well, there wasn’t much to it really. We sat on the couch, you know that. And I said something stupid about how his eyes looked like chocolates, or maybe gemstones? I don’t quite remember. Anyway, then he pulled my hair out of the hair-tie. I went to kiss his cheek, but he turned his face. Fuck, it was bad. Not the kiss! He is very good at that! But I shouldn’t have done that. And then he just went ‘it's cool, it happens’. What does that even mean?!” She was talking much too quickly, getting it all out before the rational part of her brain would make her shut up. Make her remember she was talking to someone she’d only just started getting to know a week ago, who she was working for. “Then Thomas crashed and you know how that ended. Now I might be avoiding him. Just a bit.” She looked at Vic with a slight panic in her eyes, unsure if she had said too much.

Victoria, on the other hand, seemed delighted to no end, if a little shocked. “Wait, as if you kissed with all of us there and no one noticed!” She exclaimed, briefly pausing, contemplating, but shaking it off to get back to the conversation. “So… Good kiss, huh? Did you enjoy it then? Wanna do it again?” Her eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“Victoria! That is not what I am worried about here! I could lose my job. I- I could never show my face out there again if people found out. And I really enjoy this job, you know!” Her face scrunched a little bit, calming down with a sigh. “...But also, yes, he was a gentleman, and if he wanted to … kiss me again, I probably wouldn’t say no. But I also wouldn’t say yes. I work for you. This is not the time to be thinking about how much I enjoyed kissing Damiano!”

Her eyes went wide as her voice dropped to a whisper, looking down at her hands. “Ah fuck, I said that out loud.”

“Okay, let’s look at it from a rational standpoint then.” Victoria turned slightly more serious at seeing her panic. “There is no way you’ll be losing your job over this. Maybe I wouldn’t advise hopping into bed with the whole band and crew, but we always got a tight-knit relationship with people we work with anyway, you know that. None of us would rat you out to management or anything. Plus, if you liked and Damiano liked it… wouldn’t it be a shame to worry about anything else instead of going for it?”

“I don’t know if he liked it. I was busy trying not to pass out, to be honest. I avoided him this morning by going straight to your room. I actually kind of avoided everyone, I’m scared the words of what happened will just come out to anyone who asks… Kind of like they just did with you.” She let out another deep sigh, switching between looking at her nails, picking at them, and out the window. “If he ...you know ... Then maybe. I honestly don’t even know what I would do with that information. On the off chance that he did like it though. And wanted to go for it then I’d consider it.” She tried to remain as put together as possible and, well aware that she was failing miserably.

“Well, in that case, we have to find out what Damiano wants!” Victoria’s enthusiasm was back with a vengeance. “You should talk to him! Or should I talk to him? Maybe I should lock you in a room like those romcoms and threaten to not let you out again until you kiss.”

“Or you don’t do that because that is entrapment. I think I would be cool with you talking to him. But I still have to do my job. That comes first. Because as far as I am concerned,” Y/n got up and grabbed her laptop again, “it is business as usual. And last night was a fluke. Not to crush your rom-com dreams, love, but if I spoke to him I’d put my foot in my mouth faster than you can play bass.”

The smirk on Vic’s face didn’t promise anything good. “We’ll see about that, we’ll see,” she ominously muttered, before jumping up from the bed. “Now stop trying to pretend you got work to do, we’re going vintage clothes shopping.”

***

The thrift store turned out to be a small hole-in-the-wall kind of place, just off a side street - perfect for shopping in peace without getting much attention at all. Y/n hadn’t been all that keen on keeping the band company for this little adventure, but Victoria had insisted, claiming she needed a female perspective in case the boys were being stupid again. It had only taken a serious case of the puppy dog eyes to win her over, and Victoria found herself making a mental note to remember it.

The store was stuffed full of clothes, a kind of chaos that seemed to have an order that only the owner really understood. But it looked like heaven, and within seconds everyone had vanished into some corner or other, dying to find their newest favourite piece. For a moment, Victoria contemplated who she wanted to follow first, feeling the need to talk to at least two different people but also never wanting to miss out on a chance to go crazy with Thomas. Ended up deciding on Damiano. It seemed the more pressing issue. She hadn’t failed to notice how he would try to pretend that everything was normal, yet continuously evading Y/n’s eyes. She had kept her distance all the same. This wasn’t acceptable. She had to do something, Victoria decided.

She found the singer shuffling through some blouses, although much more half-heartedly than he tended to be when it came to vintage clothes. Looking out from the racks Victoria saw Y/n doing the same. She briefly considered how to go on about this - admit that Y/n had told her what had happened? Pretend she had actually seen the kiss last night? - but figured that Damiano would start talking on his own accord sooner or later. Especially if this was affecting him the way it was Y/n, and she was almost hoping it was.

“Okay, spill, what’s up with you today?”

Damiano shrugged, pulling a shirt out from the rack, and holding it against his body, waiting for Victoria's opinion. She raised a brow and put it back wordlessly.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he responded rather vaguely.

“Damia, you’ve barely spoken at all today. Normally you can’t shut up. And you know, I’d be thankful for some peace and quiet from you, but you’re actually worrying me. So what’s going on with you?”

Damiano had a panicked look on his face as he scanned over the racks of clothes, his eyes flickering back and forth, obviously noticing Y/n shuffling through some things and slowly getting closer. Taking Vic by surprise, he dragged her into the dressing rooms.

“Okay, that’s…. Weirdly intimate, but go on,” Vic mumbled to herself as he closed the curtain behind them, still nervously looking around the small space.

“Rather talk to you in here, than her hear me out there. I may have fucked up, royally.” He crossed his arms over his chest and Victoria was sure he would be burning a hole into the wall with his vision if he possessed that power. He was avoiding looking at her and she knew it.

“Explain,” she simply demanded, sitting down on the tiny stool in the corner and looking up at Damiano. She wanted to hear it from him, hear what had happened in his version of the story, hear what was bothering him so much.

“So we were at that bar, right? Y/n was sitting next to me. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, you were there. Anyway. We were talking. I don’t know if it was the smoking or whatever else, but I looked at her and - I don’t know why I did this but I did. I pulled her hair out of her hair tie.” He leaned on the wall, his head hitting the brick behind him. He groaned but Vic assumed it didn’t have anything to do with the pain. “And… and she was so beautiful. Her hair just all around her. So soft. And at that moment, she was laughing and it sounded heavenly. And I went to look at her again and suddenly my lips were on hers…” His voice softened at the end, losing his train of thought and drifting. She had never quite seen him like this. “Then she was freaking out, and I told her some fucking stupid line like ‘it happens’. I just wanted her to calm down but… Now she must think I’d just...” He groaned, slumping a little and finally looking over at Vic. “Then she ran off to help Thomas.”

“So, what you’re saying then is that you did enjoy it? Potentially wanna do it again?” She felt transported back to the conversation she’d had with Y/n just hours earlier, posing almost the exact same question. She had never been this involved with any of her friends’ relationships to this extent, but something told her that her help was desperately needed in this case.

He raised a brow at her. “Did you not hear the part where after we kissed she then proceeded to freak out? I doubt that she even wants to see my face right now.” A heavy sigh left him and Victoria found herself laying a hand on his arm. “And of course I want to kiss her again, Vic. I close my eyes and she is there. Hell, she wakes me up every morning! I can’t escape. She is everywhere I go! I turn a corner and she is there. She's the one we go to when wanting to eat, she arranges the cars, she helps us with concerts, she’s doing everything all the time. I don’t know how much more I can take!”

***

Y/n stood in the shoe aisle holding a pair of heels in her hand, contemplating for a second, before putting them on. Turning towards Ethan, who was walking towards her now, she realised it had eliminated all height differences between them. Definitely too high, she thought to herself. Holding onto his shoulders, she clumsily took them back off.

“Hey Ethan, find anything good?” The smile on her face felt forced but she was praying he wouldn’t see it.

He proudly holds up a black, studded belt with an intricate design on it, as well as a pink suede jacket. “How about you? I think I saw some nice trousers over there that might suit you. Wanna check it out?”

Y/n scoffed. She didn’t want to let her mood out on Ethan, trying her hardest to stay diplomatic. “Love the idea, but I doubt any of the clothes in here would go over my thigh. They’d fit you guys just great though. The jacket looks good, by the way.” She tried to distract herself from - well, everything - by putting the shoes away, mindlessly letting her fingers wander over the other pairs standing there.

Ethan looked at her in contemplation for a moment, but seemed to decide against following his train of thought. “At least try on some more shoes. Here, what about these?” He excitedly grabbed a pair of high-heeled boots, very much in the style she could see any of them wearing on stage - much less the one she usually went for when working.

A little intimidated, she took the shoes, if only to humour him. Ethan was nothing but a sweetheart, this was the least she could do. She put them on only with some slight struggle. She once again reached his height, almost amused by the feeling of seeing eye-to-eye with him, but the shoes felt strange. Very far removed from the usual flats, sneakers, boots, or whatever other pair that would allow her to keep running around all day without regretting it in the evening.

“Do I look silly?”

“You look gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous.” His voice had the most earnest tone to it and it was only supported by the way he studied her, looking her up and down. “Maybe walk a few steps to see if you can get used to it.”

She laughed as she proceeded to strut and partially dance some steps down the aisle to the song playing in the store. “I haven’t worn heels in so long, still got it though!”.” Her small smile grew into a grin, rather proud of herself for still being able to keep up. Going to the mirror near Ethan she looked at the shoes, then at herself in the shoes, then back at Ethan. Still, the insecurity took over for a moment. Her voice seemed small when she asked, “You think so?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you like that,” he replied, putting a hand over his heart for emphasis. “Want to go and see what the others think? I saw Thomas over there, and Vic and Dami disappeared into that corner a while ago.”

“Right, good idea.” She walked over to the dressing room looking for Damiano and Victoria, figuring they had gone to try on some things. Well, she was mainly looking for Victoria, still uncomfortable at the thought of facing the singer. She was in the middle of calling out for them when Damiano’s voice seeped through the curtain instead. She didn’t mean to listen, only to wait for him to stop so she could interrupt, but the second she realised what he was saying she wished she had never come over.

“Hell, she wakes me up every morning! I can’t escape. She is everywhere I go! I turn a corner and she is there. She's the one we go to when wanting to eat, she arranges the cars, she helps us with concerts, she’s doing everything all the time. I don’t know how much more I can take!”

She stepped back. Frozen in place. Her heart was beating out of her chest, hurting, aching, breaking just that little bit. Processing what he had said seemed to happen not at all and then suddenly all at once. She couldn’t breathe. She needed air. Anything but this suffocation. She needed to leave.

“I need some air.”

The words came out of her mouth much louder than anticipated, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care that people were looking at her now. She didn’t care that was still wearing a pair of shoes that she had definitely not paid for yet. She just needed out, out, out, and away from all this. From him.

She didn’t realise she was walking on cobblestone until she wasn’t anymore, her ankle giving way, arms desperately trying to keep her from falling as she stumbled.

***

Damiano and Victoria stopped in their tracks as they heard someone approach from outside of the dressing room. Both heads turned towards the sound, when Y/n’s voice came through, telling maybe no one in particular that she needed some air. Her voice sounded strange. Damiano was convinced he had never heard that particular tone in it. As he threw back the curtain, he saw her stumble outside, clearly hectic, and he could feel a surge of panic run through him. Something wasn't right here. He forgot all about the conversation he was having, all about Victoria, and made his way outside. Not quite running, but the worry had him out of the door quickly. His heart sank when he saw her, lying on the floor just outside of the shop, holding her arm awkwardly, some scratches already beginning to bleed a little. As she looked up at him, he could see tears pricking at her eyes.

"Fuck, are you okay? What happened? I just saw-" The look on her face - or rather, the way she turned away from him - shut him up instantly. This wasn't the time to bombard her with questions. It didn't matter anyway. Instead of bothering her further, he quickly knelt down beside her, helping her sit up in return. He was acutely aware of the way she pulled away the second he touched her skin. Like she had been burned. ´

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Sorry to ruin the shopping trip, you can go back in if you want to," she mumbled, trying to wipe some tears away but instead spreading some dirt and drying blood onto her cheek instead. Damiano wanted to touch her, clean her up, dry her tears, but the way she had pulled away a minute ago made him not want to try. The last thing he wanted to do was overwhelm her more. He watched as she pulled out her wallet, handing it to him. "Go pay for the shoes please. And stop looking at me like that, I said I’m fine."

Yet, as soon as she moved, she winced in pain, taking a deep breath before getting herself up to a standing position. He found himself holding her arm in support, but she only accepted it for as long as necessary. As he let go, she let out a small cry of pain, obviously holding her hurt wrist the wrong way.

“You’re obviously not fine,” Damiano sighed. He desperately wanted to reach out to her, but she was already in tears, turning away, and it simply didn’t seem like a sensible option. He looked around at the others as they gathered around Y/n. Only Thomas was missing, probably still blissfully unaware inside the shop and browsing for clothes. He tossed the wallet to Ethan. “Would you mind paying for her shoes real quick?” Ethan nodded, walking back into the store. Y/n was still standing between them, holding her arm close to her body in a protective gesture. Almost a similar expression to the one she had had on her face on the plane all those days ago. He wondered if something was scaring her the way the turbulence did back then.

“I am and will be fine, Damiano.” Her voice was stern. “I cry at a lot of things, this is no different. I wrap it up, put ice on it for a while and I’m golden.”

He watched as Victoria put a tentative hand on Y/n’s shoulder. She didn’t pull away from her touch, he noticed. “Y/n, that really doesn’t look like nothing. Look, it’s starting to swell up already.”

"What do you want me to do then?" She almost sounded resigned now as she looked back and forth between Damiano and Victoria. "We are in Amsterdam. I don't exactly have a GP on speed dial here. Now, where is Ethan with my wallet?"

She started walking towards the door of the shop, but Damiano defiantly held out his arm to stop her. "We are taking you to A&E."

Her face seemed to drain of all colour, and this time it was not because of the pain. "You are not taking me to a hospital."

Damiano looked at her, determination in his eyes, trying to make her understand that this was non-negotiable. Just for now, he would forget about the way she was brushing him off, the way she was evading his touch, the way she did not even want to look at him. Because right now she needed him and he would be there for her, if she wanted him to be or not.

"Yes, I am. Final decision. You would do the same for us if we got hurt. But we're responsible for you too, you're part of our crew, and right now, being responsible means getting this checked out. Besides, you're not getting your wallet back until you agree."

As soon as Ethan stepped outside again, this time with a slightly confused-looking Thomas in tow, Damiano snatched the wallet from his hands only to put it in his own jeans pocket. She was mad, obviously turning whatever was bothering her into anger, but Damiano was having none of it and he hoped the look in his eyes told her so.

"Fine! Take me to the hospital. But know that I am not happy about this."

"I don't need you to be. I just need you to come with me."

***

A quick refresher of her rudimentary Dutch verified that she was indeed looking for "spoedeisende hulp", another search on the internet confirmed that there was a hospital nearby, and before she knew it, she had been whisked into a taxi with Damiano. The others had decided to make their way back to the hotel, no point in clogging up the waiting room. Damiano promised to call with any news immediately.

Y/n wouldn't tell him, certainly not right then and there but she was happy that Damiano seemed to take the lead for once. She wouldn't have had any problems had any of the others needed medical help - but having people fuss about her? Making her the center of attention in a way she did not intend to be and having to accept help from others?... It was a completely different story. Still she appreciated the way he handled the situation, making sure she got registered with the administration straight away, listening attentively for further instructions, and leading her into the waiting area. She was also glad that it seemed to be quiet, not only because it would result in less of a wait, but also because the bustling would have made her all the more nervous.

This was out of her comfort zone. She had managed to avoid hospitals for the majority of her life, and yet here she was, because she panicked and couldn't handle her shoes. Looking down at them, she wanted to curse them. Curse the fact that they made her walk over to Damiano and Victoria in the first place, curse the fact that she had heard Damiano speak about her that way, curse the fact that they carried her out the door but not much further. She didn't even know where her actual shoes were. Hopefully, Ethan had kept his head and collected them on the way out after paying.

A few seats down, someone coughed loudly, reminding her exactly of where she was. It wasn't the worst hospital she had ever been in, that much was true, but she would rather not see one from the inside at all. She was dying for some comfort, some soothing words, a gentle touch, but as soon as Damiano made any attempt at reaching out to her she pulled back. His words were still heavily playing on her mind, the swelling of her wrist and the heat that seemed to seep from it a painful reminder. There was no way she was going to let herself fall, be reassured and consoled by him when he was so obviously sick of her presence. She wouldn't do that to either of them. Victoria with all her good intentions be damned. At least right now.

“Why are they not calling you in, it doesn’t even look like they’re doing anything,” Damiano grumbled next to her, eyes on the nurse’s station where a few of them were sitting. A few eyes were on them, something that looked like an excited discussion.

“Stop it, I’m sure they’re busy at work. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean they aren’t”, she bit back, slightly harsher than intended. He shot her a look, eyebrows raised, but she turned away, not looking to have a deeper conversation.

It left Damiano sitting in silence. Leaving both of them in the same situation, again. Y/n and him alone. Well, alone enough. Alone enough to not have anyone distract her from the uncomfortable feeling that settled over them. No Thomas being silly, no Victoria making a dumb comment, no calming presence of Ethan. Through this whole process, Y/n had basically crawled back into herself. She wished she could disappear.

She didn't know how much time had passed when they were finally called, too preoccupied with her own thoughts and the pain in her wrist. The nurse that beckoned them over had the warmest smile on her face, albeit tired eyes and it surprised Y/n how much comfort she found in the soft expression of the woman. White slacks, rolled up sleeves, pockets so full it looked like they were bursting at the seams, dark hair up in a bun. She found herself looking over at Damiano, wondering if he was aware of how gorgeous this woman was, how kind and calming her aura was, but his eyes were trained solely on her. She didn't allow herself to get lost in his gaze, quickly dropping hers and following the nurse into an examination room.

“Hi, I’m Ana, I’m going to be your nurse for today. You only speak English, am I correct?” She asked, gesturing for both of them to sit down, Y/n on the examination table and Damiano on a chair next to it. There was a slight twinge of an accent in her speech, but it was clear that she was fluent, which was a relief. Y/n didn’t even want to think about trying to get this done with the few words she knew in Dutch. She nodded, gratefully. “We’re going to go over what happened, and then I’ll do a physical examination, and the doctor will see you after as well.”

Y/n watched as the nurse fumbled with the computer, seemingly already typing things before Y/n had even said anything. “So, what exactly happened?”

“I, uh, tried on some heels and tripped on the cobblestone outside,” Y/n explained, taking a moment to glare at the offending shoes still on her feet. “Fell forwards, tried to soften the blow with my hands and now my wrist looks like this.” She held up the offending arm, gathering that the sight would speak for itself. The dried blood of the little scrapes on the palms of her hand did its best to make it look more dramatic than it felt.

“Oh, yeah that looks quite painful,” the nurse winced. “I see you’ve scraped your knee as well.”

Y/n looked down, slightly confused, only to realise her jeans had torn, revealing a beat-up knee underneath. Crap, she hadn’t even noticed, too occupied with… well, everything else. This felt like it was getting worse by the second, she never wanted to get back to a hotel room this badly. She felt like crying, but letting Damiano see her composure waver was the last thing she would allow.

“It’s nothing,” she sighed, moving her legs as if it gave her a chance of hiding her bruises.

“It’s not nothing, Y/n,” Damiano sighed next to her, before turning towards the nurse. “I think it’s more serious than she’s letting on.” In the same determined tone from before.

The nurse looked back and forth between the two of them. “It’s probably the shock of it.”

Oh yeah, the shock. Mainly that of finding out that Damiano didn’t want her around, apparently.

The nurse asked a few more questions, time of the accident, previous medical history, medication she was taking regularly, but they barely reached her. She found herself answering curtly, with Damiano filling in where he could. She wouldn’t tell him she was thankful for it. Even though the idea of him taking care of her made her emotional.

“Right, let’s get that wrist looked at then.” Y/n had feared it would be painful but as soon as the nurse started handling her? She knew it was her job to feel the joints, test her range of motion, move her arm. But unwelcome tears emerged in the corners of her eyes. She didn’t have the energy to push Damiano’s hand away, as she almost reveled in the comforting touch on her back. The small talk didn’t even begin to make for a distraction. Yet, something was nagging at the back of Y/n’s head as she watched the nurse interact with Damiano. There was a familiarity in her eyes… Did she know who he was? Surely not.

“This will need an X-Ray to make sure it’s not broken,” the nurse concluded, finally letting go of her wrist. Damiano whispered a quiet ‘You okay?’ over to her, but she couldn’t do anything but nod. “I will bandage the scrapes a bit while we wait for a doctor. So, what brings you to Amsterdam today?”

“Work,” Y/n answered, trying to keep some degree of privacy, but Damiano didn’t seem to mind butting in immediately.

“I’m in a band, we’re on tour. She’s our assistant and overall angel.” She wanted to shoot him a look, both at the unnecessary honesty and the over-the-top way he was describing her, but a touch to her banged-up knee distracted her.

A doctor popped into the room quickly verified everything the nurse had told him And before she knew it she was being led down a hallway to get an X-Ray. Damiano stayed behind in the room.

“Cute couple, the two of you,” the nurse piped up next to her.

“Um, yeah, no. Not a couple. Just a working relationship.”

“You sure about that?”

Y/n almost wanted to stop dead in her tracks, ask the nurse what on earth had given her that idea, but she also knew she was here to get examined and the last thing she wanted to do was annoy the person responsible.

“Very. He doesn’t like me like that, he’s made that crystal clear.”

“Well, he certainly doesn’t look like you in a way that suggests he doesn’t like you. If anything, I would have guessed he was head-over-heels for you.”

Y/n was stumped for a reply. Was this woman making fun of her? She didn’t look like someone who would. So why would she say these things? With a deep sigh and a heavy heart, Y/n decided she would have to talk to Damiano at some point. Have him either stand by his statement and back off, or explain what the hell he was doing. Because she was starting to lack comprehension about any of it.

She was glad the rest of the appointment seemed to fly by in a hurry, or maybe Y/n’s brain had simply gone into power-saving mode, not really taking it what as happening around her anymore. Her exhaustion was tangible. The X-Ray was done quickly enough, someone sent her back to the examination room, and before she knew it, the doctor had announced that it was, in fact, not broken. A quick wrap around her wrist, some instructions on how to care for it (that Damiano seemed to listen to more closely than she did), and she was almost out the door. She was sure she would have fallen asleep on the examination table. It was only the nurse quickly saying her goodbye and adding another comment that almost threw her off balance again.

“Bye, guys. And by the way, nice show yesterday. I promise I wasn’t the one who threw the bra.”

***

It was dark out by the time Y/n and Damiano made it back to the hotel. He had made sure to text the others, telling them to go for dinner without them, they’d be fine, and he figured she would need some rest. The hotel restaurant was quiet enough and he motioned towards it, but Y/n shook her head.

“I’ve got a few snacks in my room, but honestly, I’m not hungry at all. I just want to go to bed.”

Yet, tired as she was, it only took one pointed look for her to shut him up, so he simply nodded and led her towards the elevators.

“At least let me bring you to your room and see if you need any more help. And I can give you your wallet back.”

He could tell in the way she stiffened next to him, the way she barely reacted to his words, that she wasn’t keen on the idea, but he wouldn’t let her get away with it. He was desperate to find out what was bothering her and why she was so distant, but he couldn’t figure it out. Was the kiss still playing on her mind? Was she uncomfortable with him? It was the last thing he wanted. He needed to show her he was willing to be there for her.

Closing the door of her room behind him, a shout rang through the room.

“These fucking things, I hate them!” She was loud and angry while trying to get her shoes off, but her voice was wavering and if he watched her in just the right light he was convinced he was seeing the beginning of tears forming in her eyes.

“Shh, shh, it’s fine,” he tried to soothe, unsure if he was going about it the wrong way, but quickly bending in front of where she was sitting on the bed. She kicked her heels once more in frustration, obviously unable to get them off with her wrist still compromised.

“Don’t shush me when it’s all your fault,” she whispered and he almost stopped dead in his tracks, but he figured she hadn’t meant for him to hear. He stayed quiet, against everything in his heart telling him to find out what she was talking about. Instead, he focused on removing her shoes, gentle touches against her bare skin. Looking up at her, he realised that she was studying him, watching his every move, and he concentrated even harder on being the perfect gentleman. Yet, when he pulled the second shoe off her, he couldn’t help letting his hand rest on her calf a little longer than necessary.

“Come on, let’s get you into some pyjamas,” he decided, getting up and putting some distance between them. Too afraid of getting ahead of himself, of letting his hands wander more than appropriate places, of saying something he shouldn’t. He threw what he gathered to be her sleepwear in her general directions. “If you need any help changing because of your wrist, let me know.”

He hoped his smile was as sincere as he meant it. Either way, she didn’t give him much of a reaction, grabbing the clothes and disappearing into the bathroom. A few sharp hisses reached him through the door, but he knew better than to offer his help again.

He wasn’t sure what the acceptable place for him to sit was, but since the room didn’t offer anything but a worn-out armchair and the bed, he decided that choosing the far side of the mattress wasn’t too bad. He didn’t even realise she had left the en-suite until her voice reached him.

“We really need to talk, Damiano.” She sounded resigned and tired and he wished he could wrap her in his arms and tell her everything was alright, but it didn’t seem like the right time. As soon as she reached the side of the bed opposite him, she all but collapsed on it. She sleepily grabbed one of the many unnecessary hotel pillows they placed on the bed and nuzzled her face into it.

“There will be more than enough time for that tomorrow,” he replied, grabbing the blanket and making sure she was fully covered by it. “It’s been a long day, try to get some rest.”

She didn’t even manage to argue anymore, eyes already fluttering closed, breathing slowly becoming more steady. She was gorgeous like this. A soft calm overtaking the scene. No wall up that kept everyone else from her inner thoughts. No front that she put up in desperate attempts to remain professional. Just a softness etched into her features that highlighted her natural divine beauty.

He wanted to take her worries away. He hoped that whenever they did get to talk tomorrow, it would yield some clarity. The last thing he wanted was for her to ever feel this way. He had grown so attached to her, so obsessed with the idea of having her around, that he already feared the end of the tour. If she would give him any option to stay in her life, he would take it, whatever way it was.

Damiano barely noticed the way he was slipping down on the mattress, his fingers softly patting her head, eyelids getting heavy. The last thing on his mind was Y/n, sleeping soundly next to him and wishing for nothing but to make her happy.

***

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