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leclsrc · 1 year ago

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hi audreeey!!! could i get a drabble where charles and reader are on a basic (not "basic" but u get me) dinner date and they're just all capital F Fond... like maybe even pretending theyre married bc they love the other's company sm... I LOVE U

begin again – cl16

Tonight is different. Tonight is special. title from this

auds here... my quasi-apology for being mia-ish. also i am writing a long form fic it's just taking agesss as i'm traveling rn (its nearly done) but know that I LOVE U ALL... like crazy. this is p long for a drabble but i missed writing them a lot! love u guys n i hope i did this adorable prompt justice

He says something in French, pointing at something on the menu. Then he flips the page and points at a bold red image of a bottle, mouthing its name in perfect fluency. Two glasses, he adds. One for the entree, another for dessert.

“Red wine?” You ask, smiling. Charles doesn’t usually order wine.

“Well,” he says, beaming at you and then the waiter, “tonight is special for us.”

You have to wrestle with the grin that fights its way onto your lips, but you admit valiant defeat. “Very special indeed.”

The waiter departs and you recline, mind still racing. It’s only halted by a polite voice from your left—the girl at the table beside yours, asking with meek timidity: wedding tomorrow? She has this giddy smile on her face, like it’s her wedding or her dinner; her husband-or-boyfriend across her just smiles sheepishly. Sorry. I’m curious.

“Oh,” you say quietly, humming. “I got promoted.”

“And…” Charles says, lookin at you like you share a lovely little inside joke.

Your lips grow. “And?”

“This lovely girl doesn’t remember, but I proposed to her this time last year.” He gestures to your left hand. A ring, blending in with the others you usually wear, sparkles in the low light of the restaurant.

Proposed. Your eyes stay on him even as he looks away, devoting his attention to the conversation at hand. Then you nod, a few times, soft bobs of your head. “We’re having a June wedding,” you say fondly to the girl at the table adjacent. You love the way she lights up at the mention of it, at the added detail—she asks for more in accented English.

“How did you propose?” She turns to the guy in front of her, who’s smiling dopily. “We’ve been together a year, so he could use some ideas for the future, if you know what I mean.” They both share a laugh.

Charles hums, recalling the plan he’s thought of a million times over. He conjures the images of it, the memories of mapping everything out, perfecting every last minute detail. “I did it at our house. We live in Monaco, in this, ah—this nice, wide place on a hill.” You remember seeing the house for the first time, from Charles’ car. “I did not want a big fuss around it. I knew I wanted it to be just us.”

“Just us,” you murmur along, nodding. You’ve always known it’s what he wanted for both of you. Just you two against the world.

“So I bought her flowers, lit some candles, and we sat on the couch.” He pauses, like the next few moments are so sacred and so lovely that they deserve to be heard by nobody but you two. But if Charles is anything, he’s loud—loud when he talks, yells; loud when he loves. “And I played our favorite song, Harvest Moon,and I sat next to her and just talked, and I said it. I know it doesn’t sound romantic—”

“—but I cried,” you cut in, looking right at him. Cut off, his eyes flit to you, softening when they see your smiling expression. “I cried like a baby. He was… he meant every word he said. And I was lucky, I guess, that he knows me well enough to, you know—know exactly what I want.” The conversation ebbs into quiet a little bit after that, but you catch bits of how adorable and a June wedding from their own talk.

You eat in relative peace afterward—he talks about a funny story involving Carlos and stolen underwear from the gym locker room. You laugh, bubbling up your champagne, and Charles zips through two glasses of his own drink. Tonight is special, and warm, and you’re in France, and wine seems to be synonymous with the country, and everything, if just for now, makes perfect sense.

In between finishing dessert and the bill’s arrival, when the couple beside you have said their goodbyes and congratulations, and the restaurant has begun to quell its general noise, he takes your idle hand on the table. You look up from where you’d been staring at the puddle of tiramisu filling on your plate.

He’s staring. Charles is always aware of how often and how long he stares, extended gazes of your beautiful features. The awareness does not, however, cause the frequency to wane in the slightest. He still finds himself constantly enthralled by you. And even when he’s away, in a car going a million miles a minute, he finds you in his daydreams. That smile.

Nothing, he says with a quaint smile. I love you.

The bill comes and he, of course, covers it—before you even get the chance to slide your card onto the table. You fuss over it. He stares at you like you’re worth everything and more and goes, with a little laugh, I just need a kiss.

His car is parked outside, valet this time, but the cobblestone is so inviting and quiet that he pays an extra few euros to let you both walk around first. You’re not the only couple along the Seine—in fact, you’re one of many, but your shared, hushed laughs make you both feel like you’re by yourselves. Charles knows all the detours, can pinpoint buildings from different vantage points, takes you on a voyage of Paris all his own. You will look back on this one day and think—your maps of cities, your maps of places, they’ve all been charted by him.

He keeps insisting tonight should be special, like he’s trying to convince you. But you know just as well how special tonight is, how different it is from all the nights previous. You’re just quiet, you suppose, because you’d prefer to bask in this specialty, in Charles. You’re quiet because if you open your mouth for more than ten seconds, you’re going to spill your entire self out to the city. Tomorrow night will not be tonight, just as yesterday night was not tonight. This is just tonight.

You’re guided through the cobblestone streets, arm around your waist. You’re so overcome with love you feel like hugging him, just now, just here in the middle of the street, breathe him in and sigh out little I love yous until somebody has to pass through, grunting about how PDA has gone too far.

“You know how…” he starts, and every time he starts a sentence that way, it’s almost always followed by something fairly nonsensical. You know how turtles can fly? You know how Van Gogh was in an affair with Mona Lisa? You know how the latest episode of The Kardashians had Kim and Kourtney fighting? You smile, laughing already, gesturing for him to proceed. “How we see the stars nearly every night?”

You hum.

“So sometimes, we forget they’re pretty. We think, oh, bah, stars. And then a few weeks, or months, later, we look up on a random evening and we’re shocked again. We go, wow, stars. They are beautiful.” He clutches at his heart to convey the emotion he’s describing.

“Yeah, what about?” You ask amusedly, turning slightly to him.

“That is how I feel when I see you. Every time. That feeling when you see the stars after weeks.”

You breathe one, slippery inhale and then it leaves you shaky, wet, trembling. Your eyes tack themselves onto the stars. A chill rolls through you at the knowledge that you remind him of something so confusing, so beautiful, so strange. “I—God. I love you, you know.”

“Did you like my story?” He asks. He maintains his smile, his attitude, his goofiness. His little attempt to make you feel better. Unfortunately, it works every time without fail. You sniffle and roll your eyes, thankful that you haven’t devolved into a sobbing mess.

Then for the first time tonight, he breaks the precarious, near-perfect illusion: “You know, that is how I would really propose to you if I did it. I did give you that ring, remember?”

“I know,” you whisper, trying to fight tears. “I remember.”

“Don’t cry,” he quells softly. You keep freezing to dab at the corners of your eyes. He responds by pulling you into a side street so you don’t block anyone’s walk, allowing you to lean against the lamppost so he towers above you, eyes etched dark, saturated with genuine concern. “Come on, darling.”

“Charles,” you say thinly, and you’ve gone from coherent sentences to weak pleads.

“Don’t cry.” It’s all he can say, gentle and loving and Charles. “It’s a special night.” It is a special night. It’s the night before your first day at your job across the globe.

It’s your last night in Europe, your last night before you leave, your last night before Charles becomes nothing but an apparition of your past. You’re beginning to realize how foolish this plan was, this wrecked and stupid plan, but God if you didn’t love how real it all felt. It felt like bliss, being a great big pretender.

It was—it should be a month ago now, give or take. You’d gotten the offer, accepted it, told Charles about it, and then you both had to sit with the idea of living across the world from each other. You’d wrestled with plans vis-a-vis your relationship, with timezones and the demand that came with the first year on the job. In the end it was something amicable.

In the end, it ended—but not without one last night together, stretching your dreams and future fantasies to their limit.

Charles will always love you like it’s his last chance to do so. He figures that means letting you fly, letting you pursue things that, if you didn’t, would keep you tethered to the same old things. So even if it rips him apart, and even if all he wants to do is drop everything and dance with you, to the quaint Paris traffic—he remains ever the reassuring one.

He remains, forever, the storyteller, the smiling figure that takes your hand across the table and squeezes once to say he loves you. The loud guy who would’ve, if he could, proposed in your now-sold house, surrounded by candles and music. You wish he could love you longer. You know he always will, in the same way you know the nature of his love will inevitably change when enough time passes.

“Things will change,” you say weakly.

“They will always change.”

“And will you remember me after all of it?”

“I will love you after all of it. I’ve loved you through everything else.” He says, pressing a gentle kiss to your eye. “You know that, right? I’ll just do it from afar this time.”

You swear, if love and hope and being young were ever enough to make things work, you swear—this would’ve worked. But the universe reminds you time and again that they are not.

So, when you kiss Charles for the last time, his eyes are twinkling with Paris moonlight, his lips taste like wine, and you get the special chance to relish in what once was, and what will never be again.

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #charles leclerc imagines

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tellyouily · 18 days ago

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blankets over my barbed wire

dnf - 1.8k words

hey guys i wrote a thing :) dnf have an argument but they become friends again i promise and they also hug and kiss

George is in the middle of skimming through the insanely complex block of commands that is the Fusion code when an unnecessarily loud knock at his office door snaps him out of his focus.

Sapnap. Irritation brews in him, but he turns in his chair anyway, pulling one AirPod out to pause his music.

“What?” George snaps, not bothering to sound more patient than he is.

Idiotnap pokes his head in. His eyebrows are raised in expectation. “Are you done being a bitch?”

It takes a second for the question to register, and when it does, George puts his headphone back in and turns to his monitors.

Sometimes, it’s hard to believe how easily Sapnap can get under his skin with just a few words. What’s even more annoying, is that Sapnap is mixing himself into this at all. This—George and Dream’s… conversation.

Their conversation that George blew way out of proportion.

“No.”

Sapnap scoffs loudly enough to reach the desk, and although George has paused his music to hear him, he refuses to give him any attention right now.

“Come on bro. How are you acting like this isn’t your fault?”

“I’m not done,” George repeats, pointedly ignoring the comment. What does Sapnap know about this anyway? He has some sixth sense for sussing out tension between Dream and George, and it has never been useful to either of them.

There’s a pause that goes on just long enough for George to glance at the door again to see if Sapnap has left, which—he hasn’t. George rolls his eyes and turns back, unpausing his music.

Sapnap sighs again and taps the doorframe. “Alright, fine. Be a bitch, I don’t care. I’m going out with Ken to get tacos.”

“Have fun.”

“I will.”

This is when Sapnap should turn to leave, but George can sense that he’s still there. He can never take George’s dismissive answer for an answer, intent on getting things out in the open instead. In his peripheral vision, George can just about make out Sapnap throwing his head back in exasperation.

“Dream is downstairs,” he says begrudgingly.

George rolls his eyes internally; he should have guessed that Sapnap would try to play peacemaker. He continues to press space and backshift repeatedly on his keyboard to seem busy.

Sapnap goes on, “So please, just talk to him. Or don’t. Whatever, I’m done dealing with your dysfunctional ass relationship. Just—go talk to him.”

With that, he finally goes to shut the door, but not before getting in one last word. “Pussy.”

As soon as he’s gone, George pulls his other AirPod out and lets his head fall back against the headrest. It’s a mess. Again.

And Sapnap was right, it is George’s fault—again.

It’s not that he and Dream never argue. Part of their chemistry is thanks to their mutual ability to take a joke and knowing exactly what to say to rile each other up. It’s what they do; they pick fights and come up with intentionally bad takes just to spark a debate.

They like arguing. It’s fun, and it’s easy, just like everything else when it comes to them.

And it’s not like that aspect of their friendship changed when they got… together. George doesn’t even know if that’s what they’re calling it—does Dream tell people they’re together? What if—no, it doesn’t matter.

George shakes his head to stop the thought from spiraling.

The point is that nothing really changed after they became more than friends. Their dynamic has stayed the same, just with an added depth that George can’t describe. He supposes they’re in love. Or something.

But this conversation, last night, wasn’t an argument. They were just talking normally until George decided to say the entirely wrong thing. And maybe it hurt a little extra because of this ‘added depth’.

He regretted picking the fight as soon as the words passed his lips. It was late and they were both tired and Dream was at his desk working on the code George has been staring at all morning.

(His poor attempt at doing something to help; at saying sorry without having to say it.)

Dream had seemed preoccupied and George had asked him what was on his mind. And Dream had been honest, as he always is.

“I’ve just been thinking about you and me and Youtube, and the hurricane, and… I don’t know. I guess I’ve been overwhelmed, a little bit. I want you to be happy here. But I keep reminding myself that we need each other, and that we finally get to have that—”

“Well,” George had butted in, without thinking. “I don’t need you.”

Dream had blinked. “Okay. Well, I need you.”

It was such a tender and typically-Dream thing to confess, and George has no idea what came over him to follow it up with what he did.

As a rule, they don’t talk much about London.

He thinks Dream avoids it mostly as a courtesy to George, which he appreciates, but for George, his old home seems lightyears away and he would rather keep that way. He loves Florida more each day, and he loves Dream even more each day, and those are two things he knows for certain.

So he doesn’t understand what came over him when he somehow ended up saying the complete opposite.

“Well, that’s just you, then. I could move back to London right now and be fine on my own.”

He cringes at the recent memory, and feels something tighten uncomfortably around his heart when he recalls the look that the words had put on Dream’s face.

“Okay, George,” he had said when the initial surprise had faded. Then, devastatingly, “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He had left the room without another word, his arm brushing against George’s in the doorway, and George had just stood there like an idiot.

It had been such a stupid thing to say. So stupid.

He doesn’t even know where it came from—there has never been a time where he meant those words.

Yes, I need you, would have been the only honest response. That, and, I don’t ever want to go back there.

He thinks the only person who can possibly annoy him more than Sapnap, is himself. And he knows helping Dream with the Fusion code isn’t going to cut it for an apology.

. . .

Downstairs, the midday sun is pouring in through the big windows. Up in his dark office, George had almost forgotten that it was daytime.

He finds Dream in the first place he looks; in the living room on the couch with his laptop perched on his lap. He’s clearly in the middle of something, probably typing up some email or other, and George finds himself hesitating by the kitchen island.

It’s dumb that he’s nervous, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is. What is he supposed to say? Sorry? I’m an idiot, please forgive me? No, they know each other too well for that—Dream knows him too well for that.

Luckily for him, it’s Dream who breaks the silence.

“Hey,” his voice makes George’s head snap up.

“Hi,” he blurts out in response. “I…” he swallows, and Dream raises his eyebrows.

George sighs and starts walking towards him. “I’m sorry,” he manages to say. “For yesterday.”

He stops at the foot of the couch, burning hot under Dream’s expectant gaze. He wouldn’t blame Dream for wanting George to suffer a little, watching him fumble with his words.

To his surprise, Dream’s lips curve into a smile. He lifts one hand to rub at the back of his neck, stretching from sitting for a while. “Okay,” he says simply.

George blinks. “Okay?”

Dream shrugs. “I believe you.”

The smile on his face lifts some of the pressure off George’s heart, even if he knows he still has a lot to make up for.

He suppresses the urge to mirror it—he needs Dream to know that he means it. “It’s not funny. I’m apologizing. I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Dream says with a laugh, crossing one ankle over the other. “I hear you.”

He doesn’t seem as upset as George thinks he has a right to be. But George doesn’t know why he’s surprised—Dream has always been the more easygoing out of the two of them. He’s not one to hold a grudge, especially not with George.

He tries not to sound too hopeful when he asks, “Do you forgive me?”

There’s a pause before Dream slides his laptop aside and gets up. George watches him closely as he closes the short distance between them, and he is not too proud to melt into the hug Dream wraps him in. Even though it’s a hug that he definitely doesn’t deserve right now.

“I really am sorry,” he mumbles into the safety of Dream’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean what I said. About London. I don’t know why I said it at all.”

Dream rubs his back. His voice is soft when he asks, “You don’t want to go back?”

“No,” George squeezes his eyes shut. “I definitely don’t.”

A warm hand snakes its way under his hoodie. George pulls back to look Dream in the eye. “I’m sorry I made you think I did.”

Dream nods, his whole expression soft.

“It’s okay,” he says, and George thinks he means it. “I know you didn’t mean it like that. I mean, I didn’t really think you did.”

“Good. ‘Cause I didn’t.”

“Thank you for apologizing,” Dream says, and George can’t help but shake his head at the sincerity of it. Trust Dream to thank him for doing the bare minimum.

“Of course I’m apologizing,” he counters matter-of-factly. “I was… mean.”

Dream bobs his head as if considering it. “A little. But you were tired, I could tell you were tired.”

George huffs. Trust Dream to make excuses for him even though he doesn’t deserve it.

“I do need you,” he says, because he feels a need to clarify this a thousand times over. To undo the damage he did last night. “Like you said, we need each other. And really, I think I probably need you a lot more than you need me.”

It might be one of the most terrifyingly honest things he has ever said out loud.

Dream shakes his head and opens his mouth to disagree, but George connects their lips before he can get a word out. It’s an effective strategy.

He pulls away first. “It’s true.”

“Okay,” Dream says, a little breathless. “I believe you.”

George nods once and starts to loosen his arms, but Dream keeps him in place with a hand on his lower back, pressing gently.

George blinks at him. “What?”

“I’ll believe it more if you kiss me again,” Dream says, his smile turning uncharacteristically shy.

George has never been happier to comply.

#dnf fic #dnf fanfic #tellyouily fics

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spicywarl0ck · 9 months ago

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Hey and happy Friday!! How about "tearful kisses" for your pairing of choice?

Thank you very much for this prompt x3 It just started to write itself. @dadrunkwriting It's short, but I kinda wanted to keep it that way x3 Pairing: Josephine Montilyet/Leliana Rating: T Length: 507 This was it, the last stand.

They had reached the point of no return and called to arms. She just hoped it was enough as she took the stairs to the rookery. Her eyes fell onto her redheaded lover, a crow perched on a thick leather glove before it took off.

Josephine just hoped they were ready for this.

“Do you think we can make it?” Josie’s voice sounded so quiet when she spoke. The rookery had never seemed as dark as today, and she wondered if her eyes played tricks on her or if one of the torches went out.

“We made it through the worst things already, did we not?” Leliana looked at the antivian confidently. But even she couldn’t betray the hint of nervousness resting within her eyes.

“How many threats did we conquer already before we ended at this point, I wonder,” she added. “We faced blights, a Qunari invasion, assassins and dragons…” Leliana continued. “I have faith in the Inquisitor.”

“So do I.” Josephine stepped closer towards the hooded woman. “My faith in them doesn’t waver, but I wonder if there isn’t too much resting on their shoulders. Are we asking too much?”

“We’re asking the same of everyone, don’t we? The Inquisitor proved themselves so far, so why should they falter now?” Leliana’s eyes softened when she brushed one of Josie’s dark locks back to where they belonged.

She would never grow tired of seeing her face.

“So, this is it. The last night before the battle.” Josephine took a shaky breath, trying to blink the tears away. “You will join them in battle, won’t you?” she added, her warm brown eyes filled with yet unshed tears.

“I will.” Leliana pauses for a moment, hands softly cupping Josephine’s cheeks. “I have to.”

“What if you don’t come back to me?” Josephine’s voice is barely more than a whisper when tears start rolling down her dark-skinned cheeks. “I don’t think I could bear it.” Her hands reached out to clutch Leliana’s armour softly, unable to let go.

“I will come back to you. No matter what.” Leliana’s lips touched Josie’s forehead softly as she blinked away the tears she couldn’t keep in.

“I will always come back to you, Josie. So please, stay alive for me,” she whispers desperately. “Stay alive so I have a reason to come back.” Leliana’s lips touched Josephine’s gently. The kiss was answered immediately, the hands that clutched her armour moving up to wrap up behind her neck to tilt her down softly.

For this, single moment, it doesn’t matter what horrors tomorrow might bring.

It’s all about them. It’s about the love and the friendships they made along the way. It’s About the reason to live and to fight; The reason to return. For now, Josephine wishes she could do more than just wait for her lover to return home, but all she can offer now is this one night.

All she could offer now were soothing promises and tearful kisses, hoping it would be enough.

#dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #prompt #writing #dadrunkwriting #my writing #unedited #Josephine/Leliana #kisses

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firstsprinces · 9 months ago

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Hello! I am currently losing my mind over "The Tortured Poets Department (hello fellow swifties! I have zero swiftie friends in my life to ever talk to so I'm glad I can celebrate with y'all) like my thoughts are so jumbled between THAT AESTHETIC, all the new fic titles we're going to get from it, ALL POET HENRY CONTENT CREATED BY MY FELLOW WRITERS! And Taylor Swift just made history with her fourth AOTY Grammy!! (I'm also running on exhaustion so hopefully it'll rein my chaos in)

I almost forgot to thank @anincompletelist and @priincebutt for tagging me! LOVED your snippets this week and I hope I'll be able to fit in some much needed reading time to catch up!

This is more than six sentences because at this point you deserve all of the sentences for the Outlaw Alex/Aspiring Journalist Henry fic! Work will be slow this week so I will most likely have time off this week to keep writing. The first chapter is currently at 12K (this is the cut down version) and it's still not quite finished.

“And don’t forget to mention the bake sale. All the women from the church have been working their fingers to the bone for this upcoming weekend.” An elderly woman wearing a navy cloche hat with a matching fabric rose with a silver brooch in its center and a firm knot beside it to indicate her marital status, though this highly valued socialite seems to forget about her husband because she’s quite flirtatious. “You’ll be stopping by, dear boy, won’t you? I’m sure the all the single ladies from the church would love to see a strapping young man such as yourself supporting our community in times like these.” Henry Fox pauses his typing and curls his fingers in and then stretches them back out underneath his desk as he’s itching to crack his knuckles, but he doesn’t because he feels it’ll be rude to do while Mrs. Annette Bellshire is speaking to him. “I wouldn’t dare to miss it, Ma’am,” Henry replies to her, adding in a reassuring smile for extra measure while his eyes fight to check the clock that’s hanging in the upper corner of the behind her head. “You can call me, Annette,” she tells him with a quick wink as she brings her hand forward and reaches across the desk, her delicate and shaky fingers landing on his wrist, her touch cold through the sleeve of his shirt. Her large opal ring reflects what’s left of the dimming daylight, indicating that he most likely should be packing up his belongings and putting on his long coat and cap so he can leave for the night. Henry doesn’t answer, and not just because he’s starting to feel uncomfortable but out of respect for her husband and her marriage. He also doesn’t pull his hand away even though he probably should because an innocent passerby may see it as something far less from innocent. He’s sure it’d be quite the scandal for a married woman her age courting someone who’s young enough to be her son, and possibly even her grandson because Henry’s not exactly sure of her age and is basing his assumption off her wrinkly skin and veined hands. At the sound of a car horn, Mrs. Bellshire leans her body over to look out the window, her hand still touching Henry until she speaks again, “well, that would be Mr. Bellshire. Mustn’t keep him waiting.” She places her purse onto Henry’s desk before she stands up, smoothing her hands down the front of the skirt of her dress. Then she waves her hand at the window to let her husband know that she’ll be out shortly. “Do you mind escorting me out? I swear, the stones are starting to become uneven. I wouldn’t want to sprain my ankle before such an eventful weekend.” She says as she pulls her shawl tighter around her shoulders even though the cobblestones have nothing to do with her body temperature. He can’t help but turn his entire body around to look out the window, Mr. Bellshire is already standing beside the passenger’s side as he waits for his wife. Surely, Mrs. Bellshire doesn’t need Henry to walk her out and she’s only playing with the idea that it’ll look a certain way to her husband. It’s a game he doesn’t want to be part of, but he’s been raised to be polite, especially towards women.

I won't be tagging anyone as it's very late and there's no space in my brain right now to try and think of anything besides AH NEW TAYLOR SWIFT ALBUM and I NEED TO GO TO BED RIGHT AFTER HITTING POST.

#firstprince #wip #rwrb #six sentence sunday #seven sentence sunday

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ofstoriesandstardust · 2 years ago

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day 7 - mittens - Sunshine and Rooster

a/n: the irony is not lost on me that i’m writing & posting this in the midst of my finals week in the middle of a snowstorm... anyways, i wanted to do a little something for these two as part of ficmas and i love love love young Rooster and Sunshine. some of these characters got introduced in chapter 3.5 and some of them are new. i have re-written this three times to get it to a place where i liked it (which seems to be the case for anything for flight risk) so i hope you enjoy :)

summary: A snow day in the midst of finals week isn’t exactly a college student’s dream. Well, maybe it is.

inspired by carly rae jepsen’s “mittens”

12 days of ficmas | main masterlist | top gun: maverick masterlist | flight risk masterlist

warnings: swearing, sledding and snowball fights, my idea of worldbuilding is just adding new characters

word count: 2,409

You sigh, looking over the piece of pink paper haphazardly taped to the classroom door that announces class has been canceled. You shiver, pulling your coat tighter around you.

“Well, what now?” Tommy asks, sticking his hands in his pockets.

You sigh again, turning on your heel. “Well, I’m going home.”

Tommy and Bailey follow you out of the old building, somehow colder inside than it is outside, even with the fresh snow. “I kind of want to go to the park.”

You huff out a laugh, watching it appear in the air, as you push the creaky door of the building open. “Why?”

“It’s the perfect weather to go sledding!” He exclaims and you shake your head, holding the door open for them to follow you.

“No, I’m freezing and tired. I’m gonna go home.”

The three of you pause outside of the building. “I’m with Tommy, sledding would be a fun break.”

You shake your head, kicking a patch of snow. “No, I haven’t even started our paper for that class.”

She groans, rolling her eyes. “You never have any fun.”

“Hey Bradshaw!” Tommy calls and you look over to the brunette, whose head flies up at the sound of his last name. His face breaks into a bright smile, changing direction and heading towards your small group. “Hey Tommy.” He says, clapping his hand and pulling him into a hug. You exchange a look with Bailey, shaking your head. “Hey Sunshine, Bailey.” She nods and you offer him a smile. “What’re you up to?”

“We’re talking about going to the park and going sledding, but this one-” Tommy says, pointing his thumb in your direction, “-is against it.”

Bradley frowns. “Oh yeah?”

“I’m cold!” You defend, shivering to make a point. Bradley rolls his eyes and turns back to Tommy.

“Well, I’m down. I think Eli’s just getting out of class. I could probably catch him and see if he wants to go with?” Tommy nods.

“This sounds like a solid crew.”

Bailey nudges your shoulder with her own. “You’re coming.” She whispers and you roll your eyes.

“If I fail this class, it’s on you.”

She rolls her eyes, linking your arm with hers. “So, we’ll meet you guys there?” The boys nod in agreement. “Great, see you in twenty.” You turn, heading towards the parking lot. “Can we stop by your house and drop our stuff off?” You nod as you reach her car. She unlocks the door, its beep echoing through the deserted parking lot and you climb in the passenger seat of the SUV, taking your backpack off.

“Yeah, that works. I want to change and I think my room mate found a sled in our basement the other day.”

She starts the car and swiftly pulls out of the parking lot as she begins the drive to your house. The drive is quiet, the radio murmuring quietly in the background as it plays Christmas music.

She pulls up in front of your home and you’re quick to slide out of the car, the car beeping once more as she locks it again. You unlock your front door, pushing the door open. She shivers as you step into the house. “It’s cold in here.”

You nod, slipping your shoes off. “It’s an old house. Heating doesn’t work that great.”

“It’s cute though.”

You nod, humming in agreement. “It is, isn’t it?” You slip your backpack off your shoulders, setting it down next to the couch. She falls back on to the couch and you laugh at her, pulling your coat off. “Comfy?”

She nods, smiling at you, but then shifts, sitting up. “Hey, are you not excited about this because Bradshaw’s going?”

You sigh, leaning up against the wall. “No, I really should be doing our final paper. And it’s not that I have a problem with him, you know that.”

She snorts, smirking at you. “Obviously.”

You roll your eyes, shooting her a look. “I just don’t think he likes me all that much.”

“I doubt that. He has a special nickname for you and everything. He doesn’t have that for anyone else.”

You push yourself off the wall. “You think that Bailey.” You round the corner to the hallway, slipping inside your bedroom to pull on warmer pants for sledding. After changing, you pad downstairs to the basement, spotting the neon orange sled your room mate had dug up just the previous week in search of a shovel for your driveway. You grab it and then jog back up the stairs, slipping back into the living room.

“Ready to go?” She asks, zipping up her coat. You nod, grabbing yours from the floor. “c’mon, let’s go.”

The two of you wordlessly begin the walk to the park, you working to not slip on the ice hidden beneath the snow on the sidewalk.

The walk only takes a few minutes and soon enough, your group is in sight. They’ve amassed a few others, notably Kade and Madison, although you really only know Madison. There’s a few of Eli and Bradley’s friends too, along with their third room mate you can never remember the name of because he’s never actually around.

According to Bradley, it’s because he’s very invested in his fraternity.

In your opinion, he might be a little too invested in his frat and its lifestyle.

Madison offers you a hug as you drop the sled to the ground, letting the tactile girl squeeze you. She pulls away in time for you to catch Eli’s smirk. “Didn’t think you’d join us with Bradshaw here.”

Bailey snorts as she walks past. “That’s why I went with her. To make sure she didn’t take off and hide from us.”

Bradley staggers and winces, a hand flying up to his heart. “It wounds me that you hate me so sweetheart.” You roll your eyes, turning away from them as you sit next to Blake, a transfer student new to UVA this year.

“Don’t want to sled?” He asks, lacing up his boots.

You shake your head. “Not at the moment. I’m afraid snowballs are going to fly at my head while I do it.” You say nodding your head to the boys, Eli roaring with laughter as Bradley chucks snowballs at Tommy’s figure as he races down the hill.

Blake shakes his head, standing up. “Boys.”

You open your mouth to call him out on the fact that he is also a boy but you don’t get the chance, icy snow hitting the side of your head. You freeze, jaw falling open as the snow clings to your hair. Eli’s falling over himself with laughter as Bradley shoots you a sheepish grin.

“Sorry?”

Bradley’s back is turned to you as he watches Eli ride down the hill one more time.

The group had had a good day, laughing and sledding and throwing snowballs at each other. Kade, Bailey, and Madison had even attempted to build a snowman that had just ended up bickering about how to properly do it, the snow just sitting there in a rather large lump.

The group was getting ready to pack up and head home and while you didn’t often participate in acts of revenge, everyone was distracted, giving you the perfect opportunity to enact retaliation for the snowball to the head earlier in the day. You reach down, scooping up some of the snow and packing it together when Bailey calls your name. Bradley’s halfway turned at the noise when you chuck the snow at him, hitting him square in the back.

He stumbles in the snow, head swinging back to you. You mirror his sheepish shrug from earlier. “Sorry?”

Bailey giggles as her and Madison approach you. “Hey, Madison wants know if she can come over.”

Kade’s head perks up from where he’s pulling his gloves off. “Oh yeah, don’t you live down the street?” You nod tentatively.

Eli nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, let’s reconvene at yours for some post-sledding hot chocolate.” You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t remember inviting any of you over.”

Eli scoffs. “Well, you can’t deny that hot chocolate sounds good right about now, especially to warm up your hands.” He says as he points to you.

You glance down at your hands, still hanging by your sides in the bitter cold. “I don’t own mittens.” You mutter, feeling self-conscious suddenly and shoving them into the pockets of your jacket.

Bradley looks at you wide-eyed. “How do you not have mittens? Or gloves? We live in Virginia!”

“I don't know!” You defend, cheeks warming despite the cold temperatures.

He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath about frostbite and hypothermia but says nothing more to you as the group looks expectantly at you, waiting for an invitation.

You groan, tilting your head back. “Fine. You guys can come back to my house if you want.”

“Way to make us feel welcome.” Eli remarks and you narrow your eyes.

“Then don’t come over Eli.”

“Oh hell no, I’m not passing up the opportunity to see where you live.”

You roll your eyes and turn on your heel, treading through the inches of snow to get to the sidewalk. The group follows you as they fall into an easy chatter. Bradley’s long legs quickly bring him to the front of the group as he walks next to you, remaining oddly quiet. The walk is quick, maybe only ten minutes with all the unshoveled snow and soon you’re unlocking your front door again and pushing it open, your friends filtering in behind you. Blake collapses on the couch and Madison nudges him, her and Kade also taking seats on the couch.

Bradley stands to the side as the group settles in your living room, looking around. “It’s a nice place.” He mutters as you shut the door, kicking off your boots.

You hum in response. “It’s small, but it’s nice to have a space of my own.”

He nods, following you into the kitchen. “Can I help you at all? I recognize my best friend kind of invited himself over.”

You offer him a half-shrug, reaching up into the cabinet. “’S okay. We’re lucky I’m a mug collector. I guess I could also make coffee...”

He stands off to the side as you putter around the kitchen. You’re all too aware of the fact that he’s watching you, hands in his coat pockets, as you make hot chocolate and a pot of coffee for the crew.

His gaze brings the nervous butterflies that appear whenever he looks at you or offers you a smile, and you once again have to remind yourself to get it together. That your silly little schoolgirl crush on him would bring about nothing and it was better to take what you were offered with him, take the tentative friendship because it was all you would ever get.

(Did he consider you guys friends? You did.)

Eventually, Madison wanders into the kitchen, helping you and Bradley carry the mugs out to the group. You sat on the floor, leaning up against the foot of the armchair. Bradley hesitated when be saw that it was the only seat left but eventually sat in the chair. You tried not to pay attention to the fact that you could probably move just a few inches and lean your head on his knees and you desperately tried to think about if that would be comfortable or not.

The group quickly began discussing their plans for winter break, each sharing what they were looking forward to over the month off from school. Eli talks about how his parents are taking him and his sister out to ski in Park City in Utah, bringing Bradley with them out to their house out there. You look up at him as Bailey snorts.

“You’re spending Christmas in Utah?”

“You’re not going home for the holidays?” You whisper, just loud enough for Bradley to hear as your friends devolve into giving Eli shit for vacationing to Utah. He shakes his head, taking a long sip of his coffee (no creamer, two sugars not that you were paying attention) before he answers.

“No, I don’t... don’t like going home for the holidays.” You nod and he clears his throat. “What about you, looking forward to going home?”

You shrug your shoulders. “Kind of.”

It’d be another year of your parents fighting and someone crying and probably your Mom shutting herself in her room...

You shake your head. “Let’s just say the holidays aren’t my favorite time either.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh really? Would’ve pegged you as a Christmas enthusiast.”

You snort, going to respond when the sound of your room mate unlocking the front door effectively ends the conversation.

You shut the door to the dishwasher when he clears his throat. You startle, turning. “Didn’t realize anyone was still here.”

He shrugs, offering you the same silly sheepish grin he had earlier in the day after launching a snowball at your head. “Sorry, I had to use the bathroom. I just wanted to see if I could help you get cleaned up at all.”

You shake your head, tucking a piece of stray hair behind your ear. “I think I’ve got everything, but thanks for offering.”

He shrugs. “It’s no problem. My mother did raise a gentleman.” You have to school your features, knowing any mentions of his parents was rare. “Anyways, uh, I should get out of here but good luck on the rest of your finals and uh- have a good trip home, okay? Have a safe flight and all that.”

You can’t help the smile that beams across your face and the blush of your cheeks, even if you wish you could, knowing the visible reaction must be off-putting for him.

You’re still not even sure if he thinks of you as friends.

“Well, uh thanks Bradshaw. Hope you have a good time in Utah.”

He chuckles as you follow him out to your living room. “I’ll sure try.” He slips on his coat as he walks to the front door. You hold the front door open for him, flipping on the porch light.

“Drive home safe Bradley.” You call as he walks down your front steps.

If you dream about the bright smile he tosses over his shoulder at you for the next two weeks, well that’s just between you and the universe.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw fics #bradley rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fics #bradley bradshaw fic #top gun: maverick #top gun: maverick fics #flight risk #ky's 12 days of ficmas

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theonevoice · 1 year ago

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Rumination n. 2 - About Fallen Angel

One aspect of Good Omens that I don’t see as much praised as the amazing writing of Neil Gaiman and the unbelievable performances of Michael Sheen and David Tennant, but I find crucial to the gut-wrenching beauty of this second season in particular, is the wonderful soundtrack by David Arnold.

The music of this show is just brilliant, to a point where it feels almost arrogant for me to point it out, like it would sound weird if someone came out of the blue saying “You know, that Beethoven guy is actually rather nice”. So I will just pick one single track that, to me, summarizes how much the soundtrack helps carry the weight of the story, packing layers over layers on each scene and adding to the writing and the acting an extra expressive space that can be filled with even more facets of the main themes.

I’m thinking in particular of the scene at the end of ep. 2, with the pivotal dialogue that, for the first time, really cement the alliance between Crowley and Aziraphale as two individuals who are not entirely conforming to the expectations of their respective sides. By the time this dialogue rolls in, something massive has just happened: each of them has been caught red-handed by the other, doing and feeling things that negate their respective “company policies”. Crowley has been found out not wanting to destroy Job’s goats, let alone kill his children, and Aziraphale has been found out unable to endorse the dire implications of the Bet. Lucky them, this all happened between the two of them, nobody else is involved or informed, and this reciprocity allows them to pause for a moment and start reflecting on their situation. We know, of course, that this moment was waiting to happen since the conversation on the wall of Eden, when Aziraphale is visibly touched by the slightest sliver of doubt (his expression tells us that what Crowley is saying about God putting the Tree in such a prominent spot, as if to induce temptation on purpose, does make a point, despite him not wanting to speculate, possibly because he remembers all too well how dangerous it is to ask questions in Heaven), and since their meeting before the flood, when Crowley realizes that he doesn’t like the perspective of having innocent people killed, which is not a strictly demon-like thing to feel (and he knows it because his comment about the indiscriminate extermination of everyone via the flood is “this is more the kind of thing that you would expect my lot to do”, which, transitive property applied, means that he is upset about at least some of the things that Hell throws at the earth). But the Job encounter is the first time that all of this has actually been said (more or less) out loud by both of them.

So what about the music?

The track playing with the final dialogue is titled Fallen Angel, and I find that there is something heartbreaking in it. Yes, of course, it is a quote from Aziraphale’s line, when he desperately refers to himself as “a fallen angel”, but “fallen angel” is also what Crowley is, despite what he himself would like to think.

We talk a lot about how much Aziraphale is the one in constant denial – denial of Heaven’s dark sides, denial of his own sometimes shaky moral stance (let’s not forget that, between the Arthurian period and the meeting at the Globe, he has agreed to go around tempting people on behalf of Crowley, which means quite literally doing Hell’s work), most of all denial of his own feelings – and this is certainly true. But I feel that we should also recognize how much Crowley is in denial in his own way, specifically denial of the traces that his original angelic nature has left behind. Or rather, of those parts of angelic nature that he held on to even after being cast to Hell. Now, as much as I love the interpretation of their last exchange in ep. 6 as Aziraphale offering to “change Heaven for him” rather than asking him to change for Heaven, I still think that Aziraphale has been forcing on Crowley a distorted still-an-angel portrait because in doing so he is blocking out at least some of his internal struggle (and this “weakness”, in my opinion, makes his character even more vivid and lifelike). But I also think that Crowley’s angry reactions to having his chosen identity denied by the only person in the universe that is dear to him are tinted by the trauma of the Fall.

And the music in that scene, I believe, is telling us just that. Of all the tracks in season 2, I find Fallen Angel to be the most melancholy one together with The End?, and possibly even sadder: because The End? starts playing when both us viewers and the protagonists are in a literal, I would say almost medical state of shock, unable to master the emotional resources needed to process what just happened. Fallen Angel on the contrary is a desperately calm moment of reflection on what their situation in the universe is, on how their respective cages are hurting them, and how painfully hard it is to summon the courage to escape them, to even think of escaping them. It seems to me that even the set choice confirms this mood: after an entire episode spent almost exclusively in closed, sometimes claustrophobic spaces, they are finally “outside”, on the top of a cliff (like when they briefly met at the beginning of the episode, but now the dry canyon is a beautiful gulf), watching a calm blue sea under a calm blue sky: everything is wide open, vast, unobstructed, with no living thing around as if they are alone in the universe, their thoughts and fears can flow freely and unrestricted. And in this moment of honesty, when they for the first time open up to each other, we have Fallen Angel, which is not just sad, is also nostalgic. But how and why can it be nostalgic? If the title only refers to Aziraphale, nostalgia makes no sense, because his feelings in those moments are feelings of desperation and angst. But if the title refers to both of them, then it does make sense, because nostalgia is the pain of something that has been lost, and while Aziraphale has not lost anything yet, sitting next to him there is someone who has lost something that cannot entirely be forgotten. Surely, one could say that by now Aziraphale has lost his original “innocence”, but I would argue that, on the wall of Eden, having just given away the flaming sword, he was already letting that sliver of doubt creep in, and he was definitely not comfortable with discussing the flood. Furthermore, telling his first lie counts as a loss (of innocence and peace of mind) no more than it counts as a gain (of awareness, freedom, and self-actualization). On the other side, Crowley was denied the chance to work his situation out in such a safe space. He just lost his original status over asking questions.

If Aziraphale is in denial of the traits of his personality that make him not entirely angelic, Crowley is equally – if not more – in denial of the traits of his personality that still link him to an ideal of good that is, or at least should be angelical. And it is a quite visible denial. He is annoyed by the smallest allusion to his good qualities, but as soon as he lets his guard down he goes back to remembering that he “didn’t mean to fall”, just “hung around the wrong people”, that he “didn’t really fall”, just “sauntered vaguely downwards”. That’s why Fallen Angel can be nostalgic. It’s not just about Aziraphale contemplating for a moment that he could be (or deserve to become) a fallen angel, but it’s also about the actual fallen angel sitting next to him, who, as much as he wants to paint himself as tranquil and satisfied with his situation, is still aching from the absolute pain and terror that he felt when he was cast out of Heaven. He used to be, after all, the angel that we see before the Beginning: he was so sure that just asking questions could not get him into trouble, he had no intention of rebelling or leaving. This – obviously – does not mean that Crowley is still an angel or wants by any means to go back to being an angel: he could never go back to that, exactly because he has experienced too much grief to be ever able to fit in the narrow mould of an angel again, to be able to just bask in the joyous light of God’s will in the unshaken certainty that it is entirely Good and Just and Forgiving. He has first-hand experienced that it can be cruel and unjust and unforgiving. He has forged and conquered an identity of his own, but it is an identity born out of the pain of not having a place to belong. He had to carve out a new path for himself, he didn’t mean to, he barely realized that it was about to fall (“didn’t have anything on the rest of the afternoon… next thing I was doing a million light year freestyle dive into a pull of boiling sulfur”).

So let’s look at what is happening from Crowley’s point of view. There you have an angel that has just violated the Heavenly code of conduct, and he is so pure of heart that he is just going to turn himself in to a blind and vindictive authority. If he let him go ahead, there is a chance that this could give him a fellow “demon who goes along with Hell as far as he can”, but at what cost? If Aziraphale’s conflict is a conflict between living by his own independent judgment (which includes choosing Crowley over obedience to Heaven) and staying true to the side “of good, of truth, of light”, Crowley’s conflict is a conflict between the need to escape solitude by pulling Aziraphale to his side and saving Aziraphale from the trauma that the Fall gave him and that being fallen still gives him.

A couple of millennia later he will joke about how being damned “is not so bad when you get used to it”, but Fallen Angel playing under this dialogue in ep. 2 tells us that he would never put Aziraphale through what being damned really means. He is a demon who is actually saving an angel from the risk of becoming a demon himself, because he knows how deeply and irreparably that can wound your soul, to the point that you would rather lie than admit it. “I’m a demon, I lied”: I know what it means to be in this place, don’t drag yourself here, it’s a realm of exile and loneliness, let’s agree that an angel can still be an angel even if he steps out of line from time to time, let’s create a margin of maneuver that did not exist when all this happened to me. Now it’s too late for me, but not for you.

So, to wrap up, thank you David Arnold for your invaluable work.

#good omens 2 #go 2 speculation #go2 spoilers #good omens #david arnold #fallen angel

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nirikeehan · 10 months ago

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NIRI you know I'm about to ask about "church" !!!!!

Thank you, Rowan, I am SO glad you asked.

Ask me questions here!

Okay. So. One of the things my absolutely unhinged brain glommed onto when listening to Twice Bitten was Metrion's relationship to the Barovian religion; he finds immense comfort and resolve in the teachings of the Morninglord and the kindly priest who runs St. Andral's church in Vallaki, Father Lucian. I love me some complicated and nuanced portrayals of faith, okay.

Contrast this with Thalia, who I played through Inquisition with as someone having a lot of religious trauma from her family and time in the Circle. I have joked that I played her as "a Catholic schoolgirl two days out from graduation," something I have no experience with at all. (Ha, ha.)

Smash these two characters and their respective religious views together, and we've got this scene.

This is leading up to a scene that can happen in Curse of Strahd "canon," if we can call the module that. (Certain conditions need to be met in order to trigger it, something that did happen in Twice Bitten.) It's known in the module as "The Feast of Saint Andral," and in Twice Bitten it was one of the most iconic turns of events, imo. So I'm more or less taking what Metrion did in his canon and adding Thalia (and later, her own retinue, who she previously got separated from).

And I'm sure nothing bad whatsoever is going to happen to anyone involved.

After a few blocks of traversing alleys, Metrion cuts abruptly back onto the main road. He strides with purpose toward a large stone building, sitting adjacent to a graveyard. At the entry gate, Thalia pauses, a familiar unease falling over her. “Where are we?” Metrion slows, glancing over his shoulder at her. He shrugs. “A church.” Dread forms a pit in her stomach. She grips the gate handle, staring up at the belfry. “Where I come from, we called them Chantries.” Her voice sounds ghostly, even to her own ears. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

She remembers the church in Barovia village, with its claw marks on the door, the benches inside broken and strewn, the mad priest Donavich telling them to seek the Kolyanovich siblings elsewhere, the screaming under the floorboards. And before that — all the times she stood in the Chantry, reciting the Chant of Light with her fellow Circle mages when she wished to be elsewhere. Studying the doctrine that told her that her proper place was a prison. Trying to point out the discrepancies to the Ostwick Chantry Mother in her religion class, as if that would make a difference. It’s just semantics, girl, she’d said. Don’t worry your head about it. Metrion turns to face her. Mist swirls at their feet in the gathering dusk. She can feel the scrutiny from his golden eyes. His mouth works, and she expects an acerbic quip, but maybe the way she clutches the gate has tipped him off. “Yeah,” he says softly, with surprising tenderness. “I know the priest, all right? Father Lucian. He, uh, says this place is hallowed ground. So no creepy crawly undead can get inside.” Thalia frowns. “I’ve never heard of Chantries being protected from things like that.” “What are you, a theologian?” Metrion retorts. “Listen. He’s a good sort, this one. He might let us sleep in the pews or something. No matter what, that’s still a roof over our heads, right?” Thalia stares at him. “Your plan is to beg the Father to let us sleep in the Chantry? Like street urchins?” Metrion bristles. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize Your Highness required luxury accommodations. Shall I go seeking to the local lord for rooms? Oh, wait, he’s a fucking vampire who wants to kill us all.” “I’m not a— that’s not what I meant,” Thalia stammers, taken aback by his vitriol. She wants to tell him only a monarch would be addressed as Your Highness, but she doesn’t think that will aid the situation. She hasn’t yet found an opportunity to tell him about the Inquisition and her place in it. She recalls the posh accent he affected upon first meeting her. He must be used to rubbing elbows with the elite, but as a performer who would suffer condescension if he revealed too much about a humble birth. Telling him of her own position of privilege might not endear her to him any, either. She nods stiffly. “Forgive me. Your idea is a solid one. Let’s go see what this Father Lucian has to say.”

#curse of strahd au #wip game #it's never sunny in barovia #i'm working on this scene rn and i'm obsessed #it might make sense to no one but me but i'm loving it

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berenwrites · 2 years ago

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Whole New Us Ch10 - Stranger Things - Steddie

Whole New Us: Trauma Bonded and Beyond

Also on AO3 | Or here CH1 | CH2 | CH3 | CH4 | CH5 | CH6 | CH7 | CH8 | CH9 | CH10 | CH11 | CH12 | CH13 | CH14 | CH15 | CH16 | CH17 | CH18 | CH19 | CH20 | CH21 | CH22 | CH23 | CH24 | CH25 (Mature) | CH25 (Fade to black) COMPLETE

Summary: Steve has been ignoring his own problems, he’s been busy. They’ve all been busy, preoccupied with fixing everything that was broken. Vecna has been defeated, but the Upside Down is still there, and the gates are not completely closed even though Hawkins has almost returned to normal. It’s been a couple of months and the aftereffects of Steve’s encounter with the demobats is about to come back to bite him. However, it also brings some unexpected hope.

Pairing: steddie (Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson)

Rating: Teen (with mature content in later chapters)

Chapter 10. Confessions

“Okay, spill it,” Robin said the moment he picked her up from school during his break from work.

Them having the joint evening shift at Family Video meant he had no wriggle room. As ever Robin could read him like a book.

“So,” he started, pausing mostly because he knew it would drive her crazy.

“Dingus,” she warned.

“I may have kissed Eddie,” he revealed.

“You did not!” she said, eyes going wild.

“Well, technically, he kissed me first,” he added, pulling out of the parking lot.

“You didn’t even tell me you were into him,” Robin accused.

“I didn’t want to complicate things,” Steve defended himself. “Eddie’s vulnerable and so I was trying to ignore how attracted I was to him. I thought saying it out loud would make it too real, only, I think it was too real anyway.”

He wanted to turn and look at her, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the road for that long with all the school crowd cars around. When Robin’s hand gently came to rest on his arm, he was pretty sure he was forgiven.

“Okay, I get where you’re coming from,” she assured him. “So, what changed?”

“He came out to me while we were making lunch,” he explained, “and so I came out to him. I told him I had a friend who had explained what bisexual was, but I didn’t tell him it was you. I confessed my Han Solo crush.”

“That film has so much to answer for,” Robin said, tapping his arm.

“Then he asked me my type,” Steve went on. “I know I could have played it off, but in the end, I went for it. Made it obvious I was talking about him. He basically asked me if he could kiss me, and I said yes.”

“Marks out of ten?” was Robin’s next question.

“Off the scale,” he replied without the slightest hesitation.

“So, our Eds is a good kisser then,” Robin concluded.

“Well, yes,” Steve agreed, “but, honestly, I think he could have kissed like a fish, and it would still have been the best kiss of my life because it was him. And that doesn’t even include the whole blood incident.”

“Blood incident?” Robin asked in a high, incredulous tone.

“Do not laugh,” he said.

“Word of honour I’ll try not to,” she replied, which he was well aware was the best he could ask.

“These fangs are sharp, so French kissing is going to take some practice,” he told her.

“Oh, oooh,” Robin said as she caught on.

“You promised not to laugh,” he warned.

“I’m not laughing,” she said, but he could hear the amusement in her voice.

He glanced over and could see the barely controlled smile on her face.

“You’re laughing, I can tell,” he countered.

“I’m not, I’m smiling,” Robin replied, “they are not the same.”

“You’re making fun of me,” he pointed out.

“Only a little,” she promised, “but you have to admit it’s a little funny that the infamous lady’s man of Hawkins High has to learn to kiss all over again. Ooh, did you get a hit of his blood like you got off mine? I’m asking for purely scientific purposes.”

“Now you sound like Dustin,” he said.

“Let me live vicariously through your kissing,” she complained.

“Still can’t believe you haven’t kissed Vicky yet,” he countered.

“She only just broke up with her boyfriend,” Robin replied. “I am not going to swoop in like some callous vulture, and besides, finals are a thing. Now back to the blood question, don’t think I forgot.”

Steve sighed as he found a parking spot near Family Video.

“Yes, I got a hit off Eddie’s blood,” he admitted. “And wow was it a hit. If I ever need to wake up fast, forget caffeine. Everything turned up to ten. My senses, this connection me and Eddie have, everything. It was amazing, but the comedown was a bitch. After about half an hour I crashed, had to take a catnap before coming to work.”

“Another tick for species synchronicity,” Robin said as if that made perfect sense.

“I don’t understand,” Steve said, taking the keys out of the ignition.

“You get a hit off human blood,” Robin explained, “where you don’t from animal blood, which suggests there’s something different about the way your system interacts with it. The most likely explanation is that it’s something to do with how humans are genetically compatible.”

“Or it might have been because it was straight from the source, not from a packet,” Steve said as he thought that through.

“True,” Robin agreed, “but you and Eddie is pointing more towards my theory because you and he are your own species. You’re mostly human, but you’ve got Upside Down stuff in there as well. You’re a unique pair and you react more strongly to his blood than you did to mine. Hence species synchronicity.”

“Okay,” he agreed and went to climb out.

Robin had made a strong case, but Steve couldn’t help thinking it might not be quite that simple.

“So,” Robin said as they walked towards the store, “would you rather I not come over this evening so you and your new squeeze can have some alone time?”

The way she put it made him shudder even if she was just being circumspect because someone might overhear.

“Please, never say that again,” he replied. “And no, I kind of need you to keep me out of my head so I don’t do or say anything stupid when I over think this. Besides which we are very much still on the just kissing part.”

“Gotcha,” she said and linked her arm through his, “but, just so you know, I reserve the right to tease you mercilessly.”

“Funny how not unexpected that is,” he responded in his bitchiest tone. “Just remember I bite back.”

“Not when you’re so embarrassed you can’t speak you don’t,” Robin told him, and he just had to accept it was going to be one of those shifts.

For once he was hoping for a solid stream of customers.

~*~

“Eddie,” Robin greeted as she swept into Steve’s house.

“Lady Buckley,” Eddie responded with a smile.

“Just one question,” she said with a smile that made Steve vaguely panic, “as Steve’s platonic soulmate, do I need to give you the shovel talk?”

Eddie’s eyes opened in shock and Steve felt the flash of icy cold up his spine at the same time.

“You told her?” Eddie asked looking at Steve.

“He did,” Robin sailed on without letting him reply, “because he tells me everything and I am the raving lesbian who helped him figure out he was bi. Now, please, answer the question.”

Eddie blinked at her in shocked silence before finally smiling something of a cheeky smile.

“No,” Eddie replied. “If it comes to that I will lend you the shovel myself.”

Steve thought he might melt from the swell of warmth in his chest.

“Good,” Robin said, “glad we got that out of the way. Now I’m hungry, I’m raiding your refrigerator, Steve.”

“There’s left over casserole in the dish on the first shelf,” he called after her. “You can heat it in the microwave.”

“Thanks.”

Walking over to Eddie he reached out his hand. Eddie stepped up to him and they shared a very quick kiss.

“Missed you,” he confessed.

“Me too,” Eddie replied.

He was about to respond when something occurred to him.

“Just remember to take the foil off first,” he yelled towards the kitchen.

“Sometimes I worry about you two,” Eddie said and laughed. “You’re really going to have to explain that panicked look in your eyes.”

Steve bit his lip. Occasionally, Robin forgot the details when her mind was on other things, and he did not want a repeat of the Burrito Incident which they had promised to never speak of ever again. He wasn’t sure Eddie would take no for an answer, however.

~*~

Since Eddie was still dead as far as the town was concerned, Hopper made the executive decision that Owens would be informed at Steve’s house. Not that Steve or anyone else was complaining. These things worked better as a united front and a van full of people showing up at Hawkins Labs would look suspicious to the government and anyone from town who saw something.

Those there for the planned meeting were of course Eddie and Steve, there was no way Steve was letting Eddie be the only one scrutinised. Wayne as Eddie’s emotional support, Robin as Steve’s, Nancy because she was scary as hell, El as the expert, and Hopper because he could legally carry a gun in plain view just to remind Owens who was running this show.

When the doorbell went, Hopper answered it because everyone else had chosen a very particular place to wait. They were sending a message. Steve did his best to look calm where he was perched on the couch arm next to Eddie.

Owen’s walked in, saw them all and promptly stopped. The man’s eyes scanned each one of them, finally settling on Eddie.

“Ah, Mr Munson,” Owens said, “it seems reports of your death were inaccurate.”

“Just Eddie,” Eddie said, doing a very good impression of unperturbed, Steve was impressed given the bubble of nerves he could feel from his boyfriend that echoed his own, “Mr Munson is my uncle Wayne.”

“I am beginning to understand why we had some peculiar readings from the gates last week,” Owens concluded. “Your bravery precedes you, Eddie. I’m glad you survived.”

“Thanks,” Eddie replied.

“We went in to get him,” Hopper said in a tone that just begged the government man to argue.

“And how did you know he was alive?” Owen asked, eyes flicking to El.

“It was me,” Steve spoke up and found himself the immediate focus of attention.

“Mr Harrington,” Owens said, Steve didn’t correct him, “and how, pray tell did you know Eddie survived?”

“Dreams,” Steve said, since they were here to tell the truth.

They were going to need Owens’ help to get Eddie back into his life. They had agreed lying now would likely bite them on the ass later and Owens was their best way in.

“Bat bites?” Owens asked, proving quite how perceptive he could be.

“Maybe,” Eddie replied, “but we were thinking more bat blood. Also, best guess, why I didn’t die.”

Owens looked between Steve and Eddie, and Steve didn’t like the way he was being analysed, but he refused to fidget.

“It has been several months since the incidents in March,” Owens finally said. “What was the reason for the delay?”

“I didn’t think the dreams were real,” Steve replied, “but that changed.”

“If I may be so bold, why?” was the immediate reply.

“This happened,” he said and let his eyes flash red.

Owens blinked and remained completely silent for a good couple of seconds.

“Yes, I suppose that would be somewhat convincing,” Owens finally said.

“There are perks too,” Eddie said, finishing the sentence standing right next to the other man.

“Holy f…”

Steve was impressed with the way Owens held himself together with how fast Eddie had crossed the distance between them and the fact Eddie had red eyes, claws and a very fangy smile.

“They’re not dangerous,” El said with a smile of her own. “I made sure.”

“Thank you, Jane,” Owens said, plastering professionalism over any anxiety he might be feeling. “This is, well, quite remarkable.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Eddie said as he let the otherness fade.

“Made the Upside Down a lot less terrifying,” Steve agreed.

“And you both have the same physical attributes?” Owen asked.

Steve nodded, holding up his hand and flexing his claws to underline the point. Owen simply nodded.

“What is it you need?” the man asked after a few moments.

“Eddie needs his life back,” Nancy took over since everyone agreed she was the most professional. “We need to come up with a way to do that.”

“That can be arranged,” Owens said in a perfectly reasonable tone that had Steve’s hackles rising.

He had come to expect a ‘but’ when he heard that tone from anyone associated with the mess that was Hawkins.

“Of course, Eddie and Mr Munson will be expected to sign the relevant NDAs,” Owens went on after a slight pause.

“Not a problem,” Eddie said, tone flat.

Owens nodded, even as his eyes flicked between Steve and Eddie.

“Is there anything else?” Owens asked.

“Not right now,” Hopper said.

Steve was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Quite remarkable,” Owens said, not even trying to hide his fascination.

“This is a run down of what Steve and Eddie have discovered so far,” Nancy said, standing and passing a piece of paper to Owens.

It was kind of a peace offering. They had left off the connection between them and been vague about the extent of their strength and speed, but Owens had no way of knowing that. The man scanned the information in short order.

“Thank you, this will be most useful for our records. With the work Jane is helping us with we hope to have the dangers of the Upside Down sealed soon, but we all know that any information can be useful as the most unexpected time,” Owens said.

None of them were arguing there, not that they had ever had all the facts they needed to defeat the next evil on their doorstep.

“Would either or both of you be willing to come in for some tests?” Owens went on in the annoyingly reasonable tone again.

That was what Steve had been waiting for.

“Not yet,” he said and made sure he was looking right at the man. “It’s too soon. Eddie’s been nothing but traumatised since March. He needs time to rest and recuperate and I am going to make sure he has the chance.”

It was never a good idea to outright say no to the shady government people in Hawkins, but he was pretty sure he could put Owens off. At least that was the plan they had all decided on. After what had happened to El, going into a government lab voluntarily was not something either he or Eddie felt like chancing.

“Ah, yes, I can understand that,” Owens agreed with a nod. “Would a therapist be of some help?”

Steve smiled even as he saw the trap.

“Thank you,” he said, “but I don’t think either of us are ready for that.”

“We’ll let you know,” Eddie added.

Owens gave them both a smile and Steve was absolutely sure the man knew what game they were all playing, but clearly, they were winning at the moment.

“Well then, thank you for advising me of the situation,” Owens said. “We will be in touch about Eddie’s official resurrection.”

Steve was very, very glad to get the man out of his house after that.

End of Chapter 10

Chapter 11

#stranger things fanfiction #steddie #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie lives #stranger things #st: whole new us #fanfic #post season 4 #vampires #kind of vampires #hurt/comfort

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clwhowrites · 4 months ago

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"Where is my child!?" Marius demanded.

"I left her with Quinn, he's been taking good care of her." Saline answered.

"You left her with him?"

"Yes! I was in no position to raise a little girl! I couldn't eve take care of a stray cat! He has taken good care of her. Where the hell were you? You couldn't even stop by, write a letter, give one penny to help the child you made!"

He stepped back, "I'll- I'll deal with you later!" He turned, ran out of her cottage, to the Nether Woods and the manor of the Dark Lord Nelgoth.

Marius and two other men, an Elvin paladin Agnar Oakborn and a Dwaven Barbarian Ametrine, burst into the abode of the Dark Lord. Skeleton warriors rose form the floor, Marius blasted the skeletons with bolts of fire and ice, Ametrine smashed the smashed the bone with his mighty hammer, and Agnar slashed at the skeletons with his holy sword of light.

“Stop!” A voices yelled from the second floor, “Who invades my home and why are you attacking my skeletons?” Demanded the necromancer Quinn Nelgoth.

“Sorry boss, they took us by surprise.” one of the skeletons said.

“It is fine, I will get you all back together.” The Dark Lord said to the skeletons. “What are you doing in my home!?” The Necromancer demanded.

“We have come to rescue the kidnapped child!” Agnar yelled.

“’Kidneapped child’?” He looked at the group and finely recognized their wizard. “By the dark gods!” Quinn exclaimed, walked down the steps to the first floor. “I did not kidnap her, I adopted her!” The necromancer pointed at Marius, “After he left her at his opiate addicted sister! He hasn’t even written a letter or sent one coin to help out with raising her, did he even tell you that?”

“No,” Ametrine answered, “in fact we didn’t even know he had a kid until told us you kidnapped her.”

“Well- well I am here now I will stop you from teaching her any evils!” Marius said.

“I am not our father!” The necromancer yelled.

“’Our father’?” The Paladin asked, looking at Marius.

“I took responsibility! unlike you. I changed her diapers, I held when she cried, I taught her how to walk, how to talk, how to read. I go to partied and meeting with people I hate so she can have friends her age. I sit in a little seat, at a little table with all her stuffed animals and play tea party with her.” He showed them his finger nails, painted pink, “she painted these, not I!”

Agnar sheathed his sword, “he sounds like a good father.”

“He really is.” one of the broken skeletons said.

“A good master too,” another skeleton said, “He keeps us clean, mends our breaks, and pays us well.”

“We get full unhealth insurance with dental.” Yet another skeleton said.

“’Dental’? The Heroes Guild doesn’t even give that.” Ametrine commented.

“While you were gallivanting around the lands doing what ever it is you do.”

“Fighting evil!” Marius uninterrupted.

“’Fighting evil’,” Quinn said with air quotes, “I was raising the baby you were the sperm donor to. Do you even know her name?”

“”Of course! Um- Ss- Sam-” pause, “antha.”

“Sydney.”

“You changed her name?”

“No! That was the name you gave her!”

Quinn looked at the Paladin. “What is your oath Paladin.”

The Paladin unsheathed his sword, held it in the air. “To battle evil so the innocent may not suffer!”

“Isn’t it evil to to abandon one’s child to a drug addict-” Quinn looked at Marius, “who is now four years sober, with no help from you!” back at Agnar “-a drug addicted woman and never even write or send anything to help raise the child?”

Agnar looked at Marius, lowering his arm, “Yes, that would be evil.”

“Very evil.” Ametrine added.

“Wouldn’t it also be evil to barge in on the homw of the one who has been raising that child as his own, threatening him and accusing him of crimes?”

The Paladin pointed is sword at Marius. “Indeed.”

They heard a door open from the second story, an 8-year-old girl in unicorn pajamas carrying a unicorn plush came out. “Daddy, why is everybody yelling?”

The Paladin and the Barbarian hid their weapons behind their backs.

Quinn looked up. “I’m sorry Baby, it’s just a misunderstanding. Go back to bed and I’ll be up there to tuck you in and read you a story.”

Marius opened his mouth to speak, Agnar covered it with his hand.

“Alright.” Sydney went back through the door.

Quinn looked at the party, “Leave! You people have cause enough trouble. It will take all night to put my employees back together.”

“We are very sorry, bill us for the damages and the time, we’re staying in the Inn in River Bend.” Ametrine said. The Elf and Dwarf took Marius out of the Dark Lords home.

A week later Sydney got a letter from her “uncle” Marius with over 30 silver he earned from his new job as a waiter at the tavern in River Bend. It was either that or the Paladin fulfill his oath.

Your brother left his newborn child with you so that he could go “find himself,” whatever that meant. Lacking the resources and unable to care for a child, you had no choice but to give them up for adoption. Years later, your brother finally returns and asks where his child is.

#writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writing inspiration #writing #fiction #fantasy #wizard #necromancer #paladin #barbarian #flash fiction #flash story #short story #short fiction

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jellystarsdrops · 6 months ago

Text

― Spider and the Moon // Chapter 1 ₊✩｡🕷˚🕸⋆｡

currently playing: gone, gone / thank you by tyler, the creator

synopsis: Miles wasn’t up to spending the summer with a cousin he didn’t know until now, especially someone who was half his age. This was going to be the lamest summer ever! Yet Miles would soon learn that he and Lunella are a lot more similar than they thought they were.

word count: 2093 words

ao3 link: 🌔🕷

a/n: this took me a whole ass month to write this so hopefully you guys enjoy!! I'm surprised there isn't a lot of fics of the two interacting

Miles didn’t think he was going to spend his summer like this. He should be at home playing video games or working on some sketches in peace. But instead here he was, trapped inside a hot car in New York when the traffic was really bad.

To make things worse it was only supposed to be a twenty-minute drive, how did it become almost forty minutes? It didn’t make any sense. Miles groaned as he looked out the window, only seeing all the cars beside them, and double the already terrible time he was having, the loud honking sounds were about to give him a headache and even adding the terrible road rage his father had, this was gonna be a minute before they actually get to where they are supposed to be. Miles was about to go insane.

As Miles started to turn his music up, he thought back on how he even got into this situation. They were all at the dinner table, having casual talk like usual, he was telling his parents how he was glad the school year was over and that he passed all his classes. Miles was so ready to do absolutely nothing this summer.

“You know,” Jefferson, Miles’s dad, would begin as he finished his bite of food and looked up at his son, “I was talking to my brother the other day and he suggested planning a family reunion this summer, you remember Uncle James right?”

Miles hummed, trying to paint a picture of what his relative could look like, but nothing was coming up. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Miles was only a toddler when he last saw James so he has no idea who you’re talking about, Mi Vida.” Rio, Miles’s mom, hummed softly as she ate.

“Oh yeah, you right-” Jefferson says with a chuckle, shaking his head. “But yeah, your Uncle James was suggesting that we all come to stay with them in the Lower East Side of Manhattan for the summer to help plan this big reunion. And with him, he’s going to struggle.”

Miles had to pause, looking at his father with an almost agitated expression but he had to keep a neutral expression so he wouldn’t come off as disrespectful.

“So you’re telling me… That I’m spending my whole summer with people I don’t even know?” He flat-out said, almost in disbelief.

Jefferson gave Miles a look, frowning at his son. “Well it's not people that you don’t know, this is family, plus this would give you a chance to meet all your uncles, aunts, everyone! Plus it's not like you’re gonna be there by yourself, James’s daughter Lunella will be there too! That would give you a chance to know each other!”

So he would have to spend his summer with basically a stranger? Greeeeeaaaaatttttttt.

“How old is she anyway?” Miles asked his dad, praying that she would be around at least the same age as him.

“Last time I heard from him, I thinnnkkk she might be nine or ten,” Jefferson confirmed with Miles, doing a little shrug.

“Dad, I’m not spending my summer break with a little kid!! That’s basically babysitting at that point!” He said frustratedly, raising his voice a bit.

Jefferson was about to say something before Rio stepped in, giving Miles a stern look that made him shrink down in his seat.

“Don’t talk to your father like that,” She would start off, making sure that would stick into his head, “ Secondly, you should take advantage of this baby. You get to meet another side of your family and they get to see you too! They only heard stories of how smart you are and all the accomplishments you achieved. Not to mention family is the most important thing in this world, we have to stick together… You understand baby?”

Miles would sit in silence, listening to his mom as he thinks. She made a good point. Family is important and after what happened to Uncle Aaron in that alley, he couldn’t lose anymore. He sighs quietly, looking up at the both of them. “You’re right, sorry…. I’ll tryyyyy to make the most of it.” He guessed with a smile on his face. He wasn’t going to enjoy it at all but he wasn’t up for an argument right now.

The both of them would smile, having a relaxed expression. “That’s the spirit kiddo! Now we leave out in two weeks so make sure you pack everything you need.” Jefferson begins to list off all the things that they have to do.

As Miles would nod with a smile, in the back of his head, he was dreading the day of the trip. This was going to be one long summer…

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

After the almost atrocious hour-long drive, they finally made it to the apartment complex that his uncle stayed in. Speaking of his uncle, as soon as they parked up on the side of the road, he came to greet them with a big smile and hug.

“Jeff my man! You made it! At first, I thought you got lost, you know how bad your eyes are.” James teased Jefferson, the two pulling each other into a hug before fake wrestling a bit. “Oh har har, you think you’re sooo funny!” Jefferson laughs with him before stopping. “It’s good to see you too man…”

Three more people would come out of the building. James’s wife Adria would come out to help them get their stuff out of the car, along with Mimi and Pops who were technically Miles’s grandparents.

“Look at you! Boy, I remember when you could hardly hold up your head!” Pops exclaimed, hugging Miles. “Now look at you! Almost as tall as me!” He says as he ruffles Miles’s hair a bit.

Miles smiles, hugging him back as he looks at Pops. “It has been a while. It’s good to see you guys again!” He hummed, fixing his hair.

Mimi chuckles as she walks over to Miles, giving him one of her big hugs and looking up at him while holding his face. “This must be the famous Miles Morales that I hear so much of! Getting into one of the most prestigious schools in Brooklyn!” She praised him with a big smile on her face. “How’s it going over there? I just know you’re making your parents proud!”

Miles bashfully smiles, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s going good, Spanish was kicking my butt but I managed!”

“That’s good sugar, I know your momma is making sure you pass.” Mimi laughed and Rio chuckled a little as well. Mimi would then take Miles’s bookbag off his shoulders. “Now let's get you inside so I can start dinner, has my son not been feeding you? You look like a walking paper bag!”

“I heard it's supposed to get windy later tonight, don’t want you to fly away and we have to chase you!” Pops laughed, patting him hard on the back before helping with Rio’s bags and carrying them inside. Miles chuckles softly, rubbing where Pops had hit him in the back as he enters the apartment. It was a cozy little apartment but it was big enough room for all of them to stay in. Mimi showed them where they would be sleeping, now getting situated and comfortable. As Miles looked around the guest room that he would be staying in, he sighed softly with a little smile, marking the start of his summer as he saw that this wasn’t so bad. And on the bright side, this could be a good break from all the Spider-man stuff he’s been dealing with recently. He deserved it.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Later that night, they would be all talking during dinner, reminiscing on the past, and overall having a good time. Mimi had cooked them all dinner which was the most delicious meal he had ever had, besides his mom’s of course. Miles had to admit, he was having a good time. The room was filled with laughter and a comforting aura in the house. It was really nice. His uncle was a bit of an oddball like his dad said but he found it really amusing. Pops and Mimi were funny too, plus he found that his Aunt Adria is a DJ at a Rollerink that they owned which was very cool. Even though it’s like them meeting for the first time, Miles feels like he has known them all his life.

As his dad and uncle continued to discuss the whole plan for the reunion, Rio turned to Adria with a hum. “So where’s Lunella? I haven’t seen or heard from her all day.” She asked her.

Oh yeah, he completely forgot about her. Come to think of it, Miles didn’t even know if she came out to see them when they first arrived here.

“Honestly I’m not sure, that girl has a mind of her own I swear. This morning she was in such a rush that she didn’t sit down for breakfast!” Adria explained to Rio, ranting a little about her daughter.

“Well, you know our Lunella, she has a mind of her own!” Mimi chuckled softly, sipping on her cup of coffee. “She’s probably out with her friend Casey or something.”

“But it’s almost 10:30! I understand that it’s summer but it’s too late for her to be out late.” Adria huffed sternly, looking at the time on her phone and about to dial her number.

As if it was almost on cue, the front door opened and there was the person they were just talking about. Lunella had entered into the kitchen, winded as she was out if breath from running all the way there. When she finally caught her breath, she cleared her throat and fixed her clothes. “Sorry I got here late! I uh- Case and I weren’t paying attention to the time!” She explained herself. Lunella would then notice the people in her home, flushing softly in embarrassment. She completely forgot that family was supposed to come over this summer.

“Well next time please pay attention next time baby, you’re too young to be out in the streets this late.” Adria sighed, going over to Lunella to fix some hair that was in her face.

“Mooomm I’ll be fine! I’m not a baby anymore!” Lunella whined, brushing her mom’s hand away as she scoffed.

Adria chuckled at her anger, fixing Lunella’s glasses on her face. “You may not be a baby anymore but you are ten, so don’t make me repeat myself Lunella Lafayette.” She scolded her a bit but in a playful tone. Adria wasn’t really mad at her, just worried. “Now don’t be rude and say hello to your relatives! You remember your Uncle Jeff and Aunt Rio? Don’t forget your cousin Miles too!”

Lunella would say her hellos to the both of them with a bright smile, making slight conversation with her uncle and aunt. As she would talk to them, Miles sat in silence before it was his turn. Lunella was… really short and nerdy. He could just tell by looking at her and the way that she spoke, she was a nerd. Not in a bad way of course! Miles was a nerd in many different things so hopefully they could get along.

When Lunella got done talking to his parents, Miles smiled brightly and waved to her. “It’s nice to meet you Lu! I know you probably don’t know me but I hope we could get along!” He exclaimed, wanting to make a good impression.

The look on Lunella’s face was almost lethal. It was the most uninterested and annoyed look that Miles would ever see on a person. It was giving him flashbacks from the first time he might Miguel, which wasn’t how he thought meeting the leader of a Spider Society was going to go. She was giving him such death glares that he thought his head was going to explode. They stared at each other in an uncomfortable silence that Miles swore felt like forever before she would flash him a smile.

“Same! I can’t wait to spend the summer with you!” Lunella says in a cheerful tone but it was clear that both the smile and tone are fake. She would drop the cheerful act before fixing herself a plate of food, everyone else still carrying on with their own conversations while Miles was left speechless in his seat.

‘What the hell was her problem??’

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mane--attraction · 2 years ago

Text

Experiment (Murdock x Reader)

Hiiii this might be my singular fic this month; was writing something else, we’ll see what happens with it. I’m trying to get it done but I’ve been busy. Inspired by an Eg0tober prompt (censored so it won’t somehow go into the tag lol). Some content warnings below the cut.

Word count: 660

MINORS DNI

(Bondage reference, dom/sub, kitten pet name, very slight breeding kink, implied edging? hopefully i didn’t forget anything that needs to be added)

***

You shiver, staring up at the light above the table you’re laying on. It’s not particularly cold in the house, but being naked and a little nervous will do that to a person. You pick at the edges of the wood.

“Don’t do that.”

The sound of Murdock’s feet across the floor alert you to him first, but his command startles you, and you sheepishly move your hands back to your sides. Wordlessly, he places the bundle on the smaller table set up next to you in your eyeline, and you look over at it. Leather gloves unwrap the fabric, and like a doctor laying out his tools, he arranges the contents before him.

You suspected it was going to be sex toys, but you didn’t realize how many he was going to bring out. How long has he had these? How long has he been planning this? Can you even see the full extent from your vantage point? You squirm, chewing at your lip.

“Stop moving.” He doesn’t look at you, not yet. Even if he was, he hasn’t taken off his glasses. “Otherwise, I’ll just have to tie you down.” Murdock pauses, as if considering something. You nearly squirm again, but manage to stop yourself. He chuckles to himself and resumes his work. “Maybe I’ll need to, anyway.”

You don’t answer him either way, refusing to out yourself and attempting to keep your thoughts from running rampant from what little you’re able to see (and failing).

“Strap you down and…” his muttering trails off, finally glancing over at you. “Beautiful,” he rumbles, and your cheeks flush, causing him to grin toothily and somehow just shy of hungry. Murdock takes hold of your jaw and kisses you, and you quickly, eagerly let him in, something he takes full advantage of; before long, your head is spinning, and when he pulls away, you’re breathless.

“Now,” he says, walking to the end of the table and then trailing his hands down your body, the cool leather slowly warming, “are you ready to play, sweetheart?” His fingers barely brush against your core, and it takes more self-control than you’d like to keep yourself from whining; it’s bad enough your hips twitch towards him. A single hand rests across your lower stomach in silent command. Once you’ve obeyed, he leans over you, looming, hands now by your shoulders. “Ready to see just how much you can take?”

The knot in your stomach is outweighed by the heat in your core. You nod. “M— Mm-hm.”

His grin grows wicked. “Very good.” He gives you a shockingly soft kiss, then nips at your lip before making his way back to his “work station.” You don’t have time to consider what you’ve gotten yourself into, the sound of buzzing distracting you. Your attention returns to the toys; more specifically, the vibe he’s holding and the dildos—multiple, in different sizes and styles—he has set up, ready to go. You gulp, eyes flitting up to meet Murdock’s, revealed now to show just how ravenous he is.

“Don’t worry,” he practically purrs, “everything will work out just fine, kitten.” He brushes the vibe against your outer thigh. “Just let Sir have his fun…and he’ll be sure to reward you.”

It’s not really the vibrations itself that have your heart racing, light as they are right now, even as he s l o w l y drags it towards your center. “Something hot and sticky…somewhere deep…” The barest brush against the sensitive skin, and your breath hitches. He pulls it away quickly. “Sounds good, doesn’t it?”

You nod, trying not to pout. He raises an eyebrow, and you hurriedly say, “Yes, sir.”

“Wonderful.” He grabs a dildo with his other hand and bumps it against your entrance. His expression sharpens while you bite your lip, trying not to move. “Don’t cum, sweetheart.”

The vibration gets stronger, and only now do you realize just how long this night will be.

#lemon #murdock x reader #minors dni #x reader #gender neutral #gender neutral reader #d/s #i wasn't gonna throw 'sir' in there but he needed the third person sentences thrown in there so it'd feel correct #murderplier x reader #idk if people are still using that tag but might as well #queuing this before i think too much more about this shjsd

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1kook · 3 years ago

Text

crunchyroll & rail

the 10th installment of my netflix & chill series !

SUMMARY Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. WARNINGS smut in the forms of making out, jk nipple play, some 69 action, cunnilingus, blowjobs, brief choking, jk trying his best to listen to oc but he doesn’t rlly :/, fingering, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, unprotected fuckin raw, its romantic but when is it not… MISC fluffy and domestic <3, weekend getaway <3, the Big Question, shy jk, sailor moon supremacy, jk makes this big elaborate speech about the sun and moon, mentions of 240p YouTube quality, RATING m (18+) WC 8.7k

NOTE (!) the smut in this chapter is relatively short ! I was more concerned with writing this monumental step in their relationship, so sorry to all the lads who come here specifically for the p0rn but today we focus on the l0ve <333 anyway nc 10!!!!! Can u fuckin believe….

Jungkook mentions it at the dinner table one night. You’re not eating— well, you are not eating; Jungkook has been stocking up on his protein intake like a madman —but finishing up some work you had brought home. Your back aches, your eyes burn. The mere sound of his soft voice has all those feel-good endorphins shooting through your nervous system like a shot of adrenaline. “We should take a trip,” he says, fork clattering against his plate to signify the end of his feast.

Your fingers tap across your keyboard, eyes flickering between an Excel sheet and the report you’re typing out. It takes you a moment to respond, a delayed, “huh,” that even Jungkook doesn’t find convincing.

In the background, you’re listening to what has to be one of the worst voiceovers of the original Sailor Moon series in a language you don’t even understand. But you know the series like the back of your hand, know what exactly is happening even if you don’t understand what they’re saying, because you’ve watched it only about a million times. It’s mostly just there for background purposes anyway, some white noise to try and replicate the noisy soundtrack of your office.

To make matters worse—complicated?—, you had been too lazy to get onto your usual pirating sites and had settled for the five minute, five part, 240p clips of Sailor Moon on YouTube (you know the ones), and Jungkook has to wait until Episode 74: Part ⅖ ends before you grace him with a proper response. “Where do you wanna go, baby?” you ask, giving your eyes a break from the data as you move to scour YouTube for Episode 74: Part 3/5.

He’s stretching back now, arms wound up above his head. His hair— god, his hair —is an ashy color now, a faded version of its golden ancestor from a few months ago. Soon, he’s planning on going back to brown, claims he’s getting too old to be dying his hair, whatever that means. For now, you watch his inked fingers run through his scalp; he looks delectable. Maybe you’re hungrier than you initially thought. Or at least thirstier. “A cabin,” he suggests, and he offers this little half shrug that would otherwise seem normal had you not been well-versed in the art of Jungkook Body Language. His front teeth nibble at his lip, eyes laser focused on his empty plate. Even now, he still gets nervous asking you out. That thought alone makes your ego soar as high as an airplane. “Just something small.”

Usually, “something small” with Jungkook ends up being something big and, in most cases, something expensive. Which you’re totally not opposed to— you’re at the point in your relationship where you don’t even bother trying to dissuade Jungkook from showering you with gifts. It’s one of his many, many, many, many forms of loving you and, well, he knows you like the back of his hand. He rarely misses.

Lo and behold, it is a grander affair than a simple cabin. “Well, it’s more like a resort,” he confesses, reaching across the table for your hand. Immediately, his thumb finds itself rubbing over the simple band of your promise ring. “Just wanna do something nice for you. I know you’ve been tired lately,” he adds on, voice a quiet murmur that nearly gets lost under the intensity of the pout that appears whenever he becomes even the slightest bit bashful.

You smile, the fondness in your heart skyrocketing to impossible heights when he lifts your hand to press those pretty petal lips against your knuckles. “Well, just let me know when,” you tell Jungkook. “So I can request time off from work.”

Episode 74: Part 3/5 starts playing after an ad, and you’d pause it for the sake of preserving this moment with Jungkook, but it’s hidden under so many tabs on your laptop that you lose it the second you leave the tab. Jungkook’s head tilts to the side, sending his ashy locks cascading beautifully. “You know that show is on Crunchyroll,” Jungkook says, seemingly moving past his bout of shyness now. “And you have the password.”

“Do I,” you murmur, but he’s lost you once more, your true talent of typing with one hand showing itself as you return to your Excel sheet, the other still firmly squeezed in his grasp. Jungkook releases soon enough anyway, cleans up the table quickly, and disappears off into the kitchen. He sings when he washes the dishes, likes to pretend he’s a terrible singer even though you’ve told him countless times he could easily take X Factor by storm. (And you know exactly what it takes to wow those judges— you spent the entire last month psychotically watching multiple X Factor seasons from multiple different countries, nearly considered joining the damn audition yourself.) The horribly dubbed Sailor Moon is yelling now, shrieking really, and Jungkook calls from the kitchen, “don’t forget to take your contacts out, sweetheart.”

It’s domestic and it's nerve-wracking.

You want Jungkook, that much is a fact. Aristotle and Socrates and that other guy could debate the philosophical intricacies of the world, turn this dimension in on itself until it was a scrambled mess of emotion and thought, but the one thing they could never change, could never even question, is your love for your boyfriend. You want Jungkook badly, but more importantly, you want Jungkook forever.

And you’re sure Jungkook probably, maybe, hopefully feels that way too. But the way you feel is… slightly concerning to say the least. For starters, you’re convinced your love for Jungkook was meant to be, and that’s saying a lot coming from you. You’re not one for cheesy, soulmate tales— that was more Jungkook’s thing —but the more you think about it, the more you become convinced that you and Jungkook were destined to meet. Like the planets aligned one year, the stars conferred, a tectonic plate somewhere in California shifted; whatever it may have been, something happened somewhere that led to the birth of this beautiful romance of yours.

Lately, being with Jungkook has this inexplicably fiery feeling blossoming in your chest, these waves of emotion that sometimes have you fantasizing about the weirdest of scenarios with him. Like yelling at him for not taking the garbage out on time, or bumping into each other as you make dinner in the kitchen, or buying a new rug together.

(Most drastically, the other day, you had a dream where you were pregnant and Jungkook was there and there was a house and a dog and an annoyingly friendly neighbor and this god-awful tile in the bathroom.)

Long story short, you’ve been fantasizing about a forever with Jungkook. The concerning part is the timing; was this too early? You’re nearly halfway through your second year with Jungkook now, and you know most people date for many, many years before the mere thought of union even occurs to them. In another life, maybe you were the same, would have held off until the very last moment. But with Jungkook things just feel right (at least for you), like there wasn’t going to be anyone else after him. And you sincerely hoped there wouldn’t be.

You slump back into your seat, eyes fluttering shut. Too many thoughts swirl around your mind, and the screech of the Sailor Moon voiceover on screen certainly doesn’t help. How you managed to spiral that far down your thoughts in the span of one 240p, five minute clip of a larger episode amazes even you. To add onto your worries, the clip abruptly ends and Episode 74: Part ⅘ is nowhere in sight, a fact that draws a frustrated moan out of the already sensitive you.

Luckily, Jungkook eventually returns, standing closely behind you. His presence is enormous, the room suddenly overflowing with a shit ton of those feel-good endorphins all over again, except this time they reach an all-time high when he leans over and quietly shuts your laptop. “Come sleep,” he says softly, and it’s a pleasant mixture of his genuinely caring voice and that horndog purr of his that lures you into bed. And it’s that same voice that croons softly into your ear, fingers nestled between your folds until you’re orgasming yourself into a deep slumber.

Much to no one’s surprise, the cabin turns out to be quite the luxurious lodging; two floors of dark oak everywhere you turn, a stunning stone fireplace in the bedroom, and a truly breathtaking view of the resort’s snowy hill (read: front row seats to watch all the snowboarders and skiers wipe out in the snow). Jungkook had splurged quite the pretty penny on it, so you make a point to clap it up for him when he first opens the door to your temporary home for the weekend.

The main bedroom is beyond words. It’s got an attached balcony (that you doubt you’ll be using in this chilly weather), and a wooden canopy bed that makes you feel like a royal (that you will certainly be using). It’s separated into two areas, the bed space and a tiny entertainment area on the other side of the room. Perhaps the best thing about the room— and the cabin itself —is the huge, smart TV mounted above said stone fireplace and the fact it allows the phone mirroring option in lieu of not having any streaming sites. And as is with every and anything to do with televisions, Jungkook is the most excited of the two of you. “Baby, look,” he beams, pointing excitedly at whatever he’s got mirrored onto the television this time. Knowing him, it’s probably another documentary.

You had the forethought to finish your work before the trip, spent two days in the office going absolutely ham on this month’s final reports until your department head promptly sent you home to finish the rest there. You had given yourself a fright upon entering the bathroom that night, the state of your under eyes so severe, you feared it was sufficient cause for a national emergency. Similarly, Jungkook had done the same with his work, cooped himself up in his study until he was free from the shackles of capitalism for the weekend. All this to say you’ve missed him these past few days.

But even though you’re sorely malnourished in the affection department and craving a good kiss or two, you wouldn’t dare interrupt one of Jungkook’s little nerdy, tech-induced fanboy moments. They’re cute, in their own geeky way, providing some insight to a mellower side of your boyfriend who looks on with childlike wonder; Jungkook’s eyes always get so big when he talks about nerdy stuff. You get to work hanging up the silk shirt he packed for tomorrow night’s fancy dinner at the resort, listening to some British narrator’s detailed description of the functionally extinct Northern white rhinos living under 24-hour surveillance in Kenya.

(Jungkook’s really into nature documentaries again, had spent a few nights sniffling as he watched that one Koko the gorilla film.)

The original plan was to head to the nearest store and whip up something small to eat at the cabin. But Jungkook is a little tired from the long drive, slumps down into the couch in front of the now lit fireplace like a limbless blob as he tunes into his documentary. His nose is a little red from the outside chill. It’s so cute. He’s so cute. You love him so much, you fear you’ll accidentally squeeze his cheeks to death. It’s a thought that occurs more times than you’d like.

According to the pamphlet on the nightstand, the resort has its own room-service to order from. Normally you would do that, but not this time; you had gotten into a bit of a squabble with the man at the front desk after he had tried to withhold Jungkook’s reservation for arriving two minutes past your check-in time, called each other all sorts of names before he backed down and gave you your room key. So you’re still a little salty, to say the least. Instead, you settle in for some pizza in front of the huge TV, calling up the nearest place to order some of Jungkook’s and your favorites.

You plop down beside him, instinctively cuddling closer when he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “So,” you start, flipping through the rest of the resort’s introductory pamphlet. There’s a loud roar on screen. In all honesty, you didn’t even know what Northern white rhinos sounded like until then, and you probably never would have if not for the man beside you. “What are you in the mood for tonight, sweet boy?”

You’re not sure if it’s the fatigue or the overall relaxed vibes he’d been exuding since the moment you entered the cabin, but Jungkook is weirdly cooperative today. “Whatever you want,” he responds, head on your shoulder. He even places the remote in your hands, gives your enclosed fist a gentle tap as if he’s just handed you the secret to eternal youth. In other words, it’s a rare sight to behold. “This is your trip, pretty girl.”

You appreciate the sentiment, but feel the need to clear the air, tucking your feet up onto the couch as you snuggle closer. “Our trip,” you clarify, and snatch the remote anyway before he changes his mind.

Jungkook releases a quiet huff of laughter, head rolling back against the couch cushions to display his thick, juicy neck that definitely doesn’t awaken any vampiric tendencies in you. “We can even watch some anime if you want,” he murmurs, casually throwing an arm around your shoulders in a way that would have made any teenage girl in the early 2000s squeal with excitement. It’s one of those barely there touches, but the way he holds you makes you feel so safe and warm and loved. So loved and in love. “The ones on Crunchyroll, though.”

For the sake of preserving these good vibes (and your ears [and Jungkook’s sanity]), you navigate to the Crunchyroll app on your phone, quickly finding your latest obsession and mirroring it onto the big television before Jungkook can react. “Sailor Moon?” he asks with a tone that implies a feigned interest, mostly out of respect for you; he’s, sadly, still not the big dorky anime fan you had hoped to convert him into.

“In the name of the moon, I’ll punish you,” you recite dutifully, snatching up the throw blanket on the end of the couch. It’s barely big enough to cover the both of you, has Jungkook’s outstretched legs and your booty subject to the chilly air. Who cares, Jungkook is a furnace anyway.

He snorts. “Punish me,” he mumbles, as if he doesn’t believe it. His snarky comment wins him a playful pinch against his doughy cheek, not that he particularly defends himself against it anyway, eyes fluttering shut as you tug at the pale skin.

“Don’t fuck with the moon, Jungkook,” you warn him, snuggling closely against his side as your favorite opening song begins filtering through the speakers of the television before you. It’s infinitely better than the 240p YouTube clips you had subjected yourself to the entire last week, the graphics scarily clear.

“Right, of course,” Jungkook says, but a hint of amusement seems to curl around the sound anyway. Nevertheless, he lets it go, cuddles into your side as you pour your full focus into watching yet another group of ragtag teenagers with supernatural abilities kick some ass.

You can tell Jungkook isn’t really into it, and you’re torn between just snuggling him into a well deserved nap or taping his eyelids open so he can become a fan of this show with you.

The loving, caring, adoring side of you says Jungkook deserves the entire world and more (the more in question preferably being a fluffy blanket and a nap). He worked hard this week, just like you, and on top of that he was the one who planned this entire weekend getaway for the two of you to enjoy. You want him to rest up.

The obnoxiously in love girlfriend-slash-best friend in you says Jungkook is sorely missing out on one of the greatest shows on planet Earth and that naps are for the weak.

Your jumbled thoughts are interrupted by a loud sound on the television, a yelp from Ms. Sailor Moon herself that has you jolting up in surprise. Jungkook welcomes you deeper into his embrace, chuckles at your little fright. “Scared?” he teases in that low voice that makes you feel like you’re going crazy, really. So crazy and irrational, and the only thing that stops you from bombarding him with an unexpected outpouring of love is that hard and sharp thing that pokes your side when you get too close to him. It’s not Jungkook, sadly, but something in the front pocket of his hoodie instead.

And for some reason, part of your brain is stuck all of a sudden, rewinding the last two and a half years like a broken cassette tape that had the tape reel hastily stuffed back inside by a toddler. It’s choppy to say the least, and it certainly doesn’t help when Jungkook calls your name softly, tenderly. “__,” he murmurs. It’s a little weird; it’s not often he says your name, mostly referring to you with one of the many pet names from that part of his vocabulary that focuses exclusively on terms of endearment. Your heart skips a beat.

Now, if anyone were to ask, it’s approximately around this time that you begin to spiral. The pink curve of his bottom lip is just too close, the mole on his nose too prominent. Paired with the obnoxious tittering of Usagi on screen, you can feel your thoughts begin to overlap, bumping into each other within the realm of your brain until all that comes out are the messiest of messy thoughts.

They go like this:

Most episodes of any anime run for approximately thirty minutes. Take out the commercial breaks, the opening and ending credits, and it becomes something closer to twenty. Twenty minutes per episode, filled with plot and gags and tears and whatever else necessary to make you feel something, anything really.

“What’s in your pocket?” you ask tentatively.

In contrast, it takes approximately two seconds for Jungkook’s lips to quirk up— first the right side, always the right side —and his eyes to crinkle. Two seconds for him to smile, a sweet expression that reminds you of Netflix and college and quiet laughter and tattoos and silly YouTube videos and cookies and cell phones and job applications and blond hair; two seconds to make you feel everything all at once.

“There’s nothing,” he says, but his cheeks are pink, and it’s not from the cold anymore. His smile is so big it makes your own cheeks ache just looking at it. You can’t even hear the television anymore. Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. “It was supposed to be for tomorrow,” he admits, unwrapping his arm from around you.

It’s a little funny, somehow, because his hands are covered in ink, in tiny doodles and intricate pieces of swirls and words that ooze this aura of strength and toughness. But they tremble when he opens it, as unsteady as a wispy dandelion on a windy day, fumbling with the box. And when you look closely, he’s been biting at the skin along his thumb again, that nervous habit you’ve been trying forever to help him overcome.

Someone is saying something on screen, something important to the plot. The volume is loud, but not as loud as your heart. Not as loud as Jungkook’s quiet murmur when he speaks again. “Will you marry me?” he asks softly, looks at you with flushed cheeks and big eyes and his heart on his sleeve.

The answer has always been the same, hasn’t changed since the first time he planted the seed in your mind. Still, it catches in your throat, nearly loses out to a surprised and emotional sob that you barely manage to bite down. You had just been speaking, had just been ready to deliver a whole spiel on the importance of him watching Sailor Moon with you. But when you try now, it’s raspy and dry, as if you haven’t used your voice in years. “I— yes,” you exhale, surprised by the lonely tear that trails down your cheek. You go to wipe it away, but Jungkook beats you with a gentle hand cupping your cheek.

His smile is wobbly, patches of red blossoming across his face that eventually consume his entire appearance as he leans his forehead against yours. Only then do you realize he’s crying, and you laugh out of reflex. “You’re crying,” you say, and Jungkook snorts.

“You cried first,” he sniffles, smiling. “You made me cry.”

He looks like a wreck, but, like, a hot wreck. An engaged, hot wreck who’s eyes flicker back to the TV to remind you to pause your anime, always so considerate. You do, hastily smashing buttons on the remote before remembering it’s controlled by your phone, hands flying back and forth as your nerves actively work to retire themselves after Jungkook’s proposal. “Easy there,” he soothes, eventually catching your hand in his, drawing it up for a kiss against your knuckles.

The ring fits perfectly, snuggly. Vaguely, a memory drifts through your thoughts of Jungkook and Doyeon on a rampant mission to reorganize your jewelry box a few months ago, but it disappears as quickly as it came. You’re taken by the ring, a simple band with a pretty diamond on top. It’s a good mixture of you and him; flashy yet mild.

“You love me,” you marvel, a revelation you’ve had the honor of experiencing time and time again with Jungkook. Still, it never fails to render you speechless. He hums.

“I do,” he says, taking your hand in his. “It’s the easiest thing for me. Like breathing, or existing. I think I was made to love you.” And normally, you’d be the first one to correct him. Jungkook was made for so much more, a fact he’s proven time and time again with his abilities and the sheer size of his heart. He was your golden boy, could do anything he set his mind to. Always amazing you, always making you fall in love all over again.

But now, with the weight of his words sitting heavy in the air, you find yourself incapable of negating the fact, instead sniffling at the meaning.

Pleased with your silence, Jungkook places another chaste kiss against your ring. “I love you, __,” he confesses, voice nearly a whisper. Your entire body feels as if it is doused in gasoline, lit aflame over and over again. Your heart threatens your rib cage, pounds away with the strength of a world renowned boxer. Jungkook’s hands curl around your wrists carefully. “I used to think we were like the moon and the sun,” he admits, “that you were my sun and I was your moon. In love but always separated by those thin veils of the sunrise and the sunset.” He pauses, nuzzling sweetly against your palm once more before gently guiding them down between the two of you. “But that really sucks— saying goodbye to you every night? I hate that, __. I hate watching you leave, I hate watching you run off in the mornings or halfway through the day, having to drive back and forth from your place to mine. I hate having to be away from you when all I wanna do is hold you. I— I want to be by your side,” he rambles, eyes nervously meeting yours. They’re still glassy, dark lashes framing his chocolate irises wonderfully. “Forever.”

Your heartbeat stutters, the simple word looping itself in your mind like that night in his dining room all over again, all the fantasies of having a forever with Jungkook bubbling to the surface. Jungkook pushes on. “You are my sun,” he says softly, mostly to himself. “But… I don’t wanna be the moon anymore. Being the moon means, eventually, I’ll have to say goodbye. In the night or in the morning, it always comes to an end. And I don't want there to be an end with you,” he insists, clutching your hand tightly. “I wanna be another star, the closest one to you. The one who gets to be with you forever. I wanna be by you and shine with you and—“

“Explode into a gazillion little fragments of cosmic dust with me,” you offer, and Jungkook nods along eagerly, too amped up on his speech to bother scolding you for your playful comment.

“Yes, I want to— to—“ The words catch in his throat. So much emotion from the man you once thought was the dictionary definition of calm and collected. “To—“

“Marry me,” you fill in, and Jungkook practically blows a fuse from how emotionally fired up he’s become, exclaiming a resolute, “yes!” that leaves you stupidly grinning back at him.

His outburst leaves him with flushed cheeks. “I do,” he reiterates in a softer tone, averting his gaze from you as if embarrassed by his cheesy outpouring of emotion. Usually, it’s the other way around; you make all the corny declarations of love and Jungkook laughs along suavely. It feels nice to have the tables turned.

There’s so much to say, but the words all fade away when Jungkook shyly looks at you again. You settle on tackling him back onto the couch cushions, taking his surprised little yelp in stride as you suffocate him in your embrace. “Save those words for the big day, superstar,” you giggle, peppering his red face with tiny kisses that make him scrunch up cutely. “I can’t wait to blow up into one huge supernova with you.”

Beneath you, Jungkook groans. “I’m sorry,” he huffs, voice muffled against your shoulder. Begrudgingly, his arms come up to envelope you, pulling you closer until the blanket scrunches up uncomfortably between you two. “That must’ve sounded so lame.”

Leaning back so you’re not completely squishing him, you carefully push his silvery hair away from his forehead. “Don’t be,” you assure him, placing one chaste peck against his pouty lips. “I thought it was cute. I didn’t know you were into astrology.”

A sigh. “Astronomy,” he corrects, “astrology has to do with zodiac signs and placements.”

You run your thumbs over his cheeks, collecting any of the drying tears that paint his face. “Oh, like how you’re a Virgo and I’m a“—

The TV remote you had lost somewhere along the way is suddenly rematerialized beneath your knee, sends the speakers blaring to life with a deafening screech that has both you and Jungkook leaping up like two frightened cats. “You always do this,” he laughs, that loud boyish sound that makes you feel like you’re sitting on a cloud. He watches you with a gentle smile as you hurriedly shut off the television, the remote haphazardly tossed somewhere behind you afterwards. You return to his embrace, wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle into his warmth. His heart thumps a steady rhythm beneath your ear.

“You’re gonna be stuck with me forever,” you warn him, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like he’ll suddenly disintegrate before your eyes.

Above you, Jungkook hums, placing a kiss against the crown of your head. “I look forward to it,” he responds, pulling you impossibly closer, until you can feel the wrinkles in his shirt imprinting themselves against your cheek. He’s back to being that suave bastard again, and you find yourself wishing you had milked those big crocodile tears out of him for just a little bit longer.

Fingers gently press against the muscles in your nape, push themselves in deeply until you can feel all the tension seeping out, turning you into a limbless blob over Jungkook. “Jeez,” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. “And you wanted to wait until tomorrow.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I just thought you’d rather get engaged at a fancy restaurant with a pretty dress,” he defends, and you can hear the grin on his face. “For the photos.”

“Fair point,” you concede, eventually pushing yourself up so you’re not entirely squishing your boyfriend beneath you. Jungkook is already looking at you when you lift your head, has got this funny double-chin from this angle that makes his normally sharp jawline disappear. You find yourself tapping a finger against his chin, on the chocolate chip mole that hides itself beneath his plump bottom lip. “If anything, just propose to me again tomorrow at the restaurant.”

It wins you an eye-roll. “I’m not gonna propose to you again tomorrow,” he laughs, doesn’t even push you away when you become annoying and start tapping your fingers against all his beauty marks like you’re playing Whack-a-Mole.

“Booo,” you frown, but let it go soon enough, foregoing your little game to press your lips against his. “Then I better make this a night to remember,” you murmur, tilting your head to the side.

Your hands dip into his luscious locks, fingernails tracing thin lines along his scalp that are certain to send tingles down his spine. As predicted, Jungkook releases a quiet groan soon after, a sound that’s muffled against your own lips. He’s pliant tonight, but not in a way that would elude fatigue. Pliant in a way that suggests he wants you to take the reins tonight, exhaling softly against you as he parts his lips.

“Let me take care of you,” you hum, the hand that had been mindlessly hovering along his cheek drifting down to caress the side of his neck. Jungkook nods, his irises swimming in lust. You smile at his silent compliance, give his throat a light squeeze that makes his breathing hitch in surprise.

He’s always at his prettiest when he’s beneath you like this, limbs moving in slow motion as you guide him along. You can already feel the beginnings of his arousal stirring beneath the front of his sweats, his cock slowly making its presence known against your thigh. You press your lips against his once more, making sure to make it rougher than the first kiss. Your tongue is met with little resistance, slips past his lips and dips into the hot cave of his mouth where Jungkook releases another trembling breath.

Two hands come up behind you, trail themselves over your back and down to your ass, where he gives the two globes a tight squeeze. It draws a whimper out of you, one that Jungkook greedily swallows up. His tongue rubs up along yours, the wet muscle daringly pushing back against yours. His rebelliousness is only quelled with another press of your fingertips around his throat.

“Slow down,” you tell him. The first roll of your hips against him is slow, cruel in that you cut the motion short just as Jungkook begins to push back. A bratty huff escapes him, swollen pink lips pushing out into that endearing pout you love so much. It makes you grin, releasing the grip around his throat to carefully brush a stray strand of hair away from his eyes.

It’s a gesture that works to soften Jungkook as well, the petulant look on his face melting away as you trail your pointer finger along his cheekbone. It’s replaced with a more tender one, dark lashes blinking up at you slowly. “Open,” you command upon reaching his mouth, finger pressing down against his pink lower lip. Jungkook obeys, opening his mouth until you can see his pink tongue and the dark abyss that leads down his throat. Your finger pushes itself in, and Jungkook certainly doesn’t try to resist. His lips suction around the digit fairly quickly, tight enough to keep you there but loose enough for you to slowly draw your finger in and out, each short plunge pressing down against his tongue.

It’s a rather short affair, one that comes to an end when he accidentally bucks up against you, pressing his hardened member against your core. You retract your finger. “Can you,” he tries, but his cheeks are stained red and he refuses to meet your gaze. “Just…”

You intercept him with a chaste peck, maneuvering your legs until your knees are firmly pressed into the couch cushions beneath him, his thin waist trapped in between. When you sit up, you feel drunk on power and the way Jungkook looks up at you certainly doesn’t help. “Can I sit on your face?”

He chokes. “I— sure, please,” he blurts out. His gaze follows you as you slip off of him, quickly discarding your pants and top on the floor. One pat against his thigh has him hurrying to shimmy out of his clothes, his sweatpants caught around his ankles.

“You’re excited,” you laugh, stripping him of his bottoms when the frustration takes him over.

Jungkook scoffs. “Well, yeah,” he mumbles, tugging his shirt off with one smooth motion. The ink around his bicep is as dark as ever, contrasts wonderfully against his warm face. “My fiancée is gonna sit on my face.”

The title makes you preen, quickly finding your place on his lap once more. With your clothing out of the way, Jungkook really does become a furnace. Every inch of his body is hot to the touch, soft too. “Fiancée,” you giggle, hands on his chest. They slide down, fingers playfully nudging his brown nipples. Jungkook flinches at the touch. “Gonna sit on my fiancé’s face,” you parrot back, delicately pinching one nipple between your fingers. A moan spills from his lips, his cock pushing against your thigh once more.

It’s the reminder you need, pushing back dutifully against him as you continue to toy with his chest. He’d look pretty with piercings, you find yourself thinking, watching on in fascination at the way his pert nipples stand at attention. Beneath you, Jungkook begins to grow desperate, his hands finding their place on your waist to encourage you to grind down against him once more.

Jungkook swears up and down that he’s not particularly sensitive about having his nipples touched. But when you’ve got him like this, sinfully laid out before you, you can easily confirm that his claims are nothing but lies. He loves having his nipples touched, squirms beneath you impatiently with each playful tug and twist you bestow upon them.

You duck down, pressing a kiss against his pectoral, just beside his nipple, and Jungkook’s entire body shivers. A few careful drags of your tongue against his warm skin only serve to string him along further, the prettiest whimper pulling itself from his lips when you finally envelope one of them in your mouth. “Wait,” he gasps, clawing at your clothing as if he both wants to push you off and push you closer. You grin, brandishing one mean nip at the sensitive nub.

Eventually, your incessant need to play with Jungkook’s chest is fulfilled. “Lay back,” you instruct, watching as he shuffles down flat on the cushions, silver hair tumbling away from his eyes. He’s so red, eyes hazy. Your panties are discarded, joining the ever growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Once upon a time, the idea of sitting on Jungkook’s face had terrified you, filled you with nightmares of crushing his windpipe or breaking his nose. For the most part, they’re pretty unrealistic fears, ones that can be easily shut down after one careful Google search on safe sexual practices. These days, it’s all too easy; in the mornings, especially, it’s become natural for him to guide you on top carefully, holding your hand as you whimper and sob over his face.

In the current moment, you find yourself stroking a hand down the side of his face, completely enamored with the huge puppy eyes he levels your way. Jungkook likes having your pussy in his face just as much as you do, loves making you feel good in any way he knows how. But there’s a separate matter at hand, one that stands at attention beneath his black boxers and successfully wins your attention.

Truthfully, there is no dilemma to ponder over; you want both to ride Jungkook’s face and suck him off. The solution?

“We’ve never done this before,” Jungkook mumbles in amazement, his voice slightly muffled from his position beneath you and slightly behind you. Still, his arms dutifully wrap around your thighs, guiding you closer to his mouth where his hot breath fans against your glistening folds. You rock back willingly, hands preoccupied with pushing his boxers down and away from his engorged cock.

“Really?” you ask, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the cock before you and the tongue that gently laps at your folds. Jungkook makes a sound, something between a hum and whimper, his mouth slowly getting to work against your folds. “M- Maybe,” you stutter, all thought processes coming to a halt as you carefully take him in your hand.

His cock is hard and long, his tip an angry shade that weeps with precum. From this angle, you get to watch Jungkook’s huge thighs twitch at the sensation, the tattoo that marks up one of them doing little to hide the fact. Your hand squeezes him, watches in awe as another fat droplet oozes out of his tip. A moan tears itself from his throat, and it’s so goddamn sexy it nearly drives you insane.

It’s one particularly long lap of his tongue over your clit that sends you into action, back arching at the tingles that shoot down your spine. Wasting no more time, you guide Jungkook’s cock into your mouth, let your own tongue shower his mushroom tip in kitten licks that have him bucking upwards. He releases your clit with a lewd pop, hot breath fanning across your lips. “Fuck,” he gasps, voice harsh.

Admittedly, it’s more difficult than you thought it would be.

You’re not one to be easily overwhelmed (says you), but with Jungkook’s twitching cock in your mouth and his teasing tongue dipping into your entrance, it becomes hard to juggle your attention between the two. Even Jungkook, who is quite frankly the master of cunnilingus, seems torn between the two, his breathing shallow and quick against your folds.

With each slow descent around his cock, he shudders, thigh muscles tightening in anticipation. It causes a lull in the pace of his tongue, the generous kisses and licks against your folds subject to a somewhat uneven pace that, surprisingly, leaves you more on edge than you’d ever expected it to; right when you think he’s about to suck your clit into his mouth, you’re met with a harsh exhale instead, one that makes your lips flutter.

You’re both disappointed in yourselves for never having tried this mind-blowing position before, and equal parts understanding as to why you haven’t tried this position before— it’s a lot. His cock is halfway down your throat when it twitches, sends a gush of precum into your mouth that has your eyes rolling backwards, a whine slipping out around him. Jungkook appreciates the vibrations, letting it fuel him as he plunges his tongue into your hole. It’s a two way street, you realize, one that is constantly experiencing traffic.

“Baby,” you gasp, pulling off of his cock with a slick sound, hypnotized by the trail of saliva that connects your lips to his tip. Jungkook’s tongue prods along your slit, makes your eyesight go blurry when the tip of his nose brushes along you as well. The idea of his cute nose buried deep someplace it shouldn’t be has you grinding down on him. “We can— we should stop,” you stutter, your trembling hand reaching forward to grasp the base of his cock.

He’s slick with your saliva and his precum, and your hand makes a squelching sound upon contact. It must feel good, because Jungkook moans against your folds, his thighs unconsciously falling farther apart as you slowly jerk him off. You think you might’ve heard your name slip from his lips, but your mind is fuzzy, lost in your lust as Jungkook licks a sinful line from your hole to your clit, curling his tongue at the end. “J- Jungkook,” you cry, flinching away because it’s become too much, your toes curling as the beginnings of an orgasm threaten you.

Before that can happen, he relents, leaning back with a heavy exhale, his hands loosening their grip against your ass and plopping back down against the cushions. “Fuck,” he pants, his cock twitching in your hold. A lonely droplet of precum trails down the side, your knuckles coated in the glossy substance. Beneath you, Jungkook rubs one soothing palm against your hip.

You slink off before he can get any funny ideas, maneuver yourself around until you’re kneeling between his parted thighs, his fat cock standing at attention between the two of you. From here, he looks ravenous, and you begin to question who exactly is taking care of who. Jungkook looks like he’s a second away from pinning you down and swallowing you whole, a thought that makes your toes curl.

It’s with a cautiously horny hand that you reach for his cock again, holding him with both hands. Jungkook growls, head lolling backwards until all you can see is his neck and his chin, thick veins protruding along his skin. Jungkook doesn’t waste a moment longer. “C’mere,” he purrs, hauling you up until you’re clumsily leaning over him, palms framing his face. A lone finger runs down your spine, its faint touch making you arch forward. “Sorry,” he says, securing an arm around your waist. “I know you wanted to take care of me, but…”

You roll your eyes, submitting yourself to his clutches as he masterfully rolls the two of you over. The couch is soft beneath your back, and Jungkook looks pretty from above too. “You just can’t sit still, can you?” you murmur playfully.

Jungkook’s forearms find their place beneath your thighs, the fold of the back of your knee perfectly slotted against his warm skin as he shuffles closer. “Maybe another time,” he laughs along sheepishly, his hard cock gliding over your slit, teasing your clit. You gulp, eyes scanning over his lean build as if it’s the first time. “Sorry,” he repeats, but he’s got this stupidly dopey grin on his face as he glances down at your pussy; he’s insane, he’s got to be, what man makes heart eyes at a pussy?

Your man, apparently. Grasping the base of his cock, Jungkook takes care to drag it along your folds collecting your wetness along his length, a deep shudder wracking his body through it all. “I knew you would do this to me,” he mutters, so low you nearly miss it under the thundering sound of your heartbeat.

“Huh,” you mumble, and you’d like to defend yourself and say you weren’t as cock-crazy as Jungkook was coochie-crazy, but that would be a lie. You’re staring at his cock as if it holds the secrets to the universe right now.

Jungkook juts his head to the side, a motion similar to the one he does when he’s trying to crack his neck. His tongue prods along his cheek, eyes laser-focused on the point where your two bodies meet. “From the moment you walked into my house,” he grunts mindlessly, finally lining himself up with your entrance. He chances a glance up, meets your gaze with a patient look, “all good?”

“All good,” you hurriedly reply, fingers finding their place against his broad shoulders. With the way he had prepared you earlier, mouthed along your clit and your folds until you were pleasantly aroused, the glide now is too easy. Tight, but easy, has the two of you releasing twin moans that echo off the wooden walls of the cabin.

Jungkook’s forehead is covered in a thin veil of sweat, one that glistens when the evening sunset pours in through the balcony doors, highlighting him in a golden light that makes you dizzy. The angry tip of his cock sinks into your walls, Jungkook’s ashy strands sticking to his forehead and his cheeks. For some reason, you find yourself reminiscing on the aforementioned moment Jungkook had spoken of. Of the soft sweater he’d worn that day and the dinner he had made, the blond tips on his chestnut hair and the way he’d clung onto every word you’d said.

It makes you tear up, and, after laughing at Jungkook early for crying, you quickly turn your face away.

Jungkook isn’t dumb. “What now,” he chuckles, though his breathing is labored, every inch of his cock that penetrates you further bringing with it another rush of adrenaline. At the hilt, you’re embarrassed to say there’s multiple tears streaming down your face, so you can’t even play it off as you usually do. “Crybaby,” Jungkook teases, but his voice is so soft and tender you don’t know what to do with yourself.

“Just move,” you bite out, shamefully covering your face with your hands. Jungkook leans over you, the movement pushing his dick deeper inside of you, your walls clenching around him. A kiss is placed over your knuckles, just shy of your engagement ring. Your chest lurches with a silent sob. “Jungkook,” you whimper, sinking further into the cushion, “please, just—“

“I got it,” he assures you, placing one final peck against your handmade (literally) shield. And then, so quietly you almost miss it, he makes sure to whisper, “love you,” before unsheathing himself.

You shudder, your heart feeling so full, you fear it’ll burst. You both love and hate when he treats you like this, like an ice sculpture in the scorching heat that has him doing everything he can to keep you solid. His touch is soft, the roll of his hips too slow for your liking. You feel so small and vulnerable— too pampered. “Harder,” you beg, your voice an airy whine that has Jungkook chuckling above you.

He lives to please you, hiking your leg over his shoulder with a renewed vigor. His hands find themselves on your waist, forcefully pinning you down against the couch cushions as he sets upon fulfilling your latest request. The next series of thrusts are jerky, have you jostling in his grip as Jungkook pounds into you with an all new mindset. “Lemme see you,” he huffs, thumbs painfully digging into your skin. You tremble in his arms, heart swayed by the quiet plea in his voice. “Let me see your face, pretty girl.”

Reluctantly, you do, brandishing your tear-stricken face his way. Jungkook smiles, that stupidly handsome smile, his hips snapping into you roughly. “Fuck,” he moans, the expression never leaving his face, even when run your nails over his chest harshly. “You’re so pretty.”

You ignore him for the sake of your already weakened mental state, focusing instead on the brutal force of his hips, the way his cock stretches your walls out. Each push has you seeing stars, thighs quivering from the sensations that shoot up your spine and down your toes. “Oh,” you mewl, hands gripping his biceps as you lose yourself to him. Your eyes roll back, vision a mess of colors and nothingness all at once.

“Is this hard enough?” Jungkook husks out, and he sounds so close. His proximity is confirmed when his mouth slots against yours, his harsh breath mingling with your own as he continues to frantically buck into your inviting heat, each new round of thrusts leaving you weaker and weaker than before. “God,” Jungkook cries, the sound nearly lost beneath your own moans and whimpers. “Gonna k- keep you forever,” he spits, tongue slipping into your mouth.

He’s messier than usual, moves with unrefined movements unlike his normal self. You don’t care, you love him all the same. His sloppy kisses turn into desperate ones, matching the pace of his hips. “Kook,” you sob, arms wrapping themselves around his neck, pulling him close until his thrusts are reduced to a shallower depth.

“I’ve got you,” he croons, lips against your jawline. His cock presses in and you swear you feel it alongside every inch of your walls, a warmth blossoming in your stomach. He’s layering messy kisses down your face now, lips sucking dark marks any chance he gets.

True to his word, Jungkook indeed has you. His cock pistons in and out at an astonishing pace, each surge into your folds making you dizzy over and over again. It’s a feeling you fear you’ll never grow tired of, in fact, it’s a feeling you fear you’ll begin to crave even more in the future. The good thing is, that future will extend into forever.

You yank him towards you, swallow his low laughter with your lips. Jungkook doesn’t complain, lowering himself until he’s practically squishing you beneath his beefy body, cock ramming in and out despite all that. His tongue glides along yours, makes it his mission to muffle each of your cries.

It doesn’t take long for you to be fulfilled. Given the fact you had sucked him off like a lollipop whilst having him eat you out, you’re not entirely surprised. That and the emotions of tonight have you melting into him sooner than you’d like, his name falling from your lips as your thighs clamp down around his waist. Jungkook takes it in stride, slows the maddening pace of his hips to cradle you in his arms. You’re like jelly, practically flop back into the cushion when he slips an arm beneath you. “You’re so good for me,” Jungkook praises, lavishing your throat in tiny pecks as his orgasm circles around. “My pretty girl.”

“Love you,” you sigh, and your body feels numb, his intrusion but a small touch now that he’s tired you out once more, your walls tender and raw. Jungkook presses a smile against your throat and, moments later, releases inside of you.

Even minutes after the deed, the feeling refuses to return to your legs. He didn’t go that hard— well, you’re not entirely sure. The memories always become blurry toward the end of your escapades. Everything rushes back in waves, and for some reason, your first thought is, “where’s Sailor Moon?”

Your post-rump conversations have never been the most coherent, usually filled with pretty weird thoughts and ideas. Still, more grand things have happened tonight for you to be worried about a magical anime girl. Jungkook draws himself out of your core with a huff of laughter. “On the TV,” he answers, unfazed by the oddity of your question.

That’s how you know he’s a keeper.

It takes a while, but eventually Jungkook responds. “Avocado toast,” he says, though his answer is dripping with uncertainty. He’s naked as the day he was born, snuggled up beside you in bed. He’s propped up on one arm, looking down at you over the ample swell of his manly bosom. It takes everything in you to keep your hands off his chest.

“Correct,” you respond, “and what movie did we watch?”

Without missing a beat, “Transformers, the first one.”

You nod, glancing at the ceiling as you rack your brain for any other trivia questions to ask your fiancé. “The title of the playlist you made?”

A flush paints his cheeks. “Date Night playlist,” he answers through a pout, reprimanding you for bringing up such a memory with a flick to your forehead. You wince. “I was young and silly,” he defends.

You beam, cuddling into his side until he’s forced to lay back down. “Yeah, yeah,” you tease. “We’re only gonna get older from here,” you lament. You’d say it’s difficult to picture him with a gray head of hair, but his current silvery locks don’t leave much room for your imagination.

Jungkook pulls you close. A beat of silence passes, and then, “so who are we telling first?”

Definitely Namjoon.

#networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook #Jungkook fic #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader smut #bts fic #bts smut #mine

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venenatd · 4 years ago

Text

just friends; eren jaegar x reader

summary: you and eren are best pals and have both recently be dumped. so, a plan to get over your exes is needed! what’s better than going out on the town trying to find quick fucks >:) also eren is a smug bastard but kinda has a heart of gold??

content: smut / nsfw 18+. minors dni. (choking, unprotected sex, creampie drinking, drunk sex, possessiveness ig? dirty talk, both of them want to be dominant tbh. slight size kink, oral both m and f receiving. female bodied reader)

i am new to this pls let me know if i should add anything!!

word count: 5.8k words of unedited content

a/n: uh so i never thought i’d be back on my tumblr bullshit at 23 but hey after years without the app i’m back. i needed to get out the h-word and this is what happened. enjoy and i’m sorry if it’s terrible lmao

“You look different”

Frowning at the man waiting ever so patiently for you on the sofa, you look a little defeated. “Is that meant to be a compliment, Eren?”. He sighed, raising his eyebrows at you. To be fair, maybe you did. Wearing a figure hugging black dress, that definitely just hid your ass cheeks, hair styled and sprayed in place, dark lipstick and makeup on your face. Usually Eren would have seen you in sweats, always running a little late for class, snack in hand.

“Different isn’t bad,” he offered, checking the watch that lay on his wrist, “are we ever going to get to the bar? Your plan will fall through if you’re not careful.”

Ah, the plan. Both you and Eren were newly single. In your final year at university, having managed to keep each relationship going until almost the end. Ironic. Weren’t most meant to fail in the first year? But alas, your partners had decided it was the end within a couple of weeks each other, and as you and Eren had been close since you met on orientation day, you each took to the other for comfort. You had done the crying first, going to him the minute your call with the ex had ended. Leaving wet splotches on his shirt, he had calmed you, only for you to do the same to him later. Now the crying was done, it was time to move on, and what better advice to follow than getting under someone to get over another?

“I just need to look hot enough for a guy to fuck me.”

“What a romantic you are.”

“Shut up Er-”

Eren shifted from the couch, interrupting your usual sass, “and what about me, y/n? Do I look beautiful?”. He threw in a wink with his comment, his aura of cockiness always radiating. You rolled your eyes, before studying his figure. His dark hair half pulled back into a bun, the rest draping his neck and onto a deep emerald green silk shirt, with the top few buttons loose, tucked into dark pants. A ring on each hand, fingers with chipping black nail polish, and to top it off, a thin chain on his neck. You hated to admit it and add to his smug demeanour but... the man did look good.

“Gorgeous as always Eren,” you said sarcastically, even if it was truthful, “I’m sure there will be a queue of women who are wanting to jump on you.”

“Not if they aren’t all taken already,” he taps at his watch. Whilst the two of you had already been drinking as he waited for you to get ready, it was definitely on the later side.

“Order the uber, and we can go.”

Walking over to him and adding shoes to your outfit, you present yourself before him, a cute little smile playing on your lips. He’s staring down at his phone, quickly going through the motions for the ride. Finally, he looks up to catch your eyes. His jade pupils flick down slightly, and he hopes you miss that they land at the cleavage you’re sporting in your current get up. He flicks your nose, earning a scowl from you and a smile from him.

“You look perfect”

The club is far fuller than you both expected, dance floor and tables taken up and crowded round. Luckily, you had managed to secure you and Eren a pair of seats at the bar, and you were currently on your third..? Fourth drink of the evening. Green eyes watch your lips carefully, as you finish the vodka and lemonade.

“So, anyone take your fancy?” he prompts, looking around at the mess of people.

Humming, you scan the area. There’s some people you recognise from class, but plenty more you don’t know. Fucking friends seems like a bad move, even in your tipsy state, so you look to the strangers faces. They don’t look like him. Ugh.

There’s a few options though, and as you point them out to Eren they come with brief descriptors: dark hair and stubble, wide set blonde. He tuts at the options, sarcastically letting out a “sure sure, I see the appeal”.

“And how about you, anyone you like the look of?” you ask with a sigh.

Christ, Eren thinks to himself. It’s been long enough that he hasn’t had to look for someone else. Sure there were attractive people in the world, but with her around, he hadn’t needed to give anyone else a second look. His palm moves to the back of his neck, stretching out behind him with a huff. “Let’s look on the dance floor?” he offers, clearly not as eager as you were tonight. Moving his hand back down, he holds it out for you, pulling towards the throng of people.

He looks effervescently cool like this. Shirt open, hair starting to fall from his bun. Eren is looking around at the people surrounding the two of you. The two of you had been working in circles, allowing each other an eyeful as the club goers move around the space. As a group of guys push their way from the dance floor to the bar, you get shoved towards Eren. Heels were never quite your forte, and you stumble against him, hands on either side of his chest. Grinning down at you with that smug little smile that annoyed you so much, Eren brought large hands to your waist, pushing you away a little. But his hands stay there as he continues to sway to the music, making no effort to break the contact. And so you bring your arms up to his neck, allowing his movements to carry you on time to the song. For the first time in the past couple of weeks, you feel light. Your chest isn’t constricted by some foreign weight. It’s just you and your best friend, buzzed and free.

Colours change above you, as you look up to Eren, him down to you. A playful grin takes his lips as he pulls you a little closer, you so easily accepting the narrowing distance. Your black silk meets his deep green, chest pushing into his. You carefully analyse his features, seeing if he attempts to check you out like earlier.

Was it the alcohol making your cheeks so warm? Lit up by a purple hue, you watch his eyes return to exploring the crowd, his hand still holding on to you. His smirk falters, his eyebrows creasing together. You’re not moving in circles anymore, Eren pausing in his movements as he thinks about what to do next. He shouldn’t lie to you, but seeing your ex at the bar would really harsh the night. Under his fingers, he can feel your body tense, suddenly unsure at how close the contact between you was.

But Eren doesn’t want you to know, he doesn’t want you to be distracted by your ex tonight. He doesn’t want to see your hurt little face anymore. The way your eyes would be red and puffy the next day. The way he would feel your shoulders heaving under his arms. You don’t deserve that. Hell, you didn’t deserve the huge amount of shit your ex had put you through over the years he’d known you. Eren would sit back and listen to you rant, support you where he could. But fuck that guy. And he wasn’t sure what sparked in his chest, but Eren’s jade orbs are trained straight back on you. His eyebrows calm, tension releasing from them. As you can turn to scope out whatever had changed his body language so suddenly, he catches your jaw.

Beginning to slowly move again, his eyes have narrowed, taking in the way the dress hugs you, the shine on your skin from the hot dance floor. Eren couldn’t quite figure out what was intoxicating him right now. Definitely a lot of alcohol, but also a sudden… possessiveness. He didn’t want you in pain anymore. Eren wanted you in pleasure. His breath is suddenly on your neck, making your hair raise.

“I’ve only seen one person I’m interested in tonight.”

“Oh?” you squeak, before clearing your throat a little. The new deep notes in his voice catch you off guard. It almost sounds like he’s… No. He’s your best friend. The little looks you’d been giving each other all night were just two people looking out for one another, two people seeing each other happy for the first time in a while. Your voice is calmer as you ask light-heartedly, “and who would that be?”

His lips are so close to your ear.

“You.”

“Eren-” your hands move from behind his neck, resting on his shoulders. You need to see your best friend's face, you need to know if he’s joking right now. If he’s mocking you. When you draw back, you see his face. Smug, as always. Fuck you’ve always wanted to knock that cockiness down a peg. Cheshire smile showing his teeth and his eyes looking down at you. Half lidded eyes, pupils blown. He’s not joking. Fuck.

“Can I kiss you?”

Your breath is caught in your throat. All too aware suddenly of each of his finger pads pressing into your skin, the contact feeling like fire with the added alcohol. But, you find yourself nodding, the yes just escaping your lips before he’s pressed into them.

Large hands travel to your hip, and up your back, pressing you into him. You can feel his body, tense in exhilaration against you, hands back around his neck. One travels up to the nape of his back, tangling into his hair and pulling him deeper into you. The music is all consuming, you can feel the bass in your body, you can feel Eren against you, you can feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Eren’s hand on your back travels up, echoing your placement on him, to hold the back of your neck. He doesn’t want you to go, you feel too good. The heat between your bodies could suffocate him. His thumb puts pressure under your jaw, he isn’t even sure you can feel it. But he can, measuring your pulse racing underneath the pad. He’s smiling into this kiss, this all consuming kiss.

His tongue swipes at your bottom lip, and you’re all too eager to allow him into your mouth. Tasting the whisky from your home, tasting the coke from the club. His teeth take your lip nipping slightly, before sucking the plump of it into his mouth. You both come up for air, eyes meeting in acknowledgment of the situation.

“Wanna get out of here?”

The drive home had only served to heap tension between you. As clearly that it was that you wanted each other, you would have to wait a while longer. Your thighs pressed together, slowly inhaling and exhaling. Going through your mind was whether this was a good idea, staring out at the city passing by you. Eren was your friend. You were dating another man two weeks ago. The same man that had previously asked you if he needed to be worried about Eren. You’d laughed it off, because it was Eren. You were brought out of your thoughts when you felt him grip your leg, a little too harshly at first, before settling, leaving a gentle pattern of circles and lines on your inner thigh. It was Eren.

Just one hallway. You had to make it one hallway to get into your apartment. One hallway left to come to your senses. And just like he read your mind, Eren is once again touching you, just his hand on yours pulling you backwards. You twist just in time, his hands instantly cupping your cheeks as he kisses you, deeply and intensely. Pushing you back into the wall, you pray a neighbour doesn’t walk out now. His knee is pressing gently between your legs, and you allow it. Your fingers sink into Eren’s arms, lightly covered by the fabric yet you can still feel the muscle underneath, relaxing and tensing as he pulls you closer.

His lips are making their way to your jaw, lifting your chin upwards, tentatively licking the bone before moving downwards still, sucking and nipping and licking your neck. A whimper breaks through. You really need to get inside. Gripping his hair, you sharply pull backwards.

“Not going to play nice, huh?”

When did he speak like this? The playful and shit-eating grin your friend Eren always wore was replaced by something darker, his words laced with intent.

“Don’t challenge me.”

You were off, finally at your door, making quick work with the lock, moving in first before he followed. The door shut as you pushed Eren against it, usual doe eyes being taken over with a deep lust. Your hands are instantly at his belt, as his hands find your face once again. This time he’s grabbing your hair, making you look up at him as he glares down at you. You’re constantly challenging one another in conversation, and it’s translating to the bedroom far too easily.

Lips are on one another again, as you leave the belt and start towards his shirt. You bite down on his bottom lip, earning a hiss from him, and you feel his hand being brought around your throat. He doesn’t add too much pressure, checking if this turn is indeed okay with you. When you push against the weight, he takes the gleam in your eye as a yes, and uses the force to push you against the next wall, finally moving off the front door.

It’s a constant battle to get to the bedroom, both of you taking control for short bursts. Eren pulling the thin straps of your dress down, you untucking his shirt. His muscular torso is on full display, and you had never viewed it in this light before.

Finally he pushes you onto the bed, situating himself between your legs. Your kisses are sloppy and infused with alcohol. Hands are desperate with one another, both of you needing to be closer. Are you scared if the contact ends your thoughts will return to sanity?

Eren’s hot and heavy over you, his hands seem everywhere at once. Smoothing up your thigh, digging in slightly to the flesh when you grind against one another. His hands rest at your hips for a moment, and he’s looking down at you, still fucking smiling. All at once, he’s flipped you over his prominent hard on pressing into your ass. He’s whispering in your ear, leaving wet kisses along your neck, to your shoulder blades. Fingers take the zip at the back of your dress, slowly and carefully pulling it down, leaving licks and pecks as he goes. It’s torturous.

You attempt to speed things up by rutting your ass against his crotch, and you think you hear a quiet moan, before his hand is brought down to the fabric, smacking your cheek. You gasp, turning your head to look at him. Eren is too occupied in taking in all of your body, his green eyes are darkened with authority and lust. His nimble fingers play with the short hem of your dress, thumb dipping beneath, before he pushes the silk up.

You both let out soft fuck’s, as his hands grab at the plump of your ass. It’s like he’s testing the softness, the way your flesh responds to his touch so easily. He slaps at you again, earning a sharp moan from you. Eren’s leaning down, his mouth once again trailing across the apex of your behind, leaving trails of saliva as he goes. Before you can even register the new sensations you can feel a soft pressure against your clothed cunt, just enough to let you know the presence of his hand, but not enough for you to get off on. You’re mewling, once again trying to get closer to him. This time he allows it, eagerly pressing his ring and middle finger to your clit, allowing you to grind upon them.

Seeing you underneath him like this… it’s new and strange and so fucking hot. He’s watching you desperately try and fill the need building in your core, and he can only feel his cock twitch in his pants as he sees you coming undone. If you wanted more, he could definitely give it to you. Bringing his large hands away, to the flimsy fabric that was covering you, he pulls it down, exposing you to him. His heart and dick fucking jump. His hands return to your ass, watching the jiggle as you move and whimper. Spreading you, he brings his face down, breath tingling on your most sensitive areas.

Your breath catches in your throat as his tongue, gentle at first, licks between your folds. He’s tasting you, he’s moaning into your pussy, as you write beneath him. Eren’s hands are squeezing your ass cheeks, holding you still as you try to grind against his face.

“Patience, y/n”, he says, with a slap on your behind again.

“Fuck you,” you hiss.

“You will be in a minute, baby girl, don’t worry.”

You go to make a retort but he’s instantly back, licking up your slit and a deep moan escapes you. Jesus you can feel the smile on his lips as he’s back on your pussy. Eren is so proud of the sounds he can draw from you. He wonders if your ex could make you come undone so easily.

You taste sweet and saccharine on him, and he doesn’t hold back the groan as he further works his way into you. Hardened tongue moving it’s way from your entrance down to your clit. He swipes at it, before moving away again. Kissing your thighs, kissing the skin between your holes. Every now and then he’ll move back to your clit, allowing you a moment of pleasure before he’s teasing again. “Fuck, please”. Your whines are being smothered by the sheets, and Eren wants nothing more than to hear them, loud and clear.

Eren’s ringed fingers make their way to your hair, his face lifting from between your legs. He pulls you back round, and holy shit you can see how wet you are on his face. There’s a sheen to his lips and chin, and instinctively you reach up to his neck, pulling him back on top of you. Your tongue meets his, tasting your tartness on his mouth. A hand makes it way back down in between your thighs, playing and parting your folds. Your hand in turn reaches up his neck, pulling sharply at his hair once again. “Eren. More- please” you get out in between staggered breaths.

“Aw, since you asked so nicely” his eyes watch your expression closely as his thumb rests on your clit, his finger swiftly moving inside you. Your eyebrows raise and knot, eyes wide and lips parted. But he keeps it still as your legs shaked around his arm. “Eren, move” you demand this time.

“Oh, that’s not so nice. I liked it when you were polite.” He starts to retract his finger, thumb gently swabbing your clit so you’ll know what you miss.

“Please, please, please, Eren, please” you speak before he even gets the first knuckle out. All the teasing was creating a tightness in your lower stomach.

“Much better.”

You whine as he continues to pull his finger from you, until he pushes it back in, curling his solitary finger up. Your fingernails are pressing deep into the muscle of his bicep, feeling how it moves as he finger fucks you. He’s hitting that perfect spot inside you again and again, and his thumb is swiping eagerly on your clit.

Eren can feel you fluttering around his finger, desperate for more, desperate to release on him. He adds another finger, your wetness allowing him entrance easily. He wants to fuck you so bad, his cock so hard it felt like it was about to burst.

He pushes your hands off him, leaving crescent moon indents deep in his skin, he works his way back down. He brings the black silk with him this time, fully being able to take in your body as you’re left naked before him. Holy shit you’re beautiful. He doesn’t want to stare too long and make you shy. But he still kisses his way down, before he’s back at your pussy.

This time he allows you more movement, letting your fingers work their way back into his hair, letting you roll your hips against his tongue and stubble.

With his spare hand he pulls out his cock, slowly pulling at it, before he realises he can’t do that for too long without cumming before the main event. Instead he reaches up, rolling your perked nipples in between his fingers. There are so many sensations on your body, and Eren can feel your cunt beginning to tighten around his fingers. You hold your breath before letting out little moans, building towards reaching your height.

“You want to cum on my fingers?

Your back is arching, whispering “yes, yes, yes, please” as your walls are tightening around him. He quickens the pace, making sure to hit that spot inside you over and over. Thighs around his face, he can feel your slick pooling in his mouth, and coating his chin once again.

Your gummy walls are so tight around his thick fingers, he needs you to finish, watch you fully unravel below him. Sucking and licking at your clit, he’s pushing you towards the edge.

“Eren-” his name is strangled coming out of you, and then your moaning, undulating your cunt against his mouth, riding out your orgasm.

His jade eyes look up at you, watching as you pull your head up to look at him, before another wave of pleasure hits you and you have to arch your neck and look back up. He waits for you to come down, letting you fuck his face and fingers. Grinding against his stubble and tongue as you let out pitiful and beautiful moans. You’re so fucking wet, the sounds coming from between the two of you should be forbidden, as you release onto him.

Finally he withdraws, using his forearm to wipe his face. He lies next to you, allowing you a moment as he draws little circles on your stomach. Eren has never quite looked at you in this light. Sure, you were pretty, and the two of you were obviously close. But now you’d walked a line that couldn’t be undone. You weren’t over your ex, and as okay as Eren was with what had happened between you, he didn’t want you to run. He’s overcome with thoughts, looking down to your chest and the heavy breaths you were taking. All he could pray was that you weren’t pretending he was someone else.

But as Eren is getting caught up in his own mind, you’re twisting, hand reaching to his crotch, cock having been recaptured by his boxers. Palming him, you feel how big he really is for the first time. Fingers trace the edge of his pants and underwear, and he lifts his hips, allowing you to pull them down. Shit. His dick slapped back to his stomach, precum leaking from the top of his pink head. He was bigger than you’d imagined, because of course you’d imagined it a couple of times.

Your hand looks so small around his cock, but you slowly tease him, his deep green orbs following your movements. Bringing your head down to him, you kitten lick the precum from the top of his dick. He hisses gently, and you look up at him with these big doe eyes, so fucking eager to please.

You push your lips around him, hollowing your cheeks and flattening your tongue as you begin working along his shaft. He moans just at the sight of you, your eyes peeking up through dark lashes. His hand goes through your hair, eagerly pushing you deeper around him.

He lets out a hoarse, “is this okay?” before you put your own hand on his pushing it for the both of you. You don’t even want to come up for air, you just want him close to you, inside you.

You were learning far more about each other than you had expected, as Eren takes back over. He pushes himself further into you, muttering a good girl that has you whining. The vibrations around his cock make his hips buck, and now you’re gagging as his length hits the back of your throat. He holds you there instead of letting you off, and your nails are sharp against his thighs.

His head lolls back as he starts to move his hips under you, moving you in turn with your hair. He picks up the pace quickly, allowing saliva to drool from you and straight to his cock.

Your eyes prick, big fat tears forming at the corners. But you’re enjoying this way too much, the moans and gasps he gives make you moan, pressing your thighs together for some kind of friction.

He takes your jaw in his grasp, allowing you a moment to catch your breath. Your tongue sits out your mouth, him smacking the head of his dick on it. He notices your tears then, the mascara that’s running a little. He swipes at the corner of your eyes, leaning down to press a kiss into your forehead.

Bringing you up to him, your dripping folds sliding across his length. His lips are on your cheeks, across your jaw, licking up your neck before reclaiming your plush lips once again. You continue grinding against one another, tongues slipping in and out of each other's mouths. Eventually Eren brings his hands to your hips, lifting you up as you hold his shaft up.

Your foreheads are pressed together as he slowly pushes inside you. The stretch is burning and all-consuming, eyes pricking up again as you feel him hit your furthest wall. Eren breathes out heavily, “So fucking tight”

You roll your hips, allowing some friction from him on your clit. It helps your muscles relax a little, and balancing your hands on his shoulders you push yourself up and down, using his length for your own pleasure. Eren’s eyes don’t leave your form, watching your breasts bounce and how your eyes flutter close as he fills you entirely.

“You really did want to be fucked, huh? Look at you” he teases you, watching as you go to talk back before he thrusts his hips up. It leaves the words caught in your throat.

His pace maintains, holding you in place as he fucks up into you, feeling your cunt clench around him. There are long moments where you hold your breath, holding his cock tight within you. Then you’ll release and moan, before holding it in again. Well, Eren is all too happy to help you with that.

One hand grabbing the flesh of your hip, the other wrapping around your throat, he pushes into you at a punishing rate. Your eyes go wide at the sudden restriction of your throat, feeling the cold metal of his ring against your pulse.

“Who knew this about you? That you were such a slut?”

As much as he knows you want to deny it, you want to smack the smugness from his voice, he can feel your pussy tighten around him. He sees your eyes roll back a little.

“You’re getting tighter.”

The hand on your hip moves down, attempting to hold you in place whilst letting his thumb press over your clit. The sounds of him slapping against your wetness is obscene, and he’s only distracted from it as you whimper out pathetic yes’s and please’s.

“You wanna cum?” he’s grunting, trying to keep the pace going until you can reach your peak.

You nod against his wide hand, still tight around your neck. “Oh you can do better than that. I already know how bad you want it, slut.”

“Please Eren, please make me cum. I want to cum, please, please, please” you can barely make out the words, your head going light and body tightening.

“Cum for me.”

You release, and as he can feel the fluttering of your walls around him, he lets go of your throat. The sudden oxygen as you cum leaves you overwhelmed. Burying yourself in his shoulder, he fucks you through it. Cock slapping up into your cunt over and over, somehow being sucked deeper in as you coat his length with more of your own slick. He can feel your nails breaking the flesh of his back as you’re holding on for dear life, moaning his name and even a fucking thank you into his ear.

As you begin to slow, legs shake as you stay straddled over him. He flips you, Eren now firmly on top, slowly moving in and out of you. The stimulation is intense, your cunt sparking at any sensation.

Caged between his forearms, his hair is a mess thanks to you. You push tendrils back past his ears as he leans down to kiss you once again. This kiss is different. It feels… less desperate. It feels deep and meaningful, caring even.

Your eyes meet in acknowledgment, both of you too worried to speak about the shift in tone.

He reaches down instead, pulling your leg up and splitting you on his cock. A tongue swipes at your nipple, biting and playing with each as he gradually picks up pace again. You’re still so fucking wet it’s easy for him to thrust into you at a dizzying pace. You can feel all of him against your gummy walls. Each time he passes that special spot inside you, you moan and gasp, and it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

His thrusts were becoming more primal, holding your thighs close around his hips. Letting your sweaty bodies collide again and again, his balls slapping against you. The grunts and moans coming from his lips were so infuriatingly erotic. Eren just wanted one more from you, and then he’d let himself finish. If this was to be a drunken mistake, so be it, but he would at least make it memorable.

Those jade eyes were on you once again, the power and dominance radiating from the immeasurable. He can see you barely being able to hold on, completely fucked out beneath him. You’re moaning and whining, hands moving over the swell of your breasts and playing with your nipples as if it’s going to keep you grounded.

He sits up, eyes flicking down to where you were conjoined. It took so much restraint not to cum inside you right then and there. Your glistening sex was so tight around him, the wet slapping noises echo again and again. You’re pulling and sucking him in, cream pooling around his length.

“Give me one more, y/n. I want to feel you cum on my cock.”

You try to look up at him through heavy lids. Your friend Eren saying this is so taboo. The words he’s said tonight so far from normal for the both of you. You flutter around him, somehow your pussy still wants to be fucked, still wants to push you off the edge one more time. You can feel the coil inside your stomach tightening.

Eyes rolling back, you can barely keep it together anymore. He’s pounding into you at a startling rate, fingers flicking over your clit again and again and again.

“P - please, it’s s-so good.”

Your breaths between words were quick, “you’re so big-”

“Yeah you like that? You like being so full of my cock? Such a pretty face you make when you’re all fucked out.”

Holy shit.

Eren could tell how much words affected you, your back arching and legs pulling him somehow closer into you.

“Come on, baby. I wanna hear those moans.” he’s grunting, getting so fucking close to losing himself in your cunt. He knows what he wants to hear most though, “say my name. Tell me who’s treating you how you should be”

With that, you’re losing yourself around him again. Writing on the bed, gripping sheets in tightly balled fists. White light taking over your sight as you clench around Eren. This orgasm was the most intense, taking your body by surprise in its overstimulated state. You weren’t even making a noise, just holding on to the high for as long as possible.

And then you shattered, whining and moaning, whispering his name over and over again.

As you moved underneath him, Eren kept his punishing pace up until he watched you expel the last of your energy. Name forming on your lips over and over again he falters, releasing inside you. You can feel the stickiness inside you, the sensation of being filled up. Eren watches for a moment as he sees the white pearls forming around your stretched out pussy.

His chest is back on yours as he kisses your neck, shoulders, whatever skin he can. Thrusting back into you a couple of times, he finally pulls out. You feel his cum dripping out of you, but you’re too spent to do anything about it.

Eren lies next to you, both of your bodies attempting to regulate from that.

“You okay?”

He’s checking in, making sure he didn’t go too far with someone he genuinely cares for.

You nod, turning to meet his stare. Giving him a drowsy smile, you’re not sure what comes next. But for now, you’re happy. Curling into his side, he puts an arm round you and lets you rest for a while. As he notices your breathing become deeper, he nestles into you, muttering something about clean up.

Moving away from you, you can make out some noises of a tap, drawers opening and closing. In your sleepy state you feel him gently wiping at you, two glasses of water being put on the bedside table. Finally he makes his way back to you, and Eren notes how cute you look. Hot and completely fucked out, yes. But also gentle and at peace, allowing the heaviness of sleep taking over.

He rests behind you, wanting to be back in your warmth. He pulls you in closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. The fragrance of you takes over his nostrils, and he’s all too eager to move closer to your hair, pressing one last kiss at the nape of your neck. Whatever tomorrow brings, he hopes it’s not the last time he gets to be this close to you.

#eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger x reader #eren yaeger smut #eren yaeger x reader #aot smut #eren smut #eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader smut #eren yaegar x reader smut #attack on titan smut #pls be nice lmao

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