#this was a journey and took a break to pick up dinner

[agentnatesewell]

Tagged by beloveds @nsewell @masonspecialist to write out my username(s) using song titles. Thank you!

brightpinkpeppercorn

because you love me - céline dion // rhapsody in blue - george gershwin // i just can’t stop loving you - michael jackson // god is a woman - ariana grande // habibi - tamino // the roof - mariah carey // push - madonna // i am falling in love - isak danielson // nothing compares to u - sinéad o’connor // killer queen - queen // pink pony club - chappell roan // elastic heart - sia // paris, or wherever we are - emily hearn // push it - salt-n-pepa // espresso - sabrina carpenter // river - leon bridges // can’t feel my face - the weeknd // one - mary j blige & u2 // run the world (girls) - beyoncé // no strings attached - nsync

agentnatesewell

all of me - john legend // gimme! gimme! gimme! (a man after midnight) - abba// enchanted - cover by joseph william morgan orchestra // nocturne no. 2 in e flat major, opt. 9 no. 2 - frédéric chopin & daniel barenboim// this kiss - carly rae jepsen // nour el ein/ - amr diab// ain’t no other man - christina aguilera// the chain - fleetwood mac // everybody (backstreet’s back) - backstreet boys// sunlight - hozier// everytime we touch - cascada// water under the bridge- adele// eleanor rigby - the beatles // love me like you do - ellie goulding// lights down low - max

Tagging (no pressure!) @crownleys @delucadarling @wayhavenots @kibellah @gauntlings @toads-treasures @evilbunnyking and YOU! Please tag me if you do!

[jolalibrary]

meet me in the city where we won't sleep

javier peña x f!reader | main masterlist

summary: home: a place where we feel most comfortable, loved, and protected — where we most feel at home. except javi, who has returned from colombia and feels his home is living miles away.

childhood besties!javi x f!reader

wordcount: 9k (i'm so sorry)

warnings: childhood best friend!javi. flirting. 18+ - although just a little smutty with fingers. brief mention of drunkenness years ago. emotions (ugh) and feelings (yuk) and idiots who just don't wanna confess things but really should. javi calls you flor and you call him a pineapple. alternating times.

an: originally started for april showers, it's taken me an age to get this done because i wanted it to be perfect. i really hope it is. the biggest thank you to @thetriumphantpanda who read all of this and gave me a gold star. it would have stayed in my drafts if not for you. thank you to @rhoorl for checking my spanish.

It would have been cliche to say he fell for you in a field of bluebonnets—your dress white, face glum, hands ripping up blooms from the soil that you clutched in your hand.

Lost, aimless, both in the blue of the petals and in your thoughts as you continued to yank stems up and bring bunches to your nose, unaware of him watching from the tree. His legs swung, and a smile slid into one cheek as the leaves rustled above in the warm breeze.

It took a while before you noticed him, practically half a field’s worth in your hands, hands wound around them as your dress swished at your ankles.

“What do you want, Piña?”

He supposed, for kids, that was an insult.

“What you doing in my field, Flor?”

Javi didn’t know your name then. Now he struggled to go a minute without thinking it.

Sitting still hadn’t seemed a possibility in the days since he’d been back.

And then, that’s all he’d done for the last eight hours before he was greeted by rain.

It’s relentless, an onslaught that blurs the world into a watery haze. The kind that soaks through every layer of clothing like a challenge; the type that drips from everything, making pools in the streets and turning them into dark mirrors, reflecting the grey and full clouds from above.

Not that Javi cares.

If anything, he likes it. Finds it cleansing, like the world is being washed clean, even if he knows how untrue that actually is as his eyes follow a bead rushes across the glass of the cab.

The driver has been mumbling about the weather for the entire journey—a thing he’s barely listened to since he’d recommended waiting for a break in the weather. It was likely they just didn’t wish to drop him where he’d described, rather hoping Javi would opt for someplace warmer, most likely smokier, so that he could call it a day too.

Javi doesn't do that now—smoking, that is.

Hasn’t done since he left that apartment that never felt like his, in a city that he’d spent years in that never felt like home. Threw them in the trashcan before his Pop had picked him up, craved and wanted all the way through dinner. He’d done it once, he’d do it again.

When the cab screeches to a halt, he pays, steps out (bag in hand) and spots the phone booth all in one fluid motion. It’s barely lit, front weathered by time and neglect. Smirk curling into his cheek as he remembers you telling him about it—that on cloudless days you can see it, likes to make stories about it as you enjoy a meal-for-one or crunches down cereal.

It hadn’t been a thing he’d thought much about.

Then, it was all he had thought about.

Standing there, making a story that could become real. A gesture, kind and deserving of someone who had put up with his shit since they were children. You’d always liked those big moments in the movies—his eyes glancing over at you, finding yours big, wide and shimmering with tears that wish to glide down your cheek.

Although, that had been well over a decade ago—the two of you had remained in touch, close, or as much as he could allow. Your visit to Colombia had still felt like the sunniest day, a bright spot in a sea of dark; a day that coloured his world in shades he hadn’t known existed, that dulled the moment he’d had to bid farewell at the airport.

It hadn’t been safe for you to do another, pleading in fact to not risk it. A thing, he suspects, is not a thing he’s been easily forgiven for.

He supposes it’s why he hasn’t told you he was coming. The flight had been booked, bag packed—fingers tapping, soul hoping you wouldn’t turn him away once he’d gotten here. To the phone box over the bridge from your place—the one obscured from view by the downpour that seemed never-ending.

Because, as soon as two weeks had racked up at him being home, he found himself itching to move, to be somewhere other than surrounded by fields and the watchful stare of his Pop. Parental worry a hard thing to hide from in a home washed in memories.

Sliding open the door, cramming himself into the booth, Javi had no concern about remembering your number. It was burned into him, etched into him with a blunt tool—almost studied, committed to memory while he ticked over godfathers and the weight of right and wrong.

He remembers when you’d changed it, when your voice informed him of the move, the chance—all excited tone, a pitch closer to a squeak than your voice: no more roommates, just me, myself and I.

He also remembers the ember inside of him pleased that Tom joined the underserving list, slid under Mia and Rich as you informed him you were single again.

Sliding quarters in, finger punching the numbers—he hopes you’re home. A niggling feeling threatens to unwind inside of him as the tone drills into his skull—attempts to drown out the rain rapping against the glass booth he’s standing in.

“Hello?”

“Flor?”

It kisses his ear, your snort. Light. Sweet. “Javier Piña, what do you want?”

You sound like you did in Colombia. Having half-expected the crackle meeting his ear to be down to the distance, rather than your shoddy home phone.

Pressing the receiver to his head, a smile there—desperate to flow out across his lips and exhausted face, he moves it back. “Tal vez te extrañé.”

“Mierda. I don’t believe you.”

Even amidst the noise of passing cars and the relentless drumming of raindrops, he catches the melody of your laughter—a symphony of joy that unravels a part of his soul. It releases it, unlocks it, beckons it to be free—metaphorically makes him release his shoulders, and take a breath. The part of him hidden away, floods back through him—no longer fearful of being taken, clawed or wormed from him as he handed other parts of himself to the job, the task, the goal.

Not you, though. Javi would never surrender you.

A pocket of sunshine he’d kept close to him like your chicken-scratch letters and your tipsy phone calls when he’d caught you coming in after a night with friends.

“Where are you, Piña?”

Wiping his mouth with his thumb, he pauses. Traces his index along the hair growing above his lip, glancing out through the rain-smeared glass, the one cracked in places. Not sure if any of the lights on the other side are hers, but lingering on each just in case.

“In a phone booth on a bridge…”

He hears you swallow, loud, almost difficult.

“…right across from your place.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Smirking, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip. “Are you lying to me?”

Smirking, he stares out again. “No.”

Because he couldn’t, not if he tried. Not just because you see through it, but because it wounds him to do so. Picks at him, and makes him bleed in ways that don’t ruin him in scarlet.

“Give me five minutes.”

The call ends before he can get in a bye.

The receiver placed back, bag straps cutting into his palms again as he exits, the heavens lashing against him as he slowly walks. Taking his time. Nervousness bubbling like a broth inside of him with each step, coming up to the top curve of the bridge, trying to look up, spot you—

Then he does.

Running, coat billowing behind—flapping in the wind as it breaks out over your face: that smile. The one that lit fires inside of him, the one first doing so at the time his bedroom at home had its last lick of paint, it now peeling, cracked.

Dropping his bag, Javi isn’t sure whether to brace or not—taking three more steps forward before you collide with him. Arms around him, chest to chest, your wet cheek sliding past his as your soaked clothes marry to his.

It would be odd to say it felt like home hugging you, but it does. It feels right, safe—a piece completing him as he digs his chin into your head.

“You smell the same,” you muffle into his chest.

Javi smiles, knowing the bottle on his dresser is the one from his younger years. Sun-ruined and likely faded, yet managing to linger on his skin enough to cause recollection.

Pushing past lilies, excusing himself through swarms of bodies adorned in black fabric, Javi found you sitting cross-legged between two tall stands of flowers.

Your eyes were puffy—red, swollen—and your dress was as black as his suit; your fingers were balled around a single lily and a scrunched-up tissue, the skirt of your dress skated over your bent knees.

“What d-do you want, Piña?”

But it didn’t land with the tone he had come to know.

Instead, he extended a hand you thankfully took, pulling you up from the ground before he opened his arms—letting you move in, slot yourself between them as they enveloped you close.

Letting his best friend fall apart at the back of the church, your sobs vibrated against his bones and his chin rested on your head as he whispered he had you, over and over again.

A thing you repaid when his mother passed a few years later.

Talking had always been a skill—unless he had to discuss feelings.

It wasn’t that it was easy to lie, or that he found the idea of feeling difficult—if anything, it was as though he felt too much. Guilt. Affection. Righteousness. Protection. Each one a little harder to carry, to wear.

More so around you. The walls had to be tighter, or they’d crumble into ruin, the dust spilling all his secrets before he’d confess whatever wasn’t already written over his face. But, you don’t needle him—instead, you make him a plate from leftovers, tell him about some gossip your mom had informed you of, until you offer him your shower, your sofa and bid him goodnight.

“You’ll be here in the morning?”

“Not going anywhere.”

Lingering in the doorway to your bedroom, fingers playing the piano on the wood. “You’ve said that before.”

He knows he has.

It rises up in him like a storm, whipping around his organs, making his chest tighten as he lies down in comfort but stares up at the unfamiliar. He can hear the rain, how it pitters and patters—how it likely streams down the windows behind your curtains.

He should find it odd that he'd rather fall asleep here, than in his bed back where he grew up. A strange solace in the unknown here, a quiet surrender to the whispers he usually has to hear when the night comes.

But, they're not here.

At some stage, he must sleep, before he wakes to the scent of coffee and soft sunshine. His ears catch the sound of you calling in sick—a cough, a put-on voice, one all removed when you throw a throw cushion at him and ask him what he wants for breakfast.

That’s how he finds his knee kissing yours under the small table as your spoon scoops cereal before letting it drop back into the bowl. Just like when you were kids. Just like when you were all excitable, too in a rush to sit for a moment, stomach likely fluttering with agitation.

“You keep staring.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Flor.”

The thing is, you’re not wrong.

Each time he has a second, he lingers—gazes. Metaphorically pinching himself as he forgoes digging a nail into his skin under the cuff of his shirt, just to make sure he isn’t dreaming. A thing he finds he’s doing now, after a night of laughing until you couldn’t keep your eyes open and a full day of exploring, you walk a little ahead before spinning on your heel to smile at him.

“I have to show you my favourite place—before you go.”

He hates that there’s an end date on this. Bought himself a few days of normal, before returning to something that feels anything but.

Scratching his jaw, brows raised and eyes wide. “You’ve replaced our spot?”

Rolling your eyes, you take his hand—fingers slotting, palm pressing against his. For a moment, a reflex, he thinks of pulling away. Thinking of what else sat as perfectly in his palm as you—a thing that took, but never gave. A thing that he held more than he had ever held a woman.

“My favourite place here.”

He expects a lot of things, maybe flowers, maybe a bar, but he finds himself inside a bookshop. One with floor-to-ceiling shelves, dark wood, the large window letting in light that barely reaches the back. He supposes it’s good they have a chandelier, one that sparkles, shines—like it’s as well maintained as the shelves.

“Books?”

“Books.”

Your finger prodding into him, facing him, body fully twisted. That smile there, the one which slides into one of your cheeks and makes his eyes flick from it to your eyes and then back.

It’s there when you turn on your heel down an aisle, it remaining when he follows—when he hovers close, so easily able to pin you, cage you in between his palms.

“Which do you recommend?”

Shooting him a look, you trail your finger over spines, over the shelf they sit on. “Didn't know you could read?”

“Funny.”

Grinning, you pull on one, handing it to him. His eyes take it in, the cover, the name, the author.

“I think you’ll like the characters,” you explain, eyes lighting up as you lean. “They're flawed but resilient.”

Chewing his cheek, he swallows. Listening, hearing you read the blurb after you lift the book in his hands so you can read it, word for word as he focuses on you. Noticing the way your eyes shine when talking about something you love, the way one of your hands begins to move as you describe the plot, and the characters. Realising, that he could listen to you talk about anything all day.

“You should read it,” you suggest, as he flips through the pages. Having never been much of a reader, time being a factor, his job has been the reason.

“Alright,” he nods, tucking the book under his arm. “I'll read it.”

Your smile brightens even more if that's possible.

“Chucho is gonna be so shocked when I tell him you bought a book.”

Frowning, he follows you, leading him down another aisle. “You talk to my pop?”

Shrugging, like it’s nothing. Like the words that are about to tumble out of your mouth don’t matter like they won’t stitch themselves to him and make him feel like pulling you to his chest.

“I check in—make sure he’s okay. Done it weekly since you left the first time.”

His face falls, descends slowly. He feels it—watches you take it in as yours slowly mirrors him. And, even if he’s been thinking it, it bubbling at the back of his throat, he finds himself unable to stuff it back down—to shove it between other regrets and unsaid words.

“I’ve really missed you.”

Each word lands, your eyes widening as your nose does a little twitch as they do, before you whisper, resting against the edge of a bookcase, “I’ve missed you too.”

Sat on the rock, the sound of a car door slamming disturbed the peace. Not needing to look, knowing that gait, that little kick of the ground as you stopped in front of him.

Hand shielding your eyes from the sun, flower tucked behind your ear.

“Hello, Flor.”

“Piña. Heard you were cursing Laredo.”

Smirking, you sat next to him, nudging him over. The two perched on a rock overlooking part of the city—as his head turned but his eyes stared at you from the corner of them.

“I give it a month and someone else will do something bad enough that people cross the street.”

Swallowing, he exhaled. “Thanks.”

“Did you love her?”

Turning his head, staring at you—eyes flicking from yours to a place on your face he shouldn’t look. “Not enough to marry her.”

“Then you did the right thing.”

A thing he only believed when your hand slid over his, hooking your little finger over his.

“It’s because you’re in love with me, isn’t it?”

Snorting, head shaking, your words washed back over him and he broke into a laugh. “Shut up, Flor.”

Nudging him, taking the flower from your hair and handing it to him. “It’s okay if you do, I know I’m a catch.”

He's embarrassed that it isn't until the second day that Javi finds the chance to really admire your place.

How it’s exactly what he imagined. So very you, all cosy, muted, with spots of colour. Plants and throw cushions, blankets and wicker baskets stuffed with things he suspects you have no recollection of.

What catches his eyes are the photographs, the memories frozen in time around your walls and on shelves. His eyes sweep over them, in a trance still from the scent of your perfume mixing with vanilla from a lit candle.

Each time he sweeps his sight over, he spots new things, remembering brief conversations, smirking to himself until his eyes land on a frame that makes his mouth part and his heart clench.

Him and you; you and him. Sunglasses far too big for your face, staring up at him as he beams at the camera. The backdrop of his ranch, his home, the one he so often left behind like it hadn’t mattered.

Done it weekly since you left the first time.

The words roll around his head now. All metal and round, bouncing against other thoughts, trying to dig his heels into the present and not wonder about what kind of calls you make—whether they’d be about him, whether you’d confess things you’d never admit to him.

Your clanging around is what pulls him to the present. The bangs of cupboards and pans clattering as he stares at it—as he notices how different his build is, how many years have passed. The occasional cursing from you is a rather nice anchor that keeps him in the present.

“Flor?” He waits until he hears you hum. “Order in again, I’ll pay.”

It’s here within the hour.

A favourite, you had told him. A quick apology that you’ll be messier than last night, that you’re dying of hunger. He reminds you he doesn’t care. Not as you slide the triangle slice out, the tip kissing your chin before it’s absorbed by your mouth, sauce lingering on your lips—dust from the crust resting on your nose.

He’s not sure what’s better, the taste of the pizza or the sight of watching you. Having the chance to watch you.

“So I have to ask.”

Grumbling, he pulls at the topping on his slice. “Here we fucking go.”

“Did you like the tie I sent you?”

Half-scowling, swallowing the mouthful of pizza—recalling the box on his desk, atop files and paperwork with a note attached: One down, three to go. Written in that same handwriting he could spot in a lineup—the one he had wished there and then would be etched into him, a mark left, a thing he could brush his thumb over when his heart ached and he felt lost.

“I was disappointed not to see you photographed in it.”

“You knew damn well I wasn’t going to wear a fucking pineapple tie to a press conference.”

Pouting, you smirk. Picking at another slice, staring up at him from the floor, all cross-legged. “Thought you might have for me.”

It’s there, ebbing—words that feel far more intimate than they should—crystallising, burning upon his tongue.

I’d do anything for you.

It’s there, unwritten, pulsating and breathing in the space between you and him, existing, never diminished. Memories where it’s been all but similar rising like lava, singeing him, threatening to burn away the walls he throws up for the sake of friendship.

Because he knows what people think. Saw it hung in his pop’s eyes at his Tia’s wedding when you came as a guest, an uninvited plus one that was welcomed like you were already part of the family. Heard it, in the wind between the grass before he’d left the first time, a farewell outdoor thing, your parents crestfallen, as though they’d assumed—like he imagined a lot of them—the two of you would have figured it out by now.

Watching you stand, hand outstretched for his plate, you take it with a smile. A shout of two options for drinks, an unsurprising one chosen by him—it bubbling in the glass when you hand it to him, settling in beside him.

“Not sure I told you, but you have a nice couch.”

“Most expensive thing in this place—probably better than my own bed,” you smirk, sipping your drink. Head rolling towards him, brows raised, eyes that bit wider. “So, are you okay?”

You’re the only one who could ask and get a reply, he supposes. Those same words were said to him a handful of times, down the phone from Murphy, over the table from Pop, even on aisles of the supermarket when he’d been staring between brands he hadn’t heard of.

“I gave you a day to tell me, and since you won’t, I’m gonna ask. Are you okay, Javier Peña?” you continue, body shifting, thigh pressing against his—heat radiating from between yours to his. “Because you’re methodical. You’re not… get on a plane and fly to a different city just because.”

“You not happy I’m here?”

Grinning, all teeth—it reaching and hanging in your eyes. “Los más felices. But, are you?”

Yes. It’s all he thinks.

Chewing his tongue, his eyes drop to his soda because he’s unsure how to say that. Not as he watches the bubbles float up and burst—the song that had been playing coming to a stop, allowing the rain to play an interval against your windows.

It doesn’t make sense, in some ways: how he’s kept you—been able to keep you close. Somehow not ruined you, twisted this thing between the two of you, made it rot, sullied it with disappointment and selfishness.

“I am now,” he replies.

Good, you breathe. Letting it sit, simmer. Paper over any cracks as your eyes sparkle and remain fixed on him, tracing him as though not completely sure he’s real.

That is, until you grab the remote, excitedly telling him about the night of television they have ahead of them. A blanket, at some stage, finds itself over him, you nestling into his side—like when they were teens before the world became a problem and narcos were all he hunted.

For a while, you catch him up, explain plots and characters. Then, you fall silent, brows crinkled in concentration. His eyes slide to the side to watch, to spot the little things you do as she settles in closer, brings your legs up, and rests almost all of yourself against him.

Between one show and another, he feels the rhythm of your breathing change, your body relaxing further against him. He glances down and finds your eyes closed, features soft and serene in sleep. Realisation dawns on him—you’ve fallen asleep. His heart does a slow tumble in his chest, a wave of warmth spreading through him. All of a sudden aware of the gentle weight of you against his side, the way your hand is loosely holding onto him. He watches, just for a moment, taking in the sight of you, so peaceful and trusting in your sleep. This moment is so intimate, so precious, he wants to freeze it in time.

What else is a guy like you gonna do…

This, he thinks. Looking at you, asleep, peaceful—curled into his side, fingers around his forearm.

Smiling, he takes the remote from your fingers, turning the volume down as he gets more comfortable—pressing a soft kiss to your hairline.

He carried a single red rose down the side of your house—nudging open the window the rest of the way, climbing in like he had done years ago.

He didn’t need eyes, didn’t fancy having to explain to his parents how he could do that to that nice girl and her family. Javi had faced enough judgement, enough stares.

The only eyes he wanted were staring at him, remaining so as he stepped close and handed you the flower with the thorns picked free. “Come with me.”

Sighing, eyes averting, you swallowed loudly in the thick quietness. “You don’t want that. Your best friend following you.”

Eyes flicking up to meet his, you took another deep breath. Fingers flexed at your side, weight shifting from one foot to the other before you exhaled—louder than before.

“I don’t want to follow you, best friend.”

Then don’t be just that, he thought, thumb swiping over the tips of his fingers as he hovered, waited. Then he took a step closer, and another. The gap closed, becoming shorter and shorter—

“What are you doing, Piña?”

“Kissing you.”

Lips pursing, trying not to smirk, you took the rose and put it on your dresser. “Don’t feel your lips on mine, Javier.”

And then he kissed you, his fingers clutching at your jaw—body pressed against yours, tasting your whine, your moan.

He felt your fingers clutch at his shirt as he told you to be quiet.

Laid you on your bed of flowers, knees digging into stitched roses and sunflowers, as you arched off the bed when his fingers slid between your thighs—like he wished he’d done a handful of times before now.

He’s not sure of the time when he wakes, but it’s dark.

A contentedness in his bones that doesn’t fade as he begins to blink, as he takes in his surroundings and remembers where he is. Feeling you, warm, pressed as close against him as humanly possible. Able to see the outline of you, before his eyes manage to paint the rest, how his knee has slotted between your legs—bodies a mess of limbs that takes him back to years ago.

Javi notices how the television is switched off as you try to move, to wiggle and escape. His shirt discarded, the cool air misting over him, pebbling his skin as he slides his arm around you, pinning you tighter to him.

Brain all addled with dreams and sleep, as his awakening state tries to remind him what he’s doing.

What door he’s trying to open all over again.

“Javi…”

Not Piña, Peña or Javier. Javi, all soft and whispery, like honey dripping into his ear as he turns his head to find your stare in the dark. Somehow finding it shimmering, fixed, more than awake.

Then you whisper his name again, and it’s heavenly, a piece of it anyway. A sound he realises he’s missed more than he cares to find words to describe as he hears you push out a breath—fingers finding his arm, stroking, sliding their warmth up and down the muscle of his arm as he swallows.

It’s slow, hand cupping your cheek as he shifts his body, and finds yours moves with him. The beginning of a partner dance, one it feels you’ve both practised in small spaces but never actually have as he slides his lips over yours. Moulds them to yours. Tasting faint mint on your tongue when you deepen it—when you pay attention, listen, taking each cue you give him from the movement of your mouth to the way your hands grasp at him to come closer.

A whimper tries to break through, to escape through messy kisses and tangled bodies, but it vibrates through him. Makes him shudder with how much he wants you, moving your knee, hooking it over his hip as he slots his waist between your thighs and you gasp at the feel of him flush against you.

Practically whine.

Nose brushing your cheek, palm flat, fingers spreading out over your hip as he feels you roll your body into him, he smiles—breathy, teeth nipping at his bottom lip. “Forgot how soft you are.”

You hum, head-turning, mouth latching itself back to his.

“Forgot how good of a kisser you are.”

Snorting, he lightly bites your lower lip. “Best remind you then.”

“Best do,” you whisper, pulling him by his hair back to your mouth.

You write a poem against his lips, signing it with your tongue against his as his fingers snake under the band of your sleep shorts, tasting your moan, your hiss and whimper when he touches you like he’s wanted to since he landed back in the States.

When two fingers slide slowly inside of you, curling, the sound of his name is like a fucking sin he wants to be draped in, wrapped in, even dressed in. Him seeking, searching, finding that spot that has your legs opening for him, nails scraping against his scalp.

“More, Javi. Please—”

“You’re so tight, Flor,” he croons, burying the words in your neck, the tip of his tongue swiping over your collarbone as you grab a handful of his hair. “Feel so good around my fingers.”

Your hips writhe, roll them against his hand, gasping. Making a mess, dripping, practically gushing over his hand, as he fights pulling his hand free and getting a taste.

“Be better—dios mio—around your cock—”

Smirking, teeth nipping at your neck, “I remember.”

Head lifting, thankful the night sky is clear, that the moon is draping you in a slither of milky light so he’s able to see your eyes flutter shut. Able to witness what his fingers do to you, the effects of their teasing and the languid movements as he finds that angle, the one which makes you grind against his palm, and has your chest heaving.

He moans your name against your tongue, drinking down a blend of pleases falling from your swollen lips as he plunges deeper, walls squeezing him.

There he thinks, lips pressing kisses to your shoulder, as you dig your nails further into his scalp, tensing, bearing down on him to the point he hopes you’ll leave a mark, leave a cut, a signature of this moment he can run his fingers over.

“Kiss me,” you gasp, all wrapped in desperation as you pull at his shoulder.

His mouth only just pressing to yours when your cry buries against his tongue, when you flutter and arch as he continues to work you through it. His name breaks through messy kisses, it escaping effortlessly like it doesn’t wish to be buried anymore.

You don’t let him pull away, hooking one leg around him. Watching, not able to take your eyes from him as he retracts his hand—as he licks your pleasure from his fingers and you stare with a twinkle in your eye.

“You best fuck me now.”

Smirking, a low laugh escaping. “Yeah? Want me that bad, Flor?”

Lifting onto your elbows, he waits for a taunt, a tease—something that’ll bring him down a peg or two. What he finds, instead, is your fingers slowly crawling up his bare chest, around his neck, your chin tilted up.

“I need you, Javi. Need you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?”

“And then I wanna get on top,” you whisper, dragging each syllable out, “and fuck you until the sun comes up.”

“Murphy is a nice guy.”

Eyes narrowing, he shot you a glare—watching as you shimmied your jacket from your shoulders. Bare arms, bare legs—except for the thin tank and shorts adorning your body—that had him thinking un-best friend things.

“You jealous, Piña?”

“Of a married guy? Fuck no.”

Grinning, you moved closer—boxing him in. Staring into his eyes, in a way that made him feel like he was being seen, read, and admired all at once. “Is that because you left a bite mark on my hip?”

Tracing his fingers along your neck, he felt himself smile. That flutter in his chest again, the one which had appeared one day when the two of you were teens and hadn’t gone away since.

“Ask me to stay,” you whispered, hands on either side of him—all boxed in. “Ask me, Javi.”

Running his tongue over the front of his teeth, he raised a hand, knuckles brushing over your cheek. Wanting nothing more. A week gone too quickly. Already feeling the pressure slip back over his muscles, seeping into his bones. But he knew. He pictured it, the things he had nightmares over—even when you were far away, never mind when you were asleep in the room next to his.

“Too dangerous.”

“That it? I can learn—”

“No.”

“No?”

He stared. Thought of the things he had done. The people he had already let down. The things he had let happen to people who deserved far better. It layering, and layering, and layering and—

Nodding, disappointment spread, before it was washed over in acceptance. “What’re we eating?”

When he wakes, he expects to find you dressed in corporate and apologising in a voice that’s accompanied by a pout at the foot of your bed. The place the two of you found yourself on at 4 am.

Instead, you fake another performance. Earn an Oscar over the phone before switching to the excitable one you present to him when you sit at the foot of the bed.

There’s something there. It hangs in your eyes. A secret, a thing shifted and dislodged now your mask has slipped from the few hours of sleep and the ruining of your sheets.

But he doesn’t ask, because if he does, he fears he’d tell you things in return. Alter the way you see him. Change it, taint it. Practically ruin the man you think he went to be and the one he's returned as.

It'll hurt him if you look at him with disgust. You’ve burnt him after all, left him winded, air knocked from his lungs each time he’s laughed. All but imprinted into his mind, a thing never filed but rather pinned up and forever there, like artwork on a fridge.

“Wanna get a coffee?”

Hands pulling on a pair of jeans, buttoning them as he sees the peaks of your nipples through your white tee. And he knows your face is bare and you're dressed in clothes you just pulled out without thought—yet, you are, as always, the prettiest damn thing he’s ever seen.

A thing he thinks when he showers.

When he smiles as he scrubs the shampoo into his hair, feels the soreness at parts from where your nails had dug in. He doesn't stop beaming when he smears his palm across the glass, takes in his appearance as you open the door, a towel hung low on his hips, eyes dropping down.

“Now who's staring, hermosa.”

“Don’t be a work of art to be admired then.”

He dresses in record time, your hand swinging beside his, so within reach, so easy to grab. But he doesn’t.

None of last night mentioned, even if he knows he’s left bruises on your inner thighs from keeping them apart; even if you've left scratch marks on his shoulders from when you sunk down on him, head thrown back, jaw elongated as he rolled your nipples between his fingers.

Javi doesn't even mention it when he hears you gasp at the taste of your coffee, a noise similar to when he'd licked a stripe up your pussy, when he tasted both you and him.

It was just like in Colombia.

A thing buried, hidden underneath other topics the two of you don’t discuss. Dead parents and a town you both ran from. A thing he almost wants to change, correct, but then you stop outside a flower shop.

The sign battered, peeling. Hidden between two nicer shops, yet the scent made his nose twitch.

“You should buy me flowers.”

“Should I?”

Smirking, teeth biting your lip. “Por lo de anoche.”

Head shaking, he finds himself following anyway. Unable to stop his eyes from falling to the back pocket you shove your phone in, hand reaching, palm pressing to the globe of your ass as he hears the muffled sound of a giggle—

“Piña.”

“Flor,” he whispers, practically breathes it against your neck.

The bubble expands, knowing at some point it’ll pop. Too happy, he thinks. Too settled for a man who has a solo flight back. It’s why he drops his hand, lets you move further in, watching as you scan over already-made bouquets for one he knows you won’t find.

Because they don’t know you. Not like him. There’s not years between you and this shop—this place.

His fingers lightly roll over a stem, staring at the flower, before he has pulled it free from the bucket, and then another, and then another. Not at all a florist—or someone artistic enough to make a bunch—but a person who at least knows you. Knows that in each of the pre-made bundles there’s a flower you dislike, one that’ll remind you of something, someone.

“Here.”

You blink, eyes widening as they move from the bunch in his hand to his face. “Javi…”

“There your—”

“Favourites,” you finish, eye narrowing, lips still parted. “You remembered all my favourites?”

Shrugging, aware of how close he is to real—to something that could shatter, break. A thing he’ll do, just give it time. Feeling it wrap its tendrils around his chest, around his heart, squeezing and squeezing until your hand slips in his. Palm to palm, fingers finding their way between his slowly, cautiously, your eyes not leaving his face as you do.

“Didn’t know my pussy was good enough for flowers, Piña,” you comment, voice low, a smirk there.

“You deserve more than flowers.”

“I’m that good?”

Shaking his head, hand still in yours, he presses a kiss to your forehead, swallowing. “Siempre has sido.”

“Hello?”

He heard the hiccup, the slur of his name as he smirked against the phone—finger and thumb massaging his forehead as he heard you hiccup again. “Flor?”

“Piña, did you know that I miss you?”

Adjusting the tie around his neck, staring down at the pineapples—the box open, atop a bunch of files, in the office he should have been thankful for. “You sound like you’ve had a good night.”

You howled, the laugh all high-pitched. “Maybe I have—maybe I haven’t. What I do know is that I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“No. I love you.”

Smirking, thumb tracing an outline of one of the pineapples. “You’re drunk.”

“Still love you.”

Swallowing, he let out a heavy exhale.

“You doing okay, mi Piña?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer, how to respond. Head tilting back in his office chair, the ice melted in his whiskey and the hour so late he wondered why you were still up as you extended his nickname out into as many syllables as you could.

“I am now—okay, I mean.”

It needs to be left alone.

He knows it. Reminds himself of it when it rears its head at every second he doesn't. Because, it doesn't need to be needled, or picked at until it bled.

But, Javi picks at it all the same when you avoid his question again.

His hand slides over his face, index finger tracing a line down his nose as he waits until your laugh fades. Your fork twists the spaghetti round and round, and when it falls, it simply lands on the table between the two of you—the air tinged with the scent of dinner and the flowers from the shop.

“When were you going to tell me you hate your job?”

Your smile shrinks, like the sunlight being muted by the night. Spine straightening, chin lifting. The walls coming down both literally and figuratively, seeing you prepare for war when he’s army-less and unafraid.

“Si significo algo para ti, no lo hagas.”

He snorts, resting on his arm, letting the sheets fall to his waist. Because of course, he cares, and of course, he wants to do this. Balling up the hand beside his hip, seeing the murkiness in your eyes, the joy snuffed out and hidden, as though the hatchets were coming down to protect against his storm.

Javi says your name, softly, honeyed—delicately drip-feeding the air each letter until it’s out there existing.

One by one, it happens. Your eyes avert, chin dipping down; your tongue drags across the front of your teeth and then your arms fold. “I hate my job. Happy? I wanted it so bad—and now I have it, I hate it. I hate going in, I hate doing it. I can’t tell anyone that because it’s all I wanted.”

“It’s okay.”

Snorting, fake smile sketching across your face as your eyes harden to the point they’re brittle. “It isn’t. I left. I turned my back and got as far out of there as I could, and now I’m stuck.”

It breaks him a little.

Seeing it then, the many shards inside of you that you’re trying to keep whole. The pieces that are so worn and tired from doing their best to fit, but struggling to do so.

It’s why he protests that you’re not. He tries to rationalise and says the same words he knows you’d say to him if he called—if he had told you the truth about everything when he was over there. He tries to add kindness to his words as you continue to stare at him like you wish your bed would swallow him whole.

“—You’re saying this like I didn’t say the same thing to you, and you went and did another five years.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?” you spit, standing now, finger pointing and nose flared. “Because your job means more?—”

“No, because I’m a fucking idiot, Flor. You’re not.”

You mutter under your breath, curse him—a blend of poisonous Spanglish that has the heel of his palm pressing against his forehead.

Because it’s like last time.

The words surge up inside of him—except you’re both older now, both carrying more pain and hurt from a world that continues to pile on when bones are already struggling. Walls threw up, keeping him out in all the same ways—except now his mess is also between your thighs, and you aren’t half as good at hiding how his words hurt you.

“Come home with me.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

Folding your arms, your head shaking. “I can stick it out—work my way up, it’ll get better—”

“You know it won’t. Know how well that went for me.”

Then you scoff. It blended with razors and sharpened to injure. “No, I don’t. Because you don’t talk about what happened.”

“You read about it.”

“But that’s not your story, Javi. That’s theirs.”

For a moment, he sees it. How hollow you look, how weak, sad and broken. So he repeats it, the request, the offer. Come home with me. But the door shuts, locks, a bolt thrown over.

And everything, all of it, splinters; it doing so before your mouth even opens and he sees what his request has done.

“I’m not coming home just because you’ve decided you want to play happy fucking families, Peña. The world doesn’t stop turning just because you’ve decided to run away, and it doesn’t begin turning again because you’ve come home and decided what you want.”

“That isn’t—”

“You left. You left me.”

“—Flor—”

“—and I asked you to let me stay—when I knew you were hurting. I asked and you said no—”

He whispers your name, broken—like it shatters the moment it greets the air.

“—I wasn’t good enough then. So why am I now?”

Shaking his head, legs flung from under your sheets, he stands—aware he’s half-naked, aware this isn’t the time as you step back.

You shake your head, tears dangling, resistant to fall. “I bet you’re not even staying.”

“I am—”

Head tilting, a crystal tear falling down your cheek, you scoff. Loud. Brutal. “Have you even unpacked? Or did you just get on a plane here?”

Swallowing, Javi rolls his jaw. Fingers flexing at his side, staring, urging himself to find words as his tongue thickens in his mouth. Because he’s staying, he’s staying, he’s staying—

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Flor—”

“Save it.”

The door of your bedroom slamming behind you is the final sound that echoes out between you both.

It was different.

Hearing you cry down the phone—than when the two of you were younger.

When your first love broke your heart and he lay beside you on sheets covered in stitched flowers. Your head turned to him, the bedroom door open, as you teased your lip between your teeth. The tears had dried, but the rest had still been there, written in markers across your face as you sighed, staring, waiting for him to answer. “What do you want, Piña?” you’d asked, and he’d swallowed that he wanted to punch them.

Now, though, there were miles between the two of you. Distance far more than there had ever been—cities, a whole country.

“I’ll be home soon—can visit you.”

He heard you laugh, it hanging, echoing. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I mean it.”

“You mean a lot of things, Javi.”

“Flor—”

“I wish you'd never kissed me.”

It's a whisper, the way he said your name. It cracked, snapping as it left his tongue.

“I should go shower, early morning and all that.”

He asked you to stay and he heard you sigh.

“What do you want, Piña?”

Swallowing, Javi tapped his fist on the desk—tiredness having crept over him, the last ditch at doing right in Colombia suspended over him. Tell me I’m doing good, that it's worth losing you, Flor. “Have a good day, Flor.”

It’s weeks.

Eight weeks and four days to be exact.

At some point, it becomes less of a want to get in touch and more of a need not to. Your number is always there on his fingers, but his digits never dialling it when his Pop nips out to go to the store, and he’s left alone with his thoughts and memories in a house stuffed full of them.

Javi doesn’t expect anything else.

Having woke that next morning to find a note attached to the book he had bought: Had to go to work. Have a safe flight. Speak soon—a thing he both hoped and prayed for, even as he nursed a drink on the short flight and chain-smoked at the airport before he did the drive home.

Home.

A thing it felt even less of when he arrived this final time. Pulling his truck into its place, dust swirled and kicked up around him. Staring at the house that hasn’t changed much, just the paint thinning, the sun-dyeing it.

Each day that ticks by, he thinks of you. Each week that’s collected, he fights with himself when he’s sat alone at the dining table about flying back out and apologising.

Because he knows what he did.

Did the same thing back then—assumed and foolishly acted as though your wants never mattered. But they do matter. A thing he rehearses in his head when he’s feeding the animals; a thing he runs over when he’s repairing a door here or a fence there.

One week adds up, then another, and another.

If his Pop thinks things, he doesn’t share them. Just shakes his head occasionally, not asking what is wrong, likely knowing. Suspecting he wears it like the rest of his shame, brightly coloured and decorated in bright lights.

A fool’s outfit, he thinks. A thing he is, a thing he knows. It carved into him at this point. Scratched into the skin and muscle, yet everyone else sees the word hero.

It’s eight weeks and four days when the door of the party opens, the sun streaming in—illuminating the back of a person in a dress adorned with flowers. It takes a second, the condensation on his beer dripping down his wrist as he stares, trying to place the shape and the style of the hair. Not wanting to imagine, not wanting to jump ahead of himself until he hears your mom say your name, all excitable—practically a shriek.

He’s not prepared.

Yet, it’s out of habit he moves.

Like the two of you are magnets, that realised they were supposed to be a pair. The music doesn’t quiet, and the room doesn’t hold its breath, but Javi does—and he suspects you do too.

Just as time comes to a slow stop—the hand in his watch takes an age to flick to the next second as his heart hammers into his ribs. Staring, fingers itching to reach out and ensure you’re not something he’s fabricated, not a mirage from wanting so badly and convincing himself he’d never have it.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Piña.”

It weighs heavy then—clots on his tongue. Almost shapes itself into bile and rests horridly against his tongue as he follows you around, hand close to reaching out to place on your lower back, but stops when he remembers where he is.

Home.

A thing it all of a sudden feels like when you turn your head, lift your chin and stare at him—eyes full of forgiveness, and understanding. “We should talk, right?”

Right, he thinks. Trying to stop the twist in his chest from tightening, trying to stop the dread from filling him and drowning from within. Conversations never go well. A thing he thinks over, and over as his hand strokes over his face, following, one foot after the other, until the warm sun kisses his skin and he finds himself leaning against the side of the building.

“I didn’t come for you.”

He says nothing, not sure if there are any to say.

“I quit. Moved back a week and a bit ago—” your hand comes up to halt him, half-pleading with a tilt and a raise of your eyes. “—and I needed to find things for me, first.”

Folding his arms, he stretches his legs, lets himself elongate, and tries to fill his lungs with air.

“Because I’d have resented you for being right.” Your chin dips, eyes following. “A thing I would do, because you, Javier Peña, know me. And sometimes I really hate that.”

Exhaling, he finds you do the same. Head tilting, lips rolling as you take him in, trace him with your eyes as though you can't quite believe he's real.

“Did you know that every person I’ve been with, it gets to a point where I think ‘Fuck, Javi wouldn’t do this to me’?” Meeting his gaze, you exhale. “And then, no matter how much I felt for them, it goes.”

“Flor…”

Swallowing, you offer the smallest smile. “It’s never gone for you, though. Not when you left. Not when you came back, and left again. Not eight weeks ago when I should have asked you to stay.”

Tongue sticking, flat against the roof his mouth, he grabs your hand—holds it. Runs his thumb over the knuckles as you avert your eyes.

“I live in Laredo now, further north. Did you know I’m so good at what I do, people seek me out?” you say, beaming, letting him pull you closer. “Think they’d have cloned me if I’d asked for it.”

Dragging his knuckles down your cheek, he’s unable to stop the way it flares up in him—that joy, that ember of happiness—when you smile.

“Because I don’t think I find the idea of being yours that terrible—”

“That so?”

Shaking your head, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt, he watches your smile falter—just for a moment. “Don’t do this, if you’re going to up and leave again, Javi. Because I’d have died happily not telling you what I feel for you.”

“Not doing it again to you.”

“Okay. Then,” you sigh, sliding your arms around his neck, his hands finding a home on your waist. “Well, I guess I should tell you that I really like your moustache.”

“Just really like?” he teases, swaying you as you purse your lips together.

“Fine. I love it.”

Smiling, walking you back until your back meets the wooden railings. “I love that you love it.”

Rolling your eyes, forehead meeting his chest, he feels the laugh roll through you. Rumbling.

“You owe me flowers.”

Snorting, he rests his chin on your head. “I’ll buy you a field, Flor.”

“That’s a good start.”

Thought so, he thinks. Wrapping his arms around you, keeping your head against him, rocking you, like he's wished to do so many times before now.

Home now feeling right.

[pseudowho]

A Reliable Man

Sometimes the hero you want, isn't always the hero you need.

A Kiyotaka Ijichi appreciation smutfic.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, loss of virginity

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"Ijichi...can you come and collect me, please?"

"Of course. Just send your location over."

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

"Ijichi, it's so late. Are you okay to collect me?"

"Don't worry, I've been waiting. Have you eaten?"

"Oh...I haven't. It's alright, I can sort myself out--"

"I'll pick something up. It's no trouble."

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

"--ah, shit-- Ijichi, call the school-- I need backup, urgently."

"Hold on. Get somewhere safe. I'll call everyone-- anyone. Get to safety. Please."

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

"Ijichi, I--...I can't thank you enough. I wouldn't have made it out of there if you hadn't called for help. I...I really am sorry."

A pause. A soft sigh.

"...please, don't be sorry. You're out there saving lives. You don't have to be sorry about anything."

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

Ijichi--

...your finger hovered over your phone screen. You saw the time; 10pm. You felt a familiar squirm of shame, disgusted by yourself for demanding so much of Kiyotaka Ijichi.

He was off the clock...you were in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere along the way, you had forgotten how hard he worked; while directing all of the assistants should have been a full time job in itself, Ijichi stepped above and beyond, by sacrificing his time, his effort, his safety, shift after shift after shift.

You tapped your phone against your forehead, eyes closed as you sighed. You decided to walk home. It would take you hours, but it was still better than--

Your phone vibrated in your hand. You looked at the screen.

Kiyotaka Ijichi.

You answered immediately, flustered, the words catching in your throat. Ijichi got there first. His voice, calm, soft, worried.

"I just...thought I'd check in. There aren't any drivers on tonight, but you're out on a mission. Are you home yet?" Tears pricked in your eyes, and you gulped.

"Ijichi.. you're not even at work. What are you doing? Calling me? You need a break." You chastised him. He laughed weakly, apologising in a flurry as you told him off.

"--it's my job to make sure you get hom--"

"--no it's not, Ijichi." Silence on the line. Ijichi waited for you, as he had a hundred times before, "It's not your job to get me home. Not every time. You...why are you...you need a break."

Another soft sigh; another warm pause.

"And I'll have a break," he continued, quietly determined, "when you're home safe. Send me your location. I'm on my way."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

He had opened the door for you. Gently laughed off your reproach. The seats were already warm. A hot drink, in a thermos. A snack bar in the glovebox.

Ijichi looked tired; by this point, you weren't sure if that was just his face, but you felt a strange flutter of sweet relief, joy, to be smiled at by him, as if you were worth the late hour and lack of sleep.

Ijichi cast his eyes over you, relaxing, "You're...not hurt. That's good. I'm--...I'm happy to pick you up," he offered, awkwardly, "but I've had enough of scraping you up and dragging you to Shoko."

You felt such prickling uncertainty bubble in you. Why were you suddenly shy in his presence? Why did his eyes casting over you feel so like a caress? Why did you not want the journey to end?

"Dinner," you blurted out, and Ijichi raised his eyebrows, eyes fixed on the road, "we should get dinner. If you've not eaten. I've not eaten. But if you don't want to eat then that's fine too I know it's late--"

"No no no, please don't-- yes, please, dinner sounds...lovely."

You took a moment to look down at yourself; muddy, dirty, bedraggled.

"Uhm...at yours, maybe? We'll order takeout?" You were too busy examining the state of yourself to see the blush that fizzed across Ijichi's sharp cheeks.

"I-- uhm--...sure. Yes. That would be...agreeable."

"So formal, Ijichi."

"Shush. I'm a professional."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"So..." you finished your mouthful, trying not to feel embarrassed about being dressed in one of Ijichi's old t-shirts and sweatpants, "...he really said that? To quit, and get a driving licence?"

Ijichi laughed, his smile parting the clouds and making him look fifteen years younger. You couldn't help but laugh with him, your hand coming to cover your mouth, giggling together on his sofa like teenagers.

Ijichi wiped his eyes, sighing; "Gojo's a force of nature, it's true...but I probably owe him my life. I...feel like I can do more good in my current role, than I could have ever done on the front lines."

Setting down your plate, and wrapping your arms around your knees, you watched Ijichi, fascinated to see him slowly unwind, his loosening coils releasing the stresses of the day. You had never seen him like this...so relaxed. So happy.

You felt another odd squirm, this time a possessive, protective determination that he should never participate in Jujutsu Sorcery. That he should always be safe. You reached out for his hand, stroking his long, smooth fingers in yours.

Ijichi froze, so uncertain about how to react, having never had anyone show interest in him, barely even his parents, let alone a beautiful woman like you--

"You are the lifeblood of the sorcerers, Ijichi," you smiled, "and we'd fall apart without you. I'd fall apart--"

You were close now, almost sat on his lap. Your face was so close to his, that he felt your breath fan against his neck. He couldn't keep pretending he only checked in on you because it was his job. He couldn't keep pretending it barely bothered him when he saw you walk into danger. He couldn't keep pretending he didn't think about you all day and all night--

Ijichi pressed a kiss to your lips so fast, it felt like butterfly's wings. You gaped, wide-eyed, a blush creeping across your cheeks.

"I--I'm so sorry, that was-- that was highly inappropriate of me and I--...mmmfff..."

You had pulled Ijichi in by his collar, continuing the kiss he had started, with such heartfelt sincerity that Ijichi could have cried. You felt the wounds of so many horrible, selfish, unreliable boyfriends past. Ijichi felt the wounds of so many crushes, hopes and rejections past. Neither of you had noticed the treasure beneath your feet for the longest time-- unforgivably long.

Ijichi's hands clenched uncertainly as you kissed him, unsure where they should sit. He happily took your lead, tentatively responding to every press, every fluid movement of your supple lips against his. Only when your tongue swiped across his mouth, did Ijichi groan and respond instinctively, one hand coming up to push his glasses on top of his head, the other snaking to the back of your neck as he tugged you onto his lap.

You had never kissed someone who you knew would fight to the ends of the earth for you, and for whom you would reciprocate without question. A man who appreciated you as you were and wholeheartedly, and about whom you felt the same. A trustworthy man. A sincere man. A reliable man.

You pulled away for a moment, still holding his collar as you straddled his lap, panting against his lips; "Where have you been all my life?"

"In the front seat...just hoping to catch your eye in the mirror."

Crashing your lips against his again, sighing into his mouth, Ijichi's body strained with the heat of your thighs trapping him in. He was desperate to pull his shirt off, to feel your skin on his...except you needed him to act like he knew exactly what he was doing and--

"--wait...wait," Ijichi panted, resting his head against your shoulder, his hair ruffled, a pained grimace on his face. You cupped his cheeks, feeling him, hard and aching beneath you as he squirmed with an uneasy admission.

"I've...I've never-- I haven't--..." Ijichi winced, moving to lean back, mortified and humiliated. You saw his shame start to bubble over, and quickly slammed a lid on the pot. You did not let go of his collar, and did not let him lean back. Instead, you whispered against his lips, enough to make a whimper leave his lips and a drop of pre-cum leave his cock.

"Let's fix that then, shall we?"

Standing, full of divine purpose, you pulled Ijichi to his feet, nuzzling up into his ear until he shivered, his hands ghosting over your hips again.

"My room-- please--" he pressed, smiling into your neck as you laughed, being pushed gently backwards towards his bedroom. Stumbling together into his bedroom, giggling, stealing kisses, and necking like teenagers, you felt yourself thrown back into some sweet young love that you always wanted to have, but never received.

You fell back onto his bed with a bounce and Ijichi stood nervously before you, wanting to follow his instinct to crawl on top of you and bracket you under his arms, but crippled by his lack of confidence. You raised your foot, slipping your toes under his t-shirt and tickling his belly. Ijichi smiled, buckling and grabbing your foot, crawling over you with lovesick eyes. You made it all so easy.

"Ijichi..." you hummed, nosing at his neck, "...whatever your gut tells you to do, is probably right. I trust you. So please, show me what you want."

Ijichi felt shivers down his spine at your open invitation. His fingertips grazed down your plush inner arm, the little squidge of fat between your breast and armpit, the smooth untouched plane beneath your breast. Your eyes fluttered closed, delighted by his reverent touch. His hand gripped your shirt, and you almost felt tears prick in your eyes as he gently shielded your face to pull it off over your head.

Your bra had shifted with wandering hands, and your nipple peeked half-in-half-out, pressed by the edge of the cup. Ijichi ducked his mouth towards it, and you saw him hesitate again. You reached back, undoing your bra and removing it. Your eyes flicked down to his mouth, and back up to his eyes, dark and drunk.

"I'd like that," you whispered, and Ijichi breathed a shuddering gasp of relief before taking your nipple into his mouth, tasting you with open-mouthed sucks and laps. You heard his wet little grumbles of appreciation against your skin, when his hand came up to gently finger the softly yielding squidge of your other breast, Ijichi's fingers playing with your nipple with delighted exploration.

Ijichi was so overstimulated already, so touch-starved, and his cock so rigid, that he felt worryingly close to finishing-- so unable to control his own excitement at exploring someone's body so intimately for the first time. That the body belonged to you, the woman he had been falling in love with for years, was the final nail in the coffin, of him threatening to spill in his boxers.

You felt this in him, already prepared for him to want to curl up and die from embarrassment, if he didn't last. You were thrilled by his worship of you, having been treated as expendable more than once before. Teaching him would be a privilege and an honour. All the while, you failed to see how he taught you the bare basics of being respected and revered by a lover.

Ijichi was finely-tuned to subtle shifts in the atmosphere around him, and he learned quickly what you liked as he took your breasts into his hands and mouth. He felt the flickering of your hips up towards his when he licked you a certain way, and the hairs on his neck stood up to hear the breathy moans from your lips when he countered, pressing his twitching cock down against your clothed pussy.

Feeling a warning trickle of pre-cum, Ijichi pulled away from your breasts with a hiss, wrapped up in need and barely ashamed to hear himself beg you; "--please, I-- gosh, I'm sorry so sorry-- not going-- not going to make it--"

You kissed him again, soft and reassuring, as you finished unbuttoning his shirt. Ijichi moaned, long and shaking, as you draped his tie around your neck, the tails trailing over your wet-nippled breasts.

"God, you're lovely," he blurted out, blushing as you laughed, your head thrown back in genuine joy.

"Not nearly as lovely as you, beautiful man," you purred, ecstatic to see Ijichi's blush deepen when he moved to hide his face, his nose nuzzling in unbridled affection against your neck. Pushing his shirt off his slim shoulders, you raised your feet to hook around his trousers, looking at him with a playful glint.

Ijichi raised his eyebrows in question, and cried out to feel you push his trousers and boxers down, shivering as his cock bobbed out, red-tipped and wet with pre-cum. Ijichi quaked to feel the cool air hit his length, a drip of pre-cum dropping onto your belly.

You felt Ijichi tensed, brittle above you, and knew he risked spilling in your hand if you touched him. Still, you trailed your hand down his belly, nails grazing in the barely-there black hair, before slowly encircling his cock, hot and heavy in your hand.

Ijichi saw stars, his own hand the only one his skin had even known, and groaned into your neck, instinctively bucking into your grip; "--ooohhh, f--...gosh," he whined against you, coughing in alarm as you giggled again, your fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around his length. Your other hand pushed down Ijichi's borrowed sweatpants and your panties.

"...are you ready?" You asked Ijichi, smiling at his enthusiastic nod. You rolled the head of his cock between your folds, wet and warm, and Ijichi's arms almost buckled with the bliss and promise.

You guided Ijichi into you, squeaking as he bucked into you, bottoming out in one thrust. Ijichi snapped, cursing in a way that was so alien to the Ijichi you had always known. He gasped, one hand reaching down to sink into the side of your hip, relishing the way you jolted beneath him as he filled you with ragged thrusts.

Never had a man been so captivated by you. The feeling of Ijichi's inexperienced desperate rutting, was so vastly outweighed by the enthusiasm with which he treated your body. By the time you rolled your hips in time to meet his thrusts, pushing his cock deeply enough that you felt the first hot stirs of pleasure in your belly, Ijichi was crumbling around you.

"--please please please...please please please-- oohhhh fuck-- ooohhh fuck a condom, shi--"

Ijichi came with a strangled cry, so lost in his base instinct to cum inside you, that he couldn't help but let his seed spill into you, in ragged, disjointed bucks. You drank in the bliss on Ijichi's face...slowly seeing it morph into horror, and you were quick to reassure him, peppering kisses on his lips and cheeks.

"You're okay, it's okay...I'm on protection, shhh it's okay, I loved it, I loved it--"

"God I forgot all about you--"

"---you didn't, you did so well, and besides, we've got all night--"

"All ni...? Oh...oh. All night," Ijichi smiled, absolutely burning with adoration, as you burned for him. Your eyes flickered up to his head, and you pressed a hand over your mouth, eyes sparkling.

"...your glasses are still on your head, Ijichi."

"Ah! Oh...gosh."

[gothamhappiness]

Being in a relationship with Bruce Wayne: a journey - The break up (Part VII)

It's a big series about an afab!reader who doesn't like Bruce Wayne and who still falls in love with him (he fells quicker and harder)

Reader's origin story // Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6

Warnings: no proof reading, ANGST, mentions of reader being threatened, mentions of kidnapping attempts, insecure reader, Bruce can't talk about his feelings for his own sake, reader doesn't pick the best of time to talk about their relationship, heartbroken!reader, heartbroken!Bruce

It had been officially 2 years you had been dating Bruce - almost 3 if you weren’t that stubborn to admit you were his girlfriend back then.

You were a member of the family, you were the matriarch, you had authority over everyone, and more importantly you were happy. You have everything you ever wanted: you had a big family who cherished you (and always kept an eye on you) and you were doing well in your career.

Everything was well, until things went very down.

It was as if Hell broke loose in Gotham. So many villains were out, doing their best to bring chaos and destruction in every part of the city. Everyone seemed so busy and Bruce had to cancel several of the moments you were supposed to have together. You also started to receive a lot of death threats because of what you were writing and because of whom you were dating. You almost got kidnapped twice in one week; thankfully one of the kids was always watching over you, when it wasn’t Bruce himself.

Even if you were grateful for that, you were feeling a little bit shameful that you couldn’t take care of yourself. You were their mother, it was your job to look after them, not the other way around. It reminded you how much you were “just” a civilian. You learnt how to use a gun in your childhood, so you could defend yourself, but you were still threatened quite a lot. Gotham had always been a hostile environment, but it was getting very bad lately.

Everyone was on edge; even at the galas. On top of that, it meant Bruce didn’t have the time to reassure and to comfort you like you wished he would. You needed him.

And you hated to see him and the children coming back home covered in injuries. You took care of them, when they let you do. You felt a little bit useless though, and you couldn’t even remember the last time you slept in Bruce’s embrace.

Not only did you need him to reassure that Gotham was going to do better soon, you really needed him to reassure you that he still loved you. You just needed him to let you know that you were still important to him. 

When you tried to ask him where your relationship was, he didn’t seem to be able to answer you. You took it for a proof that things weren’t going as well as you thought.

You were wrong.

Bruce was just very taken aback by your words. You knew his identity, you were almost fully living in the manor - actually if it was only his decision, you would have given your flat back already -, you were beloved by his kids and Alfred… You were each other’s longest relationship as well. Bruce was currently more busy with searching for the perfect way to convince you to marry him and to propose to you, than anything else. 

And that was why he hadn’t been able to reassure you; you weren’t acting like he thought you would. He didn’t think you were insecure about his love; wasn’t he showering you with gifts for all the dates he missed? Wasn’t he doing his best to pleasure you in between rough patrols? Wasn’t he making sure you were always safe?

It was true that work was currently killing him, between Wayne Enterprises and his Batman life, but you knew how things would be when you discovered everything and still decided to stay, right?

That night, you had decided to try again. You needed to talk with him, you needed to understand if your relationship was strong enough to survive Hell. You were lucky enough Bruce had found some time for having some dinner with you. But the man wasn’t ready for the discussion and wasn’t emotionally available. You still tried, because each day was getting harsher for you. 

For Bruce, it meant that for the first time in a long time, he had no control over your discussion and the more it was going on, and the more he could see how upset you were getting and how wrong he was answering. The man hadn’t slept in two nights and he had no idea that he simply needed to tell you he loved you to make things a little bit better between the two of you.

“And you know, Luke told me that as a civilian I should be more careful. And it’s not the first time I thought about it. I know I’m safe here, but maybe you shouldn’t be with a civilian… Bruce Wayne is often attacked, but what about the villains who might know your secret identity? I’m an easy target” you finally said

“I never said it wasn’t dangerous for you and this is why we always have an eye on you” Bruce replied, not too certain where it was leading. 

He wasn’t showing it but he was getting really stressed out by this discussion. He would have enjoyed eating his food quietly, but clearly you had a lot to get off your chest.

“So would it be better for you and I if we split up?” you finally said it and Bruce choked onto his drink

“What?”

“You already have so much work, all of you, and if you need to watch over me, it’s just some more stuff I’m adding to your very busy life. I was just wondering… Things seem a little bit difficult lately, and I don’t want to be a burden to you. Maybe it would be easier if you were with someone like Selina or Talia. Or just not with me at least.” you said. 

You loved Selina, you were actually good friends. You didn’t know Talia, just what Dick, Jason and Damian agreed to tell you, but both of the women seemed to be more fitting in Bruce’s way of life.

“I don’t understand what you want from me, Y/N” Bruce answered in a little more stern way than he would have liked it

“I just want to know if we’re still working, that’s all” you replied, a little bit defeated. 

You had forgotten the delicious food Alfred had cooked for the two of you since a long time ago. You couldn’t even drink water, your throat was getting too tight with sadness.

“If it’s not working for you anymore, I can’t force you to stay” Bruce simply replied, a little bit absentmindedly as he saw the batman logo flashing through the dark sky of Gotham. 

He absolutely didn’t mean it like that, he didn’t even realise what he said. He was needed somewhere else and he knew it was going to be another long and painful night. You noticed his attention was elsewhere and you tried not to cry when you saw what he was looking at.

“So we’re over?” you asked again, begging for some reassurance

“I need to go,” Bruce said without answering you. 

He hadn’t even heard you in reality. And he also needed to be out of this conversation. He couldn’t hear all of this tonight, not when his mind was already full of darkness and crime fighting. He didn’t want to realise that your relationship was getting damaged because he needed you more than anything. Especially now. But it wasn’t something he was able to tell you.

“Alright then. Take care, Bruce” you said as you got up.

As he was out, fighting goons and investigating crime scenes, he was going back through your whole conversation. He knew he fucked up, but he didn’t know how badly yet.

He didn’t realise it until he got a few hours of sleep, one shower and some food. 

He noticed how silent Alfred was the next morning. It wasn’t a peaceful silence. Bruce knew when Alfred was upset at him, they didn’t need words to understand each other.

“What’s wrong, Alfred?” he finally asked him

“I thought you would have tried a little bit harder to keep Lady Y/N one of us, master Bruce, that’s all” 

“What do you mean?” Bruce frowned

“She let me know before leaving last night that you two broke up” Alfred explained

Bruce didn’t react for a few moments. 

Did he lose his girl last night? Didn’t he realise how bad things were getting? When you asked if you should break up, you meant right away? It wasn’t a conversation, you were asking if he still wanted you in his life. And he didn’t answer, so you took it as a no. He had been so stupid.

He stopped eating his breakfast as he felt something break inside of him. Life couldn’t get that bad again. He couldn’t lose his haven, especially not now.

“Yes, I should have tried a little bit harder, indeed”

--

PART 8

--

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

@wind-canoe

@silverklaus

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch

@tatsuri-zomushiki

Taglist for Bruce Wayne <3

@alishii

Taglist for this series <3

@Esposadomd

@moraxussy

@resident-cryptid

@legendarypiratecheesecake

@randomnamedmira

@elleclairez

@mindless-rock

[disneyprincemuke]

one of your girls * cs55

you’re just another name in black ink in his long list of girls, and you should know better. so why are you at his apartment in the middle of the night after weeks of radio silence?

pairings: carlos sainz x fem!reader

warnings: implied age gap, suggestive

notes: damn, i be writing anything that relates to all my love life mishaps when i was like 20,,,, daaaaaamn

(f1 masterlist)

you know better than anyone how you shouldn’t be here. you shouldn’t be at the door to his apartment with an overnight bag over your shoulder. you shouldn’t have even picked up the phone when he called you three hours ago.

you think of turning around and making a run for the elevator that’s waiting for a new passenger to transport. but in the empty hallway of carlos’s condo, you try to calm your nerves as you wait.

you wait in clothing that you don't frequent, just to catch his attention. just to keep his attention while you're here with him.

he had bought you a small portion of your wardrobe, something to match what he likes in his typical girls. you're even lucky you'd caught carlos's attention in the first place.

you're not a conventional model, which seems to be his type more often than not. and you simply don't dress the way they do. even showing up here in this has managed to make you feel slightly uncomfortable.

you looked in the mirror before you left your dorm, and you didn't look like yourself. from the mini skirt, down to the way you did your makeup, and the darker shade of lipstick you've put on.

the door finally creaks open, carlos’s head peeking through the gap. one eye is closed, the other barely open from the contrast difference of lighting from inside his apartment to the hallway’s. his hair is a mess, bits and pieces of hair sticking in different directions.

“sorry i took a while,” you drop your head, your hair falling to the sides of your face, “i had to stop to refuel my car. i hope i didn’t make you wait too long.”

he smiles at you, pulling the door open wider to let you in. “it’s okay. i’ve barely been home; i just arrived like… 20 minutes ago.”

“oh,” you slip your shoes off, “i hope you’ve had enough time to settle down then. have you had your dinner?”

this is the cycle every. single. time.

you come over, make some small talk on the couch, before he eventually pounces on you for a long night ahead. and then you wake up in the morning in his arms, his lips peppering light kisses onto your shoulder before he gets up to make you breakfast.

and then you leave. the second you exit that god forsaken condo unit, every sweet nothings exchanged in the heat of the moment is long forgotten.

he will text you once — to bid you safe on your journey home. you will answer him once — to tell him you’ve gotten home safe. that will be the last you hear from him until he goes through all of his races and flies back for his short breaks.

if you’re lucky, he will text you randomly one evening to rant, and maybe even ask you how you are. he will keep the conversation adorable and lighthearted for 5 minutes before he’s reeling you in, just enough to have you craving for his touch for days before he's on his way back.

then he touches down, and texts you to come over.

and he tells you that he likes you, and wants to take it slow, but will never tie you down with a label to make it official. jealousy laces every word when he texts you, following pictures of you flooding your stories with men he's never heard of, but will never be brave enough to say it to your face that it bothers him.

maybe that’s why you keep doing it. maybe that’s why you never call him out on it.

it could be the superiority he knows he has over you: he’s got enough experience to drag you around for months at a time and knows how to keep you wanting more without calling him out.

he shakes his head with a small smile, keeping his distance and standing by the door leading to his kitchen. “i just ordered some food right before you came. 20 minutes,” he tells you, “would you like some water?”

“iced, please,” you reply softly, putting your bag right by the couch as you take a seat.

“of course.”

he disappears into the kitchen, giving you the time to scan his apartment and how much it’s changed in the month you haven’t been in it. not much, really. just that his luggage is now in the corner with a backpack opened, clothes spilling out of it.

maybe it’s also your inability to know when to stop. is it because carlos makes you feels so good? is it the pride of knowing older men are into you that makes you want to stay?

but you feel like a kid, waiting by the door for him to welcome you with open arms. otherwise, he shuns you away until he remembers your existence.

“here you go.” his hand ruffles your hair slightly, putting the cup of water into your hands. “how was the drive here?”

only then you notice that he’s not wearing a shirt. but you also notice the fading spot of purple right by his collarbone and you feel your arms go cold, your grip tightening around the cup.

any more and you’re sure it would shatter.

you’re not the only one; of course, how could you have ever thought that? you’re just one of his girls when he decides.

when he needs someone to talk to, you’re one of his platonic friends — his homies, as some refer to it. he will never be as attached to you as you are to him.

you’re just another name in black ink in his long list of girls.

you lift the cup to your lips, quickly chugging half of the cup down. your eyes never leave the dark spot on his skin, a reminder to yourself with every second that you’re no different to the next girl he will be calling in the next city he’ll be prancing to after this.

you lick your lips. “it was okay. not many cars on the road.”

he finally notices your stare, his hand quickly coming up to cover the spot. your eyes trail up to meet his as he shrugs. “the team and i went to play paintball a while ago. i’ve got crazy bruises that haven’t healed yet.”

he lifts his arm to reveal another spot, slightly darker this time, on the side of his stomach. you hadn’t noticed it earlier from his arm covering it.

his excuse surprisingly makes you feel lighter, the nauseating thought of carlos with another girl in bed suddenly seeming like an absurd accusation. but you mustn’t forget the facts of the matter: you’re just another girl to him.

and he does not care about you. at least, not like that. he only puts up a front to get what he wants before he tosses you aside for another something of weeks.

"you look amazing, babe," carlos mutters, his eyes trailing down to the skirt that's hiked up your thighs. the garter on your thigh peeks out ever so slightly, prompting a shakey sigh to pass his lips as he meets your eyes again. "love the skirt."

"thank you," you answer in a small voice, looking down at his fingers tracing shapes over your exposed chest. your breath staggers as he goes down further towards your cleavage.

he glances at your lips, slowly leaning in. he wraps his hand over yours to take the cup into his hands. he slowly puts it down on the floor, a couple of steps away from either of you.

"you look so so hot," he mutters under his breath. his hand snakes up your inner thigh, leaning in towards your neck. there's a ringing in your ear as he comes closer.

his lips hover above yours, "i can't wait to have you."

~✨🏎✨~

you lay on your back and stare up at the ceiling, your hand resting above the other on your stomach. next to you is carlos, the duvet draped over his waist loosely with his phone in his hands.

you glance at him, acknowledging the soft hands that massage the top of your head. you've just finished eating together and you feel the aftereffects of the amount of food you gobbled down together.

the entire conversation you had, talking about his race weekends and your days in school was lighthearted

"i should go," you sigh, pushing yourself up off the bed. you reach for your bag, sitting under his nightstand to fish for a new shirt.

"what?" you hear shuffling behind you and the only source of light in the room goes out. "you're going? but you usually stay the night."

you can almost notice the disappointment that laces his words. if you didn't know any better, you might have folded and crawled back into that bed with him.

you nod, eyes focusing on passing through the darkness to fathom which article of clothing you're taking out of your bag. "yeah, but i've got class early tomorrow. i really can't afford to be late."

"i can send you early if you want. sleep in the car - i'll drive you," he offers.

you give him a small smile, briefly looking at him before returning your focus to getting dressed to leave. "it's alright, really. i'm carpooling with josh."

your heart starts to race in your chest, feeling heavy as you hear carlos move about some more behind you. "does this josh guy like you or something?" he asks. "why is it that every time i ask you about school, he always comes up?"

you're lying, of course. you don't have to be on campus until the end of the week but you just cannot spend another moment in this suffocating apartment where you play the part of a naive pawn in his games. but he doesn't have to know that.

because you should know better.

your frustration grows, a mix of the darkness limiting your vision and simply having this conversation. you just wanted to find the shirt you packed and be out of here.

"i saw your pictures when you went out the other night. you guys looked awfully snuggly with one another," he adds. "you're telling me that he's not interested in you like that?"

"why's that matter?" you ask, turning your head to give him a stare.

it's only then you notice that carlos, amidst all that conversation, has crawled out of bed. he's now half-dressed with his shorts pulled up his legs, tied together with the string to hold it up. you can barely make out his figure in the dark, the only light coming from the streets.

"exactly. it shouldn't," you mutter, turning away from him once more.

you grunt and finally pull out something from your bag, which seems to be a pair of shorts. that's not what you wanted. you slam it into the ground and continue to dig for a shirt.

"not to you, at least," you add in a whisper, eyebrows furrowing as you furiously search through all the contents of your bag. which surprisingly is a lot more than you remembered packing.

"come on, don't be like that," he sighs. you hear footsteps approaching you, making you turn to hold a hand up to keep him away.

you almost feel guilty, his words weighing your chest down.

he stops just a couple of steps from you and throws his hands up in the air. "it shouldn't matter to you what i'm doing during the days that i don't exist to you," you huff.

you scramble to your feet, walking past him to switch on the lights, overwhelming you both with the change. when you pass him once more to finish your mission of getting your shirt, he plants a firm grip on your elbow and yanks you back into him.

"why are you being like this?" he asks gently, eyebrows met in the middle as concern washes his face. concern or jealousy? or the realisation that you're finally coming to your senses? "what's wrong?"

"that's," you pause to take your arm out from his grip, "really none of your business."

you roll your eyes as you see your shirt on the floor next to your bag. it must have fallen out when you moved it into the bedroom after the food arrived. you pick it up swiftly and pull it down your head.

"seriously. don't pretend to care," you chuckle dryly, now turning to him with furrowed eyebrows. "it won't do you any good. i'm so tired of you doing this to me, carlos!"

you whirl around and get your shorts off the floor, pulling them up your legs.

he sighs, "it's complicated right now, babe. just stay and let's talk about it."

"there is nothing to talk about," you say calmly, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. when you open them, his brown eyes are staring directly into yours. if you hadn't come to your rude awakening during your drive here, it's easy to get lost in his eyes. they shine differently from others, wide and welcoming, and- no.

"(y/n)..."

"i'm too young for this, you know? wasting my youth on somebody who only wants me in the middle of the night every couple of weeks?" you pick up your bag and sling it over your shoulder. "plenty of men are in line for me and i'm just letting you throw me around like a piece of meat? just who the hell do you think you are?"

he runs his hands through his hair, tugging at the roots. you almost recognise the way he's trying to claw his brain for a lie to tell you. but you just roll your eyes.

"dude, i don't know what's going on with you," you sigh tiredly, looking down at his carpeted floor, "but i don't want to play whatever game it is you're making me play."

"there's no game," he mutters, eyes trailing down to stare at the ground. "please, just give me time to figure it out. it's messy right now."

"i've given you time to figure it out," you take a step forward, "i don't have forever and a day to wait around for you."

he doesn't answer, just drops his hands to his side as he stares at you. you push yourself past him, shaking your head. who were you to think that finally speaking up about this would change the course of things?

this is how it's meant to be: he's just simply too different for you to end up together. he's got the glitz and glamour with girls tripping over their own feet to get his attention. but you just want a quiet life, and to live out your years without regret.

continuing whatever arrangement you've got with him will not be the answer to what it is you want.

he sighs. "i'll call you."

"no, you won't."

[sugairsstuff]

hey… 💋 was wondering if you could write something for aragorn… you know who this is. you know what i’m asking for.

@theactofknowing yes i know who this is. here is payment. (p.s. they also write!)

(credit to @cafekitsune for the divider)

to bloom

aragorn x half-elf gn/reader

warnings: descriptions of nudity

summary: you and aragorn have known each other for years, resulting in the two of you inevitably falling in love with each other though never admitting it. though, it turns out all a love confession took was a bar of soap and you two bathing in a lake together.

Exhaustion has long since seeped into your muscles, the motion of placing one boot in front of the other becoming a rhythmic pattern you refuse to break for you know you won’t be able to pick it back up again.

Strong winds roll through the grassy fields, making a mess of your untied hair and causing your eyes to catch the billowing of a dark cloak in front of you. You raise your head slightly to gaze at the owner of the garment: reluctant heir of Gondor, unnamed leader of the little band titled the Fellowship the group of you have formed- and although commonly known as Strider, this part-elf is simply Aragorn to you.

The pair of you had been picked up by the group of hobbits you traveled with in Bree, helping them to evade the infamous Nazgûl and inevitably being brought along the daunting journey laid out for them. You had first met Aragorn years ago when he had first left Rivendell. You led a similar fate to Aragorn after you befriended him, leaving the safety of your current life for one of adventure alongside the ranger. Poets would say you were seeking meaning, you joke that you were bored.

The seed of friendship you and Aragorn had planted then was watered through the experiences you shared on your travels, the memories that wrapped themselves like vines around that bond holding you two together, and every laugh and secret you both managed out of each other in peaceful times. But then you two began to look at each softer, speak to each other quieter for the words were meant only for the two of you, touch each other in fleeting moments that may not have been accidents- and then that seed grew into a budding flower of more that you gathered up and have held deep within your chest. Though no matter how much you both watered the bond of your friendship since then, that flower has never seemed to bloom.

Aragorn finally looks over his shoulder to the rest of you, and everyone momentarily pauses as he lifts his hand to guide everyone’s attention to a forestry patch of land seated a few hundred metres south of the hill you all waited on. “We’ll take camp there for tonight. We won’t reach Lothlorien by dusk, and I haven’t seen a better place for cover yet.” he instructs. Nobody seems to disagree, not even the opinionated elf or eager dwarf who both wait at your sides. Once three of four hobbits start celebrating, enthusiastically asking who would hunt for dinner, you offer Aragorn a small smile and nod of assurance. He repeats the gesture and turns to lead the way, but not without a response to the impatient hobbits, “You all can hunt dinner for us tonight, how does that sound?” which silences them.

You hurry a pair of paces to match the long strides of Aragorn, who slows down when he notices exactly who is on his tail. “You look exhausted,” you tell him, amusement flickering in your eyes as you look to him.

“As do you,” Aragorn shoots back, his brows raised in subtle entertainment at your rather honest opening line.

You scoff lightheartedly and get to the point of your words, reaching down to the satchel at your side to unbutton the flap and reveal the contents. Aragorn leans over you to peer into the bag, finding four small bars of soap.

“From the travelling merchant we crossed earlier?” the heir asks, and you nod proudly as if this was a noble accomplishment on your end.

“I do not have confidence in myself to survive another day with the… natural aroma of our companions,” you jest, and pause, “or you.”

And to your pleasant surprise, Aragorn’s chin tilts back- outlining the sharp line of his jaw- as the man lets a genuine laugh escape his lips. “I would not say you are so innocent in the matter, either,” he says, the closed-lipped smile on his face not faltering as you send a warning glare his way.

You feel lighter as you walk alongside Aragorn the rest of the way to the tree border, smiling like a giddy child for longer than need be over the silly interaction. You and Aragorn maintain the front as the lot of you push further into the forest until Aragorn stops, glances around, and looks to you and Legolas for approval.

You turn to look over your shoulder, and when you see that the forest has become dense enough to block the border to the grasslands from your line of sight, you say, “I think we are far enough in.”

Legolas had already found perch on a fallen log, fiddling with the strings of his bow, and so you and Aragorn simply take that as a sign he agrees.

As the sun dips behind the distant hills, the shadows of the trees encompassing you all extend until the soft starlight slipping through the canopy dims them. Now, camp is set up, and the fire Aragorn once was stroking while Gimli cooked the hunted meal of the evening has been forgotten. Most of your companions have spaced out their places for the night, all but the hobbits who crowd next to their friend Frodo.

You gingerly place your things down nearby Aragorn’s, and when you offer to take first watch Aragorn’s volunteer to do the same comes not much later than yours. You both sit next to each other as you listen to the idle noises of your companions turn to quietness, and quietness to silence save for the surrounding sounds of the forest.

You catch Aragorn glance to you in your peripheral vision which tempts you to steal a glance back. When you do, you are surprised to see he has risen from the leafy floor he was sitting on and began crossing the few metres that separated the two of you. You stay sitting, craning your neck as Aragorn now stands a few feet in front of you. You tilt your head in questioning.

“There is a lake nearby, I saw it when I scouted the perimeters earlier,” his voice is low, quiet, though you see his Adam’s apple bob slightly as he swallows, “May I borrow the soap?”

Any hint of drowsiness has been stolen from your body, your heart beating rapidly as you nod to him. You do not like how the thought of the man doing the simple act of bathing makes your body blaze like a catching fire. You dig into your nearby satchel and hand him one of the square, neutral coloured bars. Aragorn turns the dry thing in his hand a few times before he turns and walks away.

You do not watch him go and rather turn back to your satchel to close the button of it, wondering why the crunching of leaves beneath Aragorn’s walking feet ceased so swiftly. Curiously, you turn to check, finding Aragorn returning your gaze.

Aragorn clears his throat. “Would you like to join me?”

You can only blink, feeling that flame return to your body as his words act like oxygen and spread its tendrils through you.

“Yes, I would,” you say, though the words come out more breathless than you had expected.

You feel Aragorn’s eyes on you as you stand, dusting off your trousers in the most awkward of ways before padding over to where he stands. He only looks down at you, the look in his eyes gentle yet unreadable before he quietly turns and begins to guide you to this lake.

“What of the others?” you ask, glancing back.

“I do not wish to bathe with Gimli,” Aragorn responds with blunt humour, looking back at you with a raised brow.

“No, I mean that we promised to watch the camp,” you correct, managing not to roll your eyes.

“The lake is not far. We will know if something happens.” he assures.

Although it may be easy for him to remain alert, you are not sure if you can trust your instincts once you are distracted with the sight of Aragorn’s bare body. Aragorn seems to see apprehension on your face, and makes a bold move of reaching back to brush his fingers against yours. Then, your fingers close around each other’s like lock and key, and Aragorn is gently pulling you until you reach a clearing.

The trees wrap around the small, oval lake like a wreath. The water is not murky, a sign that it is untouched, and instead when you peer into it you see both your reflection and the moon above.

When you turn to see what Aragorn is doing, unsure if you are welcome to begin undressing so openly, you see that the ranger has already begun to do exactly that. You heart leaps and your chest flutters so much that you think that bud in you is instead a cocoon that has just sprouted a dancing butterfly.

Aragorn already unclasped his cloak from around his neck, discarding it nearby on a rock that borders the lake’s edge. He disarms, setting his weapons on the same rock should he need them, then reaches for the hem of his tunic. The man pulls the fabric off of him slowly, revealing to you the muscles beneath that you have only been able to imagine until now. You gaze at him, following the movement of his hands until you see them stop. Your eyes flick up slightly and are met with an amused half-smirk on Aragorn’s end. That flame in you moved to burn in your cheeks as you turn your head away, seeing Aragorn slowly walk towards you in the edge of your vision.

“Do not be nervous,” he says quietly, his hand turning your jaw slowly so you meet his eyes again. You feel your heart in your ears as his attention moves lower, lower, lower, and then back. “Would you like me to help?”

You can only nod. He smiles and nods back before his hands move to the clasps of your cloak, working it undone with ease. He sets your weapons aside somewhere- too distracted to take note- before he pulls your tunic off of your raised arms. Aragorn takes a step closer, removing the rest of your undergarments before a turn of his head causes his lips to brush against the shell of your half-pointed ear, “Beautiful.” he murmurs, evoking a pleasant shiver that slips down your spine.

His hands, resting on each side of your waist, move downwards until they reach the band of your trousers. You kick off your boots in silent encouragement, and Aragorn turns his head further to look down at you properly. Then he begins to slowly drag the last few pieces of your clothing that kept you decent, and once you stepped out of them- Aragorn now kneeling before you as he set aside your aside garments- you heard both of your breaths hitch.

Aragorn rises again, your breaths heavy as you both glance in the direction of whence you came, checking that none of your sleeping friends have noticed your absences. You look back at Aragorn first and see how the moonlight betrays Aragorn as he slowly drifts his attention back to you, illuminating the red tinting of his cheeks. He takes his sweet time in simply looking at your body, and you hear him sigh softly- a gentle, sweet exhale. The amusing thought of him swooning over you like a damsel crosses your mind.

Aragorn seems to notice the light dancing in your eyes, and he takes your hand and leads you to the rocky edges of the lake. “After you,” he tells you, and you feel as his eyes never leave you as you descend into the water. You wade around, taking note that water in the area you stand reaches your middle, and watch as Aragorn strips himself of the rest of his clothing.

Shamelessly, you stare as he undos his trousers, slipping them off alongside his undergarment and blushing when he sees you looking. You offer a coy smile in return, reaching over the edge to grab the soap he left on it as he enters the water alongside you.

“You first,” you tell him, and he obeys by wading over to where you stand. As you dip the soap into the water, getting some of the substance on to your hands, you feel a little grateful that the water is just high enough to reach Aragorn’s waist. He remains where he is as you work the soap into his skin, your heart jumping each time he sighs when you press into a particularly sore muscle. His skin gleams with moonlight and sparkles with droplets of water that cling to the short strands of hair on his chest leading downwards. You wash his arms, focus on his shoulders, and when he turns around to let you do his chest your hands linger there.

“Friends do not do these things,” is what Aragorn decides to say to break the comfortable silence.

“No, they do not,” you agree, your voice wavering with uncertainty. You keep your gaze on his chest, cupping water in your hand as you rinse off the soap. You let him wash the parts of him below the surface of the water, grinning as you can’t help but steal glances. But he says nothing else, nor do you, as you quietly find a seat on a ledge in the rock. Aragorn moves to stand between your legs, leaning back so his head is nearly against your chest.

You gather soap on your hands once more, lathering the suds through his hair. You watch from above as he sighs and closes his eyes, giving in to temptation as he leans further back into you. You massage the soap into his dark oak curls, watching his eyelashes flutter against his cheek and the corners of his pink lips tug upwards ever so slightly. You tilt his head back a little more as you cup water into your free hand, pouring it along the back of his head and watch as it drags the soap off of his curls that resist straightening even when wet.

Before you have the chance to climb down from your perch on the rock, Aragorn reaches a hand to your calf. His fingers dance along the skin, as if exploring, and travel up until they reach your thigh. By then, he’s looking up at you, and you are looking down at him, and his face is so close to yours you know that you both are only trying to see who caves first.

And it is Aragorn who does. He tilts his chin only slightly, which is enough to capture your lips in his as you lean over him. Your hands move to drape around his neck as his continue their journey up your thighs. He lifts you by the waist, bringing you back down to the lake floor with him so that it is he who must bend downwards to keep kissing you. You press your chest into his, standing practically between his legs as you both run your hands over each other’s bodies. Aragorn leaves a spark everywhere his fingers brush- your waist, your legs, back, chest, neck- he is everywhere but it is still not enough.

You know now what it feels like to bloom as that bud deep within your chest comes to life as Aragorn’s hands find their final place on each side of your face. His thumbs stroke gently in a lover’s caress as he finally breaks the kiss, though he does not move far. The look he gives you as you both stand together- chests heaving and lips puffy red with adrenaline pumping through your veins- tells you that Aragorn has just discovered what that feels like too, for there has been a matching budding flower in him, as well.

“We are not friends,” Aragorn finally says. You have never heard his voice so soft, “we are more.”

[writingoddess1125]

So I saw this fanart and got this idea! And after a gin and juice I wrote this. Enjoy!

Art does not belong to me! It says the artist is Flamingo_PinkArt on Twitter (If incorrect please tell me ;-;)

My Heart Breaks Pt. 1

Warning: Angst and some Fluff

Buggy X FemReader

Buy me a Ko-Fi? ☕️

Part 2

"(Y/N) Why the hell are we here?" You heard Buggy groan next to you annoyed, Shanks nodding in agreement. You rolled your eyes at their protest of being in the circus tent with you.

"Cause I am the one who got us the tickets, 20000 berries and I want to see the circus" You chimed proudly as you watched your favorite act come out. The clowns, Buggy grimacing at the sight of them, You see this and lean against his shoulder.

"Aww is Buggy afraid of clowns?~" You chime earning a glare from him and a blush. Shanks Grinning at this as he poked his friend in a teasing manor.

"No I'm not afraid of damn clowns! They are just... kinda creepy" He grumbled as he watched the group of bubbly cheerful clowns.

It had been a year since Gol. D Roger's had died, it had been hard on all three of you. But you luckily had each other and were trying to save up scraps of berries to start your guys own crew. You were the thief of the trio, a skilled person in breaking and entering as well as treasure hunting. Buggy was an amazing navigator and sailor while Shanks was the amazing fighter and leader of your trio of teenage Pirates.

You giggle at Buggy face of disgust at the clowns, you knew the real reason he hated them- It was the noses. He was self conscious about it heavily and seeing the clowns with the fake noses made him feel like they were making fun of him. You gently rub his shoulder gently, a silent gesture to comfort him.

Once out of the show you sighed in delight at feeling the sun on your face. Hearing both teens walking behind you and bickering between the two of them.

"Let's get some food for our journey to Hile Hile Village" You suggest, walking to the small market next to the curious. The three of you had been using this little village by Hile Hile Island as a sort of base. The three of you were planning a big heist in order to get a massive score of 750,000 berries which could help getting a bigger boat and not the stolen two decer you guys currently shared. The only issue was that the village was controlled by a dictator like man, A Lieutenant for the Marines that ruled the island. He had made it his mission to murder every pirate who tried to come to the island, so this would be a very quick smash and grab. Fleeing the island immediately afterwards.

It was simple, mildly foolish but hopefully effective.

Once in the market Buggy got toiletries, Shanks got food and you got basic supplies. The three of you walking together till you saw a beauty stand and seeing a deep red lipstick sticking out.

"Ohh I love this color" You hummed in pride at the red lipstick color, both teenage boys groaning as you took your sweet old time in choosing the brightest of red.

"I see you like the color red?" Shanks teased you, earning a sarcastic laugh from you.

"Oh yes, The color red really gets me going" You laugh as you pick the color and grab a near by red and white bandana, wrapping it around your head like a fake bonnet.

"Besides I hear red is a sigh of submission, what does that say about you Shanks?~" His face fell at your words and Buggy snorted a laugh.

You tossed down some berries for the bandana and lipstick. Following the boys back to the boat while you all chatted and teases each other, however Buggy's eyes landing on you every now and then more specifically your red lips. Everyone knew he had a crush on you, hell you had a thing for him too but it seemed he judt refused to make a move! Even when you all were on Roger's ship he never made a move on you.

"Buggy it's your turn to make dinner!" Shanks chimed out earning a groan from Buggy. After dinner you made it to the top of the deck to get some fresh air. Feeling the wind on your face as Buggy sailed you all to Hile Hile Island.

"Hey, You holding up okay?" You called out as you went to Buggy's side. The blue haired teen not meeting your eyes.

"I'm fine.." He grumbled, he knew he was pouting about something. Sighing as you look up at the night sky.

"What are you pouting about Bugs? Hm?" You pressed once more, Hearing a sigh from him.

"You um.. seem to like red right? Listen I assume you like Shanks and all. I mean ago doesnt- but um"

You look at Buggy as he leaned against the wheel of the stolen boat, not meeting your gaze.

"You two would be good together..." He grumbles, you roll your eyes and step towards him grabbing his arm hard you yank him from his pouting position and slammed your lips onto his. His eyes wide as you kiss him and leaned into the kiss, his eyes drooping as he felt warmth from you and wrapped a arm around you in return. After a moment you pulled away and grinned up at his cherry red face and eyes that were in a daze.

"I hope that answers the question of who I like Buggy" You teased, drawing a silent nod from him. Smiling you step back from his grasp and give his hand a gentle squeeze.

"Good night Bugs" You call out before heading down to the Lower Deck of the boat to sleep leaving Buggy standing there still shocked- His face breaking out in a wide grin as he silently cheered and jumped excitedly. You giggling at shearing his footsteps as he jumped up and down in excitement.

The next morning when the three of you arrived at Hile Hile Island and at dawn started your heist of robbing a jewelry store. It went smoothly enough, not too hard till the surprise alarms went off and the three of you ran.

Running through the streets you held the bag of values in your hand, the boys having a good lead on you as they slipped through the crowds and laughed. It was such a adrenaline rush! The boys ran ahead of you turning a sharp corner and heading down, as you prepared to catch up to them a muscular forearm suddenly slam put hitting you.

The wind getting knocked out of your lungs as you felt the forearm smash into your chest, your head smacking into the cobblestone ground as you looked up. The infamous Lieutenant staring down at you with a sickening grin- your eyes widened as you realized.. you were fucked.

"We are gonna be rich! Haha! That ship is ours! Right (Y/N!?)" Buggy yelled out, Hearing Shanks cheer ahead of him. Not hearing your voice he started to slow down lookknv behind him seeing you were gone and his eyes widened, Shanks still on his adrenaline high stopped as well and turned to look to see the confused Buggy.

"Where is (Y/N)?" Buggy questioned, Shanks face falling as he realized this. The two boys meeting each other's gaze and began to rush through were they had run to try and find you, calling out your name. The boys running back to try and find you, as they made it to a backstreet they see you in the back of a Marine jail wagon being dragged away to the local prison. Buggy surged forward in wanting to Spring you free but Shanks grabbed his shoulder quickly.

To say this had turned into a total shit show for you. You had been tossed in the back of the Marine jail wagon, then brought to the local prison.

There you were thrown into a cell with a women who had even in hysterics. Begging for death for her actions instead of the life sentence she was given. Your mind was racing as you tried to think of ways to get out- watching as the Lieutenant walked to you with a smile.

"It's been a while since we had a Pirate here, it's good. We needed an execution tomorrow" He said with a evil smile at you. The color draining from your face at his words.

"What!? Not a trial! Or even a proper investigation!?" You screamed as you grab at the bars. The Marine laughed loudly in your face as he leaned down to your level.

"Little girl, I'm the judge, jury and executioner. Welcome to Hile Hile!" He chimed loudly before dismissing himself with a deep laugh leaving you alone with the sobbing women.

You sat there for a while, trying to figure out what to do. Having even spoken to the women who told you she had accidently fell asleep and her child drowned and was imprisoned for murder. Now sentenced to life in prison at Impel Down, even though she wanted to die for her actions. A completely over sentencing for a horrible accident but you figured that was just how this place was run.

Going up the the barred wi dows of your cell you look out over the village. Fear running through your system as the words the man said to you rang through your system. It wasn't till you saw your two friends running in the alley by your cell did it snap you from your thoughts. Clapping your hands quickly to catch your attention you saw both of them turn to you.

"(Y/N)!" Buggy called out, looking around wildly before detaching his torso and floating up to meet you grabbing at the bars to try and pull on them. You quickly shoo him to go back down.

"No, They will see you" You hissed at him and held his hand, He floated back down but kept his detached hand with you. A sinking feeling hitting your stomach as you smiled at the two boys who rambled out in panic talking about how they would break you out. Shanks was the first one to notice your silence and the sadness in your eyes.

"Guys.. I.. I love you two-" You said to them, both freezing at your words as dread fills their system.

"Hey don't be so glum! We will get you out okay?!"

You gave Buggy's hand a squeeze sniffling back tears as you kissed the back of his hand staining it with your lipstick and taking the bandana you had bought before from around your neck and tied it to his wrist.

"I promise it will be okay Buggy.. Ill be okay" You say in a shaky voice, trying to keep him calm. Releasing his hand which floated back to his wrist.

"I'll get you out of here (Y/N)! They won't hurt you I swear!" Buggy proclaimed, his mind racing with ideas to break you out. Rushing down the alleyway in order to begin plotting.

You looked at Shanks through the bars and gave him a watery smile, tears welling in your eyes.

"Shanks... Promise me- If I go... Buggy can't see it.. He should never see me that way okay? Dont try and break me out.. you guys can get killed" You begged, tears rolling down your cheeks as you saw Shanks own eyes well with tears and nod his head.

"I-I promise (Y/N)..." He stuttered out, looking ahead and running after Buggy finally. Knowing the task that laid before him-

The next day was the day of the public execution. Wanting to make a an example out of you as they prepare for you to be killed. The Lieutenant coming by the cell you shared with the woman, who was still in her mess of a state at being imprisoned for life.

"Ah a Pirate and a Murderer" He chuckled darkly at the two of you. You glaring back at him as he leered at you-

"Does it make you feel strong to kill a child?" You asked him, earning a glare from the male who slammed his hand against the bars.

"Your show time is in half an hour- pray" He hissed at you and tossed a prison uniform and cloth bag at your feet. You knew what this was for by the red that spotted the collars on both-

Buggy had been frantically gathering a plan for his rescue mission, Ignoring the oddly silent Shanks who had just been watching him. Buggy creating a flashy and dramatic escape plan to rescue (Y/N).

"Alright It's almost ready!" He said as he grabbed rope, knives and more. Shanks looking at Buggy and sighing.

"Buggy- We can't get her-" He started but Buggy glared hard at him.

"Yes we can- if we follow this plan I can get her!" Buggy screamed, Shanks clenching his fist as he glared at his friend.

"Buggy I'm not going to let you get yourself killed" He said evenly, a silent standoff starting before Buggy shot a punch using his devil fruit which landed right on Shanks cheek knocking the red head stumble back for just a moment before Buggy bolted, running off the boat and into the rain. Buggy hearing the sound of the crowd gathering at the main city court yard, Bolting towards the direction.

Shanks chased Buggy, sliding through the rain as he saw Buggy run like his life depended on it. Buggy turned a hard corner and slipped hard, his body slamming into an alleyway wall.

Shanks grabbed Buggy and held him against the wall with all his force keeping his limbs pinned, tears running down his own cheeks as he make sure Buggy didn't move from his spot. He knew Buggy couldn't use his Devil fruit abilities as well and his limbs couldn't get far enough to reach you or strong enough to push or kick him off.

"THEY ARE GOING TO KILL HER! WE CAN HELP HER!" Buggy screamed at Shanks as the red head held his friend down-

"Buggy they will kill you!... I-I promised... I-Im sorry" He croaked out- The sound of the crowd in the courtyard got louder and Buggy moved harshly.

'We are here to show that while Gol. D Roger's influence still stands! We will be the strong hand that brings it back!'

The echoing voice sounded through the city, Buggy screaming as he tried his hardest to fight against Shanks.

'A Thief and Pirate. This is the price to pay for crimes here in Hile Hile Town! Is Death!"

The crowd cheering before there was a click before it happened- Buggy's eyes went wide as he heard the massive sound of the guillotine slamming down. The fight leaving his body as he saw the birds fly up from were the courtyard was the sound scaring them from their refuge in the rain, and the sound of cheers from the courtyard from the public execution.

He didn't even feel the cold from the rain anymore, instead feeling the emotions he had turn into ice in his chest. Like his heart had been ripped from his very being and tossed into the deepest part of the sea.

Shanks still sobbing himself pulled away from Buggy knowing it had been done. His own body shivering from the cold as he wept looking at his brothers face, Buggy's eyes looking dull like that of a fishes.

"B-Buggy I'm sorry" Shanks managed to sob to his friend, Like a puppet Buggy moved to his feet barely able to stand as he felt his body was hollow and boots too heavy. His hair sticking to his skin as he felt the rain wash away his love for Shanks and you.

"..I will never forgive this betrayal Shanks... Just like (Y/N) you are dead to me..." Buggy croaked out his voice the softest it had ever sounded, not even meeting Shanks eyes as he turned and started to walk off to towards the courtyard.

Shanks standing there in the rain not saying a word as he let Buggy go, still crying himself. The blue haired teen walking to the courtyard were the crowd was filing out, having gotten their fill of bloodshed. Buggy walked to the empty courtyard and looked up seeing the Marines cleaning the mess, the rain helping to wash the blood from the blade used and the stage it rested on. One of the Marines loading a headless female body into a basket, wearing basic black and white stripped prison attire

Buggy fell to his knees, his eyes locked onto the blade that had taken you from his life- he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the red and white bandana you had given him, while wet from rain he put it to his head and tied it around his blue hair.

He would remember you... he would cherish the memory. His best friend, his first love... a girl who always smiled wearing too red of lipstick and loved the circus...

He would be the greatest at it all.... Just for you.

[readychilledwine]

hiii can i request cassian with single mom reader? she’s his mate, but she has a child from a previous relationship vibes

Girl Dad Cass is back. ❤️ just in a different situation.

To Have and To Hold

Summary - Cassian and reader are finally saying their vows after a few years of courting, but there's other vows Cassian finds just as important.

Warning - fluff? Cassian being mushy?

A/n - I wanted to leave the reader and her daughter as undescriptive as possible. I really need to try a boy dad cassian, but he just screams girl dad energy. Ps- peep the cute divider from @firefly-graphics tons of cute options

Cassian had seen the two of plenty of times. You two were constantly walking around the Rainbow, or in book stores, or shopping.

He never saw a male with you, though, and if his wife and daughter were as pretty as you two, you would have never been unaccompanied. He arrived to Feyre's studio one day to pick Nyx up from class. The little heir was playing with your daughter, beaming so brightly about being around another little one his age. He couldn't stop his curious nature and asked. He found out from Feyre who you were, that your daughter had no father, just a coward of a male who had packed up and ran as soon as he found out protection failed.

That is when you started noticing Cassian around Velaris more. He'd start coming to the bakery you and your daughter loved. Hed be at the children's book reading done by Gwyn at the library her and her mate had opened. He'd be helping Feyre with her art classes.

One day, you were running late picking up your daughter from her art classes. You were at a shift at one of the many pleasure halls and had to help the other bar mistress break up a nasty fight between a male you'd later learn was Azriel and an idiot who'd made a comment about forcing you into his bed. A few stitches gently put into the illyrian males cheek later, and you finally arrived with him at your side. Your daughter and Cassian were deep into a conversation. Her little hands and arms were moving so quickly as you figured out slowly that they were discussing the possibility of Helion and the Day Court hiding unicorns. 

That was the beginning of this beautiful journey. She had begged Cassian to join you two for dinner and snacks that next day, and you couldn't say no to her bright eyes and wide smile, writing your address on a piece of parchment and handing it to the Illyrian male. You joked now that Cassian courted her first. He took her flying long before he ever took you, took her out for ice cream once a week, took her to little dinners and play dates with Nyx. He began joining you two for meals twice a week. Sometimes a breakfast before flying her to school lessons. Sometimes a surprise picnic lunch on a weekend. 

It took a full 3 months of this for your guard to drop. He finally asked you out when it did. "Just the two of us," he had said, and with childcare already planned out by him, you said yes. He had thought of everything. Arriving with Azriel early so your daughter could be taken to the Riverhouse, bringing you beautiful flowers from the garden planted by the High Lady's sister, and even a pick up time for your daughter that night. 

That became the new routine. Once a week, Cassian would take you out, then your daughter would get her Cassian night the next evening. A year later, he had moved you two into the House of Wind where he ensured your daughter had a playroom filled with toys, another little study room with books for her lessons, and her own bedroom with a big girl bed and fluffy pink sheets.

She fell for Cassian as hard as you had. And now, 3 years later, that all felt like a fading memory as Feyre and Gywn helped you lace up the pretty off white gown you were about to marry him in. A soft knock had the three of you turning towards the door as Rhys strolled in, picking at his black suit with a soft smile. 

"I was sent to find the little princess. Is she ready?" As if your daughter knew she was being summoned, she ran into the room, throwing herself into Rhys open arms as he lifted her. She looked so beautiful and grown in her soft white dress that glittered like fresh snow, her long hair curled and pinned with a flower crown and gems. "Cassian just wants a few moments with her before the big ceremony. Is that okay?" You rose a brow but nodded. "Let's go see Cass, princess."

You looked at Gwyn and then Feyre, both of them had small smiles on their faces. "I cannot hide this from you," Feyre finally said. "Come on, but we have to be very quiet." The two of them walked you to a little area that had been set up without your knowledge. A floral archway with purple wisteria hanging from it came into view, and centered under that archway, glowing up the dying light of the setting sun, was your daughter, both of her little hands swallowed by Cassian's large ones.

He was on his knees in front of her, sitting back on his calves. A priestess stood near them, speaking to them about the importance of family, regardless of it being by blood, how it is always the male of the house's duty to protect those he loves, and how it is a father's duty to ensure his daughter is taught how a male should treat her. "Cassian, is there anything you'd like to say to (daughter's name)?"

Cassian cleared his throat and nodded. "I want you to know I'm not just marrying your momma today because I love her. I'm marrying her because I love you. I love your little nose," he placed a gentle kiss on her nose.  "I love your giggle," he tickled her sides making her bell-like laugher sing into the air. "I love our adventures, I love playing your knight in shining armor saving you from the dragon's keep or storming castles in your honor. I love bragging about you to my family constantly."

He paused and wiped a tear from her cheeks. "I know I'm not your dad, babygirl, but I want you to know I'll always love you like you're mine. I'll protect you with my life. I'll love you until my heart stops, and even then, I will love you when I find you in the next world and lifetime." A little I love you interrupted his speech, making Cassian's voice break for the next question. "Is it okay if I start calling you my daughter?"  You watched as her curls bounced with how aggressively she was nodding. You watched as she threw herself into Cassian's arms, and he lifted her, holding her against his chest before letting the priestess know they were ready.

Feyre quickly winnowed you back to the dressing room, fixing the makeup the tears you didn't know you were crying ruined. Rhys returned to the room, seconds later, "I hate to ruin you having a flower girl, but she refuses to leave Cassian's side. We are all ready if you are." He offered Feyre his arm and the two left to take their places as witnesses. 

Gwyn left with a soft kiss placed on top of your head, "Azriel and I will be the cute ones right next to where you and Cass will be standing!"

You paused at the doors to the ceremony chamber. Taking a few stilling breaths, you nodded for the doors to be opened, and you began the walk. The room was beautiful. Strings of fae lights echoed the stars. Candles adding to the illumination of the room, setting a soft warm glow to everything. You couldn't look at anything but Cassian in stunned silence, though. His jaw and face had fallen in shock, tears forming in his eyes. Your face mirrored his and tears started to genuinely fall. 

The scent of it hit Rhysand first. He started laughing silently. It made sense now. All of this made sense now. He told Azriel to take your daughter and he did instantly. 

Cassian moved to you, crushing you to his chest as soon as you were within reach. "Mate," he whispered softly. "I can't believe you're my mate."

"Cassian, babe, we're making a scene."

"It's our wedding. We can make as big of a scene as we want." You two didn't notice your daughter wiggling out of Azriel's arms until both of you were being pulled to the priestess by her little hands. 

"Hurry up and make him my daddy." She demanded before returning to Azriel with her arms up. "Tisk tisk momma." She looked at you, blinking her eyes as she stomped her foot like sass had become her first language.

You held your arms up in defeat. "Alright alright. So demanding," you turned to the High Priestess. "Could you marry me to this male so he can be my daughter's daddy?"

Cassian's eyes were watering again. He sniffled lightly before turning to Azriel to take your daughter back and holding her tight against his side. "General, are you ready?" He nodded, kissing her temple as she leaned into his shoulder. "We are gathered here tonight to watch the union of two souls," the words faded as soon as Cassian took your hand in his, you were focused solely on him, on that new string sparkling between you two, and the happy tears your daughter was crying as she held her dad. 

You wiped one of her tears gently with your free hand after the ceremony when the three of you were alone under that floral arch where he had made his vows to her. "Are you happy, babygirl?"

Cassian still held her tight, refusing to yield her to anyone since she had called him daddy. "Why wouldn't I be? I have my mommy, my daddy, and there's cake."

"Mmmm there is cake." Cassian agreed. "Specifically your favorite chocolate cake with a layer of fudge. Too bad Uncle Az is going to eat it all before you get to." She didn't realize the glint in his eyes was playful, that he was teasing her. 

"Siege the castle, daddy. Bring me my cake."

Cassian seemed to relish the word as it continued to fall from her mouth. Settling her on his back as she pointed to the room, a loud reception party was taking place in. "As my princess wishes." He took off running through the open doors and straight to the cake table Azriel and Rhys were currently admiring. The winged males jumped back, hands held up as your daughter demanded they handed over their plates of cake and sweets.

You looked up to the stars in their all knowing and twinkling glory and two simple words fell from your lips, "Thank you."

[snowysosturn]

Speeding Car -Matt Sturniolo Part 6

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29

Pairing : y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary : After six years with your boyfriend Alex, you start to mentally check out. At a UCLA party, Alex reconnects with his childhood friend Emily, who proposes a double date with her boyfriend Matt. Your attraction to Matt grows as he pays you the first real attention you've had in years, sparking a complicated emotional journey.

Warnings : MDNI, swearing, unhappy relationship, disappointment, angst

Returning to the apartment, I noticed a Dior purse left on the coffee table in the living room.

“Shit, Emily must have left it behind” I think to myself. I reach for my phone to throw her a quick text to see if they wanted to turn around and come get it. I put in my passcode but my phone lags, powering off completely. I take it for what it is, maybe it’s just a situation I need to leave alone. Alex can get it back to her somehow.

I got myself a glass of water and took myself to bed. I slipped in beside Alex and gave him a kiss on the forehead, every memory of when things were good flashed through my brain. How can I get it to be like that again? I turned on my side and went to sleep.

My alarm went off at the crack of dawn, and I rolled out of bed, careful not to wake Alex. He had a long day ahead and I knew he needed his rest for training. I threw on my Target uniform, grabbed a quick breakfast, and left a note for Alex on the fridge: "Have a great day! See you tonight. xx."

Work was the usual grind, but having Jess on shift with me made it that much easier. During our break, we sat in the staffroom, sipping lukewarm coffee.

"God, I am so bored with my life right now," Jess said, sighing dramatically. "Same old routine, day in and day out."

I nodded, feeling a twinge of agreement. "Tell me about it. I feel like I’m constantly stuck in a rut."

Jess perked up, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Why don’t you come out with me tonight? There's this new nightclub in downtown LA. It’ll be fun! Something spontaneous to break the monotony."

I hesitated. "It’s a Tuesday, Jess. I need to have dinner ready for Alex when he gets home from training. Maybe another time?"

She rolled her eyes playfully. "You’re such a good girlfriend. But seriously, you deserve a break too. You’re 23 not 73, live a little!"

I shrugged, trying to push away the nagging feeling that I was missing out. "Maybe you’re right. But tonight, I think I’m going to try and do something special with Alex. They don’t have games coming up straight away, so training shouldn’t be too intense."

Jess gave me an encouraging smile. "That sounds nice, offer still stands even if you change your mind!”

As the hours of my shift passed, I decided to take the initiative. After all, seeing Matt so happy with Emily had reminded me of what I wanted, what I needed, with Alex. I went into the staff bathrooms and shot Alex a quick message: "Hey, how about we go bowling tonight? I thought it’d be fun to do something together."

Surprisingly, he replied almost immediately: "Sure, sounds fun! Let’s do it."

I felt a small spark of hope. Maybe this was a sign to focus on our relationship, to reignite the spark that had been fading. Determined to make the evening special, I planned to cook Alex’s favorite meal and set the table nicely. I wanted everything to be perfect.

After my shift, I rushed home, picking up everything I needed. Once in the kitchen, I meticulously prepared the meal, arranging the table with candles and our best dinnerware. By the time everything was ready, I felt a sense of accomplishment. Tonight would be great, I was sure of it.

Just as I finished setting the last plate, my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen, expecting a message from Alex letting me know he was on his way. Instead, my heart sank as I read his text: "Hey, got some news! I got promoted to captain of the football team! Going to celebrate with the boys tonight. I’ll make it up to you, I promise."

The excitement and anticipation I had felt all day drained away in an instant, replaced by a heavy weight in my chest. I stared at the beautifully set table, the meal I had prepared with such care, and felt a lump form in my throat. This was supposed to be our night.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "Congratulations Al!" I typed back. "That’s amazing news. Enjoy your celebration. I love you!”

But the words felt hollow. I knew Alex meant well, and his promotion was a big deal, but it still hurt. Tonight was supposed to be about us, and now I was left alone again.

I blew out the candles and put away the dinnerware, wrapping up the meal to save for another night. As I cleaned up, I couldn’t help but think about Matt and Emily again. Seeing them together had made me want to work harder on my relationship with Alex, but now I wondered if it was even worth it. Did he still care as much as I did? Or was I just fooling myself?

I sat down on the couch, the apartment eerily quiet. Maybe Jess was right, I did deserve a break. But for tonight, I’d settle for a glass of wine and a good cry.

Matt’s POV

I was in the kitchen, opening the fridge to get a roorbeer when Emily’s phone buzzed with a message. She picked it up, her eyes lighting up as she read it.

“What’s up?” I asked, leaning against the counter.

“It’s Alex,” she said, a smile spreading across her face. “He just got promoted to captain of the football team and a few people from our class are going out to celebrate tonight.”

I nodded, feeling a mix of emotions. “That’s great news. You should go and celebrate with them. I can give you a ride to downtown LA.”

Emily’s fingers flew over her phone, sending a quick message. “I just text y/n to see if she’s going too and what she’s wearing,” she said, glancing up at me.

I wondered if she’d be going out tonight, too. Emily tried calling her, but there was no answer. She frowned, looking slightly irritated.

“She’s not picking up. I need my Dior purse for tonight. I left it at her place yesterday.”

“I can go get it for you, if you want” I offered, hoping to make things easier.

Emily smiled, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “You’re the best. Thanks, babe.”

I grabbed my keys and headed out. The drive to her apartment was quick, but my mind was racing with thoughts about Emily and our relationship. I loved her, but lately, things had been rough. Her behavior at the party had been a stark reminder of the cracks in our foundation. And the breakdown remains of our fallout of the party were just swept into the cracks. Nothing was cemented again.

When I arrived at the apartment, I hesitated for a moment before knocking. The door opened, and there she was. Immediately, I could see she had been crying. Her eyes were red, and she looked surprised to see me.

“Hey,” I said softly, my concern genuine. “Emily sent me over to get her Dior purse. Are you okay?”

She forced a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a rough day.”

I nodded, not wanting to push her. “Do you need to talk about it?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll get the purse. Hold on.”

She disappeared inside, and I stood there, feeling an overwhelming urge to comfort her. When she returned, she handed me the purse, her hands trembling slightly.

“Thanks,” I said, taking it from her. “If you need anything, you know you can call me, right?”

She nodded, her eyes meeting mine briefly before looking away. “Yeah, thanks, Matt.”

I hesitated, not wanting to leave her like this. “You sure you’re okay?”

She sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m sure, thank you Matt”

I gave her a reassuring smile. She nodded, and I turned to leave, feeling a heavy weight in my chest. I couldn’t understand why she was so upset when her boyfriend was out celebrating. It made me question why she wasn’t out too. I couldn’t shake the image of her tear streaked face. It wasn’t right that she was feeling this way, and I wasn’t okay with the fact I was aware of it.

When I got back home, Emily was getting ready, her excitement through the roof. She turned to me, holding up a dress. “How do I look?”

“Beautiful,” I said, though my thoughts were still with the girl I had just left behind. “Are you sure y/n’s not coming? She didn’t say much when I was there.”

Emily checked her phone. “No response yet. I hope she does, though. It’d be fun to have her there.”

I nodded, trying to push my concerns aside. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration, but all I could think about was the girl who was left behind.

After dropping Emily off in downtown LA, I watched her hurry off to meet Alex and their classmates. But as I drove away, the knot in my stomach tightened. I couldn't stop thinking about the tears in y/n’s eyes earlier, the sadness in her voice trying to convince me everything was okay. It didn’t sit right with me, leaving her like that. I sighed, making a U-turn and heading back to her apartment. Something was wrong, and I wasn’t going to let her spend the night alone, wallowing in whatever had upset her..

a/n: things are starting to happeeeeen…i have started on part 7 last night, still on holiday and heading to LA tomorrow for a few days so i’ll try my best to update asap

taglist : @muwapsturniolo @anitahunt @sturnfannn @jayde510 @chrissfavhoe @babyalliah-777 @v33angel @urmom69lol @willowrites @ribread03 @2muchofaslvt @sturnsaver @sleepysturniolo @jcsturniolo11 @jessie-essie @immattsslut @mynbbys @sturniolopanini @mattsturnxoxo @delicatechrry @t77te @sturnsyaper69

[neiptune]

ain't that the worst thing you ever heard? (part 2)

c/w: 22k wc, SUGGESTIVE, summer romance, strangers to fwb to lovers, eren can surf, this little story has kept me company for weeks now, it just kept stretching and stretching and demanding more so I tried to accomodate its needs. I hope you'll be able to perceive all the love & care I've put into it! thank you for having been part of this summer journey now I'll finally go lie down

PART 1

June melts away and July is as sweet as the ripe cherries that melt on your tongue.

You’ve always loved summer, both in the city and the countryside you grew up in. The summer season that belonged to your childhood came with watermelon slices consumed sitting on the engawa with your grandparents, a poor antidote against the oppressive humidity that glued hair and clothes to your skin. The only relief came from the small fan they kept on at all times, day and night, the low buzz a constant companion throughout the hours spent napping, going through your homework or demolishing the only thing your mother has ever been able to cook: teriyaki tofu.

You slept in the same room as your grandparents at night, two futons placed at careful distance to no avail as you couldn’t sleep anyway between the noise coming from the fan, the chirping of the cicadas from outside and your grandpa’s snoring. Those were the nights you’d spend observing the ceiling, fantasizing about growing up and becoming an adult that worked as hard as your parents who woke up at the crack of dawn and came home several hours after you had finished eating dinner. You’d daydream about the big cities they always told you about, Tokyo and Osaka and Yokohama and Nagoya, places where people didn’t have to break their backs slaving away in rice fields every day.

Places where people wore nice shirts and ties and jackets and carried little leather briefcases and worked in clean offices and never had to scrape the mortifying dirt stuck underneath their nails.

Summer in the city came with apartments with little to no insulation, boxes as humid and hot as the outside, with no air moving around inside. Still, you bought a little pink fan when you couldn’t afford an AC, made sure your fridge always had a consistent stock of watermelon and fruit popsicles. You’d lie belly-down on the tatami floors when afternoons got too hot to move, and took the Yokosuka line from the central station along with some friends whenever you could gift yourself the luxury of spending a day at the beach.

It wasn’t enjoyable. The drudgery that took to get there, sweat running down your back, crowded trains and a bus where you could barely breathe from how hot it was, sand crawling in between your belongings and sticking to your arms and legs. But the ocean? That was worth it. A body of water stretching as far as the eye could see, so boundless it felt like the city was miles and miles away, all your emotions magnified, salty breeze flooding your senses. You often wished to take your parents there, always daydreamed about how amazed your mother would feel and about your father’s calloused hands picking up a fishing rod instead of being busy ploughing, harrowing fields, harvesting grains.

You felt at ease in the water, gliding across it with bold strokes as your friends splashed around closer to the shore. You liked diving underneath the surface, eyes shut and ears filled with currents, waves and storms no one else could hear. A special sussurration made just for you, one you listened to until your lungs felt a moment away from exploding.

So far, summer on the island doesn’t come close to anything you’ve experienced before. Your vacation rental has an AC that you refuse to turn on and most nights on your first month there were so hot you could barely sleep. The sky is the kind of blue that is promising and has you excited for the day to unravel, clouds showing up and timidly crossing it fluffly and candid as snow. What was considered the glorious realm of the gods according to Mesopotamian mythology, the island holds as regular cedar forests, although so wonderful you can only guess it must’ve been blessed with a touch of divine nonetheless. You got to hike through more than one and paid homage to the ancient trees, some of Japan’s oldest living ones. Jean has been a sweet guide on your first time, carefully explaining to every member of the group he was leading both the history and ecology of the sights along the way.

Tropical storms are restless and unforgiving, you learn: wind shakes your windows, lighting tints rooms purple and the crack of thunder prompts the lighting up of your phone screen at any hour of the night, without exception.

Eren comes to know about your fear of thunderstorms on a late afternoon. He has taken the habit of showing up at your place with a little something for you from time to time: that day he had two plastic bags in his hands, a few groceries he had picked up on the way there “just in case you’re out of something”, kitchen counter slowly filling up with fresh milk, eggs, apricots, bread, one box of cereals, cheese and what were mostly his favorite snacks. And it’s never just an excuse to be there, he never expects you to reward him: Eren has his own way of putting away the groceries, his regular grumbling about how messy your cupboard is, an improved method of fixing the leaking of your sink and piling his book suggestions right next to your tv, so that you don’t forget to check them out. More often than not they’re not books he has read, just books he deems you’ll find interesting.

That afternoon Eren wasn’t there to sleep with you, he didn’t have any particular motive for spending a few hours sprawled on your couch watching some dumb cooking show, except that he enjoyed it. He enjoyed how invested you’d get and the way you’d lightly pinch his thigh when you’d have it with his boyish, teasing comments. Sometimes you’d just slot your mouth to his to shut him up, a more than welcome distraction from pretentious chefs who presented dishes he never would have dreamed to replace Sasha’s wraps with. And while your kisses didn’t always lead to anything (whatever it was that you had going on walking between blurred lines that comprised make out sessions, casual hang outs and Eren molding your body to accomodate his so perfectly you often found yourself questioning if you could ever even take anyone else and feel the same way), on that particular day you seemed more than willing to forget about the stupid cooking show. And then a loud crack his very much occupied mind could barely register, had you jolting away from him and covering your ears in a heated rush.

Eren makes sure to call or text you during storms but he’s way more subtle about it now than he was at the start. After your prideful “I’m fine, stop checking on me like I’m some damn child”, he developed a new, clever strategy to make sure you’re doing okay. Whether it’s by sending you a funny meme, the link to a tiktok video, some random update on Connie’s hectic dating life at 3 in the morning, he hopes the message gets across. And alhough most times you don’t reply until several hours later, out of that same stubborn pride that makes him roll his eyes multiple times a day, you can’t help but smile a little when the phone screen your eyes instinctively dart to at the beginning of every storm, lights up without fail.

Contrary to what you had anticipated, being friends with him is probably the easiest thing you've ever done. Eren gives a lot and takes very little, the only situations this selflessness doesn’t really apply to include discarded clothes and skirts pooled around your hips when he’s too impatient and the steamed up windows of his truck blurry your vision and your mind as the pads of his fingers dig into the fat of your thighs. Those are the moments Eren takes everything from you. He claims each breathless gasp, the twitching of your legs, the way your pretty features freeze in silent pleasure and he gets to whisper reassuring praises against the corner of your mouth. Whether he’s aware or not about just how much he ruins you each time, is beyond your understanding.

Eren talks about you with his friends when you’re not there to hang out with them, which happens often anyway. He’d casually mention something you did or said or once specified you enjoyed, an habit that’s increasingly prompting knowing glances exchanged between Connie and Jean. Armin’s stare just turns a little worried, especially when Eren reprimands everyone and cares to remind them to be careful and not get attached because your presence is temporary.

Sasha feels as if, between one beer and the other, he’s the one he’s truly trying to convince. It’s new Eren behavior, uncharted territory, and the odds of the whole thing ending in the shittiest way possible are incredibly high: which is why Armin decides to take it upon himself to test the waters and almost asks if you think it’s really best to keep going with the whole friends with benefits thing. He likes you and means well. Maybe it’d keep everyone’s feelings safe if you and Eren discarded the benefits part and stayed as nothing more than regular friends?

But right as he was about to voice his question, you had stopped by a street fruit vendor and turned to look at him with sparkles in your eyes.

“What if we get some pineapples? I could try and make that ice cream Eren never shuts up about”

Shit, he thought to himself. Maybe he had been way too optimistic.

Eren knows you’re not actually asleep. Not that he’s yet had the privilege of knowing what you look like when you’re sleeping: you never once stayed the night at his place, which was good enough of a reason never to spend the night at yours. He’s never had the chance to lend you one of his shirts or ask if the coffee he buys now is better than the one you tasted so many mornings ago. It’s not that he’s bothered by it, he just doesn’t understand what sort of thoughts prompt you to immediately get out of his bed (or off of his couch, or out of his shower, or down from the kitchen counter—), collect your clothes, flash him a smile and wave goodbye. He should be happy you do that, honestly. It’s always saved both of you from experiencing any unnecessary awkwardness. It’s convenient. It’s practical. But still, it certainly wouldn’t kill you to stay just once?

“Stop that” your nose scrunches, the light touch of his fingers tickling you.

“Be an active part of the excursion, then” an airy chuckle leaves him as his fingertips skim the bridge of your nose again. You weakly swat his hand away.

“M’tired” you puff out your cheeks, eyes still shut. Eren rolls his eyes.

“It was less than an hour long hike”

“You own a trained body, I own an exhausted one”

“So you don’t want any snacks?”

Finally, you open one eye to peer at him, suspicious. Amused, Eren gently bounces his leg, the one your head is resting on.

“It better be Sasha’s avocado hummus” you grumble while making the process of sitting up dramatic enough for him snort.

“It’s something better: fresh fruit” Eren meets your shocked expression with an innocent grin.

“You’re a deceitful, unreliable little man” you playfully narrow your gaze as he pulls out a plastic bag from his backpack. He huffs.

“Stop complaining, these are from Kukiko’s garden”

“Kukiko?”

“Jean’s grandma. She pretty much raised him and used to give us extra treats before we set off for school” a small smile stretches his lips as he takes some peaches and a small knife from the bag.

“My granny used to do the same” you smile too, the sweetness of the memories coming to mind causing a pleasant warmth to spread in your chest “she’d pack my lunch and then several others for my friends, just in case their parents forgot. As if that could’ve been possible”

Eren looks up from the fruit he’s carefully peeling. He’s doing it with such attentive care you can’t help but wish, for a single, fleeting second, that he’d still be there to peel tangerines for you in the winter.

There’s fondness in his gaze, one you wish you didn’t notice because it never fails to emerge whenever you share something personal, something belonging to a life he knows little to nothing about. He makes it painfully clear that he’d love for that door to be left half-opened for him.

“D’you visit her from time to time? I assume she still lives in the countryside”

If the pang of sadness that clutches your throat and digs deep into your stomatch could have a physical representation, it’d probably be an icicle. Cold, harsh, unforgiving.

“I’m sorry” Eren catches the change in your stare before you have the chance to say anything. With a small, bitter smile, you shrug.

“It’s okay. It’s been years. Doesn’t get any easier, though”

You’re sitting very close to each other, so he gently nudges your shoulder with his arm.

“Yeah. I’m sure she loved you a lot and that doesn’t just go away, you know”

“Jesus” you chuckle and lean your forehead against his shoulder to hide the embarrassing tears stinging the corners of your eyes “you just had to be good with words too, among everything else”

A silent laugh shakes him.

“What can I say, I’m gifted like that” he hands you one slice of the peach he’s still holding and you accept it with a scoff. The fruit is mellow, flavorful and tangy as it melts in the back of your throat. It almost makes you want to cry again.

The observatory was his idea, one of the very few remaining places he didn’t have the chance to take you to. Despite it having a large parking lot, restrooms and vending machines, it’s a sightseeing spot not many tourists come to know about, so it’s mostly empty. The view is stunning and, truth be told, you didn’t mind the hike either: despite the inescapable sun shining high in the sky, not a single cloud in sight, you enjoyed climbing the path dotted with many tropical plants. Hibiscus, adan trees, cycads, Eren indicating and naming each one along the way.

From where you’re sitting, you can see the white lighthouse you had visited a few days prior, Eren’s friends having planned a picnic nearby that soon gave them the perfect excuse to take you all the way to the top of the abandoned tower. Connie smiled upon seeing your expression morph into pure wonder as soon as Sasha removed her hands from your eyes: you don’t remember seeing an equally breathtaking view of the ocean sparkling beneath your feet, ever. If you squeeze your eyes really hard, you can almost discern the small bay you remember Armin helping you locate on the northernmost tip of the island.

You’re not sure why Eren bothers hanging out with you when his days are less busy, why he doesn’t mind spending his morning sharing fresh fruit underneath the July sun instead of being with his friends or riding a wave. Sure, you count as a watered-down version of a friend too at this point, and spending time with him feels so natural sometimes you wonder if you haven’t actually known him for a longer time.

But it also feels intimate, oddly more than the moments when he’s pushing inside you. It’s easier to kiss him than to hear him laugh at your jokes, especially when the sun hits the green of his eyes just right and you feel the sudden urge to tuck those stubborn strands behind his ears. It’s easier to have his arms around you, lips tracing your collarbone, because that means he won’t be looking at you in that infuriating way of his, genuine interest floating in such intense irises whenever he asks a question in patient anticipation of another piece of yourself you may or may not decide to unravel for him. 

Eren gently presses his thumb between your brows, to smooth out that little crease you get whenever you get lost in thoughts he isn’t allowed to access. His hand is still wet and sticky from the peach you’ve shared, so you pull back with a grimace and he laughs.

“So pensive today” he brings that same thumb to his mouth to clean all the fruit remnants “didn’t even ask me if I really didn’t bring anything else to eat”

“Did you?” your brows shoot up in interest and he rolls his eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“I mean, you’re insufferable when you’re hungry”

And just like that, he pulls out some neatly packaged banh mi sandwiches, the ones you remember casually mentioning liking to Sasha at the picnic by the lighthouse while he was busy discussing something else with Jean. As you stare at the herbs and mayo sticking to the clear cellophane, it’s hard to blink back the surprise. Or to swallow the lump in your throat.

Oh, no.

“Eren” you mutter his name carefully and he tilts his head with a responsive little hum “I kinda want to kiss you right now”

Another mirthful laugh echoes through the calm, fragrant air. Thank god he hasn’t noticed the unusual hesitation laced into your tone because yes, this is a need, but also a test you’re not sure you want to know the output of.

He inches closer and gently tilts your head up with the softest grasp of your chin, lips pressing to yours in a chaste kiss that sends shock waves through your veins.

Oh, no.

Eren has to resort to quite the amount of self restraint not to chase your lips when you pull back, features impenetrable once again for god knows what thought now crossing your pretty little mind. He can feel his heart drumming in his ears, the scent of your hair and sunscreen mixing together well enough to almost, almost make him sigh. By now there’s a giant, neon sign hanging over your head that reads proceed with caution, presence temporary. It blinks at him, flashing at regular intervals. He doesn’t like it one bit.

“How come you’re not in a relationship?” the questions rolls off his tongue before he has the chance to decide if it’s even appropriate to ask something like that so bluntly. It’s clearly not, given how your lips purse. But even as he realizes your reaction indicates some discomfort, Eren doesn’t apologize nor does he take the question back. He wants to know something new and while anything will do, this is a topic he holds a particular interest for.

“I was, we broke up a couple weeks before I booked this trip” you clear your throat, attempting to come off as unbothered with a slight shrug of your shoulders.

“So I’m the tropical rebound?” he’s being playful but you catch the slight seriousness embedded in his words and shake your head.

“No. You’re nothing like him”

“Ouch?”

You huff, impatient.

“Last time I saw him, he was balls deep inside one of my friends. You’re nothing like him”

Eren pulls a face but there’s relief expanding the lungs in his chest cavity.

Not so ouch-worthy, after all.

“Well, that sucks”

“Right?” you smile “this would be a good time to list all the wonderful qualities he’s going to be missing out on”

The half-joking tone isn’t enough to prevent him from taking your request seriously.

“I can’t imagine scoring someone like you and then just fucking it up so royally” he scoffs “what an idiot”

“Once again, such a way with words” you hope your teasing is enough to hide the heat crawling up from your chest to the very roots of your hair. Eren starts to unwrap your sandwich a little too harshly.

“I mean it” and god help him, he really does “who’s gonna insult his coffee now, I wonder?”

You’d playfully smack his arm and feign annoyance if it wasn’t for the smile he gives you, the faint shadow of a dimple teasing his left cheek as his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“How come you’re not in a relationship?” you fire the question back as you accept the sandwich he hands you, the first bite already having you swallowing back a moan. The cilantro leaves really do it for you.

“No particular reason” he shrugs “we broke up a few months ago”

“Amicably?”

“Yeah. We were together for a little over a year, it just gradually faded. I know it sounds sad as shit but really, we were friends before and we still are now”

“Why is everyone in your life just so wonderful and mature?” your grumbling draws a chuckle. He appreciates that you refer to his friends as wonderful people.

“I mean, my previous girlfriend told me she fell out of love with me on my birthday and then I found out she’d been dating her coworker for two weeks”

“Hmm. Yeah, you totally just evened that out”

“I did my fair share of asshole moves over the years, it’s how life goes. But you grow and hope to become a better person” he pauses “not like your ex. Fuck that guy”

He mirrors your airy laugh and you both finish your early lunch in comfortable silence, the ocean glistening underneath the same sun pleasantly heating up your cheeks.

Eren likes that you’d kiss him over something as trivial as a homemade sandwich, he likes that it doesn’t feel weird either, given that you only really touch each other when his friends are not present. It would be strange to act any differently, it would feel odd and awkward and wrong. It would feel like a relationship.

When the breeze decreases in intensity and it gets too hot to stay at the observatory, he suggests taking off. However, before you hit the road once more, you draw out your phone and ask him if he’d take a picture of you. It’s a funny reminder that you’re still a tourist, renewed amazement dancing in your features every time you turn to look at the scenery. Of course Eren agrees and carefully snaps a few pictures from different angles, so many your smile becomes a giggle and you actually attempt to snatch your phone out of his hand when he refuses to stop.

“Take one with me” you propose unexpectedly “so I can look at it and miss summer once I’m back in Tokyo” and miss you, you mentally correct yourself.

Eren stares at you for a second, brows furrowed. It’s the first time you openly mention your future departure, a detail he’s been familiar with ever since meeting you. Still, hearing it out loud brings the detail to a new level of concreteness. The sudden reality of it tastes bitter on his tongue as he bends down ever so slightly when you complain about feeling too short with his arm around your chest, safely tucking you against his. He keeps it friendly, basks in the warm sound of your giggle when you take the phone from his hand and he has to rest his chin on your head to be included in the picture. He keeps it friendly, even as he wonders if you’d look cute together, perhaps in a shot that captures that tender look in your eyes while his lips press to your temple.

Maybe it’s that specific thought that prompts him to blurt out the question.

“Stop moving”

“But it tickles!”

“If you make me screw this up I’m gonna have to start from scratch!”

Sasha huffs and her breath is warm on your cheek as you inch closer, ring finger under her brow to lift her eye firmly. The gentle way you’re stretching her skin is enough to keep her eyelid smooth, which allows you to apply the eyeliner in short, light strokes from the inner corner to the outer corner of an eye she’s having such a hard time keeping shut. Regardless, the wing looks sharp enough, although you decide to fix both her eyes with just a tiny amount of concealer.

When Sasha casually asked you do her makeup for the evening, you felt equal parts flattered and terrified of failure. You wanted her to feel pretty exactly the way she wanted to, which is why you both spent an embarrassing amount of time going through her belongings and planning the process each step of the way, refusing to accept her bubbly do as you please, I trust you!

She looks beautiful but that’s not really something you’d count as your success. She always is.

“Are we done?” you can tell she’s excited to peer at the final result, which makes you smile.

“Almost. Just missing lipstick”

You pick up the shade she decided on, a nice nude with a pink undertone that goes well with her fair skin.

As you attempt to gently sketch the lip liner around her lips, she giggles again, only keeping still after meeting your glare. Because you’ve been warned that there’d be food involved, you decide on further securing your work of art: after applying lipstick on top of lined and filled lips, you also apply some setting powder over it and then blot her lips with a tissue paper.

“Now you’re ready to win over that new coworker of yours” you grin as you hand her the small mirror she keeps on her desk.

Sasha’s eyes widen.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about”

“Sure you don’t. Tall, blond, smile that could shake the earth…”

“Hey, I never said that!”

“So you do have an idea after all” you grin and promptly dodge the small, heart-shaped pillow she snatches from her bed to throw at you. She then focuses on her reflection for a few seconds, finger nervously twirling one of the loose strands escaping her low bun, eyes anxiously scanning her face from different angles.

“Sash, you look gorgeous” you gently take the mirror from her hands “how about you go get dressed? I’ll clean up here and then we can head out”

She sighs but gives you an appreciative, little smile in turn. Then, her brows knit.

“Wait, what are you going to do with your hair? And what are you going to wear? I didn’t see you bring anything”

“I mean, I already did my makeup. I wasn’t planning on changing anything else, I’m ready to go”

“Are you shitting me?”

The horrified look on her face suggests that perhaps the casual floral dress you have on wouldn’t be too appropriate for the star festival she’s been gushing over for two weeks.

You awkwardly shift your weight from one foot to the other.

“I didn’t really bring anything fancy” you’re mortified. How could you not think of checking a store or two? This night is clearly a bigger deal that you had anticipated.

With a huff, Sasha gets up from her desk chair and starts a frantic search in the depths of her gigantic (and quite overflowing) closet. Dresses, tops and skirts are violently snatched from their hangers and drop to the floor in colorful puddles until she finally finds whatever it is she’s looking for.

“Sasha, I really can’t” your lips are parted in surprise, mesmerized by the sheer beauty of the yukata she’s holding.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I won’t let you walk out in that”

“It’s too much, really, you should wear it!”

“I already have mine and it’s prettier” her grin is void of any actual malice “can I help you put it on?”

You swallow, so flattered that she trusts you enough to lend something so beautiful and certainly important to her. There’s a silly feeling squeezing your stomach and threatening to bring tears to your eyes, a gesture so simple that makes you feel not just welcome but accepted in a way that doesn’t feel temporary anymore.

Sasha comes closer, whatever emotion has your mind feeling all over the place must be clearly noticeable from the outside because she puts a hand on your shoulder with the softest smile, squeezing gently.  

“This is not the time to get emotional, we’ll get there but not tonight. C’mon, let me” she holds the yukata up and wiggles her brows, succeeding in drawing a giggle.

“Sorry. Yeah, okay, let’s do it”

You get undressed and like the expert she clearly is, Sasha waits for you to slip your arms into the sleeves before adjusting the hemline to cover your ankles while aligning the center back seam with your backbone. She brings the right-side overlap to the hip bone on the other side, then layers the left-side one over the former. A waist cord is tied around you right above the waistline, from the front to the back, crossed and then brought back to the front to be secured. Sasha makes sure to tuck away the loose ends between the wrapped cord and places he extra-folded overlap over it.

She checks you all around and hums, satisfied. The obi is white, it matches the beautiful flowers, leaves and branches ramifying across the baby blue fabric of the traditional piece of clothing. Sasha wraps the obi around your waist from the back to the front, layers it neatly to ensure that it will not become loose. She then carefully straightens it and places its end on the back. After some holding, pinching, wrapping and tucking, you can feel what you have no doubt is a perfect bow pressing into your back.

“Done!” she doesn’t give you the time to say a word, impatiently pushing you towards the full length mirror glued to one of her closer doors.

It’s… well, something. You have never worn an actual, traditional yukata before, the ones you own are pretty cheap and the fabric is nowhere as high in quality as the one you can feel against your skin now. Soft, airy, comfortable, you can’t help but smile and think it kinda suits you.

“I didn’t think I could pull off something so gorgeous” you check yourself from different angles, admiring the result of Sasha’s skilled ministrations. Her reflection smiles back at you.

“You’re stunning. Eren is going to flip out”

Your heart jumps in your throat at the mention of his name.

“He’s not” you chuckle nervously “he’s used to me by now”

Sasha giggles.

“Please, you don’t know how he gets with this stuff. He loves this festival more than any of us, seeing you dressed in traditional clothing, in his favorite color, will make him flip out”

“I’m not wearing it because I want him to flip out” you protest, sudden panic bubbling in your chest. His favorite color? Is that why she…?

“My god, you’re weird” Sasha cocks her head, seeming genuinely confused “let me fix your hair and then I’ll get dressed, we’re already late”

She could’ve told you so much more. That she finds it interesting and exhaustingly stubborn, that you wouldn’t like the man you’re dating to be all over you. She knows dating is not exactly what you two have been doing but Sasha also knows her friend well enough to guess when he’s falling for someone and boy, has he fallen for you. She could’ve told you that he’s spent two weeks going over the fact that he’d invited you to the festival multiple times, wrecking his mind (and theirs) with a vortex of thoughts inevitably spiraling out of his usually solid control.

I don’t know what came over me.

She’s gonna think it’s weird, isn’t she?

What if she hates it?

And when Connie flicked his forehead, urged him to get a fucking grip and reminded him that friends can hang out and go to festivals and enjoy some time together even outside of the disgusting sex dungeon he insists on calling home, Eren sighed and deflated in his seat, something about his features being so heartbreakingly conflicted even Jean didn’t feel like cracking any other jokes.

Sasha knows this night holds a special meaning to him, the festival he’s loved so dearly ever since he was a child, when he got to experience it hand in hand with his parents. The festival they always attended together, when their group was still far from falling apart and no one dreamed of leaving the island yet. The special occasion that rarely ever included girls or general outsiders, the one night he jealously kept to himself, his friends and his family.

Not all of them share his devotion for the star festival, Connie notoriously taking advantage of the sparkling setting to hit on every pretty girl within a 3-foot radius, but they understand it. The fact that he wants you there means more than what you can imagine and the whole thing would fill Sasha with joyful relief if it wasn’t for the fact that you are going to leave in less than two months and she knows the ashes they’re going to be left picking up are going to weigh heavy in their hands.

But she’s not mad at you because how could she be when you make her friend happy and he clearly makes you happy too? Eren’s not the only one who’s gonna get burned, the real tragedy is that you’re both still too blind to acknowledge it.

You head out shortly after, in the extra geta sandals Sasha has insisted on lending you. No one is there to pick you up but she lives fairly close to downtown, where you’ll meet the rest of the group.

“They’re usually easy to find, probably going to be glued to a yakitori stand” she’d said, making you smile. Sasha looks nothing less than dashing in her handmade crimson yukata and golden obi, you genuinely think that Niccolo guy would be an idiot not to shoot his shot the moment he sees her.

You come to learn that what you’re attending is the island’s own version of the tanabata festival, the only night deities Orihime and Hikoboshi are allowed to meet despite the milky way separating them. Back in Tokyo you and your friends would write wishes on small pieces of paper and hang them on trees. However, tonight people will entrust theirs to floating paper ships released into the ocean.

The celebrations had started in the afternoon so you have missed the parade but you’re well in time to enjoy everything else: the streets you have come to know by now, are filled with a crowd you couldn’t believe would fit in a space rendered narrower by dozens of colorful food stands and amusement booths. The air is fragrant, different smells mixing interestingly well together as vendors shout over each other to attract clients and tourists. Some of them wave back at Sasha and offer free samples for her to test out. You return their bows with a smile and then trot away with your friend to resist the temptation to pause at every single stand and get one of everything. At some point, she does stop to get a seafood okonomiyaki but you’re still trying to decide between a portion of takoyaki and some good ol’ yakisoba when Sasha lets out a squeal and excitedly waves at someone standing a few booths away.

You turn around just as the guys approach her, all smiles and giddy greetings. They look better than expected in their yukatas, the most eclectic one being Connie who is sporting a pattern of turquoise waves on a white background and a headband decorated with the rising sun motif and the kanji for “number one”.

As you take a tentative step forward, Sasha moves sideways just enough for you to unexpectedly meet Eren’s gaze, which has been focused on you from the very first squeal his friend let out. And yet, he finds himself so pathetically unprepared for the sight, for how rapidly his heartbeat increases in pace. He doesn’t even attempt to hide the wonder in his eyes as he smiles down at you and that unfiltered, pure astonishment in his gaze is more than enough for your pulse to spike. You’ve lost count of the oh nos at this point.

He opens his mouth to say something but Connie’s admired whistle comes faster.

“Yo, you look hot as shit!”

The spell doesn’t break even if you all melt in chuckles and you thank him with an exaggerated bow. Sasha clears her throat and takes him by the arm, Jean’s friendly thumbs up and the flash of Armin’s sweet smile the last things you see before the group starts moving forward and towards another stand.

“What he said” Eren’s voice comes out different, there’s no sign of his usual confidence and you can sense some weird nervousness laced into it. It makes you want to take his hand.

“You look really good yourself” you say, although good is a heavily simplistic way to depict what you’re actually looking at. The indigo yukata compliments his tan skin and further enhances (something you could not deem possible) the color of his eyes. It’s slightly open on the front, to reveal his smooth chest, and the hair he’s tied back leaves you no chance of escaping that intense stare of his. He’s perfect.

As Eren motions to the rest of the group with a graceful gesture of his hand and you walk side by side, you think you hear him mutter something very similar to a “not even close” under his breath.

“So” his eyes are back on you the second you speak “what should we eat?”

“Ah, you have to try Ryo’s takoyaki, he has a special recipe for his mayo” Eren smiles and, without a second thought, grabs your hand to drag you away from the stall where Jean and Armin are buying a grilled squid each.

“Wait, they’re still—”

“They’ll find us”

And just like that, the warmth of his fingers and the broadness of his back are the only things you can focus on as he guides you through the bustling crowd.

He introduces you to yet another acquaintance of his, Ryo smiling fondly at him and insisting for five entire minutes on the takoyaki being on the house. Eren scoffs at your attempt at paying, genuinely offended, and after a heated argument Ryo eventually gives in and accepts his money. However, he winks at you as he hands you your portion.

“I added two extra ones, don’t tell him” he whispers and you share a chuckle.

Shortly after, Eren laughs at your wide eyed stare as soon as you swallow the first bite.

“What the hell is this?” you mutter, shocked “why is everything just so much better here?”

A softer smile lingers on his lips as he watches you gush over a food he’s eaten a thousand times, bite after bite an endless stream of exclamations voicing marvel he finds adorable. When Eren stops in his tracks and you turn around, confused, he almost takes your face in his hands and kisses you right then and there, for everyone to witness. Instead, he carefully swipes his thumb across your bottom lip as an excuse to collect some mayo from the corner of your mouth and then brings that same thumb to his mouth, successfully erasing any thought from your mind and melting every bone in your body.

“Maybe you should stay, then”

He’s serious, so serious your breath hitches in your throat. Especially because your first instinct is to reply with a yeah, maybe I should you definitely can’t afford to pronounce out loud.

He keeps you locked in place with a stare that leaves you no place to hide, the pads of your fingers tingling with need. You want to kiss him, you want to stay. He wants you to. He’s waiting for you to say something.

Why?

Ask me to.

Tell me why.

Convince me.

I can’t.

But do I want to?

“Or, I could take Ryo to Tokyo with me” you swallow the ashes in your throat and attempt a smile. He purses his lips and it sucks that you can discern the disappointment flashing in his eyes. Just for a second, then it’s gone, pushed away, and Eren brings back his handsome smirk.

“I’m sure he’d love that”

He wasn’t planning on half-asking you to stay, not right now, not like that. He didn’t even realize he’s hoping for you to stay in the first place. What the hell, who does that? What is he doing, where are his friends?

You don’t understand why, or perhaps you do and choose to ignore rational explanations for the time being, but you take a step forward and gently give in to the urge of taking his hand. It’s big, rough but warm in yours.

“Is this weird?” the question is so soft he can barely hear it and yet his heart seems to miss a beat, perhaps even two.

“No” he carefully slides his fingers in between yours and takes a moment to get accustomed to the sensation only to discover that he doesn’t need it “it’s not weird”

“Good” you smile “show me around some more?”

It’s unbelievable, the amount of people Eren knows and stops to say hello to along the way. Nearly every vendor, almost every booth, he makes sure to at least wave and if someone holds him a little longer, he squeezes your hand as he asks them about their families, sons, business. You recognize some of the tourists eager to have a word with him too, lots of them part of the groups he teaches to. Most of your mornings are not spent watching his lessons anymore: you’re too busy either putting into practice his teachings firsthand, or hanging out at the cafe with Sasha. If Armin and Jean show up too, you quite literally drag them into the water because you’re eager to showcase everything you’ve learned so far. When he’s done, Eren always comes looking for you anyway.

Once he’s made sure you’ve tasted a little bit of everything, your taste buds jazzed and your stomach a second away from exploding, you decide it’s time for dessert. Your treat.

“But you don’t know what I’d like?” he teases, mischievous glint in his eyes.

You roll your eyes.

“I’m gonna take a guess. Wait here and don’t peek”

“Yes, ma’am” he stands up straight and salutes like a soldier.

You wander away but not before sending him one last glance from over your shoulder. It makes you laugh that he’s still standing in the same way, silly, boyish grin mirroring yours.

Apples covered in sugar syrup are a no, way too sweet, and you skip the colorful clouds of the cotton candy booth for the same reason. You just know Connie is going to make an inappropriate joke if you get chocolate covered bananas on a stick so you opt for two portions of kakigori, shaved ice flavored with condensed milk and syrup. The consistency is smoother, fluffier in comparison to the ones you’ve eaten in Tokyo throughout the years and endless other summer festivals, this one almost feels like fresh fallen snow. You pick strawberry as your flavor and pineapple as his, kindly asking the friendly woman working at the stall to reduce the amount of syrup of his cup.

You can feel the yukata sticking to your back as you swiftly return to where he’s waiting for you, the dessert you have picked the perfect weapon against the humid air of the evening.

“Hey” you greet “saw you standing here on your own and thought, wow, that guy’s cute. Maybe he’d give me a chance if I bribe him with food” as you hand him the colorful cup, your fingers graze his. It’s disgusting that you think you’d like to bottle up that airy laugh and keep it close, listen to it whenever you feel lonely. It’s probably one of the things you’re going to miss the most.

“Good strategy, I’m sold” even his fake wink is attractive “you look like a tourist, how’s the vacation going?” he plays along with a silliness that makes you smile as you shrug.

“Not too bad, the locals are very friendly”

“And yet no one’s had the heart to tell you that strawberry kakigori tastes like shit”

You lightly stomp on his foot, brows furrowed in a frown he finds comical and way too realistic.

“Just changed my mind, I don’t want that chance”

He displays a sorrowful grimace as he brings one hand to his chest, the fatal wound given by your sharp words almost making him curl in on himself.

“But baby” he coos, bringing that same hand to cradle your cheek, thumb delicately skimming over your cold lips “who said I was going to give you one?”

He’s already laughing when you swat his hand away, an asshole muttered under your breath even if you can’t bite back your own smile, heart pounding with the same frenzy of a hummingbird. Eren’s only ever called you that while in compromising positions and the pet name never failed to prompt immediate reactions from your body but now he’s just kidding, in the middle of the street, among a hundred other humans passing by. He makes it sound every bit as devastatingly alluring as he always does, you suppose it’s a problem that you’d like to hear him call you that again right away.

“Eren!” a voice you don’t recognize snaps you back to reality and away from your embarrassing fantasies. There’s a pretty brunette next to him, hugging him actually, hands lingering on his chest even after she pulls back. He politely says hello, takes a step back but she follows the movement, with no intention of interrupting the skin to skin contact.

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you all night, Sasha said you’d be around” she has gorgeous gray eyes and the purple yukata looks amazing on her.

“Yeah, m’just taking a stroll” his eyes dart to you but it doesn’t seem like he intends to introduce you at any point. You take a step back for good measure.

“Wanna join us? Porco’s here too!”

He smiles.

“Really? I’ll come say hi in a second”

She juts her bottom lip out.

“Don’t be long. I thought you’d at least call me, especially after last night. You know I miss you”

Perhaps he had a point when he said that strawberry kakigori tastes like shit because right not it feels like concrete in your mouth. You know you don’t have any right to be upset, he’s not your boyfriend and by no means you expected your little arrangement to be exclusive. But even that’s not enough of a reason to stay any longer and hear the continuation of a conversation you’re not meant to be a part of.

So you excuse yourself with a smile, her gray eyes acknowledging you for the first time and for no longer than a second, Eren’s hand almost snapping to grab your wrist to prevent you from leaving. But you’re quick and also stupid enough to give him a thumbs up from behind her back before swiftly turning around and letting go of the breath that had your lungs burning. Thank god you spot Sasha and everyone else not too far away, they’re all positioned in a semicircle around Jean and Connie.

“Isn’t this game supposed to be for kids?” you whisper to Sasha and she giggles.

“Yes but they insist on trying every year. They never win anyway”

The game consists in scooping goldfish with a small paper racket that torns almost right away when contacted with water.

“Son of a…” Connie grunts when a child next to him succeeds in catching not one but two fishes among the applause of everyone gathered around the booth to watch. His mom glares at him and you chuckle.

“Can I try?” you chime in and Connie is happy to switch places, scowl so deep you can barely bite back a laugh.

“We need a new strategy” Jean whispers angrily.

“Maybe you shouldn’t swirl the racket like that” you smile and accept the new one the booth owner lends you.

He huffs but stops his ministrations to focus on your movements, the fact that he’s damn near holding his breath is hilarious but you can’t afford any distractions: there’s a mission to accomplish.

It takes more than a few attempts and you can feel the warmth radiating from Connie’s chest practically pressed against your back in restless anticipation. When you catch one fish at last, there’s another applause drowned in his howling: you barely have the time to let the fish slip into the plastic bag filled with water the booth owner is offering before Connie’s arms close around you in a hug that lifts you off the ground.

“Beginner’s luck” Jean is not as happy: it’s quite clear who’s going to own the fish you captured.

You lift your cup with an apologetic smile.

“Want some?” there’s another spoon planted in the soft ice, he may as well be the one to use it.

“Strawberry?” he asks with a grin, accepting your offer nonetheless “we haven’t taught you enough”

“She’s going to tell all her friends we’re such snobs” Armin sighs and you chuckle.

“Ohmygod we should go try the target shooting booth! Like, right now” Sasha tugs at your sleeve and Jean catches your cup right as you lose your grip on it.

“Wait a second—”

“Please, can we go?”

“I guess we’re going target shooting” Armin concedes and Jean shrugs, now the happy owner of a dessert he didn’t have to pay for as Connie gushes over his new pet.

“What should we call them?” he asks as your little group moves towards yet another crowded stall. You turn around, Sasha still quite literally dragging you.

“Mmmh, what about Floater?”

“I think Miso would be cute” Armin chimes in but Connie snorts.

“I like Sea Beast. Yeah, that’s the one”

You all erupt in laughter, Jean knowingly putting an arm around his shoulders.

“Man, I have a feeling you’re never gonna get laid again”

“Joke’s on you, women are gonna find me adorable as shit. Right?” he raises his voice on the last word and both you and Sasha look at each other, amused.

“I guess” she concedes.

“Yeah, that’s gonna be a killer icebreaker” you agree.

Armin huffs.

“Just don’t ask women if they’d like to come over to meet your sea beast”

Horrified, Connie’s mouth hangs open as he stares at his friend like he’s grown a second head while the rest of you just contain another fit of laughter, Jean almost choking on his kakigori.

As soon as you find a small opening to stand in line by the shateki stall, you understand why Sasha was so eager to try target shooting all of a sudden. Niccolo is there with his friends, waiting for his turn, and as soon as he spots her his eyes just light up. You gently untangle her fingers from your sleeve and give her a little push as encouragement. 

“Where’s Eren?” Armin stands in line next to you, Connie and Jean excitedly having a chat with other acquaintances of theirs just behind.

“He met a friend, I wanted to leave them some space” your tone is neutral but he furrows his brows.

“A friend? Who?”

“Some girl” you casually take a look around but you’re still unable to discern the prizes lined up on the shelves. Someone’s just lost if the disappointed groans coming from the front of the queue are an indicator.

“Ah” Armin clears his throat “well, are you having fun?”

A grateful smile tugs at your lips, relief settling over you like a soft blanket. He is the most considerate person you’ve ever met. How did this group of extraordinary people got lucky enough to find each other? You can’t help but think it’s a little unfair. It’s more than luck, maybe it’s destiny for them. Another pang of jealousy sticks in your stomach like an invisible needle.

“I’m never going to forget it. Not just this night, the whole…” you stop, because it feels so unfairly minimizing to address the whole thing as just a holiday.

“Vacation?” he’s gentle with the word, makes it sound way less depressing than what you would have. You acknowledge his reply with a little nod.

“You know…” he trails off “you could stay”

Just like that. You could stay. And it sounds so real, so doable, it breaks your heart.

“I really can’t” you murmur, head hanging low to hide the embarrassing teary eyes. You hadn’t anticipated to feel so at home among strangers who welcomed you in a heartbeat, kind and unpretentious and affectionate in a way you’ve never experienced. Saying goodbye it’s probably going to be one of the hardest things you’ll ever have to do.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you” Armin gently grazes your shoulder and you just have to smile. You trust him enough to know he’s not going to mock the wetness of your eyes.

“No, don’t apologize. I guess I’m just going to miss you all”

“We really are the most unplanned part of the entire holiday, aren’t we?” he smiles too.

“Yeah, thank god you are”

Armin melts in a sweet laugh but doesn’t have the chance to say anything because suddenly, Connie’s arms are enveloping the both of you, squeezing so hard you let out a playful groan.

“Why’s he the only one who gets to hear it? I wanna hear you say how devastated you are about leaving us, too!”

“Connie!” Armin attempts to turn around, probably to flick his forehead, but he only laughs harder and, despite yourself, you do too.

“I’m devastated and I’ll miss you a lot!”

He squeezes even harder, Armin cursing under his breath.

“We’ll miss you too” and yet, Connie’s voice is gentle to the ear, in sharp contrast with the suffocating embrace he’s holding you in. If you had any space to move around, you’d squeeze him too.

When you finally manage to get to the front of the line and it’s your turn to pick up the popgun, Sasha is still deep in conversation with Niccolo and you seem to be suddenly presented with a fun way to simmer some of the frustration still boiling in your core. Perfect.

You’re quicker than Armin and casually snatch the little pot of cork from the man owning the stall. There isn’t a specific prize you’re after, although the Squirtle plushie looks quite appealing.

You quickly learn that your aim sucks and Connie’s snickering from behind you at every missed shot is not helping. You appreciate Sasha interrupting her relentless flirting to cheer you on, though. That is until something warm and solid and oddly familiar presses against your back, bigger hands enveloping yours right after you push another cork into the barrel.

“You have to get the barrel closer to the target” of course his breath is hot on your neck, cheek grazing the shell of your ear as he corrects the position of your arms.

You huff but maintain your composure.

“What are we aiming at?” he whispers and this time you know it’s deliberate, the way his lips brush against your skin. He’s such a…

“Squirtle” you challenge and Eren hums, certainly not one to shy away from a challenge.

And sure enough, after knocking over a packet of chewing gum and a rubik’s cube, with a well placed shot you actually manage to bring down your target. It’s infuriating.

He grins as he hands you your prize and you roll your eyes.

“Please know I find it extremely annoying, how good you are at everything”

“You’ve never seen him play soccer” Jean’s grumbling is a welcome distraction from Eren’s eyes boring into yours but it doesn’t last long enough, thanks to Armin who drags him away and towards another food booth. How they even have any space left for more food, is beyond your understanding.

“Took me some time to find you guys, it always gets more crowded ahead of the show” Eren briefly glances at Sasha and flashes her a smile before redirecting his attention to you.

“I catched a goldfish for Connie” you internally cringe at your pathetic attempt at changing the topic. But Eren smiles, genuinely incredulous.

“Are you kidding? He finally gets to have one?”

You shrug, mirroring his smile.

“Fuck, can’t believe I missed that”

“Can’t believe you missed that either!” Sasha’s sour reproach chimes in even if she’s standing a few steps back. You mentally thank her but Eren’s glare meets no further comments.

“Hey, listen…” he clears his throat but is soon interrupted. You turn around and then peer downward when you feel something, or someone, pulling at your yukata. A young boy holding what you can only guess is his mom’s hand stares right back at you, expression as stoic as it can be.

“Excuse me, miss” you have to bite back a chuckle as he bows “that’s my favorite pokemon, my brother tried to get it for me but couldn’t. I was wondering, if it’s not your favorite, can I have it?”

Your eyes flicker to his mom, who seems a little uncomfortable and directs you an awkward smile.

“I told him he could ask but there’s really no need…”

“What’s your name?”, you return her smile but look down at his serious little face again.

“Hiro, miss”

“Of course you can have him, Hiro” you hand him the plushie and the biggest smile splits across his face as he holds it flush against his chest “my favorite’s Lapras. Water types are just the best, aren’t they?”

“Lapras is cool” Hiro condescends “but Squirtle is cooler!”

You all laugh, his mom erupting in several thanks and him turning around to wave at you before disappearing among the crowd. It makes you a little bitter not to have a little memento from such a special evening but it only lasts a second. It’s nice to know that Squirtle is going to end up in a loving home.

“It’s almost time, we need to head to the beach!” Sasha’s excited chirp has you turning around once more, Eren’s warm smile stays in your peripheral vision as you meet her gaze.

“Time for what?” you ask, tilting your head to the side slightly.

“The firework show!” Niccolo worms his way into the conversation and flashes you a thrilled grin.

“Let’s go!” Armin and Connie, standing a little farther, signal for your little group to hurry.

“I’ll catch up” you feel Eren’s warm hand press onto your back, giving you a gentle push. You deem unnecessary to investigate further, maybe he wants to go look for the girl he couldn’t dedicate the necessary attention to and invite her to watch the show with him. Who are you to intrude, or worse, wonder? You give him a quick nod and catch up with Armin and Connie, Sasha and her new companion right behind as you all head to the beach. You think it’s sweet that Niccolo has decided to ditch his group to tag along with her and you genuinely hope that whatever may be blossoming between the two, ends up working out. She deserves it.

As expected, the beach is packed with people sitting on colorful towels or standing, some bent over little wooden tables or balancing small pieces of paper against their friends’ backs to write down wishes that will soon be entrusted to the sea. You all take turns to write yours and when Jean hands you the thin piece of paper, it takes a few seconds to wrap your mind around what you feel like asking for.

A path, maybe. Something to follow to get wherever it is you’re supposed to be going. Or maybe the strength to leave, not to close yourself off to the world again. Happiness for your new found friends, because they deserve every ounce of the genuine affection they so naturally spread around. Health for your parents. There’s a new found feeling pounding alongside your heart, you want to visit them soon and let them know that you miss them and that you’re so sorry for not having been able to see them more. You want to share that you’re going to look for a new job and that hopefully you’ll be okay soon. Hell, you even want to tell them about this entire holiday. Sit on the familiar, faded tatami floor, share a cup of caramelized almonds and just let it all out. Would they even believe you can more or less surf now? Ah, you wish they could’ve met everyone. You wish they could’ve met Eren.

He comes shortly after you’re all settled on the towels people are dispensing on the beach, you’re left pretty much alone as everyone else is sitting next to whoever they’re busy talking to. Armin has run into a pretty blonde girl on the way to the beach, they seemed to know each other so for the second time in one evening you took a few steps back and gave them some space, made sure they could sit next to each other. Sasha and Niccolo are sandwiched together between Jean and Connie, the former is speaking on the phone with his lips curled into the biggest smile while his friend is seemingly socializing with a girl you don’t know, part of a bigger group that also seems keen to have a chat with a few strangers. The general atmosphere is so warm and, all things considered, the night has been so enjoyable, you don’t find it in yourself to be frustrated or disappointed anymore.

Eren doesn’t have anyone with him as he plops down next to you with a telltale grin.

“What?” you ask, tossing him a smile back.

“Nothing. Just lookin’ at you” he shrugs and you don’t buy it for one second but play along, gently nudging his shoulder with yours.

“Yeah, that happens a lot” for a second you don’t believe he’s going to remember the silly exchange that took place on the late afternoon of your first surfing lesson, so many days ago. The way his smile grows, tells you otherwise.

“People lookin’ at you?”

“You looking at me”

“Ah” lips pursed, he nods as if to indicate an obvious, given fact “might be because you’re beautiful”

“Ahh…” you mock, a weak attempt at dissimulating your self-consciousness “you fell prey of the charming tourist!”

He nudges your shoulder with his this time, tongue in cheek.

“Guess I really did”

Your chuckles melt into one another and you realize it’s probably never going to be possible to associate the rolling of waves and the salt in the breeze that soothes your feverish skin to anything else but him.

There’s a bunch of people by the shore, bent down to fill shells with small pellets while the latecomers frantically attempt to scribble down their wishes to send off the last remaining paper ships.

“Nothing happened with her” Eren stares at his friends as he speaks, quieter and attentive with his choice of words “we ran into each other and shared a beer, that’s all”

A beat passes, one where it’s hard not to acknowledge the absurd, unjustified relief washing over you.

“It’s none of my business” you’re not looking at him either, in fact your head is turned the opposite way, eyes focused on the little paper ships being slowly released into the dark ocean waters.

“It’s not” he affirms “but I wanted you to know”

So considerate and way too respectful of a person that’s supposed to be nothing more than an easily accessible reliever. It does something funny to your stomach.

“I think she likes you” why are you insisting? You shouldn’t care at all, it’s not your life and it’s not your place. You’re just a comma in the story.

“Too bad” Eren clicks his tongue and wishes you wouldn’t be avoiding his gaze, maybe then you’d recognize something within it without him needing to say the word.

As the paper ships continue to sail, a pin-drop feeling of despair suddenly washes over him at the thought of the material easily dissolving into the water, hundreds of wishes being swallowed and erased so easily. And still, in some distorted way, they’ll keep existing. Is that what he’s going to become for you, is that what he is? Just some paper figure that will lose consistency as soon as you step on that plane? Yeah, it’s exactly what he is and he was fine with it. Until each day spent with you has given him the feeling of wanting to be more than a fleeting detail in your summer, more than a cute story you’re gonna recall with friends and lovers once you’re back to a life he doesn’t belong to.

Will they recognize the crease you get between your eyebrows whenever you frown, deep in thoughts you never share? Do they know how you like your coffee, have they ever witnessed the charming inclination of your flirting? Are they already familiar with your witty comebacks and the way you laugh at jokes you don’t find funny just so that the other person doesn’t feel bad?

Did they ever have to bite back amused grins each time you tried to contain and swallow your annoyance only to fail miserably and explode in the face of clients who were being rude to Sasha? It was only a matter of time before you decided to help her on the mornings she was short on staff, until Niccolo showed up and made it easier. And yet you still feel the same responsibility to look after her, the same way you do for everyone else.

When Jean mentioned having forgotten to get a refill of surfboard wax, you casually made a stop to the store on your way to the beach and threw the small box at him. If Connie laments the lack of inspiration for his sketches, certain he won’t be able to get the job done before the deadline the publishing house has given him, you have entire sessions in which you both sit down and exchange ideas for charactes and stories and concepts for plots inspired by your beloved books. When him and Armin are done with surfing lessons or tired enough to simply catch a break from riding waves, most times you’ll materialize by the shore with two glasses of frozen lemonade and a knowing grin.

Why shouldn’t he get to keep you? Why don’t you want to keep him, your affection apparently solid enough to take his hand but not to stay? Is his fate really to melt away and be shoved in a far corner of your mind as nothing more than a fun summer fling?

“I couldn’t find another plushie” he clears his throat a little and when you finally look at him again, suddenly everything feels right “but you probably wanted something to remember this night by, so” the small keychain dangles from his pointer finger, even in the dark you’re able to discern the small silhouette. It’s Lapras.

Your lips part in surprise as you carefully hook one finger in the metal ring to slide the keychain out of his grasp.

“I know it’s flat and everything but I couldn’t find anything better. If only someone didn’t feel like giving up the plushie I worked so hard to knock down…” the teasing is good-natured and it draws an incredulous smile as your fist closes around the silly gift.

The firework show starts right as you meet his playful gaze, dozens of shells launched simultaneously in a cascade of shimmering yellows, greens and reds all reflecting in starry eyes that get to be so bright despite the darkness. The hand that’s not squeezing the keychain hard enough for the metal to painfully dig into your palm fists the towel you’re sitting on, it’s too close to the edge and you can feel little grains of sand making their way underneath your nails. Eren inches closer the same as you do, any other noise fades in the background when all you can hear is the loud thumping of your heart in your chest and all you can feel is the warmth of his breath on your lips as your noses are close enough to touch. Even when out of focus, he’s beautiful enough to take your breath away.

There’s hesitation, a thick tension coating the bubble enveloping the two of you and the small space left between what’s been and what’s about to change everything. He swallows, barely forcing himself to wait, to let you have control for once. But right as an invisible wire snaps and he gives in to gravity, closing whatever is left of the ridiculous distance between your bodies, someone plops down heavily next to you and you jump, lips grazing his chin as you turn with wide eyes. Eren exhales deeply, shutting his for a second.

“Can’t enjoy shit with Connie’s loud babbling” Jean pauses for a second, examining both your faces “did I interrupt something?” cautiously, his eyes dart from the shy look on your face to the way his friend’s glaring daggers at him.

“No” you’re quick to say “also, let him have his moment. You’ve been blushing on the phone for half an hour”

He opens his mouth in an outraged frown but is cut off by Eren’s chuckle.

“How’s Mikasa?” his arm reaches from around your shoulders to poke at his cheek with a harsh finger. Jean swats his hand away, cheeks dusted in pink.

“Shut up” he grumbles and makes a show of turning his attention back to the fireworks once more. With a giggle, you brush your hands off of the sand sticking to your sweaty palms, keychain secured in your lap. Eren doesn’t remove his arm from your shoulders, the weight of it equal parts foreign and comforting. You could easily get used to it, that’s what you think as you lean into him and let your head rest on his shoulder.

When you stumble back into his house late that night, sandals clumsily kicked off at the door, you collapse onto his couch right away. Your legs ache and your limbs feel heavy but the giddiness still hasn’t worn off and happiness is still stubbornly vibrating in your chest as you free your hair from the tight bun Sasha has forced it into. Eren sits next to you with a light groan, his feet hurt and he’s tired but it’s certainly not enough of a reason to refrain from pulling your legs up to rest on his lap, the gesture met with your weary giggle.

“Did you have a good time?” he asks, head tilted back and half-lidded eyes focused on your smile.

“The best time” you think of the little keychain resting in the front pocket of your bag and smile a little more.

Eren hums, fingers lazily massaging your ankles as his gaze flickers to the ceiling. He wasn’t planning on asking you to come over, his kitchen’s a mess and bedroom’s even worse. But right as you were parting ways and hugging his friends—now your friends too—goodbye, he just found himself blurting the question out. And although you’ll most probably find it hard to believe, it’s not even the sex he’s after. He just wanted the time spent together to stretch a little longer, when’s he ever going to have the chance to look at you dressed like that again after all?

“M’gonna fall asleep here if you don’t stop that” with an airy giggle, you faintly kick one of his hands away from your ankle. Eyes back on you, his lips curl into a tentative smile.

“What if you actually do?”

You tilt your head against the couch pillows.

“Pass out on your couch?”

Eren huffs, lightly pinching your ankle.

“Sleep here”

“How do you still have enough energy left?” you mutter to yourself and carefully remove your legs from his lap, escaping his warm touch. With a yawn barely hidden behind your palm, you tiredly motion towards his bedroom “fine, but I hope you know you’re gonna have to do all the work”

He snorts out a light laugh.

“I meant sleep, sleep”

You stay still for a second, then furrow your brows.

“So you don’t… desire me?”

Eren’s face changes instantly, dropping in quiet shock.

“What? No, I mean yes, I didn’t mean…” you cut him off with a hearty laugh, thoroughly enjoying the tender blush that blossoms across his cheeks. It’s his turn to frown and you can barely catch the small pillow he throws at you, a worn out idiot muttered angrily that only has you laughing harder.

“Fine” it’s surprising how natural it feels to accept and trespass a limit you’ve always been so careful to set for your own sake “but all my clothes are at Sasha’s”

“Just wear one of my shirts” he grumbles as he gets up from the couch and you follow suit, giggling when he shoots you another glare. Even if still feigning annoyance, he grumpily apologizes for the mess as he digs into his closet and picks up a clean shirt for you. You recognize it as he hands it, it’s one of the ones he throws on at the beach, usually when taking breaks at the cafe in between lessons.

“I’ll leave you to it” he clears his throat but then suddenly stops, one foot outisde the room and hand resting on the door knob “would you want me to sleep on the couch?”

Confused, you return a perplexed look.

“Why would I want that?”

Eren lightly scratches the back of his neck, not really sure how to word something you probably wouldn’t even guess he’s been paying attention to. You’ve never stayed, you have never spent an entire night in his bed. He never got to wake up next to you and has no idea if you’re a kicker or a bed hogger but that isn’t to say he hasn’t been dying to find out.

He doesn’t know how to properly say it so he simply resorts to the first true thing that comes to mind.

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable”

“You never make me uncomfortable”

The reply catches him by surprise, not because he finds it hard to believe but because you’re rarely ever this direct, gaze not faltering for a second while locked to his. With a small, almost shy nod, he shuts the door behind him to give you some privacy while you get changed.

He plans on keeping himself busy by tidying up the kitchen, frowning at his morning self who thought it’d be a good idea to leave a plate of unfinished eggs by the sink, leftovers of his breakfast now encrusted to the surface. But before he has the chance to at least attempt to scrape the remnants of what was once a decent portion of sunny side-up eggs, you peek through the door and call for him with a voice so thin Eren barely hears you.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, taking notice of your embarrassment.

“I don’t know how to take it off” you murmur and it takes everything in him not to chuckle. But it appears that you have memorized the meaning of each twitch of his lips, must be why you snort.

“I’ve never worn a traditional one! And I don’t want to ruin it, s’not mine” you grumble, not even giving him the time to acknowledge your fair reasons before disappearing behind the door once again. Eren clears his throat to disguise the little laugh that slips past his lips and prays you haven’t heard it as he makes his way to his bedroom.

You’re sitting on the bed, look at him with those big eyes of yours when he enters the room and for a fleeting moment he selfishly thinks he doesn’t want you to take the yukata off at all. Perhaps part of the night is still clinging to it, maybe taking it off means discarding each new, little moment tying you to him and starting from square one. Because he didn’t make up all those fragments still frozen in time and his memory, did he? His fingers in between yours in public for the first time, that look in your eyes when you took the keychain in your hand, the way he almost, almost got to…

“Hello? Do I have to call Sasha?” you’re standing now, waving a hand in front of his face. Eren blinks, snapping back to reality.

“Turn around” he demands, voice hoarse. You comply, mentally kicking yourself because of how the mere pitch is enough to send a shudder down your spine. It’s all you can think of as his fingers work their way through Sasha’s intricate ribbon, a few curses being muttered for good measure as he fumbles with the fabric, tugging and tugging in hopes of loosening it enough to take the obi off. Your back is pressed to his chest with each pull and it takes a deep exhale to keep yourself from leaning into him the way you’ve been dying to do for the entire night.

He pulls the bow one last time, not without a grunt, and the knot can finally be easily untied. You catch the obi before it falls to the floor and carefully fold it to then place it on Eren’s desk. It’s fine, he’s done, you can take it from here. So why does he keep you in place, hands on your hips a gentle warning to keep still as his arms wrap around you and his chest is finally flush against your back?

His fingers find the tight knot of the cord resting above your waistline and take their sweet time untying it, your heart stuttering erratically against your rib cage. Eren wonders if you can feel his heart on your back, it’s throbbing almost painfully and he swears whatever is left of his chest fucking flutters when you release the tension in your shoulders and melt in the embrace the cord was nothing but a pathetic excuse to initiate.

Yeah, he’s invited you to stay over with no malicious intent but what the hell? The damn thing is coming off, what’s going to be left of the night if he doesn’t seal it on you somehow?

He doesn’t let the yukata slip off your body, instead he accompanies it. Eren takes a second to appreciate the fabric gliding easily from his fingers, so cool, smooth and slick it reminds him of water. You do too. Just like water, a stubborn river or an unstoppable downpour with its persistent dripping, you have drilled yourself into his very being and patiently shaped every corner to make sure it could accomodate you and no one else.

Of course you don’t see the point in staying still: patience wears thin whenever he’s there for you to have. You barely ever allow him to take his time, always so eager to get what you want and him yielding without fail against his better judgement. Look at what you’ve become, just because he’s never been determined enough to teach you any better.

As you spin in his embrace, Eren lets you have it your way for a moment. He lets you take his face in your hands and dips his head to meet you halfway, a whimper already easing from your throat as you command his lips to part with the tip of your tongue. Again, he indulges you, lets you lick into his mouth and clumsily untie his yukata, allows it to unceremoniously pool at your feet. But you attempting to drag him toward the bed with you is where Eren draws the line.

His hands are not smoothing over your hips anymore, they feel everything else as they rise to cup your face. He only allows himself one harmless nip to your bottom lip, nothing but a gentle warning as his hold grows firmer to keep you in place while he finally kisses you the way he’s been dying to for so long. It’s unrushed and deep and he hopes to god the slow swipes of his tongue over yours are sweet because he’s certain he doesn’t want to taste anything else now that he’s tasted you like this.

“Eren…” it’s the only thing you have enough air in your lungs to rasp when he shows enough leniency to let you breathe, pulling back only to nudge the tip of his nose against yours.

“I’m here” he whispers back, head dipping lower to lightly nip at the spot where your pulse taps against your skin so fast it’s almost flattering. The way he lightly sucks at the skin of your neck draws another whine.

The change of pace, those butterfly kisses he slowly drags across your jaw are a novelty so unexpected you have to tighten the grip on his arms, sharp nails digging into the skin of his biceps as you urge him closer and attempt to steady yourself at the same time because you hardly trust your legs at the moment. When you breathe out his name again, mind short-circuiting as your head falls back to grant him more access, he hums comfortingly.

“What is it?” it’s exhilarating how you’re melting like soft butter under his touch and yet he’s the one feeling delirious over a hunger with smoother edges that now accomodates something bigger, something as tender as the sound you let out with a shuddering breath when he gently scoops you up and kisses you again while attentively settling you on his bed. You keep him close, arms around his neck not loosening for a single moment.

“What is it?” Eren asks again in a murmur, big hands resting on each side of your thighs to make sure they remain locked around his waist, abdomen tense to keep his balance on his knees and avoid crushing you.    

You’ve never seen a gaze so intense, you never took it slow enough to count his heavy breaths and notice the painful thumping of your heart nor the unfamiliar wooshing in your ears. Holding eye contact is overwhelming and your stomach clenches at the coldness of one of your legs when one of his hands abandons it, knuckles leaving a scorching trail of pure fire behind them as they gently graze the right side of your face.

He lowers his head but doesn’t kiss you, nose pressed to your cheek in a way that makes it hard for the both of you to breathe, in a way that feels raw and desperate.

“Tell me” he’s so close it feels like he’s whispering the words into your very bones, for a moment you think you can swallow them. The hand he gracefully sneaks between your bodies draws a breathless gasp.

I love you.

Time stops. The thought rings so sharply in your head, you’re convinced you’ve voiced it out loud.

You love him, of course you love him. How could you not?

It’s such a stupid revelation and there’s really no excuse, no plausible reason to justify the tears that sting the corners of your eyes.

I love you.

Eren pulls back to breathe, or perhaps just to look at you. Even if you remain out of focus from such close distance, even in the dim light that bleeds through the door into his dark bedroom, he sees enough. The tip of your nose, your furrowed brows, lips parted and swollen. He’s too busy thinking he wants you exactly like this, all the time, to notice the slight trembling of your body underneath him.

He’s certainly made his point about not being in any rush tonight but still he is waiting for something, it’s evident in those devastating irises piercing yours. You tighten the hold of your arms around his neck, a bitter taste on your tongue as you pull him closer to whisper the wrong thing against his lips.

“I need you”

Against all odds, he deems it enough. He can read all there’s to read in your gaze alone, he feels it in the familiarity of your fingers through his hair and is determined to hear it in all the ways he wants you to chant his name over and over again, in every possible pitch and inflection. He wants it to be a prayer and a revelation.

You already have him, all of him, and you don’t even know. So it’s only fair he makes sure you finally do.

You stir awake and the first things you register are the arm draped over your waist and the soft breath tickling your shoulder. Your body stills, frozen, equal parts terrified of waking him and absolutely scrambled by the rapid succession of resurfacing memories bound to the previous night.

The cautious, minimal turn of your head against the soft pillow results in a hitched breath. He’s so close already and only seems intent on scooting closer, unintelligible humming somehow louder than the thumping of your heart as his hold grows tighter and he nuzzles further into you, nose effectively buried in the crook of your neck, lips pressed to your skin.

You feel dizzy. Mind’s all over the place, unable to pull itself together and make sense of the events that hold the power to potentially disrupt you life, change everything you have so carefully tried to keep together.

Not a single time Eren has been bad at sex, he’s never taken your pleasure for granted nor has he ever chased his without first making sure you were either getting your fair share or felt the determination to focus on him and only him. It just took a couple of encounters to memorize your body, the angles and rhythms and grips and praises and sometimes the harsher words that render you either boneless or a mess whose loudness he never even attempts to swallow.

Eren can be attentive, rougher and impatient on certain days, slower and languid on rainy afternoons, when he gets you ready for him with such care pleasure melts into pure anguish. It’s never enough, you always need more of him and are not even shy enough to hide it anymore, shamelessly asking with an all-consuming force gradually blurring into straight up demanding. That’s when his low chuckle echoes like a melody. He enjoys every second of the reactions that showcase the effect he has on you.

But everything about last night felt different, from the way he kept looking at you to the newfound feeling of his fingers intertwining with yours over your head while the most tender whispers guided you through your high.

He’s done nothing short of worshipping you, featerlight kisses trailing from your ankles to your inner thighs, the slightest touch more than enough for your back to arch, every inch of your body and nerves catching fire as he kept stroking your hair and pressing his lips to your eyelids, all while reassuring you of you good you were being for him, how beautiful you looked, how perfect you felt. It’s a miracle you didn’t end up melting into a puddle underneath him, because that’s where he kept you the entire time, never once allowing your hands to grant him relief or your mouth to do anything else but welcome his. It was just you, nothing else seemed to matter in his entire universe and Eren didn’t so much as catch his breath until you were reduced to a babbling, limp mess that couldn’t even think about how to spell his name correctly.

And then he’s kept you close, pulled you into his chest as if scared you were going to slip away like the sand you probably brought inside the house with those sandals anyway. He’s kissed your forehead, the apples of your cheeks, all while the pads of his fingers were busy drawing lazy, airy figures along the curve of your spine, the very last sensation you remember before falling asleep in an embrace so warm and protective.

He’s made love to you. What’s more, he’s made love to you like nobody else ever has and now there’s no further ignoring it. God knows if you’ll have the strength to walk away from it at all.

“Hi” you wince when his sleepy drawl vibrates against your skin, lips sealing the simple greeting right below your ear. It’s the first time you wake up next to him, the thought is enough to have the rate of your heartbeat spike.

“Hi” you whisper back. His hand traces a smooth pattern along your side, up and down, then it settles right where your ribs reside, thumb grazing the skin gently and feeling the little valleys in between the cartilage.

“How are you feelin’?” he’s still not raising his head, position either too comfortable or simply ideal to give you some extra time to adjust to… everything.

“Good” you murmur but Eren senses your discomfort and can feel the stiffness of your body. So he withdraws his arm and scoots away, retreating to his side and placing his head back on his pillow instead of using you as one. But now you can meet his half-lidded gaze and lazy smile, as charming in the early morning as it is in the middle of the night.

“How are you feeling?” you can’t help but ask in turn, which is weird and formal and draws a low chuckle.

“Never better” although he feels more than better, he feels the luckiest he’s ever been. He feels disgusting and psyched. He feels so in love.

“Great” you clear your throat as you pull the thin sheet further up. Eren keeps looking at you like he’s foolishly trying to map out your features. As if he needs to do that, as if they’re not already burned into his memory.

“Hey” he warns, fingers delicately flicking your forehead “no freaking out before breakfast”

You peer up at him from long lashes.

“I’m not freaking out” of course you are and of course he knows but that won’t stop you from frowning in protest, mockingly distorting his words.

“Sure you aren’t” he smiles to himself and rolls onto his back to rub his eyes with a loud yawn that has you giggling.

“What are you, a blue whale?”

He clicks his tongue, feigning annoyance as he stretches and intentionally avoids your gaze.

“That’s no way to talk to the man who’s about to put together the best breakfast you’ve ever had”

Although Eren doesn’t want to get up at all. He doesn’t need food nor water as long as he gets to have you right there in his bed, as long as he gets to hold on to the hope of having you like this again and again.

“Whatever we’re going to do about this presumption of yours” you hide your smile in his pillow but he simply shrugs, not sparing you a glance as he gets up with a groan and collects some clean underwear from one of his drawers.

He only leaves the room after he’s playfully thrown his shirt at you, softness settling in the corners of his lips as he suggests you take a shower while he carries out his breakfast duty. Your heart swells at the attentiveness of it all, at the space he’s trying so hard to give you in hopes that you feel comfortable enough to catch your breath. Not to run away.

With a long, drawn out sigh, you comply.

The shower feels nice and his shampoo smells so good you don’t mind the absence of your coconut scented one. Of course he also has conditioner, there really is no other explanation for that hair.

As you tiptoe back into his bedroom wrapped in nothing but a skimpy towel, you catch the glorious sound of something sizzling in a pan and it’s enough to bring a smile to your face while you shut the door and rest your back against it for a moment. Your eyes land on Sasha’s yukata, staring back at you from the ground in all its glory. You rush to pick it up and carefully fold it, embarrassment burning your cheeks at how little you’ve cared about not ruining it. Along with the cord and the obi, you let it slip into an empty paper bag big enough to contain it because there’s no way in hell you’re walking home in that.

The shirt Eren has given you is long enough to cover your ass but certainly not enough to step outside without drawing scandalized looks along the way, so you dig into his closet some more and pick a pair of bermuda shorts that will certainly look ridiculous on you but remain the best option currently on hand.

After patting your hair dry with the towel to the best of your abilities, you grab the bag, your phone from his nightstand, and pray to be ready for whatever is coming. The flutter in your chest is not entirely unpleasant, right? There must be a way to make this work. Whatever it is.

It’s love, you goddamn idiot, a voice whispers from inside your dizzy mind. You pay it no mind.

“That was fast” Eren looks at you for just a second before returning his attention to whatever he’s cooking. You catch the smile anyway.

“Smells too good” you leave the bag to rest against the table leg and plop down on a chair. It feels like your seat already, given that he’s placed the mug you usually use right there, filled with coffee to the very brim. When he spins to serve the breakfast he’s prepared, Eren rolls his eyes upon meeting your already skeptical gaze.

“Just try it” he mumbles “I got a different one”

For you.

As you take a tentative sip, you notice everything he’s filled the table with. He’s pushing a portion of french toast in your plate right from the pan and taking a smaller one for himself, but there’s also a separate plate available for all the other options: fried eggs, herb cream cheese, strawberry jam, some honey, toasted bread.

He sits down next to you and meets your amazed gaze only to crack a boyish grin.

“I didn’t know what you liked”

“I’m impressed” you swallow the lump of whatever feeling got caught in your throat along with the coffee and raise the cup to indicate the object of your praise. As if he hasn’t already called all your bluffs.

“I get that a lot” he sticks his tongue out and it’s your turn to fondly roll your eyes.

It’s the first time you taste something he’s cooked and it’s so very painful to find out he’s good at yet another thing.

The intimacy of sharing a quiet, sunny morning at his kitchen table is not as overwhelming as you thought it’d be: he holds the power of making it easy and special just like everything else. You feel eerily at home, suddenly filled with giddy excitement at the prospect of experiencing more of these mornings. At the idea of him welcoming you into his everyday life with such ease, willing to buy expensive coffee if it means you accepting to stay long enough to drink it.

It almost makes you want to say it. As you laugh at the funny story involving one of the students he’s going to teach to in an hour, with your mouth stuffed with french toast and the urge to collect the cream cheese remnants from the corner of his lips with yours, you almost blurt it out.

I love you.

I love your smile and your kindness and how you stay awake for me if the wind blows too hard and I know you wonder if my roof creaks just like yours does. I love your life and your friends and how there’s so much space for everyone in a heart that may as well be as big as your beloved island. I love the touch of your hands and how you kiss me on the way home if no one else’s around and now I wish you could kiss me awake each morning.

“Stop” he playfully throws a crumpled up piece of his napkin at you. It hits you right between your brows.

“What? I’m not doing anything” you throw it back but he dodges it.

“You’re overthinking”

“I’m thinking exactly the right amount”

“Care to let me in so I can decide that?”

You open your mouth to entertain more of the familiar banter you hold so close to your heart but your phone screen lights up and the text you get is enough to capture your attention right away. Your heart drops to your stomach as you read it, the french toast still melting on your tongue now tasting bad enough to draw a pang of pure nausea.

“You okay?” you recognize the sincere worry in his voice, even as he attempts to keep it light.

“Yeah” locking your phone again, you place it face down on the table once more. You don’t think you can stomach a single other bite of food.

“I have to go now, will stop by Sasha’s to bring her yukata back. I borrowed that bag of yours, is that okay?” you’re not looking at him as you get up and he does too, confused.

“Yeah, of course” he follows suit as you quickly grab the bag still resting on the couch and shove your phone in it. Eren doesn’t have the time to enjoy the glorious sight that is you in his clothes, even with those ridiculous shorts everyone will surely be able to recognize as menswear.

But just as he thinks you’re going to leave him without sparing him a single glance, you stop in your tracks right before the door and turn around, the smile on your lips so artificial it makes his stomach churn with a sour feeling that erases all the sweetness that has coated his morning up until this very moment.

“Will you come over, later?”

There’s softness in the way you direct the question to him and he holds on to it for dear life.

“If you want me to” he replies with the same softness and something inside you just melts.

What you have to do is terrible, cruel in its unfairness, but unavoidable. So you should get to bask in a fantasy for a few seconds more, right? You should get to delay his disappointment, to give him a few more hours of peace of mind.

It’s heartbreaking, the way he perks up when you take his hand and bring the chapped knuckles to your lips.

“Of course I want you to” you don’t let go as you rise onto your tiptoes and tilt your head in a silent plea. You wish the relief he exhales right into your mouth could take root in your lungs.

When Eren kisses you, the crackling electricity is still there. But it’s the tenderness that makes your eyes burn, the way he takes your face in his palms and squeezes gently to make sure you’ll be looking at him as he pulls back enough to return your dazed gaze.

“We’ll figure it out” he says it so simply, so genuinely, you’re not sure you can get out of his house before he notices the tears.

You find it in yourself to nod and reach for another peck, because it’s probably going to be your last anyway.

I love you.

It’s that thought that carries you through the day, repeated over and over in your head until your lips follow suit and you’re muttering it like a madwoman.

You let the brief time spent with Sasha soothe your mind and it’s actually fine that she notices the redness of your eyes and the heartache embedded in your blank stare.

“Did he do something to upset you?” sometimes she reminds you of Armin, the attentive way she adapts her energy to match the one of whoever she is with is one of your favorite things about her. Although you’d much prefer a bubbly distraction at the moment.

“No, never” you reply with a small, bitter smile “I’m the one who’s about to do it, actually”

You tell her because she asks and because she’s part of the people you’re gonna have to say goodbye to. Since you’re absolutely not planning to go to the beach, you take your chances and ask her the odds of her breaking the news to everyone else.

“There’s no way in hell” she retorts with a glare so sharp it’s almost funny “they’d think you don’t regard them as friends. Connie would never forgive you”

With a light huff, you deflate against the backrest of her couch. Of course she’s right, they deserve a proper goodbye.

“I’ll come by tomorrow” you capitulate with a weary sigh and Sasha takes one of your hands in hers with a smile that never reaches her usual bright eyes.

“I’ll miss you” she almost whispers it and it takes everything in you not to choke up on your own I’ll miss you too as you squeeze her in the tightest hug you’ve probably ever given to another human being.

The first thing you do when you get home is get changed, his clothes are neatly folded and placed at the end of your bed because you can’t bear the idea of more of his scent clinging to your skin: you’re not even entirely sure the shower was enough to wash it off.

With a certain degree of fatigue, you pull the suitcase out from your closet, the sweltering heat of the room suddenly suffocating and unbearable. Even with the AC turned on, it feels like you can’t breathe.

You tear your clothes from their hangers, snatch them out of your drawers and toss them in your luggage, not even bothering to fold any of them. It’s better to do it today, you’re not sure you’re gonna have the strength to do it tomorrow and you definitely don’t want to spend your last day packing up.

Robert Lowell’s book is placed carefully on top of the chaotic mountain of clothes, it’s a gift you deem special and you’d hate to ruin it.

Connie’s sketch is stored in a plastic folder and you reserve it the same attentiveness as you put it right next to Armin’s book. It’s a stylized portrait of someone who barely looks like you: your eyes do not have that glow in them and your smile most certainly isn’t as bright. You like the overly accentuated features, he has a cool drawing style and it’s still so hard to believe he felt the urge to devote his free time to craft something so unique and meaningful just for you.

The sight of the tourist brochure draws a chuckle and you pick it up from your nightstand to open it and read Jean’s silly inscription for the umpteenth time.

She believed she could so she did: to a summer spent outdoors!

Right underneath, he’s scribbled a list of the best spots to visit, the vast majority of them comprising the forests he spends most of his mornings and afternoons guiding tourists through. You’re gonna miss his teasing smirk and predictable jokes, the way he nonchalantly worms his way into any conversation you’d be having with Sasha just to get a burger out of it.

One day you’re probably going to deem it hilarious, the fact that the brochure is what gets you. Fat, searing tears overflow at last, staining the stupid tank top Eren’s pulled over your head so many times you’ve lost count.

You end up sliding down to the parquet floor, knees to your chest as you sob pathetically, hiccup after hiccup until you’re shaking so bad you have to wrap your own arms around yourself in an attempt to calm down. Phone screen lights up again and you catch the preview of a text from Sasha, one picture attached.

Developing this today, so you can take it with you!

It’s most probably from the previous night, the only group picture you’ve ever taken in two months. If you close your eyes, you can almost feel the familiar weight of Armin’s arm around your shoulders and Connie’s chin resting on your head.

You catch your breath at last, cheeks burning and eyes puffy. Your limbs don’t carry enough energy to do anything else besides booking a one-way ticket, tossing your phone away and crawling onto your still perfectly made bed.

It’s funny, the hollowness your chest tightens around as you shut your eyes: you could swear the exact same spot had been so impossibly full of love and light just a few hours prior. It’s been so easy to get transported into some sort of fantasy world, a perfect reality that didn’t include your actual life at all. But you do have a life you have to get back to and it’s been foolish of you to allow yourself to forget about it. There’s a job offer you cannot afford to refuse because you’re two months behind on your rent, there’s the uncomfortable amount of stuff still waiting to be collected from your ex boyfriend’s house, the now irretrievably shifted dynamics of your friend group you have to navigate. And yet.

In two months you’ve met people that have made this holiday so special. Talking to them has given you the courage of opening yourself to the world like you used to do when you were younger and filled with hope. It felt like stepping into the sun after a long, dark, tiring night.

Who knew you could feel so free, wrapped in foreign embraces and inspired by unfamiliar routines, who knew you could meet someone who’d make you feel so lost and then, suddenly, found. Eren’s made you fall for him little by little, the invisible trickle of a covert fountain concealed by whispered conversations in your bedroom, failed dinners whenever you’d stubbornly insist on not letting him anywhere close to your stove, afternoons spent with your feet buried in the boiling sand in hopes to catch as little as a glance, the fleeting flash of a grin shot your way. He’s made you fall for him gently, the idea of crashing to the ground never once crossing your mind, bones still perfectly intact even at the mercy of his touch.

Eren’s disrupted you while keeping you whole. Even better, perhaps he’s given you an entirely new form. One that adapts easily to life and chases adventures and isn’t afraid of being seen.

You hate the idea of leaving him behind, insides churning at the mere thought of telling him you’re leaving with such short notice. But maybe it’s for the best. Those three words have been left hanging in the air after all, segregated in your minds and engraved in your bodies. You’re content with tricking yourself into believing that it’s a little less real, if you don’t say it. You feel it and perhaps he feels it too, but you’re just in time to nip what it is and whatever it may become right in the bud.

Unsurprisingly, the nap ends up proving to be absolutely useless and you wake up a couple hours later with a throbbing headache and an almost debilitating thirst. The birds outside are chirping mockingly as you lethargically drag yourself out of your bed and out of the room, the mess of clothes, bags and luggages still reigning supreme right in the middle of it clumsily stepped over without so much as a glance.

The living room is filled with corners you can’t look at, although you briefly wonder if the books stacked by the tv will be collected and eventually find a new owner.

After gingerly pouring yourself a glass of cold water, you climb onto the kitchen counter and check your phone. Sasha’s already had the picture developed is what you can guess from the picture of a big envelope she’s sent you a few minutes ago. There’s a flight confirmation email in your inbox and a text from Armin, asking why you’re not at the beach yet.

You actually end up turning the tv on at full volume while you finish packing, taking a break only to down a dry sandwich when the squeezing of your stomach gets impossible to ignore. No more pathetic tears gather along your lashes for the rest of the afternoon, turns out packing your things is a lot easier when you don’t care about how you’re putting them away. All your clothes are probably going to need a heavy ironing session once you’re back in Tokyo, quite the minor inconvenience.

When Eren arrives, he announces his presence as loudly as usual, dragging his saccharine helloooo because it always makes you laugh. He has bags in his hands because he’s once again stopped by the market just in case and is already grumbling about how you never keep your damn door locked when you get up from the couch to greet him.

“You really need to stop filling my fridge with so much food” the good-natured scolding meets the skeptical click of his tongue as he starts pulling out the groceries and piling them up on your table.

“Says the girl who raids said fridge and leaves it empty in the space of one evening”

You huff but Eren cuts you off before you can put together a comeback.

“It’s just some of Kukiko’s fruit and a few snacks”

“You mean those rice cakes, candy corn and ketchup chips you love?”

With a fond roll of the eyes, he finishes emptying the bags and waves a box of chocolate pralines half an inch from your nose. Your gaze flickers to the different products scattered across your table: peaches, figs, your favorite tourist-friendly ice cream and cream filled wafers. There’s just a tiny box of rice cakes.

“I actually wanted to get proper food and cook a nice dinner, you know, because you barely touched my fantastic breakfast” he flashes you a quick smile “but then I thought, I know this great place we’ve never been to and they make an incredible pan-fried salmon”

Eren knows something’s up, he obviously does. But that doesn’t stop him from taking your cheek in his hand to gently tilt your head up and let you meet his painfully hopeful stare.

“Will you let me take you out, tonight?”

Will you let me do this right?

Instead of taking a step back, you place your hand over the back of his to press his palm deeper into your skin. He doesn’t really know at what specific point he starts holding his breath.

“Eren, I’m leaving”

There’s a slight spasm of his lips, one that would’ve probably been imperceptible to a less trained eye.

“I’m aware” there’s a sour harshness in his tone he doesn’t try to bite back “I was hoping we could’ve talked about this later on”

Of course he knows you’re leaving. Still, the fact that this is the first thing you deem reasonable to bring up after the previous night, after that morning, is hurtful. Hell, he isn’t even allowed a full day of timeout from reality? Are you really that eager to remind him?

You press his palm a little harder.

“In two days”

The silence that settles over the small room is loud enough to make your ears ring, cheek brutally left cold as if your skin has suddenly turned scorching.

“What?” he attempts an incredulous smile “what d’you mean in two days? You said you’d leave in September, it’s barely August”

You take a quivering breath, forcing yourself not to lower your gaze.

“Something came up. I’ve been offered a job I really need and they want me in Tokyo by the end of this week, I really didn’t plan for it to—”

“Did you know?” he interrupts you with an aggressiveness you don’t recognize “this morning, as you were leaving, did you know?”

“Yes” you swallow the painful lump constricting your throat. He lets out a bitter laugh, one hand running through his hair in disbelief.

“Did you know last night, too? Before we fucked, I mean. That’s all it was to you anyway” he storms past you and before you can even think of stopping him, he’s pushed the door to your bedroom open. The sight of your packed up luggage makes him want to throw up on the spot.

It’d be so easy to indulge his version, allow it to gain consistency and distance yourself from whatever it is you’re both feeling. But you can’t bear the thought of betraying him twice, you decide you can’t carry the weight of a lie so big so you let it melt on your tongue.

“You know that’s not true” it’s pathetic, really, the strangled way words leave your mouth. Eren chuckles again, a sound so empty and dull compared to his real laugh. It breaks your heart, it makes you feel as if something’s clawing at your chest from the inside.

“What was it, then?” he challenges, it only takes two very angry, wide strides and he’s towering over you again “you can’t even say it”

“What good would that do?!” it’s unfair, it’s really fucking unfair that he’s handling the whole situation as if it’s hurting him more than it’s hurting you “what if I say it, then what? This entire thing was bound to end anyway! Even if I stayed, how do you know we wouldn’t end up going our separate ways in a month anyway?” so long for keeping tears at bay, you think as you angrily wipe your cheeks until they burn from the unforgiving friction.

“Fucking hell” Eren shakes his head with another mocking smile that makes your blood boil.

“What? Look at us, you’re already second-guessing everything about me!” you push past him and toward your couch, just to have something to lean against because your legs feel wobbly “acting like you’re the only one affected by this bullshit situation” words don’t come out as harsh as you’d like, dying in your throat instead as you fail to hold back a sob.

Eren stays by the sink with that irritating condescension he just couldn’t fucking spare you. As if you’re not shattered already, wondering how you’ll be able to put the pieces back together once more now that the edges are rougher and different and will probably never match each other again.

“You can’t do this. You can’t make me fall for you and then leave” he spits the last word like it’s venom and it actually burns on his lips. Eren’s never actually planned to ask you to stay, he never thought he’d be selfish enough. Turns out he was wrong all along.

When he says it, you can’t help the way your head lifts in surprise. He’s said it and there’s really no turning back now, no place to hide or run away to. It’s all over him, the disappointment you feel so responsible for, it’s in the way his fists seem to shake and in the sharp edge of his tight jaw. It’s in the way his eyes lack their usual spirit as they look back at you.

“That’s right” he mistakes the shock on your face for dread and allows for another smile to split across his face, nothing but a cruel mask distorting his features “bet that’s the worst fucking thing you ever heard, huh?”

It is. Because now your heart can’t stop its swelling and the flutter in your chest feels suffocating. It is, because somehow he’s fallen for you the same way you’ve fallen for him and if he’s experiencing half the sorrow currently knocking the wind out of your lungs, perhaps you should find it in yourself to be gentler.

“I’m sorry” you whisper it quietly, with a slight shrug and fresh tears staining your cheeks “I’m not doing any of this to hurt you. I wish I could decide to stay, just like that, but I don’t have a job and I’m behind on rent and, fuck, I think even the only coat I own is still at my ex’s house and…”

“What are we?” he interrupts you once more but there’s no aggressiveness this time. He’s quiet as he steps closer but you don’t dare look him in the eyes, choosing to focus on the milk white carpet beneath your feet instead. However, Eren’s not having any of it. With new found, blind obstinacy, he gets close enough to gently grip your chin and demand your attention. You’re a terrible liar and, by now, he knows all too well where to look for a lie in your stare.

“Tell me” he lowers his voice almost in a plea and the lump in your throat only grows in size when you catch the redness framing his eyes. 

“We’re friends” you whisper “before anything else. I hope we’re friends”

His grip on your chin tightens.

“What else?”

“Eren—”

“I’m in love with you” he sighs, in disbelief at how easy it’s been to pronounce the words out loud at last, a familiar albeit pained smile finally making its way to his lips as he lets you go “am I really that bad of a contender?”

But he lets go of your chin only to take your face in his hands right as new tears start rolling down your cheeks, unfazed by how useless it is for his thumbs to try and wipe them away. That’s finally him, embedded in the tenderness he holds you with.

“I want this” he mutters “I want you and yes, that may go away some day but you’re letting it go away now. You’re not even willing to try”

It takes so much effort to find it in yourself to gently grab his wrists and pull his hands down.

“You’re asking me to give up my entire life. Sometimes love isn’t enough, Eren, sometimes someone has to be an adult and do the right thing even if it shatters them”

“I’m guessing you’re the adult in this scenario whilst I’m being what, the irrational brat?”

“Stop putting words into my mouth” you tiredly wipe your cheeks again, so exhausted you can barely take another shaky breath in “you want me to stay. I can’t do that, even if I fucking hate that I can’t. You think you’re the only one with a broken heart in the scenario, as you called it, so feel free to turn this into another sad story you’re gonna recall with the next tourist girl you sweep off her feet”

Eren thinks a raw slap would’ve hurt less. He looks at you like you’re someone he can’t recognize and finally takes a step back with a slight nod of his head, acceptance slowly setting over his features.

A beat passes, one where the only sound filling the room is your accelerated breath.

“You never asked if I’d come with you”

And just like that, something slams against your ribcage but it couldn’t be your heart because you're certain it has stopped beating.

“You’d never do it” your tongue suddenly feels swollen in your mouth, too big and heavy to assist you in properly articulating a sentence “I know you’d never do it. You always say you can’t imagine yourself anywhere else” desperation gets the best of you and your pitch turns squeaky. Eren smiles another one of his sad smiles, the ones you’ve met today for the first time and are sure will haunt you in your dreams.

“Have you ever even thought of asking?”

For a few seconds, you believe those are going to be his last words to you. That is until he turns around by the front door, just a second, maybe to take a look at you for the very last time. That’s the real breaking point for whatever is left in your chest.

“Don’t expect me to be around to say goodbye, tomorrow”

A fragment of time is all it takes for him to be out, all signs of him having ever been there at all still scattered across your kitchen table. 

The AC system of Armin’s car is currently not working and you only find out once you’re seated in a boiling passenger seat. He chuckles when you turn to look at him in pure horror.

“You wouldn’t have let me take you if I’d told you. It already took me two hours of convincing as it is” he reaches across you to roll down the window, the hint of a guilty blush tinting the tips of his ears. His hair is lighter now than it was in the early summer and the flush of his cheeks is harder to detect now that his skin is tanned.

“I could’ve taken the bus” you rest your back against your seat with a light frown: the parts of your skin that are not covered by your thin tank top stick to the scalding leather right away.

“I know” he offers a soft smile “but I really wanted to do this”

Armin hated the idea of you having to go alone much like everyone else but he was the only one free enough to have a few hours to spare that morning. Sasha insisted on letting Niccolo handle the cafe for the day but she doesn’t own a car and the backseat of Armin’s Ford Fiesta is already taken up by your luggage and backpack. You resisted up until the very end, stubbornly insisting on being perfectly capable of reaching the airport on your own, mumbling some nonsense about not wanting to be a bother until Armin had raised a hand, resolute.

So I don’t even get to give my friend a ride?

Connie was the only one to laugh at the tears rapidly collecting in your eyes but it was a sweet, accomodating sound at odds with his usual exuberant cackle. Even he found it funny and kinda concerning that you still couldn’t grow accustomed to being considered their friend.

“Thank you” you return his smile and Armin nodds, giving your shoulder a light squeeze before he starts the car.

The small vacation rental that has welcomed and taken care of you for more than two months shrinks and then disappears in the rear view mirror, the morning sun bouncing off the scraped off exterior you’ve grown fond of.

You now recognize the small streets, alleys and shops you pass by, going as far as to lean out of the window to check if Masaru-san, who always treats you to an extra muffin on the mornings you drop by to buy his fresh bread, is having a smoke outside his bakery.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” Armin’s gentle voice draws you back into the boiling car.

“Sure”

He shoots you a quick glance.

“Have you at least told him that you love him?”

You suck a sharp breath in, caught entirely off guard. There was never a direct agreement of not mentioning The Topic during the one-hour drive but, given how considerate Armin always is, silly you kinda thought that’d be implied.

“I know it’s none of my business” he quickly adds because of course he can’t help himself “but I haven’t heard from him in two days and I’m kinda hoping he at least has that to hold on to”

“You haven’t heard from him in two days?” it made sense for him not to be at the beach when you dropped by to say your goodbyes, you never expected for him to show up anywhere else until he could be sure you’d be sitting on that plane but to disappear off the face of the earth? Not even talking to his friends?

“No. To be completely honest, we’re worried. He’s never done this before” Armin keeps looking ahead of him, tone oddly flat as if he’s having a conversation about the most casual topic.

“We had a fight” you mutter “didn’t exactly say goodbye on great terms. He’ll come around”

“That doesn’t exactly answer my question”

It’s not like him to be so pushy and you suddenly feel like the heat is too suffocating, the vehicle too small, your lungs too rigid.

“No” you clear your throat “but he knows”

There’s no point in denying or feeling embarrassed about it. You’re positive everyone knows anyway.

Armin hums, seemingly pensive, but doesn’t say anything. Your neck itches and the pads of your fingers start tingling.

“What?”

“Nothing”

“Armin, just tell me”

For fuck’s sake—

“S’just that Eren can be really dense. I bet he’s convinced this was nothing more than a summer fling for you”

That’s not true, he’s one of the smartest people you’ve ever met. Well, when it came to most things anyway.

“He knows” you insist, heart rate spiking for reasons not entirely clear. Armin shrugs.

“If you say so”

A beat passes, silence stretching past a comfortable interval.

“What if he doesn’t?” you challenge, exasperated “even better, he’ll get over it sooner!”

Armin lowers his head slightly, hands sliding to the sides of the steering wheel.

“He’s in pain” it’s not an accusation, just a mere observation. And yet it hurts all the same.

“I am too” why is it so easy for everyone to forget that?

Little do you know, Armin is perfectly aware. Everyone is aware. You’re wearing that pain on your disheveled hair and the bags under your eyes, it’s embedded in your dull tone and in how easy it now is for any word to draw tears.

It’s not like him to get involved in someone else’s life, especially when the situation is so raw and delicate but not even him is willing to just sit and watch two people mutually agreeing to ruin each other and leave it at that. It may not be his place but he’s prepared to dismiss his usual reluctance.

“I know” he’s driving way too slow for someone who’s supposed to rush you to the airport but you’re too distracted to notice “sorry, that was insensitive of me. You’re right, it’s for the best, he’ll come around soon enough”

You don’t say anything back, attention harshly grabbed by the view behind him. The sun is high already and reflects in the sparkling ocean you’ve grown so fond of. The sussuration of the waves lashing the shore doesn’t quite reach you but if you close your eyes and concentrate, you’re almost able to taste their pungent, salty smell.

Will Jean have some time to bring his surfboard to the beach in the afternoon, after a morning of work? Is the cafe as packed as it always is in the mornings, the usual mob of tourists forcing Sasha and Niccolo in an exhausting frenzy? Which table has Connie decided to bend over to try and finish that comic of his? Are his fingers stained with ink or did he go for the digital alternative today?

What is he doing? Can he afford to just disappear, neglect the surfing lessons?

You remember seeing Eren for the first time, running around by the shore accompanied by Jean with that charming smirk of his, occasionally asking strangers to join a volleyball match if they were short on players. You remember thinking wow, that’s a person that probably has it easy. He seems happy, is attractive enough to pull pretty much anyone. He sounded friendly and was literally smiling every single time you’d catch a glimpse of him, day after day, never short on energy. And then, you’re still not sure why or how, his eyes had actually found yours once, twice, then often enough for you to decide to do something about it.  

You still see it all in your head, painfully vivid and oh so alive. It comes in unforgiving flashbacks, from the first time he took your hand in his to the way you fell asleep in his arms less than three nights ago. And now you’re going away and what if Armin is right? What if he doesn’t even know?

“Stop the car” you murmur, mind not even quite catching up with your mouth yet.

Armin glances at you.

“What?”

“Stop the car for a second” you can barely stop yourself from slamming the brakes firsthand, hand brought to the column of your throat in a silly attempt to calm down. He quickly but safely pulls over, the car coming to a full halt when he turns off the engine entirely.

The first time you drew a sincere laugh, the first hushed conversation you shared on a humid evening.

I’m in love with you. Am I really that bad of a contender?

“You okay?” Armin is now only slightly worried he’s gone too far as he takes in the way your chest is heaving.

Have you ever even thought of asking?

“Hey—” you unfasten your seatbelt and escape his touch, quite literally throwing yourself out of the car only to slam the door and lean against it. Armin gets out as well and rapidly walks around the vehicle to check on you.

“What’s wrong? I have water, d’you want water?” if you weren’t so out of breath, you’d find his panic amusing.

“I’m fine. Sorry, just… give me a sec” the smile you offer him is probably more of a grimace but he’s too kind to point that out anyway.

Armin tries to give you the space to calm down but judging by the beads of cold sweat forming on your forehead, the process isn’t exactly going well. He feels guilty, mainly because his entire strategy has tragically backfired and he is on the literal verge of profusely apologizing until you meet his concerned gaze with heartbreaking despair.

“You think I should go to him?” your voice trembles and it takes everything in him to hold back the biggest smile.

“With some urgency” he quips immediately, motioning toward the car. He’s been dying to drive you there the entire morning.

You take a step forward, allowing him to open the door for you but make no move to actually step in again.

“C’mon!” he’s openly smiling now.

A beat passes, you shoot the car a quick glance and then return his smile.

“Keep an eye on my suitcase, will you?”

And then you’re just gone, sprinting in the opposite direction, dangerously close to passing cars and absolutely deaf to whatever Armin is yelling from behind you.

Incredibly, your legs carry you across the entire main street and your exceptionally keen senses assist you in dodging bikes and pedestrians and you think you may have accidentally run past Connie on the sidewalk at some point because you recognize a familiar go get him! already fading in the distance as you race until your lungs feel a second away from exploding.

The strappy sandals you’re wearing are absolutely inadequate for the marathon you’re running underneath the scorching sun and people look at you funny when you melt against the stand of a greengrocer to catch your breath. Nevertheless, with a hand pressing to a chest that’s never felt as tight, you’re soon on your way again, lips stretched into a frenzied smile and heart beating fast from both the physical effort and your favorite kind of anticipation. The idea of seeing him again gets your blood pumping, every other care or issue or flight disappears, literally fades to nothing in comparison to what you’re feeling at the thought of being in his arms again.

And yet you falter once you’re at his door, one palm resting against it and throat burning with every breath you attempt to take in, sweat dripping from your chin and running down your back. You’re far from having a plan or a solution to offer, the only thing you’re currently certain of is that you’re not gonna board that plane today. The rest, you can figure out together.

It takes some persistance and a certain number of violent knocks, your nuckles are burning by the time he yanks the door open.

“Jean, I swear to god if this is you again—” Eren freezes when he sees you awkwardly standing on the doorstep, phone trapped between his cheek and shoulder as he was clearly in the process of tying his hair back.

“Hey” you smile but then frown, puzzled “wait, who are you talking to?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. Then opens it again.

“Thank fuck, talk to you later, bye!” a familiar voice chirps on the other line and you shut your eyes for a second because how could you fall for the oldest trick in the book? Haven’t heard from him in two days your ass.

“What are you doing here?” his guard is very much up and by the look of those dark circles you can only guess he’s slept just as much as you in the last two days.

“Uh, so, really funny story” you chuckle, painfully aware of your racing pulse and ragged breaths “Armin was driving me to the airport and we got to the seafront and he started talkin’ about you not knowing that I love you and stuff, which would be absurd because I’m sure you’re pretty much aware even if I never actually said it” you pause to clear your throat and take a hand to the currently cramping side of your waist “anyway, he said you’re dense and he was worried because they haven't heard from you in two days which, I now realize was a blatant lie but the point is, I started thinking about you and how much I hated our fight and the idea of getting on that plane because, well, I’m in love with you, disgustingly so actually, and I’m sure I’ll find another job and my landlord will understand and I was kinda hoping we could have more time to figure things out so maybe I could stay a little longer? If you still want me” you finish what’s probably the most awful, embarrassing, pathetic speech in recorded history with a coughing fit, throat basically occluded by sand. Perhaps you should’ve accepted Armin’s water before deciding to run almost two miles in a 95 °F weather.

Eren’s blank stare is far from encouraging and the more the silence stretches, the less you think it was a good idea to barge in there unannounced. But right as you take a tentative step back, apology already taking shape on the tip of your tongue, he reaches over with lighting speed to grab your wrist and quite literally slams your body against his, trapping you in a suffocating embrace.

“If I still want you?” he pokes fun at your words, distorts them with open incredulity “you’re so stupid”

“Eren, stop, I’m so sweaty right now!” your voice barely comes out, muffled by the fabric of his shirt. He only squeezes you tighter against him, lips pressing to the crown of your head.

“Say it again”

You are finally allowed to wiggle your way out of his arms but he keeps you in place, rough palms trapping your cheeks and puckering your lips. God, those eyes. How could you have believed you’d be able to leave them so easily?

“M’really fucking sweaty at the moment”

Eren smiles, pressing his palms harder, until your lips part.

“Not that” he’s willing to be patient now, because you have just granted him the only thing that makes him feel whole again. Time.

“Mmph—” you try to loosen his grip but he only raises his eyebrows expectantly, amused by your useless attempt “m’in lovewithyou?”

Just like that, his smile turns into one of those bright grins you adore but can barely return at the moment.

“Damn right” Eren meets your lips like that, pressing on your mouth firmly until he finally loosens his grip and you have some room to return his rough kiss right as he clumsily drags you inside and catches you when you trip on the cursed umbrella container he keeps by the door. You taste salty, just like the ocean, and he licks into your mouth with the softest groan when you lightly tug at the curling strands at the base of his nape.

“Let me hear it again” he mutters but how are you supposed to collect the required air in your lungs if he refuses to stop kissing you stupid?

Through the dazed state of your mind, you manage to whisper the words into his mouth at last.

“I love you” again and again and again, until your love and his violent adoration is all he can feel in every crevice of his body, in each jolt of the electricity buzzing through his veins.

But then Eren breaks the kiss so abruptly you lose your balance and awkwardly stumble forward, your brows knitting as he starts laughing so hard he has to rest his forehead on the curve of your shoulder, hot breath tickling your neck while he giggles so hard you’re both shaking.

“What?” as it always happens, you can’t hold back a confused smile yourself.

Still barely able to contain the fit of laughter, eyes crinkling adorably at the corners, Eren straightens up to meet your gaze.

“I had just booked a flight to Tokyo”

[solselah]

Pick a song ?

(Channeled messages)

💜

PILE 1 - The less I know the better

Your spirit guides are holding messages from you because they feel it’s the best you don’t know at this time !!! There are other things that should be taken care of right now by you !! They don’t want you to be obsessively thinking about what happened or why it happened!This separation or Disconnection between you and these people/person just know It’s not up to you to beat yourself up , you don’t deserve that !! It’s time to Put away the excuses & pick yourself up , don’t treat yourself like you aren’t worth a relaxing bath & a face mask or even a beautiful candle lit dinner. There is someone out there for you & this could even be solely friend based for some of you ! Like the people coming in your circle will be so supportive of your new life & new business ventures! They are here to support. Let them in ! Try not to pussh away!

♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫

PILE 2 - HELL N BACK

You’re now starting to notice the mental state you were in when your started a relationship, was not healthy it wasn’t even close to okay! You are actually baffled this person is still willing to stick it out and rock with you. They see the you , you haven’t been able to get in touch with ! I’m hearing they are acting as your mirror at this time !You may really be shying away from this person for that reason! It’s crazy how fast you Snap on this person sometimes ! They forgive and love you either way but they deem you a bit as snappy , but they really do chalk it up as like a “you” thing. They really would rather be with you than alone any day! You have a good one on your hands but I feel for you , you may need a mental break to find yourself ! Something is off here for you & it’s okay to admit it ! I would recommend being open about it by any means ! It helps to bring understanding into the dynamic.

*Especially if the transparency is private*🤫

♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫

PILE 3-ADORE

Now that you have discovered who you are outside of others perspective!! You are learning how to fall in love with your soul! You could have had your self esteem broken down BAD as far as 8/10 years ago , you’ve come this far on your journey understanding the things you’ve practiced have come in to action, landing you success in finding the reflective part of your soul! people tend to us others as mirrors … you chose to look within your own body to see who you are to YOU. You could be someone who does Acid or even takes your occasional shrooms , there is an emphasis on micro dosing!

So that could totally be your thing ,it helps you to be one with self! Especially after all of your broken moments regarding the relationship you built for / With self!!

♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫

PILE 4 - ICE SLIPPIN

Right now you’re so closed off !! I would go as far as saying you’re done with what life is offering right now (over it ) You could be feeling very protective over your heart at this point ! You’ve even relocated to grasp a bit of peace !! Someone could’ve really Took your heart out your chest and stepped on it ! Like they are so truly sorry and they just don’t know how to show that to you ever! It’s such a sad thing for this dynamic because it could’ve been something. you feel that you being closed off & cold is your answer! In reality it’s really numbing your true feelings… so bad. Your angels really need you to be honest with yourself about the track record of this relationship ! Was it bound to happen ? Were you numb to them ? Are you still ? There are so many question that need answers & that being hidden from you sometimes really devastates you because you desire to know more. You’re hurt and don’t know why ! That’s how it feels. You are not alone in this trust me. Your heavily heavily surrounded by Grand teachers & angels that are ready to go to war for you & are willing to teach you about how you can start to heal , it’s so time for you to begin to Build your strength back. It’s so necessary for the next steps for you and your opportunities ! I know this connection had you so emotionally attached. You were not the only one I promise !!!! They may hide it and throw it out the window but I guarantee you they are running in circles. It’s indeed time for you to

“criss cross apple sauce” ( very specific)

in the middle of the circle and elevate your energy right in their face at that!!!

♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫

Hope you enjoy 💜

IG: @Soleccentric

SONGS:

1: Tame impala - the less I know the better

2: BAKAR FT SUMMER WALKER - HELL N BACK

3: ADORE - WILLOW SMITH FT JAHNAVI HARRISON

4: ICE SLIPPIN - OMAR APOLLO

[henneseyhoe]

COUNTRY LOVIN’

Trevante Rhodes x BLACK!FEM!PLUSSIZE!reader

WARNINGS:nsfw, mentions of spirituality, mentions of death, childhood trauma, smut, slow burn(ish), friends to lovers.

SUMMARY: A sweet country story that will have your teeth aching! Follow Sorie on her journey through womanhood and attempting to break free from the child her father still sees her as. Will the love she has for her childhood friend prevail with a crazy dad around?

Ps. Starting out slow (for now🤭)

2 3

✮✮✮✮

The sun beamed down on the big yard of grass, the temperature rising to a heated 87. Since it was the Deep South, a heatwave was bound to happen that month with how the weather was this week, and the towns people could sense it. Though it was hot and the temperature was going up by the days, it didn’t stop anyone from getting a days work done.

from farmers farming, to craftsmen crafting, my father and the rest of the small community we had included in that group of people still continued to work through the week till we got a break on the weekend.

I walked outside with a wooden tray, six glasses of fresh lemonade and iced teas set right on top of the oak, ready to be downed by the group of working men I approached. They were building a small stage for the children in the town, the enthusiastic kids giving them a suggestion to put on a play for Juneteenth the week before, so they got right on it to make it happen.

The wind blew against my resisting picked out afro, my straw hat almost flying off before the wind calmed back down. “Y’all boys thirsty?” I asked, the men turning to me with smiles while setting down their many tools, the conversation they were having before immediately coming to a stop.

“You right on time, babygirl!” My father smiled widely, a single golden canine gleaming at me. I smiled back and set down the tray of drinks on the halfway built stage, letting the men help themselves to the drinks.

My father took his own drink and kissed me on my cheek before taking a sip of the sweetened drink of his choice. I wiped his kiss off and made a face expressing annoyance, the men around me finding humor in the treatment. “don’t nobody want your sweaty kisses, daddy” I complained and he chuckled, finishing his drink. “You’ll be alright, I’ll be sure to give you a clean one right on that big forehead when I wash up for dinner” I shook my head.

He was always an affectionate man, wether it was in public or at home. The man still tries to hold my hand when we cross the street, and I always have to remind him that I’m a grown *ass* woman, which he still seems to dismiss like he doesn’t hear me.

I found it cute sometimes. One day I hoped to have a man who was just as affectionate as he use to be with my mother, and I already had an eye on who I wanted that man to be. Quickly reaching at the tray, I picked up a sweet tea and handed it to the same man in mind; Trevante. He was already reaching for the glass first, but I had to make sure I handed it to him directly, just to have that small interaction I hated to admit that I craved. He chuckled at my gesture and grabbed the glass from me.

He nodded to me as a “Thanks”, his hand softly grazing mine. Shivers went up my spine. That man could make me melt before the sun, and that was a fact. It seemed like everyone but my father could tell I was sweet on him, cause if he did I would have never had the chance to be around him like this, especially this close. You could tell Trevante was always cautious with his body language when we were around, afraid that my father would pick up on anything. It had been like that since we were teenagers.

It wasn’t like we were doing anything anyway. just a few late night conversations on the phone here and there, a few ‘accidental’ meet ups, the flirting, and two other situations that would probably send my father into cardiac arrest, but it never went farther than that. I hated that honestly.

Our relationship dynamic always felt like a constant tug of war, neither of us trying to go over that line. My reason being the fear of upsetting someone I rarely upset, and his being not wanting to break a clear boundary set in stone, but not spoken of. He knew I liked him, definitely, and I knew he liked me. I think.

If my father even found out we were talking on the phone, let alone late at night, he’d go off and then proceed to curse his bestfriend for raising such a “sly fox” of a son, thinking he had corrupted me into thinking what we were “doing” was okay.

He was a traditional man and he was that dramatic about me dating. What made it worse is that he never expected the potential date to be someone he saw as a long lost son, and thought I saw him as some kind of sibling, which never was the case. All that pretend best buddies bullshit ended when he decided he wanted to kiss me in a shed after church a year ago. That was as far as we ever went, but obviously there wasn’t much learned from the holy book.

“you made this yourself?” He asked with a hum, setting the halfway empty glass back onto the tray. I nodded with a genuine smile, holding my sun hat down on my head as the wind blew. I couldn’t even help but watch how his tongue ran across his lips, licking up any droplets of the sweet drink.

It was only for a few seconds, but I made to to quickly snap myself out of it to answer him. “That’s all me. I made sure I didn’t make it too sweet for you” he smiles and takes my hand into his, my heart skipping a little beat. “Thank you, beautiful” he complimented, holding my hand. For a second it seemed like the world stopped as I watched him caress the top of my hand, but it was really just the effect of the sounds of working slowing down again, almost everyone peeping our exchange.

Trevante glared back at the nosy crowd and let my hand go, tucking his own in his pocket.

I cleared my throat and looked away, fluffing out the bottom of my afro as Trevante looked away into the distant field. “…Anyway! I should be heading back to the house, check on the greens I put on” I lied, knowing damn well we weren’t having greens tonight. Turning away to quickly dismiss myself, my dad called out to me “Before you go! I need you to go get my other tools from the shed in the back to finish up this flooring” he said, pointing towards the back of the house. I huffed silently and turned to him, my hands sassily sitting on my hips.

“I look like some big man to you? I can’t carry whatever it is that you need!” I complained, the men laughing. My father shook his head and pointed to Tre, snapping his fingers to get his attention as all of it was currently on the shape of my hips. He pretended to look around in a toolbox sitting near the end of the stage to cover his tracks before turning to my father. “Yes, Sir?”.

“Son, be a good man and help my suddenly weak daughter carry those tools?” The man asked. I was too busy trying to control the thumping of my heart beating against my rib cage that I almost barely heard my fathers request. “Yes, Sir. I’ll get right to it” he spoke with respect, putting aside the toolbox he was pretending to plunder in, and walking with me towards the back of the house.

“Ya’ daddy losing his sight or sumn?” He looks at me, smirking a bit. I raise a brow. “boy, what?” I asked, genuinely wondering where that question could come from. “He don’t seem to see the way you be lookin’ at me. He must be losin’ it” he joked, and I playfully pushed him. “Shut up, you had me worried for a second!” we both laughed, approaching the red painted shed.

“He still runnin’ every nigga that like you outta town?”

I shook my head, sighing. “You know he crazy. He’d run a nigga off earth if that meant I’d be untouched” Trevante kissed his teeth and opened the sheds doors, walking in. I reached for the lights string and pulled it, turning the light on. “You think he’d do that to me?” He asked, beginning to look around for the specific tools my dad asked for.

I smile, butterflies filling my stomach. “Why you ask?” He looks at me for a spilt second, smiling. “Just wanna know” he responds. Nodding, I stand back, allowing him to look for the asked for tools.

“Nah, he’d probably throw up a few times at the thought of us doing anything together, then lock you in the basement though” I joked, both of us laughing again.

“You gonna bring me down dinner every night if he catches me?” I roll my eyes, pulling myself up onto a table to sit. “oh, honey… You have very high hopes for me like I’m not gon be locked in this damn shed” he shakes his head.

It was already a surprise that my father sent us back here together and alone at that, but that just meant he was getting too comfortable with the thought of us being strictly platonic. It scared me a little. How would he really react if our friendship, *if you could even call it that*, grew into something a little more? Yes, we joked about it together, but the thought of it genuinely made me anxious, my stomach turning.

If there was one thing my father could do, it was drag a situation out so bad until there was nothing left to say and his opponent had no choice but to let him win, which I did often. I barely rebelled against anything he said, actually.

“Aye! You gon’ sit over there lookin’ stuck the whole time or help me look for these damn tools?” Trevante asks while snapping his fingers in front of me. He must’ve been there for a few seconds.

“Boy,- “ I slap his hand away.

“you the big strong man, use your big strong brain to find it” I sass, the man squinting at me. “What a doll you are” he says, sarcasm plaguing his tone, making me giggle.

About a minute later, he pulls a big blue tool box from underneath a tarp. the box was locked up, most likely to stop anyone or anything stealing my fathers “good tools”, as he would say.

“Look at that, you aren’t just muscle after all!” I laugh and hoped down from the table, brushing my dress off to rid it of any dust from the wooden table. He mimics my laugh and starts looking around for the keys to the box.

“You know where he keeps the keys?” He huffs, lifting the heavy box on his shoulder and turning to me. I shrug, genuinely not knowing where that old man placed anything. “I dunno. Maybe hanging up somewhere” I suggest, not really caring too much to look around for that either.

He hums while looking around striding closer to me. “Maybe get up and help me look?” My lips formed a straight line, my expression becoming blank. My hands began fiddling with the lace on the bottom of my dress, my nerves getting worse the closer he got. “No?” He asks, his face now close to mine. I refused to turn away and give him the satisfaction of making me visually nervous, so I stayed still. Letting him get closer.

He paused for a moment, our noses almost touching. It was radio silence for a split second, only the cicadas and distant laughter being heard until I spoke.

“No…”

The response was more timid than I wanted it to sound, but with how my thighs were clenching together as I felt his breath on my lips, the intensifying second heart beat that had appeared just a few seconds ago, I doubt that I would have been able to say it confidently anyhow.

I felt bold enough to close the gap, but he had already pulled away, leaving me awkwardly leaning forward on my tippy toes into nothing. with keys in his hand, he held them up to my face, dangling them. “look at that, they were hanging up. Behind you actually” he smiles, his pearly whites that were decorated with golden slugs making an appearance.

“They were..” was all I could say as he walks out of the shed, me following closely behind him with a stupid look on my face.

“Damn! Y’all must’ve been chasing y’all tails back there!” My dad yells, referencing how long we had been gone, occupied with the task given. “They was back there chasing something alright” one of the men interrupted, making the group erupt into laughter. “Catch it, buck” another said, using my fathers nickname while referring to him not catching onto the joke, which wouldn’t have been a joke to him if he had caught on.

“I apologize, but I can’t say your daughter was much help looking” Trevante says, bumping my shoulder and setting down the box. I scoff, setting my hands on my back. “I helped! I told you where it usually was, and you found it!”

“Five minutes after we walked in! Then you just sat there the whole time”

“you must’ve bumped your head if you think imma get my hands dirty to find some old tools and risk staining my dress with rust. I just finished sewing this!” It seemed like everyone either found humor or slight annoyance in how I refused to mess up my nails and clothes, regardless of being surrounded by nothing but nature.

Usually I didn’t have a problem with getting dirty, but I didn’t put on this dress right after I finished it for no reason. I wanted to look pretty. Not like I had been working all day. Even if I had gotten one little stain on it, if it was something I couldn’t get out, I probably would have cried. I was very serious about my crafts.

Going back and forth for a few more minutes, I had realized I passed more than enough time by as I faced the sun, watching it prepare to set. It was now time to go back in and prepare dinner.

[ac3may]

" the wag diaries "

How You Met

~ Mary Earps ~

~~~~~~~~~~

meeting Mary came alongside your introductions to all your new teammates when you joined Manchester United

having previously played only in the Championship League there were equal nerves with everyone

just settling into the club was scary enough, you didn’t have time to think about crushes even if you wanted to

one thing you had seen as a little odd though was when you came home and the same car from training was again next to yours

this time at the house next door

the following morning you strode through your front door, keys spinning on your finger

and saw the one and only Mary Earps climbing into that very vehicle in the driveway beside your own

what began with waves and morning greetings quickly progressed into carpooling together, and soon came invites to dinners, movie nights and post-training exploration of Manchester

(disguised as a simple tour guide act, just welcoming you to the city, obviously!)

after three months of shared rides and teasing jibes at each other constantly, came the sudden announcement of lockdown across the country

you were together during the initial announcement

and still a few hours later when it was decided that training would be cancelled for the foreseeable future

quickly it was decided that if you were to get cabin fever, you would rather do it with your new friend by your side

unbeknown to you at the time the world would be shut down a lot longer than expected

you developed a strong routine though, cooking together, training together, taking your daily walk together

Mary talking you out of adopting a dog on every walk you took

there were also the less enjoyable moments

arguably though they were the ones that bonded you more

picking Mary up from where she lay sobbing, questioning her worth and her skill, vowing to help prove it to her

you went online to order a goal for your back garden the moment she fell asleep cuddled into your lap that night

Mary picked you up too

particularly upon finding out your dad’s cancer had made a recurrence and knowing you could easily make it ten times worse if you travelled home

so walking back into training post-lockdown, there was no question of who your best friend was

you could rival Lessi & Tooney with how close you became

there was an obvious improvement in Mary’s goalkeeping following the lockdown

and she only continued to develop as you encouraged her into extra training sessions

benefitting just as much, as a striker yourself

the following year she finally received her well-deserved call-up as Sarina’s number 1

you couldn’t be prouder! sending flowers the second you heard

unfortunately within that year, you had left Manchester and coincidentally lost contact with Mary

you had returned home to care for your siblings when your father's condition had worsened

taking a break from football entirely since the day he passed

but upon receiving your congratulations the older girl took it as an olive branch to reach out

getting in contact she tried to convince you to return, if not to Manchester then at least to football in general 

she was determined to help you to the England team just as you had fulfilled your vow to help her

you were hand-in-hand, knees bouncing anxiously, sat together when her efforts were proved successful 

Mary’s call-up came first, and hours of nervous waiting later, yours followed

it was earlier that morning that you had admitted the more than friendship feelings that had been realised between you since your return to Manchester

having woken up to find yourself sharing your bed again

(you had honestly lost count of how often it happened)

and you had refused to ignore it any longer

pulling her tighter in your grasp rather than slipping away

you soon found yourself spilling it all 

hence beginning a beautiful journey together in both romance and football as you prepared to head to Australia 

~~~~~~~~~~

I hope everyone continues to be as excited as I am about this series!! Big Mary day today🩵

[maiapeay02]

The Seal of Destiny- Seokjin (Part 1)

The day Soekjin was born, it was warm and sunny. The neighborhood glowed in the golden hue of the sun. The head of the sun did not burn the skin, instead was like a warm tickle on the skin. The light wind eased any uncomfort caused by the heat.

Seokjin was found in a basket, with a birthmark on his chest which was very similar to the broken seal that was lying. His mother picked him up gently, watched him for a few moments and held him close to her chest and  cried hard.

—

Seokjin always knew that he had a bigger purpose in his life, which lay beyond his little village. Though he had not ventured very far from the village other than a few neighboring ones. He was fourteen, when he started to earn. A kind sword-maker in the village took a liking to him and offered him apprenticeship. He was already helping his family with chores around the house, tending the garden and managing their little Herb Shop, but when you have six younger brothers and aging grandparents, any help to their kind and gentle mother would not be enough.

Seokjin was popular and well-liked in the village as well as the neighboring villages, not because he was handsome, though it definitely was one of the biggest reasons that got him noticed, not only by women, but also by men irrespective of age. He was polite, held conversation in a manner that the person will always feel heard. Most importantly, Seokjin was kind like his mother. All these qualities made a well-sought bachelor as he grew into a young man.

What most people didn't know was that Seokjin was smart. He had an eye for details, however minute it would be. He was perspective. He always knew when people were playing him or anyone else. He knew when a trader was cheating and selling his goods at a higher price. He knew when some traveler tried to sell his grandparents some bad quality herbs. He was also a good swordsman. Though not receiving any formal training, he and his younger brothers were somehow naturally skilled with activities related to warfare. He would at times go out in the woods with his younger brothers- Yoongi and Hoseok and would get rid of the bandits that would time and again cause trouble to the villagers and the travelers. This was a secret from everyone, including his mother and grandparents.

—

Seokjin was in the woods, coming back from a neighboring village, taking a break so that his horse could rest and eat. The sun was right above his head. He had estimated that he would reach home by evening and could join his family for dinner. While eating the fruit that he had packed as a snack, he heard a loud bang. It was coming from behind, from the path he had already crossed. He was sure it was a bandit attack. He had two options- he could either pack his things up and continue his journey and ignore whatever is happening, or he could go back and help. After much deliberation, he picked his sword up and walked toward the sound of attack. 

From far behind the tree, he found a small troop, around ten soldiers, surrounded equally by the bandits. It looked like the soldiers were carrying some supplies and this must have brought them to the bandits' target. He waited for a few moments, analyzing the scene in front of him. Then he attacked. The bandits were in a surprise, which became helpful to take them down faster with the help of the soldiers. In the end Seokjin and the soldiers won. Other than some injuries, the soldiers were fine. They had managed to hold two bandits captives. Introductions were made and Seokjin offered to ride with them to his village as it would be the closest and they can rest and heal for the time being. The soldiers accepted his offer. 

They reached the village late at night. Seokjin took them to the local inn, where arrangements were made for the soldiers to live and a boy was sent to call upon the village healer, who could treat the injured. Once everything was settled, Seokjin took leave after informing the captain. When he reached home, he saw light in his home. Walking in he saw Yoongi sitting by the fire with empty jars and herb baskets. He was stocking up for their store. When he saw Seokjin, he stood up and walked over to give a hug. 

“You were late. Everyone was worried.”

“I know. There was an attack in the woods on some soldiers. Brought them here. They are at the village inn.”

“Are you okay?” Yoongi asked.

Seokjin patted his brother on his cheeks softly. Yoongi was not the one who would open himself up to anyone, however close they may be, but Seokjin has seen his soul. He knew all his brothers better than anyone. Which is why he was sure that Yoongi was not pleased that he stuck around in the forest to help anyone, even the soldiers.

—

Next morning, after completing all his morning chores at home, along with receiving an earful from his mother, for getting into a fight in the forest, Seokjin decided that he will visit the soldiers before going to work. Carrying some herbal leaves that will help for quicker healing, he walked towards the inn. He found some of the soldiers eating breakfast, the captain was sitting among them. He walked towards them and shook hands, asking about their health, how they were feeling, if they required anything else.

“It was comfortable.” The captain had replied. “A luxury compared to what we are used to.”

“I am glad that it was comfortable for all of you.” Seokjin replied.

They made some small talk for a while, when the captain asked him-

“What do you think about joining the army, Seokjin? You are a fine fighter, and we may benefit from your skills at the capital.”

This question surprised Seokjin. Going to Capital, means going to the heart of the kingdom of the murder that killed his father. All his life, he had thought how he would avenge the death of his father and the injustice that his mother faced, but all the time, he swallowed the idea. But it seems like fate is giving him an opportunity, a chance to soothe his revenge.

“I have really not thought about it.” Seokjin replied to the waiting captain.

“Think about it. You seem like a guy who could do great things at the Capital.” The captain told him before leaving the table to get a refill of food, patting him on the shoulders.

[dolliedarlin]

MOMMY! | KATSUMI’S QUIRK

SUM : Katsumi finally gets her quirk and her reaction is worrying

LENGTH : 2.3k

not proofread

The sound of the front door opening and closing alerts you of Katsumi's arrival back home after just arriving home yourself.

"Katsumi! Welcome home, cupcake!" you greet her as you kneel down and open your arms for a hug, expecting her usual bubbly self to fall into your embrace and start chattering about what happened at school that day. However, that doesn't happen. Instead, she gives you a weak hug around the neck and pulls away to run off to her room. 

Confused, you stare up at Sero to ask the unspoken question of 'what happened?', only to receive a shrug and look of equal worry in return. Both you and Bakugou were too busy to collect her so Sero picked her up instead. You were sure to inform her that morning when you dropped her off at the usual time for school so you didn't understand why Katsumi only managed. 

"She's been quiet the entire journey home, I thought you would have known what was wrong," Sero explains in a hushed voice, hyperaware of any potentially sensitive ears listening into the conversation. 

"I'm afraid I don't know the answer myself," you sigh heavily in concern. 

"Do you think Bakugou might know?" the tape hero asks and you shrug. 

"Not a clue but I hope he does, I hate to see her like this," Sero nods in agreement at your statement; it breaks his heart to see his little (unofficial) niece so closed off and very unlike herself but all he can do for now is leave her in yours and Bakugou's trusty hands. 

"I'm a call away if you guys need anything," Sero offers at the door, about to leave. 

"Thank you so much, Sero-san," 

After waving off Sero, you head to the kitchen with a small solution in mind and hurriedly take out the baking equipment and ingredients needed for chocolate chip cookies. For now, this is all you can think of to help so with a small moment to prep yourself, you finish up and head towards Katsumi's room. 

Knocking on the closed door, you call out gently to her, "Katsumi, cupcake, may I come in?"

"...okay..." the long silence filling the gaps around that one call of confirmation made your palms sweat. 

"Is everything okay, Katsumi?" you ask upon entering her room. Your sweet girl was sitting on her bed, her back facing you as she plays with - what you can guess to be - a cuddly toy in her lap. Katsumi simple nods, still not bothering to look at you, "It doesn't look like that to me..." you pause just in case she might say something but alas, nothing, "did something happen at school?" you ask, maintaining your soft tone as you move forward to sit on the edge of her bed. You are right at the end corner of the bed so that you don't scare her off by being too physically confrontational. 

"...I don't want to talk about it,"

"That's okay, you don't have to tell me but we need to do something about that sad tone in your voice, sweetie," she looks at you over her shoulder, cuddling her toy to her chest and asking you with her eyes what you could be suggestion. With a warm smile you slightly lean forward, and whisper, "would you like to bake cookies with me in the kitchen?"

It took a moment but Katsumi finally nods and crawls into your open arms to cuddle into your chest as you carry her to the kitchen. 

Relief...

At least you could do this much for your precious daughter. 

"I'm home,"

Once Bakugou finally makes it home, he's exhausted and couldn't wait to shower and wash the sweat and grim off him before joining his favourite girls for dinner. As per routine, he hears your steady footsteps approaching him from behind as he's pulling off his shoes. 

"Welcome home, Katsuki," your voice is solemn greets him and the blonde immediately raises to his feet, his slippers on and his arms pulling you close by the waist. 

"What's wrong?"

You shake your head and give him the usual peck on the cheek as how your greetings usually transpired, "I've run you your bath but please hurry," he tries to comfort you by pulling you into a hug but you shake your head no and begin leading him into the living room, "Katsumi isn't her usual self," 

Katsumi was watching her cartoons with a plate of untouched cookies before her, her posture is sad and slumped over as she continues to hold her cuddly toy close. Seeing this concerning behaviur, Bakugou immediately rushes to his daughter's side and brings her into his arms. 

"What's wrong?" he whispers into her ear but you were still able to hear it as you turn off her cartoons and stand off to the side with worry. If anyone could find out what was wrong with Katsumi, it would be her father, "Come on...tell you old man what's got you feeling down," by this point, Bakugou was gently bouncing her up and down his arms, an instinct he carried through from when she was still a baby and needed comforting.

"I'm okay..." came her pitiful voice, in the same hushed whisper Bakugou had asked her in.

The explosive hero tuts, not believing her lies and gestures to the plate of cookies, "you haven't even eaten your favourite cookies and you say you're okay? You're not okay firecracker," it was very heartwarming to see this soft display between the two. A great juxtaposition between a muscly snd scarred up prohero, standing tall and wide with a curled up child in his arms, soft and clinging for attention, "tell me so we can do something about it. All problems have a solution..." 

You both see Katsumi look over her shoulder at you before cuddling back into her father's chest and whispering, "I don't want mommy to hear..."

Your heart shattered and fell to the floor. 

You don't know how long it's been because ever since Katsuki brought Katsumi to her room for a talk, time practically stopped for you. 

In the ticking silence, you were left in the living room, staring into space and had become incredibly sensitised to every minor sound, movement and shift in the surrounding area. But being stuck in time left you with a stillness that was as deafening as a vacuum in space. It's been forever since you've been left on your own with nothing but silence and your drowning thoughts to accompany you. 

Did you do something wrong?

Does Katsumi not think fondly of you anymore?

What could you have done?

Does this mean you can no longer be with Katsuki? 

What did you do?! 

"(Y/N)," Katsuki's voice breaks the silence and you almost snap your neck turn to face him from your seat at the living room sofa. He's smiling gently at the doorway, "come on, Katsumi wants to say something to you," with a stiff nod, you get you and walk over to him. So stuck in your head about what you could have possibly done wrong, you nearly miss the blonde hero whispering kind words of reassurance into your ear as he walks beside you. 

Making it into Katsumi's bedroom, Bakugou pulls you to sit at the edge of her bed as she crawls up to you and moves to make herself comfy in your lap. You're frozen, stuck in place and unable to process whats happening after being in such a state of mental panic for god knows how long. 

From your lap, Katsumi sees that you're not making any moves to embrace her warmly like you usually do, prompting her to stare up at you with teary eyes and a wobbly pout on her lips, "why aren't you hugging me mommy?" she chokes out in a whisper and almost breaks into tears if it weren't for you instantly holding her close. 

"I'm sorry sweetie..." you take a moment to get your breathing in check, "I've just been really worried about you," you wipe away her silently fallen tears and muster up a kind smile, "have I done something wrong to make you sad?" your breath remains stuck in your throat from the anxiety awaiting her determining answer. 

"...no, mommy you can't do anything wrong or make me sad, ever, never," she sniffles and you release your breath in relief. Thank goodness... however the question still remains, "but...I think I will make you sad, mommy," 

"What do you mean, cupcake? What happened?" you prod her gently, voice soft and gentle as Katsuki watches on from the sidelines. To him it's a ridiculous worry but Katsumi is taking it seriously so he needed to do the same. He's sure that only you can be the one to comfort her now. 

"I got my quirk today..." 

"Oh?" is that why? "You're just a late bloomer, there's nothing wrong with that, sweetie," you reassure her but she only shakes her head in keeps her face buried in your chest. Was that not the problem? You look up and see Katsuki shake his head at you before gesturing you to continue with the conversation, "Then what's wrong, honey?"

Katsumi stays quiet and opts to show you what was wrong instead. Looking to the side, she reaches out her arm and in her palm manifests a ball of light that dances erratically at the edges like lightening despite it's spherical shape, it was as if she took a lightening bolt straight from the sky and rolled it up into a ball small enough to fit into her hand. You stare in awe at it before some time passes and the ball gradually changes from an electric blue into a neon orange before disappearing with a small bang. 

"Oh my-...wow! Katsumi!" you cheer, at awe from her powerful and beautiful quirk, "That was amazing!" you laugh in glee, hook your hands under her armpits and lifting her up in the air and smiling brightly up at her, "What a beautiful and powerful quirk you have! It suits you so well!" slowly, you bring her down and place a loving kiss on her cheek.

"Really?" she whimpers, her sad voice reflecting the ache in her heart. 

"Yes really! Is that what you were worried about cupcake?" you ask her with a smile, "That I wouldn't like your quirk?"

"...It's my real mom's quirk," she says and curls up into your arms again, shaking like a spooked rabbit and cries choking her up from the unveiling of the truth.

"Oh?" you're still confused over what could be making her so upset, "What's wrong with that?"

"B-because you'll hate me for having my real mom's quirk!" at this outburt, Katsumi finally falls apart and sobs loudly in your arms, shouting phrases of 'you won't like me anymore!' and 'you'll think I want my real mom back but no! You're my mommy now!'

Hearing that, you finally understood. Rather than assuring her with words right away, you kept her cuddled close up in your chest as you softly pet the back of her head, swaying side to side and gently shushing her cries down. 

"Sweetie, you know I love you, right?" she nods in your arms, still burying her face into your chest and silently sniffling, "Well your quirk is a part of who you are so it's not going to make me love you any less..."

Katsumi finally faces you, her eyes puffy and red but still doe-like and adorable, "Really?" 

"Yes, 'really', besides I'm really happy you have a piece of your mother to carry with you through your life like her quirk since she is a very special person that I'll always be grateful for," this catches both Katsuki and Katsumi's attention. 

"How come?" Katsumi asks, genuinely curious.

"Because without her, I never could have met you," from this, not only is Katsumi smiling brightly in your arms but Bakugou is too. And to think he couldn't love you anymore than he already did. 

"Thank you for saying that to Katsumi," Katsuki whispers into your ear, his hands pulling your back into his torso from behind. 

"Of course and it's only the truth, anyway," you shrug off, happy that the issue was solved and was now behind you. Katsumi was happier than ever and back to her usual bubbly self too, which was the most important thing. 

"You're so perfect, thank you," Katsuki hums into your neck, pressing a gentle kiss there and brings a heat to the surface of your skin. This is so unfair!

"Katsuki!" you scold with a slight whine, trying to push him off you. Katsumi was playing in the living room while you finally dealt with making dinner. 

"Seeing how good you are with Katsumi makes me want to give her a younger sibling," you were speechless and with an unbelievable fast-paced heart pounding in your chest, "she treats Ren well so I'm sure she'll make a good older sister,"

"Stop and go take a shower! You stink!" you finally cry and push him off you, your hair dishelved and your stance flustered. Katsuki laughs at your adorable state. 

"I didn't hear a no... so that's a ye-"

"GET OUT!"

"DADDY STOP GIVING MOMMY A HARD TIME!" Katsumi shouts in anger at her dad, stomping her little feet into the kitchen after hearing your cries from the living room, "ALL OF YOU STINKY MEN ARE ALL THE SAME! STOP IT RIGHT NOW AND GO AWAY!"

Thank god for Katsumi but...where did she learn those words from? 

BNHA MLIST ; BAKUSQ. ENDEARMENT MLIST

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[fastcardotmp3]

watching too much of TLOU has me thinking of a stranger things au where the Upside Down wins the war before the Party ever has the chance to fight in it, right? so like. hear me out.

the UD makes it's go at invading topside when the older kids are young, like just old enough to remember what the world was like in the before, but the younger kids, the original party? They've never seen a version of this world that wasn't dark skies and crimson lightning and learning how to fight off monsters at the same time you're learning how to ride a bike.

It's not just Hawkins, Indiana that's been overcome by these forces that no one knows how to stop, although those of them trapped here at the point of origin by the military forces that started trying to shut it all down a decade-plus ago can't be positive just how far it reaches.

There are rumors of cities on the coasts still intact-- a California sunset in a clear sky, the water clean without having to go through intense filtration and people just going about living their lives without carrying three weapons on their person at all times, without preparing to run at the drop of a hat.

There are rumors of places that the twisting vines of a malicious consciousness can't reach, and there have been rumors like that for as long as Steve Harrington can remember.

But he doesn't believe them.

The Earth split open when he was nine years old and took his childhood with it, cracked the whole thing open and swallowed down the future of a boy who liked to play sports and sit on the counter while his mother cooked dinner to loud music on the radio.

The Earth split open and took her with it, leaving Steve a lonely kid made angry by his loss and made mean by his anger.

He comes of age in chaos, in military housing for kids with nowhere else to go, free soldiers to raise for killing, and they like him there. They like that he doesn't form attachments to the other kids, like that he's got a sharp tongue, like that he isn't afraid of a fight even when it's one everyone knows he'll lose.

They like that he's got a tough exterior, because they don't know what's hiding behind it. They don't see the him behind the bared teeth and snarling words until he falls in love with a girl in town.

Until they get wrapped up in a conspiracy because her best friend is missing and a kid named Byers is missing too and Steve's entire worldview gets dropped on its head because suddenly all the anger he has over his mother's death has a place to go other than fighting.

Nancy Wheeler slaps him and Jonathan Byers kicks his ass and they both break his heart a little bit and Steve realizes somewhere amidst heartbreak turning to friendship that they're angry too, but they're using it to help.

There aren't a lot of options for a kid without a family in a place like this, ravaged by monsters with too few resources to go around, but Steve isn't a boy that does things by halves, so leaving the training school is something of a no-brainer.

There are rumors about cities on the coasts that never had to face Hell crawling out of the ground, and Steve doesn't believe them when he stumbles his way into a cabin off the main drag of occupied Hawkins and into a half-decent living situation.

He doesn't believe them when he meets Robin Buckley while they're both trying to earn a few extra meal cards for their families doing shit grunt work that no one else wants, no one but the desperate among them.

He still doesn't believe them when a boy and his uncle, the girl named Chrissy they picked up along the way, come passing through town saying they're on a journey out West towards the rumored Free Zones.

For years he keeps not believing, keeps holding onto the understanding of the world in which this happened everywhere and no matter where they had been, his mother would still have died, that there was no saving her, that he couldn't have--

For years he believes, but Max starts having these nightmares...

And the cracks in the Earth begin to widen...

And everything goes to shit again again again again--

The Munson's have a mobile home and so does Hopper.

Joyce thinks with Eddie's help she can grab a third to be able to fit them all comfortably.

There are rumors about cities on the coasts, and maybe Steve can find a reason worth believing them now.