#be like Marco wait for them to sober up | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dilemmaontwolegs · 6 months

Note

hiiii, I'm new here. saw that your reqs r closed but I'd like to share one scenario idea. the choice is yours whether to write it or not.

Daniel (or Carlos) is your bff. You see each other rarely because of his career. It's summer break, he's back home and you've just had your heartbroken by an asshole. You convince you friend group that you need to go out & celebrate Daniel's (or Carlos') comeback in the hope of getting laid. As the night goes on the driver is more n more frustrated with the guys you choose. He get a lil too much to drink n becomes possessive of you, starts touching you intimately and doesn't care about people surrounding. The night ends in a bedroom where he fucks you slow and sensually like he thinks you deserve and none of those jackasses in the club could

hope you've a nice vacation

Peace out ✌🏾

This is for Carlos since Daniel hasn't gotten rid of that moustache yet

Red Flags || CS55

Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, smut, oral, friends to lovers WC: 2.4k

It hurt a little that the first notification you received that Carlos was back home came from a gossip page you followed. Maybe it shouldn’t come as such a surprise when a distance had grown after you started dating Marco, you weren’t sure if Carlos even knew what had happened since the last time you spoke to him. Your families were close, but even your parents were reluctant to speak to anyone about the breach of privacy your ex had caused, the photos he had tried to leak. It had cost a huge sum to keep them from being published and you had been trying to get over the betrayal since.

Recent coping methods included the company of your friends and the string of nightclubs that lined the beachfront.

“I picked up a stray,” Liana called out as she walked into your house without knocking. You could always count on your friend to be up for a party and she had accepted the invite before anyone else. You stuck your head out of the living room where you had been pouring yourself a stiff drink and found her arm curled around the back of Carlos. “A handsome one too.”

You couldn’t believe it had been nearly six months since you last saw him and it looked like he had somehow matured even more. His beard had filled out to cover his entire jaw and his hair was lush and dark.

Excitement filled you and you rushed towards him as he opened his arms with a smile. “Carlito!”

“Bomboncita,” he replied with a laugh, his strong arms tightening around you as he picked you up and twirled in a circle. “Missed you too.”

“Come out with us, let’s celebrate your win!” You didn’t wait for an answer as you rushed back to get your clutch with your ID and cash.

“She just wants to get laid,” Liana whispered to Carlos. “You can help me keep her away from any red flags.”

There was one thing you could always count on and that was Liana to be the mother of the group. More mature than the rest of your friends put together, she always made sure you got home safe. Everyone else lived in the city but the mansion your parents had given you was out on the coast, thankfully she was more than happy to sober drive for you. Unfortunately, the only cars on the driveway were two seater sports cars.

That was how you ended up starting your night sitting on Carlos’ lap.

“This reminds me of old times, bombón,” he murmured as you looped an arm around his neck and held on tight.

“I don’t know how you passed basic maths,” you shot back with a laugh before looking at Liana. “He would always invite more people than we have seats for during the summer break.”

Liana shook her head with a smirk. “Maybe he just liked having you on his lap.”

“What guy wouldn’t,” you joked, well accustomed to the years of teasing over your close friendship with Carlos. But for all the times you sat in this very position, he had never seen you as more than a friend.

“Should we stop her?” Carlos asked, a quiet growl in his words as he watched you dance with another man. Your hips were too enticing, too sexy, and he had to look away to down his drink and quench the sudden thirst he had.

Liana didn’t seem fazed by your ability to hook a man in with a seductive smile and dance with them until Carlos interrupted or they said something that made you push them away.

“No way, she deserves to have some fun after what happened with Marco.”

He placed the empty glass on the bartop and turned his attention to Liana, a frown etched into his forehead. “What happened with Marco?”

“Oh, she should probably be the one to tell you. I thought you knew.”

A woman in a very low cut dress slipped between Liana and Carlos, interrupting their conversation as she placed a hand on his arm. “You’re that driver, right? Want to dance?”

Carlos shook his head with a polite ‘no thanks’ and brushed her hand off his, rubbing the spot on his sleeve to erase the feel of her touch. “What did he do, Lee?”

The tone left no arguing and Liana chewed her lip nervously before giving in and leaning closer so no one overheard.

Rage burned through Carlos in a way he had never felt before. He had felt anger, sure, frustration too, but this was white hot and liquid molten in his veins, deep in his core. He was lucky that Marco wasn’t in the same city or he would surely be finding himself on the wrong side of the law at that moment.

Carlos didn’t even realise he had crossed the room until his fist bunched into the shirt of the man holding you close and he pushed the stranger away, ignoring the protests he made.

“Carlito!” you giggled as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Dance with me.”

Some of the fire eased as your fingers twirled the strands of hair at his nape and his hands came to rest naturally on your hips as he pulled you closer. “We have a lot of catching up to do, bomboncita.”

You looked up as the odd tone cut through your buzz and immediately knew what he knew. His own eyes were a little unfocused and you could smell the whiskey on his breath, not helping him to control his emotions. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The air hissed between your teeth as you sucked in a breath and dipped your chin down so you didn’t have to look him in the eyes. “You would have said I told you so.”

His hand slipped away from your body and you missed the heat of it instantly but then it was cradling your throat, his thumb pushing your chin back up and forcing you to connect with his dark irises. “I told you he wasn’t good for you, he wouldn’t treat you how you deserve.”

“Carlito...” It was a familiar argument every time you had a boyfriend. He would always find reasons to dislike them.

“Listen, please, bombón,” he said as he took a step closer so every inch of his body was flush against yours. His lips brushed your cheek as he turned your head away and whispered the secret he had kept all these years. “Let me show you how you should be treated.”

Surprise filled you and you licked your dry lips at the thought of what he was implying. “Here?” you asked breathlessly and his laugh warmed your cheek.

“No, bombón,” he all but purred as he teased the column of your neck with his nose and his hands danced over the curve of your ass. “What I want to do to you…no, not here.”

His eyes narrowed at someone behind you and you turned to see it was someone you had been dancing with earlier. You couldn’t remember his name, or maybe he hadn’t even told you it, either way you had no interest in taking the drink he offered.

“Red flag, mate,” Carlos growled as he pulled you under his arm and put himself between you and the stranger. “Walk away.”

The man wisely walked away and you laughed as you stepped back into Carlos’ arms. He had held you a thousand times over your long friendship but the way he held you now, possessive and jealous, it changed everything. There was no going back to how it used to be.

“I kind of like this new you,” you teased as you danced with him, turning in his arms and rocking your hips in time to the beat. “So commanding, Carlito, why don’t you try it on me?”

His lips cocked up in a smirk that you saw as you peeked over your shoulder and dragged his hands down your body. “Because you’ve never listen to anything I say.”

Turning to face him, you looped your arms around his neck and brushed your lips softly over his before you could change your mind. “Maybe you just never said what I wanted to hear.”

Carlos swallowed as he saw your pupils dilate with lust and the thin material of your dress did little to hide the fact you wore no bra beneath it, your peaked nipples begging him to take them in his mouth. “We need to leave,” he groaned as he squeezed your ass and bit his lip, “before I get us both into a lot of trouble.”

You barely remembered to thank Liana for dropping you off at home. You barely remembered the drive when every ounce of your brain capacity was spent trying to behave yourself while you sat on Carlos’ lap. You tried to keep still on the corners but you felt his hard length beneath you with each turn and squirm.

It seemed to take forever for Liana to finally pull into your driveway and your foot tapped the tile floor impatiently while she drove off and you slapped the button on the wall to close the gates. You didn’t wait to see them close as Carlos’ lips were on yours and his feet led the way blindly through your home.

Your bed was a mess. You hadn’t planned on bringing a stranger back to your place, but Carlos was no stranger, in fact, he knew you better than anyone ever could or would. He smiled knowingly as he laid you down on the sheets, kneeling between your legs as they parted for him.

His shirt had been abandoned somewhere on the stairs, your dress along the hallway, his trousers at the foot of your bed. You had seen him in this state of undress before, when you would sneak out as teenagers and go for midnight swims in the bay, but the moonlight had left the memory faded. In the light of your room, his skin glowed and shadows highlighted the dips of his defined muscles that lined his body. It was like seeing him in colour for the very first time.

“Are you okay, bombón?” he asked as his fingers danced down your legs lightly, tickling your skin and leaving goosebumps behind until he reached your heels. His thick fingers shouldn’t have been able to remove the delicate clasps so gracefully but he eased each shoe off before massaging the aching soles of your feet. “You look like you are thinking too hard.”

“I am thinking you are going way too slow,” you teased. His thumb hit the right spot in your arch and a moan parted your lips while he chuckled at your reaction.

“I told you, princesa, I’m going to show you how you deserve to be treated.” Tantilisingly slowly, he massaged his way up your legs, devoting his time to your relaxation until you were putty in his hands. Your legs were trembling in anticipation when his thumbs finally reached the laced edge of your panties and he let out an unsteady breath at the damp patch darkening the material. You lifted your hips for him as he hooked his fingers into the waistband and dragged them down your legs. “I want to taste you, princesa.”

“Please, Carlos,” you begged as he licked his full lips enticingly.

You recognised the look in his eyes, the one that told you to be patient and the groan that had been building morphed into a gasp when he grabbed your hips and pulled you onto his thigh. The pressure was teasing and you rocked your hips wanting more as he blanketed you with his body and sealed his lips around your breast.

“Fuck,” you moaned as his tongue flicked over your nipple, sending bolts of lightning to your core as you tightened your legs around his thigh and combed your fingers into his hair. “Oh god, do that again.”

He was more than happy to follow your command and you felt like your body would ignite beneath him. He sensed the change in your body as your breathing laboured and a sweat broke out across your skin. “Not yet,” he warned as he kissed his way up your neck and captured your lips in a blistering kiss. “I want to taste you when you come, princesa.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as you shamelessly rode his thigh, the pressure building. “Then you better hurry up.”

A whimper escaped with the disappearance of his leg but when you opened your eyes you were struck by his dark ones, watching you watch him make his way down your body. You sucked in a sharp breath as you felt him blow a cold breeze over your skin and you shivered as he warmed it again with his tongue.

“I’m starting to think you get off on teasing me,” you whispered with a strained voice.

“I simply get off on you,” he replied just as quietly.

The questions you had were erased with the leisurely stroke of his tongue, tasting you for the first time. He hummed at the reward he had earned with his teasing and his fingers gripped your thighs tighter as he held you spread open for him to devour.

The room filled with the sweet sounds that clawed from your throat as your head swum and your legs quivered. The salacious song grew louder when Carlos curled one finger into your cunt, then two. He pumped his digits as his tongue circled your clit and together they threw you over the edge and you came with undulating waves that rocked your body against his lips.

“Carlito…” you panted as he lapped at your dripping folds, indulging in the decadence he had been craving for years.

“I love you,” he admitted as he rose above you.

You reached for his face, your thumb tracing the shape of his swollen lips that were still shiny with your arousal. “I love you too.”

“No more red flags,” he said as he lined himself with your entrance. “You’re mine, princesa.”

“I’m yours,” you echoed as you pulled his face to yours and sealed the promise with a kiss.

“You always have been.”

#carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 x you #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 x reader #carlos sainz smut

948 notes · View notes

anitalianfrie · 2 months

Note

cele/bezz + things you said when you were drunk

-daisy (@lastlatebraker)

things you said when you where drunk (bezzetti)

“Stronzo! Eat your own things, not mine!” shouts Pecco, shoving Mig aside. Mig collapses on the chair, laughing, a big laugh that comes from the stomach, and Luca falls down on the sticky surface of the table, headfirst, shoulders shaking.

Cele looks at them from the other side of the table, eyes blinking, trying to clear his head. He drank just enough to feel completely stupid, but now he wishes the feeling could be washed away in a second, with a snap of his fingers. It’s five am, and they are sitting inside of a kebab shop, after getting out of the club all wobbly and laughters, leaning onto each other to not fall down.

Nelli, the only one sober enough to still walk straight, plops down in the chair next to his, the tray in his hands hitting heavily the table, a couple of chips falling out of it and on the wood, thanks to the impact. Somebody’s hand immediately reaches out to get them.

Cele kind of feels in his own world. Words don’t stick, flying around in his head, and he can’t grab them, make them stay still enough for him to give them any meaning or sense.

He keeps blinking, hard, in the hope of something sticking. Nothing does.

Something hits him in the shoulder, hard. He almost jumps from the surprise, but then he turns his head, and it’s only Marco. Marco who drank too much, so much that when they got into the kebab shop he simply collapsed onto a table and didn’t say a word, didn’t even ask for food.

He always gets like this, when he drinks too much. Confused and loose limbed. Affectionate, almost sticky in his need. Cele doesn’t mind it, when Marco comes from behind him on the dance floor and hugs him tight, screaming in his ear, or when he wraps one of his arms around his waist while they wait for their drinks at the bar. He likes it, actually.

Maybe more than he should.

Cele gets one of his arms around Marco’s shoulders and squeezes, bringing him a bit closer. Marco smiles, his eyes closed.

The others are still talking, laughing, and Luca is moving his hands around wildly, pieces of lettuce flying out of his sandwich. Cele stops trying to understand what they are saying.

Marco starts nuzzling against Cele’s neck, and the brush of his untamed hair against his skin makes him ticklish. It’s... nice. A smile spreads on his lips. He can feel Marco’s mouth stretching against his neck, in a curve that’s twin to his own.

Cele mindlessly puts one of his hands in Marco’s curls, playing with them, and Marco melts against him.

It’s only the two of them in the whole world.

After some time, Marco, uncoordinated and messy, puts one hand on Cele’s thigh and climbs up with his mouth, reaching Cele’s ear.

“You know.” he says, whispers, and Cele can feel his lips against his skin. The sting of his scruff.

“You know,” he continues, “I think. If you were a girl. I would fuck you.” and then he giggles, one of his soft laughs, burying his head deep down into the crook of his neck, pushing his nose against the muscles.

Cele can feel his blood pumping, in his hands, in his veins, in his carotid against which Marco is hiding his face. He doesn’t-

He tries to make sense of the word he just heard. Maybe the alcohol just scrambled them too. But Cele can see them, written in front of his eyes, and they are not moving. He can feel their sour taste against his tongue with extreme clarity.

If you were a girl.

Cele wishes the alcohol could make him feel stupid again, sheepish and without a care in the world. But it’s too late. It’s gone now.

If you were a girl.

Mig shoves a chip in his face.

“Do you want it? I put some lemon on it, it's a banger!”

Cele takes the chip.

It tastes like tears.

Marco keeps nuzzling against his neck.

send me a pairing and one of these and i’ll write a mini fic

#does this make sense? i don't know #maybe a bit too much based on my own experiences after clubbing #and chips with lemon are a banger. (i think. i was a bit drunk when i ate them so)#bezzetti #motogp #my fics #and of course it's angsty because life always is

56 notes · View notes

count-alucard-tepes · 1 year

Note

Totally optional if you want to do this with your fav OP Hotties

Pregnant S/O is left behind on accident!

S/O is close to delivery date, can’t really do much but relax and rest with their husband as the best doctors are nearby in town. Suddenly, they sit up in shock thanks to a harsh kick from their baby bump.

Good news: It’s just a kick / Bad news: OP Husband don’t know that.

One moment they’re peacefully asleep and then are startled by their S/O groaning and commenting on the pain.

Sure, things have been planned ahead, packed up, and even practiced on what to do when the new baby comes, but when it actually happens. . . It’s a little scary. It’s happening! Quick! Gather everything and get to the doctor!

See S/O? Everything is totally under control and aren’t they proud to have gotten such a reliable husband that can provide for. . . Wait, where’s S/O?

And then the realization hits. Despite the preparations and drills, S/O is left behind and possible going into labor all alone! If there were witnesses, chances are they will be silenced to OP husband from the embarrassment.

S/O is completely confused on why their husband just up and ran off while freaking out as if they saw a ghost. Casually sipping some water as they see their husband come back, practically out of breath, apologizing profusely but they still will carry their S/O to the doctor.

It was all a false alarm. Everything is totally ok. S/O almost feels bad for laughing at how worried their husband had been over nothing. They’ll still get a gold star for the effort and hope that their husband won’t forget them when the actual day happens.

“I’m still glad to have someone like you take such good care of us.” S/O gives their husband a kiss.

Kizaru ✨: he would be a little embarrassed but at the same time it's the first time he's going through this so he didn't want to risk anything.

Akainu🌋: he would still take his S/O to the hospital to make sure they were perfectly safe before he took them home and would give a lecture to their belly aka the baby.

Ryokugyu 🌱: he would huff and want to be left alone as he was completely embarrassed that he overreacted.

Fujitora 🐅: he was still a little worried but would just be a little more sensitive to how his S/O felt before acting again.

Sir Crocodile 🐊: he is beyond annoyed because he was excited to meet his child but would still have to wait a little longer which was disappointing.

Doflamingo Donquixote: he was disappointed that it wasn't actually happening as he just wanted to see his baby already.

Benn Beckman 🔫: he would sigh softly and just try to relax, it’s an overwhelming experience for him.

Katakuri Charlotte 🍡: he is really annoyed but at the same time should have seen this coming so he’s more mad at himself for overreacting.

Killer🔪: he cannot stop blushing because he is so embarrassed by the whole situation.

Kaido🐉: he’s too sober for this shit.

King 👑: he is blushing the entire time and wants to go flying but doesn’t want to leave his S/O alone.

Queen👑: literally cannot stop clinging to his S/O.

Izou🔫🔫: just makes some tea and snacks for them as they laugh about the whole scenario.

Dragon D Monkey 🐉🐒: he literally got back to work and spent the whole night doing that.

Oven Charlotte 🍞: does not sleep the entire night as he’s still worried about his S/O.

Buggy🤡: is completely embarrassed and cannot stop blushing.

Marco the Phoenix 🦅: is already asleep as he’s super exhausted.

45 notes · View notes

ladylooch · 8 months

Text

Princess Hischier

A/N: The second request for Lio & Lucie which was affectionately requested as "Macho Connor." So we check in on dumb fuck Marco who never left their hometown.

“So what’s good here?” Connor asks Lucie. His hands are around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder as she looks at the menu in her hand. She knows the whole thing, but wanted to check out the monthly specials they have for July. Her, Connor and Lio are at their hometown coffee shop in Switzerland, grabbing a quick drink after brunch for their walk back to the lake.

“Everything. You should try the Nitro though.”

“Okay.” Connor shrugs, not giving any more thought. “That caramel one looks up your alley.”

“Yeah that is what I’m getting.” She chuckles. He knows her so well.

A happy bubble settles in Lucie’s chest. Connor kisses her temple, then nudges her forward to order. Lucie orders for the three of them. After, they walk down to the edge of the counter to wait. Lio comes out from where he stopped to use the restroom.

“Why am I still hungover?” Lio rubs his temples. “Gonna need a hail mary from this coffee.”

“You need a beer. Why didn’t you start drinking at brunch?” Connor asks.

“Because I would have puked, man. I needed food first.”

“You’re soft.” Lucie chuckles. Her fingers intertwine with Connor’s, swinging the, between their bodies as she scans the other patrons of the coffee shop.

Marco.

He’s sitting at a table by the window, staring at her. Lucie drags her gaze away, looking up to Connor instead who is still giving Lio shit.

“Might need to dial it back, old man. All that light beer is too much for your tummy.”

“Fuck off.” Lio snaps, grabbing his cappuccino from the barista. When Lucie doesn’t laugh, Connor looks down at her face.

“You okay?” He asks, rubbing her shoulder. Lio looks around as he takes is first sip, seeing Marco.

“They let any pieces of shit in this place, eh?” Lio mutters. Connor follows Lio’s gaze, seeing a man more tatted than him with piercings and an overall dark presence. His gaze returns to his girlfriend. Lucie is clearly uncomfortable. Connor wraps his beefy arms around her, using his strength to enclose her into his body.

“We don’t like him?” He asks Lucie directly. She shakes her head no. Connor hates the tightness of her mouth and sobering look on her face. “I’ve got you.” He reminds her. He grabs her coffee, handing it to her. She takes a desperate sip, happy to have something to coat her dry throat. She’s breathing harder than she needs to, hoping to avoid an interaction.

But Marco’s never been one to shy away from confrontation.

“Hey Luc.” He calls as they start to walk out. Her skin crawls at the way he uses the nickname like they’re close. Lucie tosses a polite wave, trying to continue. “Heard princess Hischier was back in town taking audiences.” He’s trying to provoke her. Connor’s reassuring hand on her hip makes her brave.

“Not from gaslighting pieces of shit though.” Lio chokes on his coffee, turning and gaping at Lucie. Lucie is speaking in Swiss German, so Connor does not understand. But he hears her tone and with Lio’s reaction, knows she’s getting feisty.

“LuLu.” Connor chuckles his warning. “Just tap me in.”

“You always were quite the story teller.” Macro rolls his eyes, slumping back further in his chair, unbothered by her outburst.

“Only told the truth about you though.”

“Lu, he is not worth the time.” Lio says in English.

“Wasn’t back then either.”

“Yeah, but you’ll never be able to take what we did back.” This part is in English and Connor doesn't like the tone or the implication.

“Hi, I’m Connor.” He steps forward, reaching his hand out. Macro foolishly takes it. Connor yanks him forward, then twirls him, pinning Marco to the coffee table. Other patrons stare, Lucie’s heartbeat accelerates. “Talk to my girlfriend again and I’ll snap your arms off.” Marco nods frantically in understanding. Connor releases him then comes walking back towards Lucie, eyes only for her. Her wild pupils and pink cheeks tells him how much she likes him standing up for her.

“Time to go.” Connor murmurs as he tosses a shoulder into her thighs. She squeals, surprised, then starts to belly laugh. She extends her coffee out to avoid spilling. Connor turns, kissing her butt cheek then giving it a sweet tap.

“We have to run!” Lucie calls, waving goodbye to a now timid Marco.

Thank God Lucie let herself free from that. She leans forward, kissing the deep valley of Connor’s spine through his shirt.

“You two are so fucking obnoxious.” Lio mutters, putting his sunglasses over his eyes. “Let’s get back to the lake. Wanna get on the boat and pick up chicks.”

“Me too.” Connor jokes as he sets Lucie back down. He guides an arm around her shoulder, pulling her in for a smooch that makes her swoon into his chest.

“We should ditch him.” Lucie says to Connor. He pulls back.

“What do you have in mind?” His eyes sparkle, complete trust in her. Her heart swells in her chest.

“Wanna see you tangled in my sheets.”

“Your dad is not gonna let us disappear upstairs together.”

“Him and Uncle T are golfing. My mom is with Auntie Em and the rest of the kids a few towns over.”

“So Lio’s our last hurdle?”

“Yeah.” She giggles.

“We can easily lose him. Send him down to the dock first and say we’ll be down later.” Connor murmurs against her lips. “He’ll eventually get sick of waiting and head out on his own.” Lucie giggles again, barely able to keep kissing him with her laughter.

She’s so in love with Connor Wood.

#Lio & Lucie

21 notes · View notes

philliamwrites · 2 years

Text

SWYAATL 15: Dear Comrade

Pairings: Eren Jaeger x fem! Reader

Warnings: alcohol, young adults being horknee, depression at the end

Summary: “Yeah, I am. I’m glad I found you.” You mumble the last bit, plucking the leftover flowers from your dress until you hold the branch of the forget-me-not between your fingers. “And even though we’ll go our separate ways next week, I’m glad we’re friends. It’s weird … you’re someone I don’t want to forget, Eren Jaeger.” You offer him the flower. His eyes, now a dark green, are nothing like the soft blue—they’re different in so many ways, but you like them. Eren takes the flowers from you, looks at it like he doesn’t know what to do with it, and settles for putting it in your hair, behind your ear. “I won’t just disappear, you know,” he says, an exasperated tone swinging in his voice as though he’s talking to a three-year-old that’s still struggling with object permanence.

Notes: [01] || [14] | [16]

Words: 9k

A/N: Here we go, folks. Arc 1 of the story is over. I've already started working on Arc 2, and I've already noticed how fast-paced it is compared to what I've written until now. That being said, I can't tell when updates will resume, but I'll take a break from uploading for AoT for the time being. Once I'm back in the new year, I hope I can bring you a more regular upload schedule, but no promises.

Thank you everyone who's been on this ride for me, I can't thank you enough. Especially for the overwhelming love people show for Emil (I'm so surprised there are only asks about him on Tumblr than on the other AoT characters).

15: Dear Comrade

Commander Erwin Smith is a tall, impressive man. You’ve grown used to a handful of the other boys looming over you, but nobody manages to quite tower as Erwin does, making you feel small and insignificant even though you’re supposed to be the most important figure tonight. He’s wearing a simple white shirt, the sleeves rolled back to his elbows. With arms the size of logs and shoulders wider than the Walls, nobody dares to stand in his way.

It immediately sobers you up. Now you wish you’d at least worn a jacket or something.

He gives you an elegant, curtsy bow, offering his broad-palmed hand on which a wooden chip rests. “Might I ask for this dance, Maienkoenigin?”

“Uhm”, you say very intelligently. Sir, yes, Sir, is what you should have said. Instead, you blurt, “Should you be out here at all?”

Erwin doesn’t appear bothered by your question—then again, you think more is needed to throw the Commander of the Survey Corps off balance than a skimpy dressed, tipsy woman just fresh out of Cadet Corps.

“Should I and my men not be allowed to join the revelries from time to time?” he asks in return.

You can feel your face ablaze with shame. “I—I’m sorry, Sir, I didn’t mean to, Sir.”

Erwin chuckles. “At ease,” he says. “I must admit, I am out here not only for pleasure. I came to have a first look at the cadets. The Survey Corps is always on the lookout for promising new recruits.” He waits patiently for you to finally settle your hand in his, and turns his head to see which song the band strikes up next. On the other side of the plaza, the two string musicians each begin playing different songs, stop, and laugh at their error. When they bow their instruments this time, there’s harmony and the crowd moves in tandem; amongst all the other faces, you spot Marco spinning Mina, and over there is Ymir forcing another tankard of beer down Christa’s throat. It makes you giggle; you want nothing more than to join you friends on the other side of the plaza and dance with Mina and Marco and kiss them both, and find Jean and tell him how much he means to you and how glad you are that he is part of your life—oh, and the Shiganshina three, the Golden Trio, there’s so much you need to tell them, especially Eren, oh Eren—

“I imagine everyone must be excited about graduation,” Erwin says, easily spinning you out of the path of a boisterous couple kicking up their legs in every direction, and successfully yanking your thoughts away from your friends and back to him. “Has anyone voiced their interest in joining the Scouts?”

Your thoughts go right back to Eren, who burns so bright it blinds you whenever he speaks about the Scouts. Mikasa will follow him, of course. There is little you imagine she wouldn’t do for him. And where Mikasa and Eren go, Armin follows. You feel as though with those three alone, the Scouts are about to obtain a whole squad.

“Some,” you say, and try hard not to flinch when Erwin places his hand at the small of your back, leading you through the crowd. He’s an experienced dancer, and you wonder if that’s a hiring requisition for superior ranks. “Though opinions are split, and not in the Scout’s favour.”

You feel Erwin’s gaze on you. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that. But then he gives a small, crooked smile, and says, “When is it ever? That doesn’t stop us from doing what we have to do.”

“What’s it like?” Your voice is so quiet, you doubt he hears your words. “The outside?”

Erwin is quiet for a moment. Even though his hands don’t stop to guide you for a moment, he feels as though his mind is far away. In the end, he settles for, “There’s still so much I don’t know,” but he speaks it in a whisper as though they are meant for him alone.

The dance goes on and on; everything spins so fast: the music, the laughter, the warmth from living people. Girls and women spin in circles, their hair—black, brown, scarlet, and metal gold—flows like banners in the wind, and amidst them, silver flashes like a shiny coin. Like the moonlight flashing between dark clouds and illuminating the endless, dark night.

You trip over your own feet, staring in that direction. The only reason you don’t fall is because Erwin catches your arm in time, steadying you. “Is everything alright?” he asks, but it seems very far away. You tear away from him and dive into the crowd in search of what you’ve seen—who you have seen, because there is no mistake that only one person wears hair woven from silver starlight.

Dizzy and disorientated, you dart through the crowd towards the fountain, shouldering people aside, using your knees and elbows as weapons. Cheers and calls follow you which you ignore—you want to be invisible to them all, to throw away the crown and run back to the meadow, run across it barefoot hand in hand with—

The band’s song haunts you; the melody, their voices—it is the only thing that you can hear while running towards him.

O let the earth a-tumble, love, And humble you withal, Keep running. It’s up to you now, Up to you now, love to

Love run, love run For all the things you’ve done Run for all the things that drum Run for all those pages thumbed

Love run, love run For all the things we wished we’d done Run from all you know that’s coming Run to show that love’s worth running to.

When you emerge from the crowd, panting and with your heart trying to break free from your chest, no one with silver hair is waiting for you on the other side. It shouldn’t surprise you, yet you only realise now how much you’ve hoped, how much you’ve depended on the possibility that somehow, by the smallest chance, Emil would appear and surprise you. It feels as though you are losing him all over again—you are an open wound that you have no idea how to close. Tears burn behind your eyes, suddenly the emotions are so overwhelming you feel like you’re drowning in them.

You need to leave. As fast, as far away as you can until you can breathe again, until it doesn’t feel as though you are missing one of your limbs.

You turn and dash towards a narrow side alley—and bump into a solid, hard back. Before you can mumble an apology, a very familiar voice brightens the dark pit in your chest.

“Hey, what’s up?” Eren asks.

You tip your head back to look up at him. Eren used to be your height when you started out in the Cadet Corps, but now he looms over you, almost a whole head taller. Something about seeing him right now takes the wind out of your sails—you’ve searched for a haven and while you haven’t arrived where you want to be, maybe you’ve arrived where you need to be.

“I—I’m okay. I’m okay now,” you respond finally, unable to look away from Eren’s face. He dips his chin a little, as if sensing there is more you’re about to say, but when nothing comes, he gives you a crooked smile and turns to disappear back into the crowd. Something about the sight of his broad shoulders retreating closes up your throat, wedges sharp needles into your mouth.

“Stay,” you say, catching his wrist, feeling his hot skin. Eren stops, turns slowly. “Don’t leave. Please.”

He looks up from your hand to your face and studies it; studies your face for the answers to the questions flickering in his eyes. They pierce through you, hook right under your skin. Usually, you’d hate to lie bare and vulnerable before someone, but it’s different with Eren. Until recently, there was only one person whose thoughts you cared to know—what they thought about you, specifically. Now, Eren has become that person.

Slowly, Eren reaches for your hand and untangles it from his shirt. Your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach, but before you can say anything or move away, he takes your hand and leads you away from the feast through narrow alleyways, hidden away from prying eyes. It’s quiet here, and deeply dark. A few couples have sought that secrecy and are together now, joined at the lips, pressed close against the walls. Another song has begun, but slower.

Eren slows only when you reach the gates leading outside Trost District. He leads you off the path to where the grass fields stretch like silver patches under the moonlight. Immediately, you notice how much easier breathing is out here in this quiet, calm place. You take off your flower crown and drop it behind a crate, and hope you will never have to wear a crown again.

You find an empty spot down by the riverbank and sink down into the grass, the earth still warm from the day’s sunlight. You’re surprised. For the loud mouth Eren is, he can be quiet when it matters. The only light source comes from a big campfire people have put up near the water. It casts Eren in a warm glow that softens the planes of his face. He looks younger—like on the day you met on the first day of training when his eyes looked big for his face. His eyelashes are still stupidly long, stupidly dark—curving like the crescent moon above your heads. Light stubble runs along his sharp jaw. You wonder how his skin would feel to the touch.

You’re certain Eren is aware of your eyes on him, but he keeps staring ahead unblinkingly, waiting for you to fill the silence. He’s putting your back against a wall like that. You don’t know how much longer you can run. From him, from yourself—always towards the past as though Time itself slows to let you play, stealing the hours and turning the night into day.

You let your hands roam over the soft grass, and feel your fingers stumble over leaves and petals.

An idea blossoms.

You pluck the flowers from the ground and begin to weave a crown.

“You know, this means affection and admiration,” you say and show Eren a purple-crowned dianthus. He blinks. “And this,” you continue, presenting a lilac aster right under his nose, “means I will remember you.” You pick up the next flower. “This is Forget-Me-Not.”

“Let me guess,” Eren says. “Don’t forget me?”

“So smart.”

He grins. This grin makes something deep inside you unfurl, like a petal opening up its secrets to the sun.

You return to your craft, fumbling with thin stems and fragile pallets that break off and tear under your touch. Eren watches you struggle for a good minute. When he speaks, the amusement in his voice is like soft wind grazing through leaves. “Need help?”

“I’m good, I’m just—” The stems unweave and slip through your fingers like seams coming unknitted. The sweet smell of crushed petals fills the night. Nothing you do makes the crown hold—and then you realise why.

You let the flowers fall into your lap and blink at them, feeling your eyes grow heavy. “He never showed me.”

Eren tilts his head towards you.

“He never taught me,” you repeat, a quiver to your voice, “how to make flower crowns.”

Eren clears his voice. “Who…?”

“Emil!” You stretch out your hand, showing off his ring, grinning. The crimson sphere flashes almost threateningly like spilt blood.

Eren is quiet for a moment, eyes fixed on your slender finger and the ring. “I’ve heard you mention him,” he finally says, turning his head away. His side profile seems suddenly like a stranger’s, sharp and uninviting. “Who is he?”

“My fiancée,” you announce proudly.

He turns his head so fast and sharp in your direction, you hear a bone crack in his neck.

“You’re engaged?” he asks, but there is a very unfamiliar, un-Eren like tone to his voice that makes you look at him.

You don’t think Eren has ever looked at you like this. As though you are a glass of water and he is dying of thirst, but unable to reach you. As though you are the only patch of cool, green grass in a never-ending stretch of parched, grey land. You have only seen yearning on Eren’s face when he talks about killing all Titans and going outside the Walls. It makes you feel as though you are an exposed nerve, tender and raw to the slightest touch. If Eren would reach out right now and put his fingers to your skin, surely you would combust.

His eyes seem to reach deep into you, hooking into the words buried deep in your chest, and yanking them out painfully.

“He’s dead,” you say quietly, your grin slowly fading. “I think … otherwise, he would be here. With me.”

Eren’s voice is barely audible. “Was it in Shiganshina?”

You nod, and nod, and keep nodding, feeling a thick lump in your throat. You bring your knees up to your chest, your hands wedged in the fabrics of your dress to keep them warm. Only when Eren puts his jacket around your shoulders, you notice your body is shaking, but the moment his warm knuckles brush your collarbones, the cold inside your body dissipates. The fabric is warm from his skin, the collar smells like him. You duck your head, trying to bury yourself inside his jacket.

“You know, not one day passes where I don’t miss him so much it feels that I might die,” you say, quietly, more to yourself than to him. “I don’t know if you’ve ever felt something like this.”

Eren holds your stare. If the silence is bait, you don’t take it. You inhale, slowly. You smell food and the riverbed: mud and spice, with the slight after-taste of human pollution. And sweetness; ripe flowers ready to harvest for bees and insects.

“My Mom,” he finally says after a long moment. He stretches out his long legs, then reconsiders and pulls his knees back up to his chest, mirroring your position. “I saw my Mom die five years ago and the first days after that were like hell.”

You nod. You know what that feels like. Glancing over at Eren, you think about taking his hand and squeezing it—to show that he is not alone in that grief, that you know his pain. But when you look at his hand, you find it already balled into a tight fist by his side.

Weirdly enough, it makes you smile. Of course Eren would not allow himself to break. Instead, he steels his grief into rage, into desperation, into resolve.

“We’ve lost … so much … we’re trapped like fucking cattle ready for slaughter.” Eren forces a deep, shuddering breath inside his lungs. You can see the veins along his arms stand out, and suddenly your mouth goes very dry. “I can’t live like this. Nobody should live like this.”

“You have big dreams, Eren.” You bump into his side, feeling his strong arms hard like walls against yours. He doesn’t budge. “Maybe you’ll set us all free one day.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, but you see the corners of his mouth twitch. “If we ever bring down the Walls, I’ll definitely line up to throw a dynamite or two.”

“And then? What then?” It is a strange feeling, talking about a future you know won’t exist, but there is a quiet place in your heart that tries to imagine a life with no Titans, with no boundaries. It would look like a small Haven of trees, brushes hung heavy with glossy berries, red and purple and black, and small trees hung with oddly-shaped fruits you’ve never seen before and that would be home—you take a sharp breath in. Gone is the smell of green, of living and growing things, of dirt and the roots that grow in dirt, and as you blink away the picture that’s fading behind your closed lids, slipping from your mind even though you have no idea where it has come from in the first place, you hear Eren still talking: “… and after Armin and I see the ocean, I don’t know. We’ll explore the world. Find all the places in Armin’s book he always talks about. And then … I’ll pee in every major body of water on earth?”

“Oh my God.”

“You asked.” Eren bumps back into your side and you nearly topple over. When you straighten yourself, he’s looking at you curiously. Whatever he sees must satisfy him because he turns away, smiling to himself.

“What?” you ask.

“I see you’re feeling better.”

The question surprises you enough that you need two takes to open your mouth and give a response. And then you understand, he’s been trying to cheer you up. Nothing outlandish. Still, it’s like a died-out ember in your chest rekindles a fire.

“Yeah, I am. I’m glad I found you.” You mumble the last bit, plucking the leftover flowers from your dress until you hold the branch of the forget-me-not between your fingers. “And even though we’ll go our separate ways next week, I’m glad we’re friends. It’s weird … you’re someone I don’t want to forget, Eren Jaeger.”

You offer him the flower. His eyes, now a dark green, are nothing like the soft blue—they’re different in so many ways, but you like them. Eren takes the flowers from you, looks at it like he doesn’t know what to do with it, and settles for putting it in your hair, behind your ear.

“I won’t just disappear, you know,” he says, an exasperated tone swinging in his voice as though he’s talking to a three-year-old that’s still struggling with object permanence. “After graduation, whenever our old Corps meets, I’ll annoy the shit out of you. Don’t think you can slack off in sparring just because I’m not there to kick your ass.”

“Last time I checked, I kicked your ass.”

Eren throws up his hands. “Because Mikasa was distracting me!”

You wave his excuses away, then stave off a yawn. The feast doesn’t show any signs of stopping yet, but you know the second your head hits the pillow, you’ll be out cold. Which is exactly why you lie down in the soft grass, looking up at the vast starry sky above you.

“If you fall asleep, I’ll leave you here, you know,” you hear Eren say, your eyes already closed.

“No, you won’t,” you say, and just to be sure, you hook your fingers around one of his belt loops. Something suspicious like a snort comes from Eren, but his warm presence beside you remains until you fall asleep, dreaming of juniper berry bushes and trees greener than any you’ve known.

The land is bare of grass, of plants, of life. It is a vast, never-ending wasteland of rolling sand hills where every grain twinkles like little stars no matter which direction you turn. It is an alien, strange place that feels familiar at the same time. You’ve been here before, but something is missing. Someone.

His name lies on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t remember the feel or sound of it. Sometimes, you think you see someone standing on the horizon, but when you catch up, that person is gone like a mirage. The frustration builds, the taste filling your mouth with copper. When your eyes spy the person once more, you decide to call out: “Er—”

“You see someone more interesting than me?” asks Emil by your side.

You blink, dazzled, and when he offers you his hand, you take it. It feels the same as all those years ago, but nothing about him is the same. Or is it? You close your eyes for just a moment, and he smiles at you, his boyish face still young and round. “There’s no one more interesting than you,” you say, because that is the truth. “It’s just this place. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Sandy hills and a never-ending starry sky stretch before you to all sides. There’s something else, something very bright and very big, but whenever you try to look at it, it disappears, and you wonder if maybe you’re just imagining it.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” says a voice that isn’t Emil’s. You find that Emil has disappeared, and you are now standing with Eren. It’s the same game: he looks different and at the same time he doesn’t. Older, but also still how you remember him.

“Where’s Emil?” you ask, turning. You see Mikasa with Armin, and Jean who is holding a sleeping Marco in his arms, brushing away ink-black curls from his forehead. Something about Marco seems strange though, as if half of his side is turning into sand.

“What are you talking about?” Eren says. “This place is for the living.” His hands are cool on yours, and you are aware of them in a way you have not been of Emil’s as he turns you away from Marco’s sight.

You narrow your eyes at him. “What do you mean?”

He leans close. You can feel his lips against your ear. They are not cool at all. “Wake up, [Name],” he whispers. “Wake up. Wake up.”

You bolt upright in bed, gasping, hair plastered to your neck with cold sweat. Your wrists are held in a hard grip; you try to pull away, then realise who is restraining you. “Eren?”

“Yeah.” He’s sitting on the edge of the bed—how have you gotten into a bed?—looking tousled and half-awake, with early-morning hair and sleepy eyes.

“Let go of me.”

“Sorry.” His fingers slip from your wrists. “You tried to hit me the second I said your name.”

“I’m a little jumpy, I guess.” You glance around. You’re in a small bedroom furnished with dark wood. By the quality of the faint light coming in through the half-open window, you guess it’s dawn, or just after. Your uniform-jacket hangs neatly folded across the back of a chair. “How did I get here? I don’t remember…”

“You fell asleep right next to me.” Eren sounds amused. “Mikasa helped me get you to bed. She also changed your clothes. Thought you’d be more comfortable here than on the cold ground.”

“Wow. I don’t remember anything.” You run your hands over your face, feeling your swollen cheeks from a long, deep slumber. Maybe you’ve had more alcohol than you’d expected. “What time is it, anyway?”

“About five.”

“In the morning?” You glare at him. “You’d better have a good reason for waking me up.”

“Why?” Eren asks, leaning back on his heels, grinning. For some reason this is the exact moment your brain notices you and Eren are sitting on the same bed, and you are very close to each other. He must have changed his clothes before waking you up—gone is the rumpled black sweatshirt and in its stead Eren is wearing a simple white military shirt. “Were you having a good dream?”

You can still feel cold sand between your toes, see stars twinkle before your eyes. You think there were certain people in your dream, people you knew, but the details are blurry. “I don’t remember.”

He stands up. “We’ve got our rifle rehearsal, remember? Shadis sent me to kick your ass out of bed. Actually, Jean offered to wake you up, but since it’s five in the morning, I figured you’d be less cranky if you had something nicer to look at than his horseface.”

“Meaning you?”

Eren’s grin grows tenfold. “What else?”

You throw a pillow after him, but Eren is already up and about, and out of the door before you can grab something else.

Just for a moment, you consider falling back into your bed and pretend the next couple of days don’t exist. Somewhere on the other side of the compound you hear Shadis’ roars, and decide to get up pretty quickly.

Twenty minutes later, everyone stands ready. Rifle in hand, half of them visibly fighting their hangover, the rehearsal goes as smoothly as planned: Sasha stumbles twice, and Samuel and Connie go down with her. For a moment, Shadis looks like he doesn’t want to say anything, but then he simply states you’d be all dead if those rifles were loaded, and proceeds to procure a bucket of water to douse them like filthy street cats.

It gives you a small break where you set out to find Jean. Compared to three years ago when around four hundred soldiers enlisted, only half of that number remains today. Many of them are foreign faces, and you doubt you’ll ever find friendship in any of them since your group has pretty much remained the same ever since the first weeks of trainee days.

On the other side of the plaza you spot Mikasa and Eren. She’s plucking at his clothes, which he is invisibly annoyed about, but it is a different type of annoyed than when he’s around Jean—it seems more long suffering while endearing at the same time, and for a moment you can’t help but just stare at them and realise for the first time that they look good together. They’ve known each other since childhood, and Mikasa is rarely apart from Eren. You wonder what that would be like, to know him in and out and say things that make him laugh, make him blush—just like Mikasa is doing right now, but then from this distance you see her mouth from something that looks like your name and you stare even harder until she must feel you staring like a physical presence and turns.

Catching Mikasa’s eyes, you grow even more convinced that they are discussing you, that Mikasa can read you like a book, can see through to your very soul, and is telling Eren all your secrets. As if you are shouting this aloud, Eren turns at that very moment and looks at you, breaking into an elated smile as he waves his rifle dramatically in the air, and you smile back, waving yours in return, and receive a clap to the back of your head from Shadis for your troubles. As you rub your head in pain, you see Eren laughing in delight, and that alone makes it all worth the trouble.

“Bam,” comes Jean’s voice from your side. When you turn, you see him lower his rifle. “I just shot you.”

Changing the rifle from your left to right shoulder, you follow him back to your positions to restart the rehearsal. “You know I’d come back and haunt your ass. And don’t point it at people, it’s rude.”

You can practically hear Jean rolling his eyes when he says, “Whatever.”

Back in your line, you follow the steps and march in tandem with everyone else. In front of you, Jean continues quietly enough for only you to hear, “We practised rifle handling for this one thing; what a waste of time. It’s not like we’ll ever use them against other people.”

“I guess they’re just making sure to cover the whole syllabus. I don’t like thinking about having to point that at someone else.”

“You sure as hell won’t have to,” Jean says, whipping around, bringing the rifle across his chest to his other shoulder. You do the exact same, staring up at the back of Reiner’s head. From the stiffness of his broad shoulders, you can see he’s very tense. Maybe he’s taking this rehearsal a little too seriously.

You only get the last bit of Jean’s sentence because he unobtrusively pokes you in the back with the end of his rifle. “From what I’ve heard about the MP, you’ll have your occasional thug but actual casualties are very rare.”

“Seven more days,” you whisper back. “Will you be okay without me? Who’s going to pull your ass out of trouble?”

“I’m pretty sure Marco’s got that covered.” Jean turns his head, probably on the lookout for the culprit in question. You go very still, but from the lack of Jean going on, you’re pretty sure Marco has still not found a good time to talk to Jean.

“You know, there’s still time to reconsider,” you say in just the moment the rehearsal reaches the stage where your fake rifles go off and make a deafening bang noise.

Jean turns his head, the ‘Huh?’ clearlywritten on his face.

You pretend you didn’t say anything. Maybe things are progressing the way they are for a reason.

From the 344 recruits who started out at the very beginning, only 218 graduated.

On the evening Shadis announces the Top Ten trainees, nobody is surprised to see the ten best lining up before your instructor. You feel immensely proud that both Jean and Marco have managed to hold their ground. But to you, standing in the back between Mina and Armin feels right.

All you care about is the celebration that’s right after that—the last evening you’ll spend with the majority of your friends before everyone heads off. Understandably so, Jean’s constant reminder to ‘not enter the boys’ barracks after’ gets more and more frustrating.

“Why?” you say through a mouth full of steamed potatoes. “Are you guys comparing dick sizes?”

Someone who listens in on the table across from you chokes on their spit.

“We want to have a guy’s night, what’s so unusual about it? You girls do … whatever you girls do. Have a pillow fight or whatever. But don’t come into our barracks, got it?”

True to the nature of your friendship, obviously you barge into the boys’ barracks after the graduation celebration is over. And what timing you have. Swinging the door wide open, you enter at the exact moment Jean declares proudly that in a life or death scenario, he’d totally be down for a threesome with you and Marco.

You freeze. Everyone in the room freezes. Marco unsuccessfully hides the bottle of booze behind his back. It tips over and he shrieks as red liquid spills across the wooden floor. Multiple boys boo at him, and you realise they’re all drunk.

Jean raises his eyes to yours, and you trade a look that feels like a dare. Somehow, you can’t really take a hold of what expression to make—it ranges from confusion to slight disgust to mild interest at how exactly the logistics of such a scenario would look.

Realising there’s only one thing you can do right here, right now, you take a step back and close the door again, willing to forget this ever happened. Three steps is all you’re able to make before the door flies open again, rough hands grab you and manhandle you back into the room.

“You better not tell anyone we got booze here, or I’m gonna dunk your head inside a latrine,” Daz hisses. He’s the opposite of intimidating at any given moment, but now, wobbling on both feet while pointing a shaky finger at you, even a newly born puppy has more bark to it.

You discreetly swipe away the cool spit he’s graciously sprayed over your cheek.

“So, that’s the reason girls are not allowed?” you say, putting on your best Ida-performance to show how disappointed you are. “You’re going to hoard all that and don’t invite us?”

Across the room, Samuel shrugs. “The more people know, the easier Shadis might catch wind of what we’re doing here.”

“Yeah, he’ll skin us alive.”

“I think,” you say, very slowly, “we should get everyone in here and have a final blast before tomorrow.” That didn’t get the reaction you’ve expected, but it is met with less resistance than before. “And we can also,” you add, wiggling your eyebrows, “maybe play some games? Make it exciting.”

Not ten minutes later, the boys’ barracks is cramped. Every open space around the low centre table has been taken by someone as they sit huddled together, shoulder pressed against shoulder. You’ve organised more tankards from the kitchen, and now you’re sipping from the sweet meed Daz has organised somehow. After asking him for the third time and him refusing to explain, you’ve given up and accepted this might remain the greatest secret of Cadet Time.

“So, what games did’ya have in mind?” Samuel asks after the initial excitement has settled down while everyone is nursing their drink. You can feel Jean’s body pressing against your side, clearly interested in what you’ll come up with.

“I got these,” you declare, and present a dozen wooden skewers you’ve helped yourself to, “so we can play the King’s Game.”

A couple “Oooh”s and “Aaah”s later, everyone who wants to participate has settled around the table. Since it was your idea, you can be Queen first, and you’re not here to hold hostages. While swirling the mead in your tankard, your first order is, “Number 3 has to give number 5 a kiss on the cheek.”

When Connie and Samuel rise at the same time, the rest giggles and whistles, but the boys don’t back down. Alcohol is always a nice confidence booster, so Connie makes a big show of smacking a wet smooch onto Samuel’s cheek, earning them a round of applause for that.

“Okay, my turn.” Connie downs the rest of his beverage, then smacks his lips. “I want number 4 to give number 1 a piggy back ride.”

Reiner stirs, showing his skewer with a number 1 carved into the wood. When Christa climbs to her feet, wobbly like a flagpole swaying in harsh wind, the room erupts with laughter.

“I can do it,” she mumbles to herself, her usual pale face a canvas of red—the culprit of it sitting right next to her and cackling like a maniac. Over the last years, Ymir has perfected the art of getting Christa drunk before anyone can notice and stop her. It’s quite funny to her until Reiner offers to give Christa a piggyback instead, and all Hell breaks loose.

Next to you, Jean scoffs. “Like animals,” he says, but when you look up at him, he has a goofy smile on his face. You can’t say how much mead he’s had until his glassy eyes drop down to you and he leans into your space, arching over you until your shoulders touch.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he mumbles, his breath soft against your cheek. You feel the pinprick of tears at the back of your eyes and blink against them. He can’t pull that shit the night before you go your separate ways.

Before you can reply, someone is tugging at your sleeve. When you turn, somehow magically a new skewer with a new number has manifested in your hand.

“Seven’s gotta sit on Nine’s lap,” Sasha whispers conspiratorially. She points at you, then across the table, where Eren is looking at you with a very weird expression. “By the King’s order.”

You whip your head around and find Reiner grinning at you. Jean’s presence immediately vanishes when he leans away, looking sickly pale all of a sudden when he stares somewhere else, his jaw held tightly shut as if he’s just bitten into glass.

This is a bad idea, without a doubt—but the other, much louder part of your brain thinks challenge accepted.

You crawl over to Eren who eyes you as though he’s just waiting for the hidden dagger to slash forward and cut him open, and throw one leg over his lap. Good balance so far. You sit more on his knees than on his thighs, which is enough for the first round of whistles and unnecessary remarks from your comrades. Eren has found a very interesting spot somewhere behind your shoulder that demands his complete, undisturbed attention.

“Kids, you gotta do it properly,” Reiner says, and with a slap to your back, he pushes you flush against Eren’s hips. You choke on your spit. Eren yelps.

Reiner grins. “Exactly like that.”

“Okay, okay, we get it.” You try to weasel some space between you and Eren’s pelvis, but the only place of leverage is his arms. It’s different from hand-to-hand-combat practice where touching bodies is inevitable and you’re too occupied thinking about ways to bring your opponent down than worry about girls and boys accidentally touching where they shouldn’t. But this is deliberate, and now that your hands cling to his arms to regain your balance, you notice the strong chord of muscles tensing under his shirt. His solid thighs easily holding your weight. You don’t doubt if his shirt would lift slightly, the sight of firm abs would greet you.

“Don’t move,” he hisses, grabbing onto your thighs to prevent you from squirming. It gets the desired effect, immediately shutting you up, freezing you on the spot. It also does something weird to your body. You want to close your legs, pretend modesty is a thing that you guys still do around here, but you don’t have to be a genius to understand friction is the last thing Eren needs, and that’s why he’s got an iron grip around your thighs.

Why are so many people cramped up in this tiny room, it’s so fucking hot in here. You still don’t meet Eren’s eyes. You’re close enough to feel him breathing, feel the heat radiating off his body. Not knowing what to do with your hands, they just fumble needlessly in front of you, your fingers curling into the hem of your shirt to do something. Someone laughs really loud at the back of the room.

Eren clears his throat quietly. “Nervous?”

Finally, your eyes meet. His seem darker than usual, a deeper green like a lush forest dancing to strong wind picking up before a storm. This close, you could count every single one of his long lashes.

“Why would I be?” You lean back slightly, but the friction is enough to make Eren tighten his grip around your thighs. You can feel his nails dig into your skin through the fabric of your trousers. “If anything, I get the feeling you’re the one who can’t keep up, Jaeger.”

Eren executes an eye roll that must give him a spectacular view of the inside of his skull. No wonder Jean can’t keep his cool. Or maybe it’s just an Eren-thing, infuriating those around him. A match to an explosive barrel.

You’ll give him one.

“Nervous?” you ask with a mean grin that furrows Eren’s eyebrows in question for a second. Then you roll your hips against his once but hard enough for him to feel the heat between your legs. His expression is priceless, absolutely dumbfounded and stupid and laughter rises in your throat—

Eren throws you off his lap, already on his legs and charging out of the cabin into the cool night. Thankfully most of the other cadets are too busy whooping at Sasha drinking loads of beer from an improvised funnel Connie and Samuel are holding up for her. Only Mikasa has paid attention, and is now rushing after Eren while you return back to Jean’s side. He nibbles on a dried cracker and barely spares you a glance.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Jean asks. He sounds impatient, and when he snaps his jaw shut on the cracker, it reminds you of a guillotine slamming down.

“What’s wrong with your face?” you snap back.

“No, I mean if you’ve got a fever or something, go to bed.”

“Just eat your damn crackers, Jean.”

You try to hide your burning face behind your arms, knees bent up to your chin—a small ball of embarrassment because who could have thought your little joke on Eren would backfire so bad. In that split of a second before he threw you off, his neck and face completely flushed an angry red, Eren looked absolutely ready to devour you. Desire is a dangerous look on him.

From across the room, you catch Reiner’s eyes. Mischief glints in them as he raises his cup in mock salute to you, presenting himself to be the true pyromaniac all along.

❀❀❀

“I’m going to escape these Walls. That’s my dream. Mankind hasn’t been wiped out yet. We deserve to be out there; we are free. We were born into this world to see it.”

When you turned, expecting to see Eren because you so clearly remember him saying those exact words at the graduation ceremony, you saw Emil sitting by your side instead. His eyes were closed, his long, pale lashes resting against his high cheekbones. You remembered how often he said that word, but you didn’t fully understand what he meant.

“What is freedom?” you asked, burrowing your bare toes into the warm soil.

Emil kept his eyes closed. He picked a flower and placed it on his lips. You’d never wished so hard in your life to be able to turn into a flower. He was lying next to you, his fingers resting interwoven on his chest. “It means to do and feel what you want without anyone holding you back or stopping you.”

“That sounds great.” You looked out at the riverbed. It seemed to sparkle more than usual today. “We could get there, one day. It doesn’t sound all that hard.”

“You think?” Emil opened his eyes and looked up at you. His eyes twinkled just like the river. “Look around. All these flowers. Who do they belong to?”

“Hm … nobody? Everyone!”

“Fair enough. Then, pick one that you really like.”

When you looked around, searching for forget-me-not, you spotted a nine-petalled, white flower stretching its small head towards you. “This one,” you said, pointing at it.

Emil made a small sound at the back of his throat. When you turned to him, he was already staring somewhere else, but he looked as though he’d swallowed something sharp. He bent over and ripped the flower out of the ground. “This,” he said, “is my flower now. Even though you really want it. What will you do now?”

“Ask you nicely to give it to me. Because I know you will.”

Emil smiled at that. “Pretend I am not someone nice. Pretend I am someone who is a bad person.”

“Not you.” Your reply came immediately. “Not ever.”

“Then, Marianne,” he continued, and like you knew he would, he put the flower behind your ear, brushing his knuckles along your cheek. “If it were Marianne who took what you wanted, what would you do?”

You pulled a face. “Leave her, I guess. She can have it. But I’d be very sad.”

“Exactly. She is free to do what she wants, and what she wants is to take this flower. And even though you want it too, only stealing it back from her would make you happy. Because you as well are free to do what you want.”

Your head spun from the possibilities. Emil squeezed your hand. “And what if…,” he continued in a voice that was utterly unfamiliar to you, “…what if what you want is to hurt others?”

“It’s wrong.”

Emil chuckled. “Says who?”

“It’s … it’s common sense,” you tried to argue, but it sounded weak and naive even to your own ears.

“Common sense dictates we do not kill, we do not steal. Did you know there are people living underground who have never seen the sky? Who are not allowed to come up here and enjoy the fresh air? Enjoy the feeling of the sun. They kill and steal to survive. Is that still wrong? To do what you need to do to survive?”

You grew very silent. Listening to Emil, he almost seemed like a different person.

“Look at these walls.” Emil looked up. The warmth in his eyes disappeared. “We want to go outside, see the world. But we can’t. Because there are Titans outside. Because there are enemies outside these Walls. It’s unfair, isn’t it?”

“But these Walls protect us,” you shot back. “Without them, Titans would come in and eat us.”

“I suppose that is true. Sometimes, I just wonder … if they as well simply do not have a choice.”

“Which means…” you said slowly, realisation dawning, “Titans … aren’t free?”

The corner of Emil’s mouth pulled up in a rueful smile. His eyes were almost sorrowful. “I suppose … if they feel anything at all.”

“You’re always on top of those things, Emil,” you marvelled, squeezing his hand back. “You’re kind and so full of sympathy for everyone and everything. See, that’s why you could never be a bad person.”

The warmth returned to his eyes, lightening them up to the colour of the early morning sky. “If you say so, then it must be true.”

Before you could forget it, feeling the soft petals of the flower tickling your cheek, you asked, “By the way, what flower is this? I always see it on you.”

And for the first time since you had known him, Emil lied to you: “I don’t know.”

❀❀❀

You have a feeling the headache pounding at the back of your head the next morning isn’t solely because of the booze escapade the night before. Your body doesn’t feel as weary and heavy as the day after May Day a week ago, this type of lethargy is a different kind. You pin it on the upcoming events later in the day, and focus on your current task organising everything for the cannon maintenance at the top of Wall Rose.

Marco has been quietly helping you with that for some time. The creases on his forehead run deeper than the canyons cutting into the earth south of Wall Rose. Everything points to the source of his concern being Jean, currently occupied checking the gas stock for the cylinders, still, you ask the million coins question: “Have you spoken to Jean yet?”

As though he’s been waiting for you to ask that, his reply comes immediately: “I’ll talk to him later. After the preparations. I asked him to wait for me in the backyard at HQ. Before we head off to Sina.” He shrugs. “Or maybe we won’t head off. I’m not sure how to tackle that exactly.”

You think of how much value Jean puts into Marco’s opinion; how he eats up Marco’s words right up like a starving man.

“I don’t think it matters how. You got this. He’ll listen if it’s you, Marco.”

Marco stays silent. He clears his throat when he notices you staring at him, and gives you a wry smile. “We’re talking about Jean here. He can be as stubborn as you.”

“I could beat him up for you. Make him listen.”

The wry smile turns into a full-blown grin. He puts a little more enthusiasm into helping you secure the crates with ropes onto the wooden platform that lifts you up to the top of the Outer Wall. You like this Marco better than the sombre one. You continue working like that for some time until everything is loaded onto the platform and you give Marco the sign to turn on the mechanism that lifts you up.

“You ever wonder,” he says suddenly, thumb resting on the button. When he looks at you, it feels a little as though he’s seeing through you. “… if what we want and what we need are different things?”

You wait for him to continue when you realise he doesn’t mean it as a rhetorical question. “I think it’s enough sometimes to settle for what we want. We might never know what we need.”

“Maybe,” sighs Marco. “But what if the moment is there all of a sudden and you have to make a decision?” He kneads the back of his neck, then shakes his head like a puppy shaking water off its fur, trying to disperse his thoughts. “I’m talking nonsense, sorry. Today is hard enough on most of us. I’ll see you later for the distribution banquet.” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond and presses the button. With a jolt, the platform rises, and you hold onto a crate, watching as Marco grows smaller and smaller. He salutes up to you by putting two fingers to his temple. You wave back, trying to swallow around the lump in your throat.

Maybe that was his try at convincing you to change your path as well. It would be great, staying together like this for the next few years until it is time to discharge. But somehow you doubt it would be that easy to convince Jean otherwise, and you’ve already made yourself acquainted with Trost’s Garrison unit and its captain, Hannes. Of course, now that you won’t see him for some time, you find a better answer for Marco’s question: That sometimes, you settle for what you can get. That you can’t have it all.

On top of the wall, Connie is the first to greet you. “We got worried you two bailed on us,” he says, immediately tackling the ropes and disentangling them from the crates. The rest of the group is already maintaining the canons and cleaning them up. Whoever was on duty to supervise you, they’re nowhere in sight.

“Sorry, we lost track of time chatting.” You help him carry the necessary instruments and tools. When Mina sees you, her face lights up and she says something to Thomas. He looks over and grins. Sasha looks over and grins, too. It feels as though they’re all in on a conspiracy and you’re the only one left out, radiating a fervent energy that is like a flame jumping from source to source.

“What’s up with everyone?” you ask Connie.

He drops a crate, ignoring the rattling inside it and dusts himself down. “They’re just excited ‘cause Sasha swiped some meat from the pantry.”

“She did?” You rivet your eyes on her until she notices your stare. Holding your hand up in an OK-sign, she grins and throws a hand up in return. Mina squeaks—and maybe that is a little too much excitement for something as simple as that, which should have given you reason to wonder. Connie sniffs indiscreetly. “Oh, and we’re all gonna join the Scouts.”

You drop your hand and stare at him. “You’re joking.”

“Nuh-uh. I guess Eren’s little speech yesterday left an impression on us all.” He shrugs, as though a decision like that is not worth the hustle. You want to take him by his shoulders and smack his head against a wall. By divine intervention or just honed survival instinct, he decides just then to join the others and leave to your crisis.

They must think you’ll join the Survey Corps as well. But this isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. You don’t just decide something like that in the spur of the moment. “What if the moment is there all of a sudden and you have to make a decision?” You wonder if Marco is in on this, and it’s all a huge conspiracy.

You take a step forward to set things right, and maybe give Mina a good shake to remind her this isn’t what you two agreed upon, this isn’t what you two wanted—

The sight is breathtaking.

It is your second time on top of the wall. Cadets are usually allowed only after their graduation because Shadis doesn’t trust you not to kill yourself by stumbling off the edge. Maybe it’s the final step for him to recognise his fledglings have grown into hunting birds capable of soaring through the skies and every year he pushes that as far away as possible.

The sight never ceases to amaze you. All along the horizon, mountains rise and fall in full splendid, covered with forests and cut through my glistening lakes and rivers. Giant, stark-white clouds rise behind them and paint the blue horizon with a severe beauty that has you shuddering with the realisation how close you are to the sky.

This is it. The sight Emil has always dreamt of, that he had longed to see for himself. The endless world; to leave the small cage and see the big world. The thought makes your heart race with wonder and excitement and fear—all after just seeing the possibility.

What if, what if, what if … what we want and what we need are different things?

“Hey, be careful.” Eren’s voice is like an anchor pulling you back to the present. You haven’t noticed him approaching, but now he’s standing close to you.

When you look at him, you blink until the sting at the back of your eyes disappears. “The wind’s really something up here, huh,” you say, rubbing your eyes dry.

Eren’s jaw works for a moment before he turns and takes the world in. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “It’s something.”

It feels like no more words are needed. He gets it.

“You have to tell me,” you mumble. “What you’ll find beyond the horizon. Okay? Whenever you leave to kick Titans’ asses, you have to come back and tell me.”

Eren turns to you. The wind tears at his hair, but he stands firmly. Nothing can throw him off. “Of course I’ll come back,” he says like it’s nothing. He doesn’t know what this promise untethers inside you. Your knees wobble. It feels as though you have peeled back every layer of your hopes and fears and dreams and laid them bare before him. The weight of your heart seems to tear you apart with the words that you wish you could say. And for a time there is timelessness; endless stillness that holds the picture that is you two standing at the edge of the world stretching across the horizon when overhead, lightning in the sky turns the world white and summons the Destroyer of Worlds.

As you stare into the eyes of the Colossal Titan, stomach roiling with panic, you can’t help but notice, distantly, how human its eyes seem.

A/N: Today’s The Amazing Devil’s song I’m shoving down your throats: Not Yet / Love Run (Reprise)

***

Taglist: @arisu003, @brooki, @prttyangelbaby, @honeylmnade, @berriesandcrem

#aot x reader #aot x you #aot x y/n #snk x reader #snk x you #snk x y/n #eren x reader #eren x you #eren x y/n #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #phill.swyaatl #swyaatl

98 notes · View notes

xamaxenta · 2 years

Text

Marcoace modern au where Marco’s new in town and desperately needed a date for his new job’s new year gala/party or whatever and its mandatory he attends with a date/partner/spouse

So against his better judgement he follows Thatch’s advice to stand on the side of the road with a sign stating his name, his job and that he needs a date ASAP, please call x number

And it’s pretty mortifying, just standing there, with Thatch (who did show up as moral support) trying to wingman various people into going with him but to no avail

Until a young man approaches and asks if he’s serious and Marco sighs like unfortunately. Yes.

Ace shifts on his feet and thinks about how this year his holidays are going to be quieter seeing as Luffy’s staying in his uni dorms for the winter holidays instead of coming home and Sabo has to visit his family due to legal shit this year bc sorting inheritance and he’s feeling petty

So he asks what’s the dress code ? And Marco shrugs like formal? Theme is winter colours I suppose and Ace thinks it over a little long and then pulls out his phone to save Marco’s number

Thatch is beside himself lurking behind Marco like 👀, Marco kicks him in the shins surreptitiously

Glad that he’s sorted out the date issue, Marco and Ace end up texting frequently, and its super cute, Ace currently works as a freelance accountant whilst enrolling in online classes to get a teaching degree (kindergarten teacher Ace strikes again hehe), he likes cats, spicy food, documentaries and going on long hikes

Marco didn’t expect to catch feelings this fast, especially considering they’ve only met once in person and texted there after. He’s a little nervous as the gala date grows closers and asks Ace if he still wants to go and Ace sends him a voice message, the first one ever where he jokingly reprimands Marco like hey! No take backsies, you asked for this I’ promised you and besides I’m down for free fancy hors d’oeuvres lol

So they set a time to meet up so they can go together, Ace doesn’t have a car, a motorcycle yes but Marco isn’t keen on arriving cold and windswept so he offers to drive seeing as alcohol isn’t really his thing

And when he arrives to pick Ace up, he hadn’t been expecting much, considering he’s really just wearing a nice suit himself but Ace waits for him in a very daring white ensemble, perfectly tailored to fit and contrasts with his hair prettily, bc supermodel Ace is always necessary for modern aus too thanks ❤️

Speechless, Marco just looks him over and Ace smiles and tells him this is the only good suit he actually owns, (Sabos tailor is goated in this au, Sabo also forced Ace to get one good suit bc its for life bro) Ace shyly asks is it alright and Marco kinda struggles to say much bc ha pretty man

But he reassures him of course, if anything he feels underdressed now and then flusters when Ace flickers his eyes up and down his body, clearly, obviously checking him out

And the entire social event with Ace turns out to be so much better than he expected, dare he say fun, Ace being more extroverted than him talks for the both of them, happily chats and sustains conversations with Marco’s colleagues and their wives or husbands etc, they even win something together during the bingo hour and when the dance floor opens up, Marco, notoriously known within his own family for having two left feet allows Ace to drag him out, unable to resist his smile and lets him lead them around the dancefloor to dated festive music and it must be the wine Marco said he wouldnt have (but he did, its fine hes still sober) but as the night wears on, Ace becomes beautifully disheveled, in the sense that he’s slightly flushed from the champagne, his hair that was initially styled now mussed from how hes run his hands through his hair

It only feels natural to kiss him beneath faux crystal and snow

#marcoace #long post #xam writes #AAAAA WEEPEOING #i love them… mi kokoro is itao #itao #ITAI GOD

42 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 2 years

Text

If You Love Her, Pt. 2 (Wilyssa) - Melyssa

[Now Playing: Wish You Were Sober by Conan Gray]

[...Trade drinks but you don't even know her

Save me til the party is over

Kiss me in the seat of your Rover

Real sweet but I wish you were sober…]

'You shouldn't be sleeping with someone when you're drunk'

Part of her she thinks, should be feeling rather hyprocritical for way her own words blared in her head like alarms, warning her that this was a very very bad idea.

However…

July Prompt Juice No. 16

"Ah no baby, don't ya worry, m having loads of fun here" Alyssa speaks into the mic, trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice despite it echoing within the bathroom walls.

Normally, Alyssa didn't get stage-fright. For a star such as herself who was born to be onstage, stage fright was nothing but a legend to her.

What happened offstage was actual drama.

Alyssa was on her very first tour!

There was nothing but a door that separated her from the other queens. That's right. Just lounging outside were the one only Manila Luzon, Latrice Royal, Raja Gemini, Chad Michaels, and Michelle Visage, all of them chatting up with a fancy glass of alcohol in their hands.

...and Alyssa was hiding in the bathroom.

Well not hiding per se, they were waiting for the last queen to arrive, passing the time with a good old 'kiki' fest as they traded topics for conversation. Really, as much fun as Alyssa had in laughing with the other queens, she just needed one breathe, just on gasp of a moment to actually grasp the fact that she had just probably touched Raja's hand when she got her drink, or that Chad was actually conversing with her about a topic as simple as lipstick colors.

So if anyone noticed the sigh of relief that Alyssa breathed out when Marco called her…

...she didn't notice in her haste to get to the bathroom.

"I have to go now sweetie, class is about to start" her boyfriend's voice calls her back from her thoughts.

"Ah" Alyssa unintelligently replies. "Right...have fun darling."

"You too, in your show I mean" Marco chuckles, causing the corner of Alyssa's lips to turn up. "I heart you."

Alyssa smiles. "I heart you too baby".

And with that, she ends the call, back in the bathroom and alone with her thoughts. Alyssa exhales heavily, closing her eyes and trying to get her thoughts straight. Outside, she could hear Michelle cackling along with two other queens, sounding as if she didn't use to judge each every one of them, and sounding like much much fun company now that she doesn't. And Alyssa tells herself that she just needs another minute to compose her starstruck self.

"Well aren't you too a cute couple."

Whatever composure Alyssa had managed to form is shattered as an unknown voice startles her so much she might as well have jumped two feet into the air.

"Motherfucker-" Alyssa clutches her chest, feeling her heart beating rapidly underneath it from the shock.

Alyssa whirls around, ready to tell off whoever was eavesdropping on her, words tethering on the tip of her tounge. "Bitch, why you have ta-"

Only to die at the sight of the most gorgeous blonde she's ever seen.

"My my my" The other person smirks "I didn't know you knew I was fond of dirty mouths."

"Oh my god." Alyssa gapes.

It was Willam Belli, in all her honor and boy clothes, watching Alyssa with an amused look to her eye. Meanwhile, Alyssa's own eyes were focused elsewhere- rather, on the love marks littered all over her neck, and the rumpled state of her clothes telling anyone exactly what Willam's been doing.

"Well I-" Alyssa flusters all over again not being able to stop staring.

Willam only chuckled at the younger queen. "Don't worry princess, I won't bite."

If possible, Alyssa could feel her neck heat up further at the nickname, causing her to mumbles something incoherable under her breathe.

"What was that?" Willam leans across the bathroom doorframe.

"I said." Alyssa slowly turns her head to mert the actor's eyes "That I've never been called that before."

Something, flashes across Willam's eyes for a millisecond. It was so fast that Alyssa chaclked it up to shock or maybe amusement as Willam's grin begins to widen.

"Are you sure?" Willam raises a brow. "Cuz I'm pretty sure your boyfriend has to have called you princess at least once."

Alyssa chuckles softly "We're all men under these wigs, Marco much prefers darling, or even sweetie."

"I guess." Willam shrugs her shoulders and makes her way beside her.

Alyssa doesn't know if she's forcing herself not to stare because of Willam's very inappropriate form…or because of Willam's very form itself.

"I'm Alyssa" she blurts out instead.

Willam's smile grows "Alyssa Edwards, I know you"

"You probably have a television then"

Fuck.

That flash goes through Willam's eyes again and Alyssa thinks that it might acatually be a bad thing before the blonde just suddenly bursts into a fit of laughter.

"Y-yeah" Willam continues to gasp for breathe. "And it seems so do you."

Alyssa can't help the way she ends up smiling. "I do just to ya know."

Willam takes another heavy breathe as she wipes a tear from the corner of her eye, using the same hand to reach out to her.

"Well Ms. Edwards." Willam smirks "You can call me Willam…unless of course you prefer to call me princess as well?"

"Don't flatter yourself, you're more of a darling." Alyssa laughs as she reaches for the hand and squeezes it tight.

Suddenly, she notices that the air of panic she had a while ago disappeared, replacing it was a refreshing gulp of breathe from this well-known stranger.

"Well princess" Willaim pulmsher towards the door "Time to go to your first tour don't you think?"

"Yeah" Although it was implied she would, Alyssa felt something in her rise that day that told her that she was going to be okay putting her trust into this blonde's hands.

\\V//

"The number three is a very funny number don't ya think?" Alyssa giggles as she takes a sip out of her rep cup.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah" Alyssa sighs as she began to stroke his arm with her finger. The guy smirks, a very sharp and pearly white smirk and Alyssa can't help but think to herself that maybe guy number three was the hottest one she's gotten this night.

"Very funny" she breathes before leaning up for a kiss.

It's been three hours since she's seen Willam.

Three hours and the blonde hasn't resurfaced in any corner of the still-crowded room. Not like Alyssa noticed of course…not this time atleast.

"Hey Ms. Edwards" guy number three cups her cheek "Going home with anyone tonight?"

"Uuhhmm" Alyssa hums in thought. In doing so, she raises and sips the last of the alcohol in what's definitely not cup number three.

"I don't really know honey" Alyssa's smirk grows "Why you asking?"

"Cuz I'm not" Guy number three winks. It's charming, it's hot and guy number three is definitely the most handsome man she's encountered tonight. But…

"Sorry darling" Alyssa sighs as she stumbles away from his arms "But I have a problem with your eyes."

He squints "My eyes? I've been told I have lovely eyes"

'He does' a voice in the back of her mind whispers. But another voice can't help but interject yet again, forcing Alyssa to stare at his gleaming eyes.

His gleaming blue orbs.

"Imma get another drink." Alyssa hiccups and turns away from him. She sees his crestfallen face just for a second and she thinks, 'What a shame.'

Alyssa was…wasted.

It's been three hours since she's ditched Bianca and she's already been in three pair of arms since.

"Three men in three hours" Alyssa giggles, the idea so funny in her drunken brain despite the fact that the voice in her head has been telling her that she was going to regret this in the morning.

She tells that voice to fuck off.

Mortified? Alyssa was invigorated! Her feet has never felt lighter in heels and she's never felt more alive. The music was pumping, everyone's dancing and Alyssa never knew why she gave this all up.

'Why did I stop doing this again?' She wonders to herself as she approaches the bar.

"Doing what again?" A voice speaks beside her.

Surprised, Alyssa spins around and almost tumbles down if not for the pair of arms that catches her.

She groans, her head and stomach definitely not liking to sudden movement and reaches up to grab the shirt of her catcher who's chuckle grabs Alyssa's attention.

Guy number four.

"Doing who?" The guy is definitely attractive, so attractive that Alyssa can't help how rough the supposedly smooth response came out.

"Hmm" Thankfully, guy number four was smoother.

"How about you?" He smirks.

"How about not"

An awfully pissed voice catches their attention causing both of them turn their heads to its source. There, stood a certainly very pissed-looking Shangela whose ruffled up appearance could be mistaken for many things.

"Trust me mama, I aint the one who looks busted this time" Shangela hisses as she snatches Alyssa away from guy number four.

"Hey!-"

She doesn't even get a chance to look over at guy number four because in four seconds, her drag daughter had already successfully dragged her back into the crowd and to the back of the back of the room where she shoves her into the seat.

"Stay!" Shangela hisses harshly into her ear. "I'll be back for you mama and your ass still better be here when I come back."

Alyssa wanted to yell, scold Shangela for making her look rude in front of guy number four for dragging her off like that without a goodbye. 'Where's your Southern hospitality' she wanted to yell but was keep from doing so by a firm hand keeping her on the sofa.

"I'll look after her." The voice says "Go find Willam"

Willam.

Alyssa's head perks up at the name. Willam…

"Holy shit!" Alyssa gasps as she remembers.

"What's wrong?" The voice asks again, this time sounding a little alarmed.

"Willam-" Alyssa tries to squirm against the hand "Gotta gotta tell her-"

"Tell her what?" The voice sounds curious despite her arms tightening around her.

"Gotta tell her-" Alyssa giggles "i gotta, gotta-"

"Okay slow down Alyssa." The voice sighs. "Why don't you sleep?"

As if the word 'sleep' was a magic word, a yawn pulls itself out of her as Alyssa gives up struggling against the other person and instead just leans on them. Suddenly, Alyssa is hit with a wave of fatigue, the party and the alcohol in her system now trying to pulm her under.

"O-okay" Alyssa yawns as she settles down, already feeling the darkness pulling her.

"T-tell Willam-"

"Yeah?"

"That-that" Alyssa yawns "That we broke up"

And the last sound Alyssa hears before she fully succumbs to sleep was the noise of shock and confusion from her pillow.

\\V//

Alyssa was dreaming.

That part she knew. If it wasn't for the pink flamingo she could see standing from the corner of her eye, it was Willam, who was sitting in front of her, dressed up in a yellow jacket Alyssa was sure she broke in a concert.

…five months ago.

She looks around and sees that they're in the make-up room in Boston. It's funny how distinctly familiar the scene was.

"Do you remember how we first met?" Willam asks and the words were definitely very familiar now.

"Yeah of course" Alyssa responds immediately, now remembering what exact moment this was. "We were in the bathroom, and I was calling Marco."

Willam stays silent, pulling off the lash on her left eye. Alyssa looks towards her mirror only to find her reflection frowning. Willam doesn't say anything, didn't say anything and Alyssa remembers for being confused for her silence.

She waits, because if she's correct, Willam left it at that and asked her to come to McDonalds with her.

She was wrong.

Now definitely not part of the memory, Willam whirls towards her with a smile.

"You're head doesn't seem to be quit right yet princess" Willam chuckles. "Looks like I'll have to show you."

"Show me?!" Alyssa blinks in confusion. "Girl how-"

She her what?

"Room 136" Willam only keeps speaking, smile growing into her favourite smirk.

"I'll be waiting" the blonde sends her a wink "Princess"

Alyssa's eyes flutter open.

She was met by the harsh white light of the ceiling rather than the various red, blue and green lasers of the club. For a split moment, Alyssa thought she had drank so much, she landed herself at the hospital. She instinctly clenches her eyes tight, awaiting the splitting headache that usually met her after a night of heavy drinking…

It didn't come.

Rather, Alyssa was pleasantly surprised to still feel a electric type of buzz still going through her veins.

Not yet sober then.

Slowly, she opens her eyes again and finds that the white light was actually coming from a fancy chandelier.

'We must be back in the hotel lobby' her dunk mind realises after a minute of staring. Her cheek was mushed on something really soft and really, really comforting. Alyssa finds herself closing her eyes again as she nuzzles deeper into the comforting object, the buzz in her brain asking her to go to sleep.

'Okay' she yawns to herself as she begins to succumb yet again to the darkness.

Only for her to startle from a round of loud laughter.

Alyssa bolts up, confused and shocked one second and frustrated the next. She wanted to sleep damnit!

But the other queens were loudly conversing there, or atleast she thinks they were. If she squints a bit, she was certain that the blob of pink from the corner of her eye was Laganja's wig…or Latrices'.

"Does Latrice like pink hair?" Alyssa wonders aloud to herself as she pushes herself up with a huff. Nobody notices her, and Alyssa doesn't really notice if they did because immediately, her eyes catch a red blob on the table next to her.

"Oohh" she pops her tounge in satisfaction as she realizes it was a red cup from the party…and it was still full.

She hops off the couch, and by some miracle, the queens in front her still don't notice her as she makes her way towards it and grabs it.

"Ahhh" Alyssa gulps in satisfaction as the alcohol rushes back down her throat.

"Alyssa?"

Alyssa almost drops the cup as she whirls around and almost tumbles off her heels to face a yellow blob behind her.

"Woah-" the yellow blob tries to catch her but Alyssa manages to latch unto the edge of the table instead.

"M real good dar-darling *hic*" Alyssa hears herself say and then giggle.

"Mhhmm" responds the yellow blob. "Do you need help getting to your room?"

"Nah" Alyssa immediately declines. "M all good darling"

"Okay" Alyssa turns away from the yellow blob. "It's room number-"

Alyssa enters the left corridor.

The Texan has definitely underestimated how drunk she was, and that last red cup was definitely not helping. The corridor spun in circles, twisting in front of her in an odd game of rind around the rosies.

"Oh no you don't" Alyssa stares defiantly at her new battlefield. She wasn't going down easily.

Determined to reach her bed, Alyssa stumbles and trips her way along the corridor running hand along the wall for support, trying to make do with the numberings on the hotel doors.

It takes her a while, but Alyssa eventually remembers…she doesn't remember what her room number was.

"Well fuck *hic* me" Alyssa curses herself, clenching the red cup in frustratrd revenge.

Where the fuck was she?

She looks at the door she was currently leaning against and stares. Little by little, the golden oval cleared, so that the jumbled shapes there cleared enough to become numbers.

"1…2 no 3" Alyssa squints harder "13…132!"

Alyssa smirks in triumph then frowns a second later.

"This aint my room" she murmurs to herself.

"How do you know it isn't your room?" The voice asks her

"I just know" Alyssa hiccups. "There's this..this feeling."

"A feeling" she talks kore to herself, trying to explain to the voic what that feeling was.

"Aha!" She yells happily as she pauses three dors later. Something clicked in her as she pressed the handle. This…this was her room.

"M sure of this one" She murmurs to herself as she grabs the handle, and twists it exepecting for the door to fly open.

…it was locked.

"What the?" Alyssa's frown deepen as she jingles it. Why wont it open?

"I guess you got the wrong door." The voice chuckles behind her.

Alyssa sneers, starting to get annoyed at her own mind. She jingles again, starting to think of ways to yell at the voice, only to startle as two arms wrap around her.

"Do you need help Princess?" The voice- a husky whiskey-scented voice, whispered on her ear.

"I-" Alyssa shivers despite the warm breathe hitting her neck.

Princess?

There was only one person who called her that…

"Wi-Willam?" Alyssa gulps as lips begin to nibble on her ear.

Willam hums in approval, only to chuckle again as she feels Alyssa release a shaky sigh.

"You seem to have gotten the wrong room." Willam mumbles as she moves lower to pepper kisses on her neck.

Alyssa is frozen, her already spinning head spinning faster as she feels hands wrap themselves around her waist. Blinking in confusion, she looks towards the door to check what room she was in.

Room 136.

"This-this room" Alyssa stammers.

"That's my room Princess" Willam chuckles again, the vibrations causing a weird noise to bubble behind her neck.

Suddenly the air-conditioned hotel felt hot. The corridor was heating up and Alyssa was burning!

She hears rather than feel herself release a quiet moan as Willam grips her tighter. She was holding her so tightly and yet so gently, Alyssa was starting to feel her heart rate pick up drastically. She places her fist on the door to steady herself, knowing she might sink into a heal on the floor if it wasn't for the arms that were wrapping around her.

The arms that haven't been the first ones, or even the third ones she had ended up in tonight, but the ones she's been craving to be in for years.

It feels warm, it feels safe and it feels so right that Alyssa…

Alyssa felt cold.

A questioning whine quickly pulls itself out of her as the arms disappear, taking with them the feeling of warmth and safety. She whirls around to yell at Willam, only to sigh in relief as they come back to rest on her hips anyway.

"Alyssa" She hears Willam's voice call her. "Princess look at me."

Willam's dark brown orbs come into focus right infront of her eyes, bright and gleaming under the bright hotel lights.

"I like your eyes" Alyssa blurts out. "Have al-always liked em"

"Yeah?" Willam snorts in amusement.

"Yeah" Alyssa agrees. Alyssa had always found comfort in those eyes who constantly swirled in a variety of emotions everytime she saw her. It was almost like a warm cup of chocolate if so.

"I like chocolate too" Willam responds yet again. The words confused her, but Alyssa doesn't have the chance to ask about it before Willam was speaking again.

"Let's get you back to your room now huh?" She pushes her forward. Amd Alyssa, Alyssa shakes her head.

"No?"

"No" Alyssa whines as she grips the hands holding her as if they were going to release her. She didn't want that. No, she wanted to be in them forever, or maybe even tonight.

Even if its just for tonight.

"No" she whispers yet again as she tips her head up, not really knowing for what she was asking but has Willam answering anyway.

"Are you sure?"

And well…

'You shouldn't be sleeping with someone when you're drunk'

Part of her she thinks, should be feeling rather hyprocritical for way her own words blared in her head like alarms, warning her that this was a very very bad idea.

However…

Alyssa's thoughts silence all together as she throws her arms over Willam's neck and crash her lips against hers. The other queen is only shocked for a second, her noise of shock quickly turning to a growl of approval as she moves a hand to cup Alyssa's cheek to kiss her at a better angle.

Alyssa whimpers as the scent of whiskey and Willam's cologne traps them in their own bubble of pure desire and something heavier.

The last thing Alyssa will remember that night will be the feeling of a hand reaching towards her zipper and the sound of a door clicking open.

[Up Next: Walkashame by Meghan Trainor]

#rpdr fanfiction #alyssa edwards #willam belli #alyssa x willam #canon compliant #rare pair #implied smut #july juice #if you love her #melyssa

4 notes · View notes

crazedlunatic · 1 year

Text

Drunk!Matt

“You need to back off, buddy, because I am engaged.”

“This is too precious.” AJ looked amused as Matt drunkenly shoved at Adrian. He was too drunk to put effort into it, though, and gave up after two attempts.

“No. It’s really not.” Adrian sighed.

“He must not drink much.”

“No. He doesn’t.” Adrian confirmed, easing Matt into a booth at the restaurant.

“I don’t want to be by the wall.” Matt whined.

“It’s the only way I can guarantee you won’t embarrass yourself.” Adrian slid into the booth next to him.

“Guys, how come Luigi doesn’t get more credit? Mario isn’t even the best Mario Brother. And what’s their last name? Shouldn’t it be Their Last Names’ Brothers?” Matt asked, taking a sip of water that Adrian had just put in front of him. “Or is Mario’s first name Super and they’re all Marios? Plot twist.”

“Just bring him all the food.” Adrian told the waitress.

“He’s even got his own pizza shop.” Matt continued. “It’s of course called Marios. What a stupid pizza name.”

“Sweetie, I think you’re talking about Marcos Pizza.” AJ said.

“Marco has a pizza shop too? See?! Luigi just isn’t appreciated but I appreciate him. I bet he’s the youngest brother.” Matt scoffed as Wes, Kurt, and Blaine sat across from he, Adrian, and AJ.

“I love him.” Kurt told Blaine.

“I’m engaged. God. Why does everyone want me?” Matt threw his hands in the air.

“Matt, I’m the one that grabbed you.” Adrian said.

“Who are you even? Have you seen my person? He’s a hot model… well, he used to model…. He’s really pretty.” Matt said, looking at AJ.

“I love you too, Matt.” AJ said, mainly for the reaction.

Matt turned to face Adrian. “Oh, there you are! Did you know everyone here loves me? Your friends are nice.”

“I think right now we’re just tolerating you.” Adrian did not look amused.

“Sweetie, do you do stupid stuff when you’re drunk?” AJ asked.

Wes’ eyes lit up. “Yes. Let’s get Blaine drunk and watch it.”

“No.” Adrian and Kurt said together.

“Uh, yeah. The first time I tried to weigh my eyeballs… yes, I did end up in the hospital but not for what you’d expect.” Matt said.

“Wait, what?” Wes asked.

“It’s a long story involved a magnifying glass, a shoestring, and a broom. You should ask when I’m sober.” Matt chirped as they all looked at him like he was crazy.

“But… you went to the hospital because of our eyeball?”

“No. That would be ridiculous.” Matt looked at Adrian like he was crazy. “It was because of the shoestring.”

“What are you doing?” Blaine asked Adrian who had pulled out his phone.

“Texting his brother.” Adrian responded.

“Oooh, tell him hi for me.” Matt said, taking Adrian’s lemonade and downing it in two gulps.

“I… was going to drink that.” Adrian said slowly. He then said, to everyone else, “All he sent was a gif of a dog chasing it’s tail.”

“Maybe he’s drunk too!” Matt looked at Adrian’s phone and began to giggle. “I love that gif. His face when he catches his tail is how I feel when I… ooh. Adrian, can we get ice cream?”

“Yes.” Adrian said. “He’s going to be so sad in the morning when he realizes he got wasted in front of all of us… while we are not even tipsy.”

“But I’m not going to drive, so it’s okay.” Matt said, holding his hand up. “You shouldn’t drive and drink…. Or drink and drive… you should also dare to resist drugs or some shit like that. I dunno. Where do you even get drugs? I mean I know where I can get them but my dad would probably be mad… and Mark… and Pete… and Logan. Oh yeah, and my mom. She told me if I ever smoked pot, she’d cut my hair off… guess what? I didn’t! I really want to do me weewoo right now.”

“Your what?” Wes let out a loud laugh.

“You know… Weeohweeohwee Weeohweeohwee Weeohweeohwee like a cop car?” Matt sang. “C’mon. You have to know that.”

“Hey, Matt.” A firefighter said walking by, looking amused.

“Hi!” Matt waved energetically. When he was out of earshot he added loudly, “I’ve had sex with him. It was subpar but everything is compared to Adrian. Before Adrian, though, it was pretty awesome.”

“How do you not love this? He’s drunk out of his baby mind and still keeps talking about you.” AJ asked Adrian.

“Imma marry him ‘cause he said yes.” Matt beamed. He then looked at Adrian and said, tone very serious, “I love you very much.”

“I love you too.” Adrian patted his thigh but couldn’t help but smile.

Because at least Matt was cute even if he was being annoying.

“The song doesn’t really sound like the car. It actually is a lot more annoying and loud. It hurts my ears.” Matt let out an adorable sigh.

“What’s up, buttercup?” AJ asked.

“I think I forgot to feed my dog.”

“We don’t have a dog.” Adrian looked at him, confused.

“Whose dog have I been feeding?”

“None because we don’t have any dogfood?”

“Do we have a fish?”

“No. We have zero pets.”

“That’s boring. We should get a koala.”

“Okay. You find one and I’ll get it for you.”

Matt grabbed AJ’s phone and pulled up Google.

“I just love him.” AJ sighed. “He’s so cute and innocent.”

“Innocent?” Adrian scoffed. “He is not innocent. Don’t let the cute face fool you.”

“I found one! I sent her a message on Facebook.”

AJ grabbed her phone and showed everyone—it was just a gif of a sloth. Not even a koala. Which had been sent to himself from AJ’s text messages with him.

“It’s on the gimme app.”

“Gify.” AJ laughed.

“No. Gimme. Me as in not you.”

“Just let him win.” Kurt whispered. “This could go on all night.”

“I’m sorry. I just really want to get drunk with Blaine and Matt and it’d be the most hilarious thing ever. We’d get our own show.” Wes said. “Can we make this a thing?”

“I don’t have time to drink. I have finals next week.” Blaine sighed.

“That’s a bummer. You should drop out and join your brothers in blue… or something. I can’t remember. It’s in a pamphlet, though.” Matt yawned and laid his head on Adrian’s shoulder. “Pamphlets are stupido. That’s Spanish… right, AJ?”

“Estúpido.” AJ said.

“Stupido.”

“Estúpido.” She repeated.

“It’s too hard!” Matt laid his head on the table, mock crying.

“It’s… one extra letter…” AJ looked between everyone else at the table as Blaine reached over, patting Matt’s head.

“That one letter is the difference in failing and barely succeeding!” Matt hit the table and then said, “Estúpido.”

“Good job!” AJ smiled at him like she was talking to Scarlett.

“I know Spanish! I need to call and tell Mama.”

“Don’t you dare call your mother right now. It’s three in the morning.” Adrian threatened, grabbing Matt’s phone.

“You’re a thiever.”

The fireman from before came over, dropped a plate of chilli cheese fries in front of Matt, and said “You’re welcome” before walking back to his table.

Matt literally turned around in the seat and yelled, “COOPER, I LOVE YOU BUT YOU GOTTA STAY AWAY BECAUSE I’M ENGAGED NOW!”

“I’m so sorry! I couldn’t help myself!” The guy, Cooper, called back in a very serious tone. “It won’t happen again!”

The restaurant manager came over, also putting an ice cream in front of him. “This will probably help too, Matthew. You’ve gotta quit doing this. You know every time you do, your brothers come in and watch the video footage, right?”

Matt let out one loud laugh and then a snort, causing the firemen several tables back to all begin laughing loudly.

“Thank you.” Adrian told the manager. “How often does this happen?”

“Not often enough to make it not hilarious.” He responded.

Matt pushed the empty fry plate away and then waved energetically as another group of firemen came in.

“I don’t know which of you he’s with but just a hint—Planet Earth episode with the polar bears. He’ll be out within two seconds.” Another young firefighter said before walking and joining the now two groups of fire fighters.

“Matt… how many of those guys did you sleep with?” AJ asked sweetly.

Matt turned in his seat. “Five.”

“Please tell me how good the redhead was.” AJ said.

“Disappointing actually. Coop, though, is awesome. Like… woah.” Matt said, making a blowing up gesture with his hands. “And he’s so ripped. Like… woah.”

“What about Planet Earth guy?” Kurt asked.

Blaine looked at Kurt, surprised.

“Uhm, he was okay, I guess. Honestly, I fell asleep.”

“I just… don’t even know how to react right now.” Adrian said. “I was under the impression he didn’t date firemen.”

“Not seriously and always safe.” Matt chirped. “You can’t be too careful, Adrian. I don’t have time for STD’s.”

“So… are all of the firemen you’ve slept with over there?” Adrian asked.

“Pfft. That’s just the night shift.” Matt said and then gave a sweet smile. “Just kidding. I’ve only had sex with three of them. Almost four but, yeah, fell asleep. You’re better, though! Pinky promise!”

Adrian hesitantly linked pinkies with Matt, but only because he looked so excited. “Your brothers are gonna love watching this tomorrow, aren’t they?”

“Oh, they’ll watch it a lot. They make copies.” Matt said cheerfully. “They have monthly rewatch parties. It’s kinda annoying but I guess I’m funny.”

“And how does your dad, the chief of police, feel about this?” Blaine asked.

“Are you kidding? He’s the one that has the copies made.” Matt waved his hand in the air. “Mmkay, Adrian. Time to go home and have lots of sex. Mmkay?”

…

“So, Matt, what happened with a magnifying glass, a shoestring, and a broom?” Adrian asked the following morning after Matt got back into bed and laid under his covers—he had been, of course, throwing up.

Matt looked at him, confused, and then pulled his pillow over his head.

“Really? You aren’t even going to tell me?”

“You let me sing the cop car song.” Matt pulled the pillow down and glared. “The cop car song.”

“Oh. You mean wewowewo like a cop car?” Adrian looked confused.

“Uh, no. It’s weeohweeohwee Weeohweeohwee Weeohweeohwee like a cop car.” Matt glared.

“So, I met ‘Coop’ last night.” Adrian looked at Matt, who covered his face with his pillow and let out a loud groan.

#adrian/matt

0 notes

simp4ace · 2 years

Text

doctors orders ~ marco x gn!reader

a/n: Happy holiday! This is my surprise present for my super friend @cyborg-franky ! Thank you for taking me in when I first join the writing community here on Tumblr. There are lots of things that I didn't know but you have taught me lots, and even gave me a chance to meet up with lots of more talented writers! I'm so so so grateful to have met you and befriend you.💖 I want to wait until Christmas to post this at first, but I've heard you were going through a hard time right now, so I decided to post it anyway!!! I hope you will feel better soon.🥺 Please drink lots of water, take as much rest as possible, and always remember that we love you and think of you.❤ You're an amazing, kind, and supportive friend and I love you lots. Thank you for everything Franky! Plus, this is my very first time writing for Marco so I hope I didn't make any mistakes!

and a big big big bigggg thank you to @secretsnailor for editing !!! I love you tons Bee❤

"Late-night delivery!"

Following the voice, you looked up from the pile of paperwork to a tall blond man standing at the door. He was holding a tray high in one hand. The light coming in from the door he left open made you wince, for you had been working in the dark for too long.

"Oh, hi Marco. What time is it?" Rubbing your eyes tiredly, you asked with such a dry and languid voice that you even startled yourself.

"My dear, it's 1a.m now," Marco replied as he walked to your bed in the corner of the room. He set the tray down on the bedside table. "I think you might want a little rest-yoi!"

1 a.m! Oh no, so that meant you had been working nonstop for 10 hours straight! And that also meant—

"Oh my! So it’s already Christmas?" You let your head fall into your palm, exclaiming in disbelief. It was Christmas! Christmas—the time when people are supposed to have fun, rest, eat cake, and drink wine! And here you were, working your ass off on this very joyous day.

"Oh, it's not Christmas yet. It just became the 24th an hour or so ago-yoi."

"But I haven't finished my work. I still have tons to do before the end of the year," you groaned, staring blankly at the half-written letter in front of you.

You were a writer, and your main job was to write comforting letters for those in need. Life was tough. Everyone was struggling to survive. And every day, you received hundreds of pieces of mail. They all wanted just a little bit of support; someone to comfort or guide them with whatever they were going through. You understood that; however, the number of requests always spiked during the holiday season, and you couldn't get a moment's rest. Besides, sometimes you received some requests which were so bizarre that you didn't know how to feel about them anymore. If you could, you would never want to meet those people in real life.

"What is the request this time-yoi?" Marco came up behind you, hunching over to read the letter lying open on the desk. The moment he bent down close enough, you immediately leaned back against his chest. The warmth from Marco helped you to sober up a bit.

Snorting at his question, you said, quite bitterly,

"Something about overwork."

"Looks like you were writing for yourself, hm?" He chuckled, lovingly rubbing your sore shoulders and biceps. You appreciated the action: your body had been so stiff after long hours just sitting in one place.

"I don't even see why I bother ha!"

"Well, my bird, you truly need some rest right now." Marco frowned, realizing how tired you were just from the strained muscle he felt under his hands—he was a doctor, after all.

"I have made you your favorite drink, too-yoi," he added.

"Uhmmm—" You tried to protest, but Marco didn't let you say anything else. He pulled you up, wrapped his hand around your butt, and carried you like that straight to bed.

Letting you down properly, Marco threw a warm blanket all over you before handing you your late-night meal. There were some sandwiches and, oh, your heart fluttered with sweetness— hazelnut latte. Yes, the perfect drink for a cold winter night like this. Marco still remembered your favorite drink even though you just had only told him once before. And that was long ago.

"Thank you, darling." You kissed the side of his face reverently as Marco sat down next to you, one hand looping around your waist to pull you closer. He just hmphed back as a response, but you could see the corner of his mouth curled up in a light satisfied smile.

For a moment, neither of you talked as you started gobbling up your supper. Your boyfriend just sat there watching you lovingly. He loved seeing the way your cheeks puffed up when eating, thinking it was as cute as ever.

Marco finally spoke after you had done with the sandwiches; his voice indicated that there would be no more compromises,

"And you have to take a rest tomorrow-yoi. Doctors orders."

"But the letters—" Sipping the cup, you voiced a weakly protest. Now that you had been fed, laziness started to grow within you. Not to mention the warmth you felt just idly leaning against your boyfriend, curling up in a warm blanket like a sushi roll. Oh, thinking about work right now didn't sound too appealing at all.

Marco's hand reached out and grabbed yours, squeezing it lightly. Looking straight into your eyes, he said,

"It's alright, darling. You've worked hard. I know that you have been working more than anyone else. And I'm very very proud of my little bean. You have done an excellent job this year; your work has soothed so many people out there you may never know. So it's alright for you to take a day break-yoi. Plus, it's Christmas tomorrow, don't you want to have a date with me, hm? Or we are too old for this now-yoi?"

You giggled as the sweet sensation washed over you, warming up your heart and your weary body. Oh, Marco, Marco, how could you ever tell how much he meant to you, to your life? No letter of comfort you've ever written can compare with his simple statement; your fatigue seemed to disappear all at once.

"Aw, I love you, babe. And no, a date sounds too irresistible."

"I love you, too-yoi," Marco smiled, kissing your temple softly.

However, this man never let a romantic moment last long, and you wrinkled when the next thing he said was:

"Now, will you go to bed yourself or will I have to sing you to sleep?"

He really did know how to ruin the mood, didn't he?

Rolling your eyes dramatically, you pulled him down to the bed with you, and by the mischievous grin on your face, Marco knew right away what you were up to.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe another option? We still have time, don't we?"

Anyway, tomorrow would be a day off for the two of you. And oh, there would be lots of time, for sure.

Doctors orders!

#Rin chan's surprise Christmas present🎄#for a special friend #love you Franky!#take care of yourself ❤#wish you best wishes and send you great hugs #marco the phoenix #marco x reader #marco one piece #marco the phoenix x reader #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece scenario #one piece imagine #rin chan's writing

69 notes · View notes

titan-fodder · 2 years

Text

Find a Way Chapter 6

<< prev || m.list || next >>

Rating: M (mature; mdni)

Count: ~7.4k

Tags/Warnings: alcohol, ruthless teasing, daddy, awkward interactions, Erwin (is his own warning), general shyness and vulnerability

A/N: buckle up, it’s about to get heated. thanks for waiting, and don’t worry; there’s still much more to come. enjoy~

It feels like headway is being made in terms of spending time outside of the sandwich shop and bar you work at, but Miche can't help but think these are still the settings in which he gets to know you best, either having the excuse to fire questions back and forth or able to watch you work and interact with the people at Marley’s.

Tonight finds the two of you at the bar once again, only it’s a little different than usual. For one, you’re not actually on the schedule, free to mill about the establishment as you please. Two, you are free to drink. Quite literally.

Reiner (Miche is pretty sure now that's his name) makes you whatever you want whenever you want it, and Miche has to hand it to you, you pace yourself better than most twenty-somethings (definitely better than he ever did). You down water between mixed drinks, eat a little bit here and there, and even turn down some of the shots customers offer to buy you.

That doesn't mean you're sober, though. Miche is willing to bet you're at least tipsy as you lean over the bartop, saying something to your co-worker, the tall brunet—Bert?—that makes him splutter and quickly turn away.

Reiner slides you another drink, you blow him a kiss, and then you make your way back over to the little table Miche secured some time ago, straw between your lips, eyes locked on his the entire time it takes you to get from the counter to your chair.

You're a little off tonight, though not in a bad way. It's your attitude, your energy. Miche is used to your teasing and overall playful nature, but tonight, your eyes are brighter and your tongue is looser.

"Love those dudes so much," you announce, glancing over your shoulder at your coworkers, Bert dancing back and forth as Reiner tries to swat him with his towel.

"Yeah, they seem nice," Miche comments.

He isn't especially familiar with any of your friends, but what he knows of them, he appreciates. Reiner and his boyfriend watch out for your safety, and Bert and Annie pick up your shifts when you're too drained from school. They all seem like a good support system which is necessary for someone with an extraordinary amount of pressure sitting on their shoulders. Miche wouldn't have made it through med school if it weren't for Erwin, Nile, and Hange, would have probably flunked out first semester if he's being honest.

"One day you'll meet everyone else," you tell him. "I want you to meet everyone else—Sasha and Hitch and Jean and Marco. The whole crew."

"Oh yeah? What are you gonna do if they don't like me?" He's kidding, fairly confident in his ability to charm a group of students, but he's still curious about your answer.

You make a noise that sounds a lot like blowing raspberries, waving a hand as you do. "Impossible. You're very likeable, Miche. Too likeable, I daresay."

"That so?"

"Mhmmm. I mean, I like you, and I think I'm a pretty good judge of character. Most of the time."

He chuckles, not much else he can do. "I'm glad to hear it."

You rest your cheek in your hand, searching for the straw underneath your mouth and having just enough trouble finding it to make Miche snort into his soda. After pouting for a couple seconds, though, you move on.

"Tell me about your day."

He takes a sip from his glass then leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head.

"Nothing too interesting, just consults all day. Expectant mothers and a couple newborn checkups."

You hum, blinking slowly from across the table, and Miche has a feeling you want him to elaborate.

"One of the babies that came in today has a cleft palate, so we ended up scheduling his surgery."

"Oh, good!"

"Yeah, he's already a handsome little guy, but getting it repaired early on will lessen the likelihood of a big scar."

"He'll appreciate that when he's older."

You tell him about Jean wanting to specialize in plastic surgery, so, "He'll probably do a lot of those. That and boob jobs."

"Oh, most definitely. That's what Nile wanted to go into, but it was for all the wrong reasons." Miche has to laugh again. "It's a good thing he went into teaching instead. I have no doubt he'd have at least one malpractice suit lodged against him by now. At least."

Your face twists into a sour expression as you realize just what Miche is insinuating.

"Okay, ew. Did not wanna know that about my fucking professor, so thanks."

"I'm just saying. He can be a smarmy guy. He's probably stared at your—"

He stops himself right there, alarmed that he let himself even start that thought. Implying Nile has looked at your chest indirectly implies that Miche has too, and he can't have that, can't have you thinking he's some kind of pervert checking you out all the time. He has before—of course he has—but that doesn't mean he wants you to know about it because he's already ashamed as it is, and—

"Miche."

His wide eyes refocus to find you still sipping your drink, looking at him in question.

"You okay there? Look like you're about to stroke out or something."

"I'm fine. Just—"

"Thinkin' about my boobs?"

He nearly falls out of his chair, having to lean forward again and plant both feet on the ground, suddenly lightheaded as all his blood gathers in his cheeks rather than doing its job and oxygenating his whole body.

"Christ, no."

"I mean, they're nice boobs, it's okay," you giggle, glancing down at your own chest, covered by a tight little t-shirt, and fuck, now you're making him look. "I'm pretty fond of them myself, so like, can't really blame you."

Dragging a hand down his face, Miche tells you plainly, "You're killin' me here."

Sticking your tongue out between your teeth, you wink, then polish off your glass and stand up.

He assumes you'll wander back to the bar, order another fruity cocktail or maybe a water.

But no. You round the table, fingers gliding over the laminated wood as you go, and all Miche can do is watch until you stop right next to him and seat yourself right in his fucking lap.

His jaw drops, breath catching in his throat, and fuck, your hands are on his shoulders, and you're licking your lips, and uttering just loud enough to hear, "So, I've been meaning to talk to you about somethin' these past couple days?"

Miche's voice cracks when he replies, "What is it?" like he's suddenly going through puberty again. He doesn't quite know what to do with his arms and legs, scared that if he resituates himself in his chair, it'll cause you to rub against him, and that'll just be too much for him to handle right now.

Years ago, something like this wouldn't have fazed him much. He's had girlfriends, had flings, got used to women hitting on him in college which is good because now he knows how to keep a straight face when they do it in the workplace.

But, something about you, all flirty and bold, it's making Miche feel things he hasn't in a long time.

Then again, that's really how this all started, you sparking something inside of him that very first night and then stoking tiny flames when he had run into you again here.

So far, it's all been about remembering what it's like to develop feelings—real feelings—for someone, getting used to that fluttery sensation in his stomach and not being able to keep from smiling when he sees your name on his phone. That's what he's been focused on.

But right now, in this moment, he's trying very hard to focus on what is happening in his pants. Trying to keep it from happening.

"Mhm," you nod, your fingers sliding to the back of his neck and stroking just under his hairline.

If you're not careful…

No. No. He is an adult. He can handle this. He's not some little college boy with no self control.

Taking a deep breath, Miche sets his jaw. He does give himself the grace to set his hands on your hips, but once there, he doesn't move them, not so much as a twitch that could be construed as sensual.

"Go on, then."

So close to him, he can see the way your eyelashes fan over your cheeks every time you blink, how your lips part and your nostrils flare ever so slightly.

"So, um," you swallow, and for the first time tonight, the boldness fades quickly into shyness. "You've been great these last few months. Like, incredible. In so many different ways, and um…"

Miche waits patiently, not wanting to interrupt and ruin whatever little speech your beautiful, intoxicated brain has stewing in it.

"Well, you know, you've been helping so much—buying me things and helping me study, keeping me fed," you emphasize the last part, and Miche has to laugh.

"Couldn't just let you starve."

"No, I know, I know, just um…" You shift in his lap, getting impossibly closer, almost conspiratorial, and it has Miche biting back a groan. "Anyway, what I'm tryin' to say is that it's all kinda one-sided, don't ya' think?"

Frowning, Miche begins to shake his head, but the fingertips pressing into the back of his neck stop him.

"I wanna make it up to you somehow."

He has a pretty good idea of where this is going, and the thought alone makes his entire body heat up, but—

"You don't have to do anything," he sighs. "Just keep studying and pass your classes, and I'll be happy."

The noise of dissatisfaction that's pushed from your throat is adorable, but Miche knows better than to say so.

"Okay, but maybe I'm not happy," you pout. "Maybe I wanna change our arrangement."

"Arrangement, huh?"

"Is'at not what it is? Some unspoken agreement to let you take care of me?"

Mouth starting to run dry, Miche does his best to shrug, his grip on your waist tightening against his will.

"If that's what you want to call it—"

"I don't know what else to call it. Unless—" You're eyes flash, and Miche's stomach sinks and flips at the same time because that look, the way your lips are curling, you're about to do or say something that's going to unravel him.

"Unless what?"

Your sing-song giggle sounds anything but innocent, and Miche finds out why when you lean in closer to talk into his ear, secretive and sultry when you finish, "Unless you want me to start telling people you're my sugar daddy."

There's no tickle in his throat, but Miche still finds himself coughing, lungs tight, pants tighter, and he knows you can see his blush. Fuck, you can probably feel the warmth radiating from him.

"Is'at what you want me to call you?" You tease, tacking on another, "Daddy?" and this time Miche does groan, aroused and surprised by it because that's never been a thing for him, but coming from you, doe-eyed and devious, the weight of you in his lap, the press of you against his body…

It seems he's discovered something new about himself tonight.

He is a grown man, though. He recognizes what's happening, can acknowledge the fact that his control is slipping, and knows he needs to remedy that. Quickly.

Red faced and undeniably hard at this point, Miche sighs. It's still difficult to get his thoughts straight, but as he takes in your face, the hopeful look on it, the desperation to please, he knows what he has to do.

"You're drunk."

Leaning back, your hands fall lightly to his collarbones, and Miche thinks he sees a little bit of the heady fog in your gaze evaporate.

"I'm… flattered," he continues. "And, I don't want you to take this as a—a rejection, but I can't in good conscience let you make this offer and let myself enjoy—" he vaguely gesticulates at your body and his, "—this, enjoy you, while knowing you're not sober."

"But…"

Miche smiles, takes your face in his hands and brings it forward so that he can brush his lips over your forehead.

"How about we just revisit the conversation when you're not five drinks in, okay?"

Your chest heaves with a deep breath, and for a moment, he thinks you're going to try to argue with him, but all you do is nod and fall forward, resting your face in the crook of his neck and giving him goosebumps.

"Hey, Miche?" You mumble, and he can feel all three syllables against his skin.

"Hm?"

"Can we go back to your loft?"

It makes him pause for a second, Miche wondering if you're deciding to ignore everything he's just said to you, but he understands once you elaborate.

"Wanna sleep in your bed again."

He chuckles, rubbing your back. "Yeah, sure."

"Thanks," you sigh against him. "Daddy."

Miche's head falls to your shoulder, nothing left to defend himself other than an exasperated, "Fucking tease," that makes you laugh.

There's a weight spanning the length of your back, warm but not overwhelming. Still, it makes you stiffen, eyes suddenly wide open until you realize where you are—green blankets, brick walls, sun shining through the window—and recognize the weight over you as a very large dog.

Minnie.

A rustling further up makes you turn your head and, to your surprise, you find Remy curled up on one of Miche’s pillows, yawning and blinking dark sleepy eyes at you.

“And, just where did you come from?” You ask like he can reply.

Miche must have gone and picked him up which is just… so, incredibly heartwarming, even if it does mean he was in your apartment without you there. The fact that he not only thought of your little boy but put forth the effort to go get him—he’s just so good, taking care of Remy and taking care of you—

Sitting upright, you swear under your breath, everything from the night before rushing back, some good, most bad, and Jesus Christ, why couldn’t you have gotten drunk enough to have just blacked out? At least then if you’d made a fool of yourself, you wouldn’t be able to recall any of it.

Pressing your palms against your eyes, you try to steady your breathing, not that it works.

You came onto him. Strongly. You—oh, god, you called him daddy, what in the actual fuck is wrong with you?

The pressure in your chest feels like it could be either a laugh or a sob, little pinpricks of heat dancing up your neck as you experience the embarrassment you apparently failed to the night before.

How are you supposed to face him? How are you supposed to look him in the eye? There’s no question; you have to find a way because you need to fucking apologize after putting him in such an awkward position. You can’t even begin to imagine what must have been going through his head, how desperate you must have looked.

If you could just go back in time, shake yourself out of it, tell yourself, ‘hm, maybe getting drunk around this guy you have a massive crush on isn’t the best idea’.

Too late now.

Falling back into the bedding, you stare at the ceiling as you sift through the memories, how nice Miche had been about it, gentle even as he turned you down, probably feeling sorry for you.

He did say you could revisit the conversation, you muse, but you don’t think you have the lady balls for that, hence being drunk while bringing it up in the first place.

And again, your mind supplies another argument. Miche wasn’t exactly unaffected by what you had to say, or maybe it was how you said it, in his lap, speaking in his ear. If you think about it enough, you can still remember the heat that coursed through you when you felt his cock grow hard beneath you.

A natural bodily reaction. Of course he’d get aroused. The problem here is that he didn’t want to be, just wanted to hang out and talk, and you just had to go and throw yourself at him.

You go back and forth like this for a while, the dogs trying to snooze but obviously unable to as you keep them awake with all the nervous energy pouring from you, and when you hear the door open and close downstairs, your stomach sinks even further.

Voices carry upward, one you easily recognize as Miche’s, the other unfamiliar. It’s deep, rich with a sort of refined accent, sounds like someone who spent much of their life in country clubs or something of the like. It’s obviously one of Miche’s friends. The question is which one. Also, if they’re going to leave soon or if you’re gonna have to meet them right in the middle of your existential crisis.

A loud laugh rings out, startling both you and the dogs, and you hear Miche shush whoever it is through his own chuckle, “Dude, quiet, she’s still sleeping.”

With a deep sigh, you throw an arm over your face then call out a muffled, “No’m not.”

“Oh,” Miche hums, then, “Sorry.”

After a three second pep talk (come on, you can do this, get up and do this, you got this), you swing your legs over the side of the bed, noting your attire—plaid boxers and a large orange t-shirt, the image of what you’re pretty sure is a wizard faded almost beyond real recognition. You can barely make out the upside down lettering underneath—Dungeons & Dragons—but once translated, you shake your head. Fucking nerd.

For a while, you just sit at the edge of the bed, contemplating if it’s even worth changing to go downstairs. Miche has probably filled in whoever it is down there with him, so their expectations of you can’t be that high, but at the very least, you should tame your hair and brush your teeth. At the very least.

The ensuite bathroom is open, and when you turn the light on and glance at the counter, you break into a grin at the sight of your own hairbrush, toothbrush, deodorant, and perfume. He didn’t just grab Remy from your apartment, it seems. Everything here in front of you was in plain view of anyone who peeked into your bathroom, and boy, are you glad Miche did.

After making yourself somewhat presentable, you change back into your shorts from the night before but refuse to ditch the insanely comfortable, insanely geeky shirt, and pad down the staircase, Remy and Minnie hot on your heels.

They’re on the couch, two heads swiveling toward you and making you stop in your tracks. Miche grins immediately, something you do not understand because he really should be upset with you, definitely should not be caring for you as he apparently has been over the course of the night.

A couple cushions over, a man you do, in fact, recognize stands up and makes his way over to you. Golden hair, deep blue eyes, perfect smile. Yeah, you’ve seen pictures of this one.

“Hello, I’m—”

“Erwin,” you finish with a nod, holding your hand out. “Miche’s told me about you some.”

“All good things, I hope,” he says, that smile only widening.

It truly has been all good things, even the silly stories from med school and intern year. Apparently, Erwin used to be a lampshade drunk, and knowing that makes him slightly less intimidating as you shake his hand.

Because he's still impressive, a cardiothoracic surgeon, if you're not mistaken, and you—you are a baby in comparison.

"Not a bad bone in your body, the way he talks about you," you say, causing both Erwin and Miche to chuckle.

After a short introduction of your own, you let your eyes flick to the couch where Miche is sitting, Remy in his lap now, enjoying the fingers scratching behind his floppy ears.

"Hey, thanks for getting him last night. I didn't even hear you."

"Yeah, probably 'cause you were dead to the world as soon as you laid down."

A good thing, you think. Being asleep means you weren't able to humiliate yourself any more than you already had. Being asleep means being safe. In this instance, anyway.

“Was I snoring?”

Miche smirks. “You really want me to answer that?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, remind yourself that snoring is still better than humping his god damn leg, then shuffle into the kitchen for a glass of water. It takes you a second to find the right cabinet, and when you do, you have to stand on your tiptoes to actually reach a cup, but you manage to retrieve one.

“Tylenol is in the cabinet over the stove and to the right,” Miche calls out.

“I’m not hungover,” you laugh, pacing back out to join the two men. “Just thirsty.”

Erwin mumbles something suspiciously close to, “I bet you are,” but you’re okay with brushing it off, surely your ears deceive you. Miche, however, decides to kick his friend hard in the shin, only confirming the fact that yes—yes, that is exactly what just came out of this near stranger’s mouth, and yes, he meant it exactly the way you’re taking it.

You’re not gonna falter, though, not gonna let it get to you. Channel the bad bitch. Be the bad bitch. Don’t let him scare you away.

Locking eyes with Erwin, you remain straight faced as you take a long sip from your cup, letting out a satisfied, “Ah,” once you swallow. You won’t be the first to break, won’t be the first to look away, don’t even want to blink until Erwin finally starts laughing.

Turning to look at Miche, he mumbles something much quieter this time, making the other scoff before Miche levels his gaze at you, green and bright and just barely shining with something like irritation.

“Please just ignore him.”

Erwin snorts. “Good luck trying.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s—Anyway, um, you guys look like you’re about to do something or… something—”

“Game’s coming on in a little bit,” Miche supplies.

“Okay yeah, so I can just, like, get outta your hair.” Please, please let me get out of your hair. You are more than ready to disappear, only able to keep up the tough girl facade for maybe two minutes max.

Miche pushes himself off the couch after depositing Remy into Erwin’s lap, taking one long stride over to you, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning back just a little because he’s so tall and so gorgeous as he tilts his head down to look at you—you cannot believe you did what you did last night, your inner monologue turning to utter nonsense the longer you stare at him.

“Okay, so I can definitely drop you back off if you want,” he opens, and when his hands land on your shoulders, you gaze up at him in what just might be awe, fixating on the way his lips pull up on one side. Then, he’s turning you around and leading you closer to the front door where you see your backpack carefully perched on a low shelf. “Or, you can stay here for a while longer and let Erwin and me bother you until you can’t stand it anymore.”

“Fuck, what all did you grab from my apartment?” You laugh, focusing on that, otherwise you might scream because he is so cute, how can he be so fucking cute?

“Just what I thought you might need to spend the day here.”

You click your tongue, thinking for a moment. You don’t have class due to a professor being out sick (how dare he, if he had just not fallen ill, you wouldn’t have been drinking last night in the first place), but you do have a study session with your friends later this evening, probably at the usual coffee shop where you push two tables together and cover them with laptops and print-outs and spiral notebooks, ordering one tea after another or, if you’re feeling particularly tired, one espresso shot after another.

But oh, it’s so hard to say no to Miche when he’s looking at you the way he is, eyes the color of bubbling seafoam, hopeful, dancing with something you can’t place, and why—why does he want to keep you around? How is he not offended or disgusted with you? Why hadn’t he just left you at your own home instead of bringing you here last night?

“Okay, yeah,” you sigh, having to look away before you get completely lost in him. “But, I have to meet Jean and Marco and them at six tonight.”

“That’s fine. I can get you back by then.”

You grab your backpack, hauling it over to the couch but dropping to the ground right behind the little coffee table. You feel Miche sit behind you, to the side but still close enough that his calf brushes your arm. It’s stupid to try to study. You know you won’t get anywhere, but maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to retain something you haven’t yet.

Laptop open with a PowerPoint pulled up, blank notecards in front of you, you start scribbling away. You’re maybe four minutes in when you hear Erwin question, “Etiology, huh?”

You only respond with a short, “Yep,” intent on staying at least halfway focused.

“I remember those days,” he continues to muse.

Thankfully, Miche seems to either read your mind or body language and picks up where you can’t. “You want to help her out then?”

“Didn’t say that,” the other man laughs.

“Then let her study.”

Craning your neck, you look just far enough over your shoulder to see Miche wink at you and feel your entire body grow lighter. So, that’s what swooning feels like.

“Okay, okay, sorry, my god.”

And, you’re left alone for a while, unperturbed until the game they’ve been waiting for comes on. They don’t do anything on purpose, but anytime a team scores (which is not often), they both move and make noise. You’re too aware of the way Miche’s body tenses and relaxes, and somewhere along the way you start to lean against his leg more than simply sit beside it.

Erwin orders takeout for the three of you, and when it arrives, Miche gets up from the couch, fingers brushing the crown of your head as he does, and that shouldn’t make you shiver, but it does, makes you stare after him and release a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding this whole time. Somewhere off to your left, Erwin snickers, but he doesn’t say anything, and that’s really all you can ask for at this point.

Another PowerPoint and a belly full of Chinese food later, you start packing your things up. Time went by surprisingly quickly, either because you actually managed to get caught up in the material or because time always seems to move faster when you’re around Miche.

After sliding your notes and laptop into your backpack, you go back upstairs to gather the other things Miche had brought to the loft for you, remembering at the last second to change back into your own shirt. It all worked out well considering when you get back to the den, the game seems to be over, Miche and Erwin both with smiles on their faces.

“Did we win at sportsball?” You joke, laughing in your throat when Erwin gawks at you. “Just kidding. I know it was Soccer.”

“Yes, we won,” Miche answers. “And, by we, I mean Liverpool.”

“Well, good for… Us. I guess.”

The three of you actually walk out together, Remy hopping in his harness as he goes. Erwin stops at the side of the road right next to a vintage Shelby Mustang, unlocking the door but only leaning against it. Before he can say whatever he’s about to, you turn to Miche, motioning toward the car and asking, “Okay, why can’t you have a car like that?”

Both of them laugh, Miche not missing a beat as he shoots, “Because I don’t like getting roadrash on my ass. You see how low that thing sits to the ground?”

“Okay, fair but… Look how pretty it is.”

Erwin is absolutely beaming, gently raps his knuckles just under the window as he thanks you. “She handles like a dream.”

“Yeah, how’s the gas mileage on it?” Miche challenges with a knowing grin.

“We don’t talk about that.”

The parting handshake with Erwin isn’t nearly as awkward as the first, polite as he tells you, “Lovely meeting you,” then, “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again.”

“Uh, yeah, maybe.”

He waves at Miche, bends to give Remy a little chin scratch, then slides into his beautiful car and drives away.

Which leaves you alone with Miche for the first time since last night, and wow, you kind of wish Erwin would turn around and come back.

“I promise he wasn’t always so annoying,” Miche says, and that at least makes you smile, but it does not get rid of the pit that’s opened up in your stomach.

“He really didn’t bother me,” you shrug. You start to walk toward the little lot behind the building where you know Miche parks, adding, “Besides, he’s friends with you, so he can’t be that bad.”

Miche makes an unsure noise, all high-pitched and non-committal. “I’ve been known to make questionable decisions before, and he might be one of them.”

“Questionable decisions,” you titter. “Yeah, same.”

Obviously.

You lapse into silence as you pile your things into the back of the car. Miche opens your door for you, checking, “You good?” and waiting for your nod before closing it. Then, he’s right next to you, starting the car with the push of a button and backing out of the lot.

The quiet remains, enveloping you both until Miche turns on the radio, and you’re able to breathe easier for a few minutes.

“Make any headway studying today?”

“Some. Probably get more done this evening with everyone else.”

“Yeah, won’t have two assholes right behind you clapping at a soccer game.”

“I promise y’all were not that bad.” Sitting that close to him is what really had you distracted.

Another pause in already stunted conversation has you itching to get out of your own skin. Even with your apartment being as close as it is, you don’t think you can spend the whole ride there doing this, so—

“Okay, I’m just gonna say it before I literally explode.”

“Ah, been waiting for this,” Miche grins, and you almost reach out to smack him, but your brain is already too busy with what you want to say to him, jumbled thoughts with no organization in sight, probably nothing more than word vomit, but god dammit, you’ve gotta try to let him know.

“I am so sorry about last night—”

“Don’t be.”

“I don’t even know why—I mean, no, I know why—I just don’t know what I was thinking—”

“It’s okay.”

“I shouldn’t have gotten that sloppy around you, and I’m so, so—I’m fucking mortified, and I know you probably are too so—”

“Hey.”

You pause, only just realizing he’s been trying to get you to stop since you started. Looking at you from the corner of his eyes, Miche shows one of his soft smiles, the kind that makes your knees weak.

“I’m not about to hold it against you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay? I’m the one who fucking assaulted you.”

Miche laughs, looking genuinely amused. “You did not assault me, and even if you had, I’m pretty sure I could have handled myself.” He flexes the arm closest to you just to prove his point, showing off the way his shirt sleeve pulls tight around his bicep.

“Okay,” you squint at him. “No need for that.” Really just because the urge to reach out and squeeze the muscle is much too strong.

“I’m just saying. If I felt threatened or whatever you think I felt, I could have removed myself from the situation with ease.”

“I’m just sorry I made you uncomfortable, and don’t even try to tell me I didn’t because we both know that’s a lie.”

“You didn’t—”

“Miche, I will harm you.”

“Well, now I do feel a little threatened,” he mumbles.

You huff, he chuckles, then goes on to explain, “I’m not gonna say I wasn’t a little taken off guard, but it wasn’t something I—” Miche stops, seems to have to think for a moment as he makes a turn. “I didn’t dislike it. I stopped you because you were drunk, not because… Not because… Jesus, why is this so much harder now?” He chuckles quietly. “It’s not because I didn’t want it. Because I—I do. There. Fuck.”

Somewhere in the middle of all that, your heart started to beat too fast and too hard, and he has to be able to hear it. You surely do, louder than the music playing, louder than his voice, pounding in your ears, picking up pace with every second because, “You do?”

“Well, yeah, how could I not?”

There are many ways he could not, many reasons: you’re twenty-five, you’ve still got years of school left, you work at a dingy bar and don’t even make enough for a halfway decent living, you’re a sloppy drunk and a little bit of a brat, the list goes on and on.

Remy gets antsy as Miche pulls into a covered parking place, looks at you seriously and says, “Hold that thought,” before turning the car off and stepping outside.

He grabs your bag while you carry Remy, out of breath as you make your way up to your apartment, though it’s not from the stairs. You unlock the door, set Remy down as Miche walks to the couch where he places your backpack.

Then, you’re both looking at each other, full on, no road to distract you, just staring as you try to keep your body from shaking with the rhythm of your heartbeat.

“Okay,” you exhale, hands beginning to tremble with nerves. “So, what… what exactly were you saying in the car?”

Bracing himself on the back of the couch, Miche rests against it and sucks his teeth in a thoughtful manner.

“I—look, it’s been a long time since I’ve done this, or really—” he blows hair out of his face, lips forming a little grin afterward, but it looks about as confident as you feel. “—I guess a long time since I’ve been nervous about it.”

If this is what you think it is, it’s been a long time for you too. There was no confessing in your last relationship, only falling into bed with a boy at a party and going from there. This, with Miche, is about as opposite from that as you can get. This has been a growing thing from the start. This has a foundation, but is it stable enough to build on top of?

He must see the question in your eyes, the uncertainty and confusion, because his expression turns to one so tender, and the muscles in his forearms relax as does the rest of his body.

“Come here,” he nods at you, and your feet move on their own accord, carrying you over to him, closer and closer. Miche’s legs, previously crossed at the ankle where he’s leaning—sitting, you realize now—spread enough to allow you to stand between them, and with such little space between the two of you, both your brain and lungs seem to stop working at the same time.

The light green of his eyes is mesmerizing and comforting, lulling you into a state of security despite your alarming pulse. You admire the soft lines of his face, all etched there from happy times. The gray at his temples interweaves and blends well with the rest of his dark blond hair, a hint of silver in his beard as well, and everything about him is so handsome—sophisticated and rugged at the same time, like he doesn’t even have to try, and it leaves your stomach in knots.

“I am in new territory right now,” he admits, but as he does, he raises a hand to brush hair behind your ear, and you swear to god, you can feel your pupils dilate. “And, I think you might be too.” You nod but find yourself incapable of speaking, hands seeking purchase and finding it in the soft material of his t-shirt.

“For the record, I didn’t—I didn’t start talking to you because I wanted—In the grocery store, it wasn’t like I targeted you or anything.”

Finally, a laugh is pushed from your chest. “I know.”

“Okay, just making sure. Just know I didn’t plan any of this to happen. I didn’t plan… feelings.”

His face is red now, both of his cheeks as well as what you can see of his neck, and that brings you some relief because at least you’re not the only one freaking out a little.

“I…” You swallow, trying to get your mouth to work again and eventually succeeding. “I had an inkling I would probably catch them, I won’t even lie, but I didn’t ever think you... might… too.”

“You’re a lot more charming than you give yourself credit for.”

“Aw, shucks,” you giggle, and suddenly, Miche is pressing your face into his chest, which you can’t say you mind all that much. “Can’t look at me anymore?” You question, words muffled against t-shirt and pectoral. “‘m I that charming you can’t handle it?”

“Maybe,” he chuckles, and you loop your arms around his waist, squeezing as you hum. “I need to ask you something, though. For… clarification purposes.”

“Mkay.”

“Last night—”

“Oh, boy.”

You feel the rumble of laughter in his chest more than hear it.

“Last night the, uh… Offer you… Presented me with,” he starts, and you’re already long gone, trapped in a fit of embarrassed giggles—a panic response—and well on your way to perishing due to the amount of blood that’s pooling in your face. “I don’t know exactly what to make of it.”

“If I’m—oh man,” you have to wipe tears from your eyes, panting for a moment to catch your breath. “If I’m remembering correctly, I’m pretty—pretty sure I said I’d fuck you in return for you taking care of me.”

“Right, yes,” Miche’s voice comes out strained, and you begin to feel like you're coming back to yourself. “Is that—”

“Offer still on the table? Absolutely.”

“Jesus, shut—” Hand on the back of the head again, face smushed into pecs again. “Good to know, but not what I was about to ask.”

“Oh, okay,” you grin. “Carry on.”

“Thank you. Is that all you want out of this… What’d you call it last night?” He questions, but he remembers before you can speak up. “Oh, arrangement. Is that all you want out of our arrangement?”

“To be taken care of financially and in the bedroom?” Honestly, you surprise even yourself sometimes.

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Is that all you’re looking for?”

“Well…” You push yourself away from his chest enough to stand a little straighter and look him in the eye, not that you can hold his gaze for long. He’s chewing on his lip, and you’re trying not to squirm too much, but it is difficult. “I mean, I—” Dropping your hands from behind his back, you instead start to toy with the hem of his shirt, timid all over again when you tell him, “I don’t know what I’m allowed to ask for.”

“I don’t either.”

Your eyes snap back up to his face, so open and honest. What could he possibly ask you for? What could he possibly want from you?

Part of you wishes you could be a little more poetic, have something romantic or flowery prepared for an occasion like this.

But, you aren’t, and you don’t, so you settle for raising to your tiptoes and tilting your head back, hoping Miche will get the idea and fill in the rest of the gap.

You’ve always known his hands are big, but when they cover your cheeks and curl to the back of your head, they feel especially huge. Miche has to stoop, but he doesn’t complain, just catches your lips with his, inhaling sharply through his nose and stealing what little breath you have left. He is firm and warm and gentle, his rhythm matching yours as you press against him, mouths moving just enough to get acquainted but not enough to taste.

When he pulls away, you try to follow, eyes still shut, seeking him out. You feel a tiny puff of warm air—his chuckle—dance across your lips before he gifts you with another, shorter kiss, then he straightens up and pulls you tight against him.

Fingers curled into his shirt, you hold him a little too tightly, lightheaded and unsteady on your feet.

That just happened. You just did that. He just did that.

And, now… Now, all you want is more.

Before you can suggest anything (or even look at him with any kind of salacious intent), your phone buzzes in your back pocket, startling you out of your dreamy, lustful haze.

"Hold please," you mumble, retrieving it and finding a message from Hitch.

>> hey girlypop, need me to come pick you up?

You weren't particularly keen on the idea of leaving Miche's to go study before, and now, standing so close to him, lips still tingling, you're even less inclined to go.

"Duty calls," he teases, then, noting your hesitance, adds, "We'll talk more later."

"Yeah?" You blink up at him, can't help but push, "Just talk?"

One of his eyebrows lifts in a warning that makes you shift your weight from one foot to another, a syrupy heat dripping down your spine when he tries to suppress a little smirk and fails to.

"We'll talk later," he reiterates. "Now, go get ready for your study sesh or whatever you guys call it."

You push your bottom lip out without thought, and he just barely brushes a thumb over it, clicking his tongue, then sliding out from his place between you and the couch. Flames lick upward from your stomach, and you watch through hooded eyes as Miche crouches to give Remy another pat on the head. He mutters something to the little dog, snickering as tiny claws scratch over his knee, then he’s upright again and reaching for the doorknob.

He really has you convinced that he’s just gonna leave like that, kiss you like he owns you then stride back out without another glance at you, but you should know better at this point, shouldn’t look so relieved when he pivots back around and demands more than asks, “Let me take you to dinner.” You blink. “Not tonight, obviously, but soon. Some place without sandwiches or liquor.”

“What if I want sandwiches and liquor?” You play.

“Then let me take you somewhere with gourmet sandwiches and liquor.”

You snort. “How fancy,” then tell him, “Thursday nights work best for me,” though you’re pretty sure he already knows that.

“Thursday,” he repeats, and he’s grinning and fumbling for the door handle because he won’t look away from you, and you want to kiss him again, want to kiss him so badly, you can’t stop yourself from skipping over to him and pulling him down for one more.

His palm slides over the small of your back as he bends, pressing your body harder against his so that you let out a happy little sigh and murmur against his lips, “Thursday.”

#miche zacharias x reader #mike zacharias x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfic #snk fanfic #mels find a way

137 notes · View notes

cvtqr · 3 years

Note

wait could I request either Jean, Connie, or Sasha accidentally walking in on you and Marco either doing the deed or sucking each others faces off... they’d be like “Hey y/n? Have you seen Marco- OH” LMAOO

pairings; marco bodt x f!reader

content warning; smut, caught/walked in on

notes; modern au, aged up marco + GOODBYE MY MARCO CUTOUT WATCHING ME WRITE THIS RN LIKE ... shawty </33

getting marco to really loosen up was a rare occasion. of course, he'd always have a beer in his hands while hanging out with his friends, but really drinking? during the times your friend group explored new bars or clubs, marco was always the one who offered to stay sober, making sure everybody got home safely.

tonight though, it was sasha’s birthday. pre to her party tomorrow, she took a few friends to a newly opened club, mars. somehow you convinced marco to loosen up a bit, it being one of your close friends birthday.

you felt bad leaving before all of your friends, pretty early in general... but marco was the one who dragged you back to the apartment.

the cab ride home, he couldn't keep his hands off of you. kept slipping a hand under your skirt, bringing it a little too close to your clothed heat.

right when you unlocked the door, you got yourself slammed right into it. not bothering to find your lips, marco’s mouth traveled down your jawline and neck, sucking deep into the soft skin. grabbing your hair, he pulled your head back, giving him more access.

“marco-”

the way his name rolled so smoothly off your tongue made the blood flow straight to his dick.

turning the hallway, he dragged you into the living area of the apartment. he just gets so excited sometimes, he couldn't even be bothered to take you into the bedroom.

pushing you into the dim lighted area. he flipped you around and bent you over the small breakfast nook table that was placed in the corner of the room.

“ ‘m sorry, y/n. i promise ill take care of you after this... just need you now.”

unbuckling his pants, he pulled them down just enough to free his rock hard cock. lifting up your skirt, he pulled your panties to the side before dragging one of his long, slender fingers, across your slit. lining himself up with your cunt, he slowly pushed himself into you.

you always felt a burn when he first pushes himself in, but its quickly replaced with pleasure as he started thrusting in and out of you.

dragging himself almost all the way out, he harshly slammed himself right back into you. it was so overwhelming, your mouth just hung open, nothing coming out.

holding your head down onto the table, marco leaned his figure down resting on top of yours. the way he started to roughen and speed up his thrusts, let the load moan you've been holding in escape through your lips.

“quiet down, y/n” his hand came across your mouth, slipping two fingers through your lips.

the disgusting sounds of lewd slapping of skin filled the entire living room. too distracted from pleasure, neither of you heard the front door open and close.

“y/n? marco? you guys home?”

jeans voice echoed through the kitchen of your apartment, before footsteps slowly started heading down the hallway.

“you both left without saying anything we were worried si-”

connie cut himself off mid sentence as him and jean turned the corner into the living room. stopped in their tracks, they both looked like deer in the headlights.

marco didn't stop though. no. if anything he just got faster. turning your head to face them both, they felt their breath hitch at the sight in front of them.

your hair a mess, eyelids heavy, marcos fingers hanging out of your mouth... covered in your drool.

not saying a thing, the two of them turned back into the kitchen, and out the front door once more.

they needed a walk maybe.

maybe a walk to sasha and niccolo’s apartment, to spend the night there.

#aot #aot x reader #aot smut #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan smut #marco bodt #marco bott smut #marco bott x reader #jean kirschtien #connie springer #anime #anime smut #smut

399 notes · View notes

kristaline2dmensimp · 3 years

Text

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ᴀʀʀᴀɴɢᴇ ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴀɢᴇ: ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1 ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

*****

3rd person's POV

The whole crew stood at the deck of Moby Dick as they stared at an elder woman of the foreign land they're currently at having a conversation with their pops, as she had something whitebeard wanted.

"I have faced countless betrayal from people wanting to obtain the same thing you wanted. So don't blame me for being precautious." The elder woman stated, there's no doubt that she is strong, cause not even an ounce of fear is presented on her features even facing one of the four yonko.

In order to avoid unnecessary fight, they both agreed to negotiate without having any casualties. "Newgate if you want what I have, what can you offer to me." She asked.

"What exactly do you want?" Whitebeard inquires, cocking his brow, causing the elderly lady to laugh softly. "In exchange for a promise that I would not face any more betrayal and that we would be allies, I want one of your sons." Whitebeard frowns at her claim, not liking where the conversation is going. Noticing this, the elder woman held out her palm. "Relax, Newgate; I wasn't done yet." She hummed, her eyes skimming over the crew, scanning each commander before facing back to Whitebeard.

"I'd like one of your sons to marry one of my daughters." Whitebeard's frown remained as he glance at his boys, who appeared to be willing to go through this. If only he wasn't in dire need of it, he wouldn't go through such lengths as to marry off one of his sons but this arrangement appears to benefit them more than her. Looking back to the elderly lady in front of him who stretch out her hand waiting for him to take and seal the deal. Whitebeard's grew slight suspicious but sighed nonetheless when he didn't hear any of his sons objecting before shaking her hand. Smiling the woman snapped her finger.

The whole crew watch as strong gust of wind came pass by forming into you appearing beside your mother pushing your hair back from covering your face. *Ya know the thing female racer did after taking off a helmet? Know what I mean?*

"I want your first division commander Marco the Phoenix to wed my eldest daughter (____), she ate the kaze-kaze no mi also she's the top warrior of our land and she knows a lot about medicine, rest assured you can rely on her." Unfazed by the sudden events you await for their answers.

Marco blink in surprise hearing your mother's statement of choosing him to be your husband out of everyone. Chuckling to himself he jumped down from their ship before approaching you, ignoring the teasing remark his brothers threw at him and their soon to be sister-in-law.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, first commander." You greeted with a smile which he returned with flirtatious one. "Pleasure to meet you too yoi."

"The wedding will take place here tomorrow at dawn and after the wedding you'll have what you wanted, shirohige." Ending the conversation between them, you were then pulled away to your fortress where you will be prep for the wedding, not after both of you sharing eye contact longer than expected.

Whitebeard sigh sitting back at his collosal chair watching Marco getting teased by his brothers. Soon after a party started. Dusk have fallen and its rare to see everyone is trying to sober up while the others were passed out on the deck.

On the other hand, Marco was leaning on the railings smoking a cigarette watching the sea deep in thought, he would be married in a few hours. Well he wasn't getting any younger either he wouldn't mind the change of pace.

"Don't worry about it." He turned to Thatch walking up to him followed by Ace with drink in their hand.

"I ain't worrying yoi. Just Hasn't felt this nervous before." he replied.

"Yeah that happens." Ace shrugged his shoulder taking a sip from his mug of sake. "I mean i can always take your place, she's a real beauty heh i wouldn't mind." Thatch replied grinning causing Marco to roll his eyes as they they all chuckled. He perked up when he felt the breeze of the wind seems different from the ones they usually felt knowing you ate the wind wind fruit, the three of them look towards the island fortress where you were located.

"Seems you're not the only one who's nervous." Ace hummed while Marco smiled softly.

......

You sat inside your room, knees bouncing from nervousness while staring at your perfectly made traditional wedding dress by your land designed for the husband's to take off easily ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°).

Knowing the reason why your mother had chose you to this arrangement was due to your adventurous personality, and this is the opportunity for you to roam the sea alongside your husband.

Soon after your mother and sisters came flooding your room. "Now dear, its time to groom you." Your sisters helped you wear the dress as you let your mother do your hair, nothing too fancy but the traditional custom of your land.

"we will be missing you my dear, I hope you know." Your mother sighed stroking your silky hair and your sister hugging you savoring the last moment you will be with them. "Don't worry I wouldn't forget you all, I already prolonged not accepting any proposal. I think its time for me to be married, I ain't getting younger." You replied with a smile.

Sighing once more, your mother kissed your forehead before placing your veil. "We will be arranging the place now." Nodding, your mother and sisters left the room to calm yourself not knowing whether you're feeling nervous or excited anymore.

Hearing a flickering noise, you turned towards the window seeing blue violet flowers sitting on your window ceil. Blinking in surprise, you stood up approaching the said flowers caressing it in your hand not being able to contain your smile from spreading on your face knowing the meaning of the blue violet. Unbeknownst to you, Marco who's flying from the distance saw all of it, smirking when he saw you caress the flower he left on your window with a small grin.

......

Everyone had gathered at whitebeard's ship all prepared and only left is you to appear on the makeshift altar where Marco is waiting in anticipation. The sun had rise at the same time you appeared with the wind accompanying you.

Everyone was in awe as you stood proudly in your wedding dress walking up to the man you will be married to as he flashed you smile which only widened hearing his brothers wolf whistling and cat calls in the background. You looked away feeling shy all of the sudden when Marco took a hold of your hand.

You two shared vows and exchange rings without breaking eye contact. "You may now kiss the bride." Your mother announced. Catching your now husband off guard you flashed him a sinister smile being the one to pull him into the kiss which resulted a lot of 'ooohs' from his teasing brothers and a loud cheers in the crowd.

Pulling away, Marco held you close by your waist having the flirtatious smirk back on his face. "Welcome to the Whitebeard pirates, my darling wife."

******

In case you didn't know, The Blue Violet flower symbolises faith, affection, intuition and love. If you're looking for romantic flowers, blue violets make a wonderful gift.

#one piece #one piece x you #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #marco the phoenix #marco x you #marco x reader

101 notes · View notes

heresathreebee · 3 years

Text

Wearing THAT

[Dewey Finn X Female Reader]

Summary: Reader teases Dewey in a Poison Ivy costume. You have a really hard time saying exactly what you want... Masterlist Next

Word count: 3.1k words (no beta)

Warning(s): 17+ | teasing, lots of teasing and boners, lap sitting, near nudity, touching

AN: only Thots here, thots about Dewey Finn also is Ned British? He's British in my head

This was some sort of test. It had to be. God was testing him through you and you were not playing fair. It’s a costume party not a competition, you pompous little sycophant. And yet he can’t help but tug at the collar of his shirt. It’s not even anywhere near his throat but why else would he feel so constricted? It’s certainly not because of you…

You walked into his shared apartment wearing that and you had no idea the effect it had on him.

Dewey watches you sling an arm around Ned and kiss Patty’s cheek in greeting. “Hi guys! Thanks for inviting me, I’ve been dying to put this on.”

“Oh you look lovely,” Patty coos. She plucks at one of the plastic leaves on your corset. “Did you make this?! It’s so intricate.”

You bark out a laugh. “Oh hell no! I have this cousin, right? And him and his fiancé own this shop where they make costumes for movies and theatre and if you pay ‘em right, ‘personal use.’ And they don’t ask questions what ain’t their business either.”

“Well, I’m sold.” Ned raises his beer for a toast and Patty clinks it with her bottle of mysterious green juice. “Prost! What’s the name of the shop? Wanna see if they’re online– you know, for... support.”

“Ned,” Patty swatted his empty hand (no need to be shy, we already know they’re freaky).

You pat your friends on their backs and take a step towards the kitchen. “Gonna get myself a beer.”

“Oh honey you don’t have to do that. Dewey!” The man in question nearly covered himself in his own drink when he heard his name. “Be a good host and get this lady her beer!”

“Yes captain,” Dewey salutes and Patty can do nothing but glare in her Star Trek yellow shirt costume. Original series, of course, nothing but the best for Patricia Di Marco.

Dewey takes a hold of the moment he has his back to you to take deep, calming breaths. He will not let this be the end of him. Your friendship means so much more to him than that and a little fancy green corset was not going to make him fuck things up with you.

He’s ready for you when he hands you your beer. Your one arm hug is appreciated because he’s sporting a bit of wood and he’d hate to find out your corset isn’t thick enough to hide it– or god forbid you feel him on your thigh. And god, your thighs… those sheer green nylon tights were doing unspeakable things to him. Maybe if he kept you close and kept your legs out of his peripherals he could make it through the night without embarrassing himself.

Or maybe not.

“Are yoooouuu a college student?,” you ask and point at his inconspicuous clothes.

“Actually– ” he opens the buttons of his shirt to reveal another shirt with a superman logo on it and buttons it back up clumsily as you laugh. “Ssshhh! Don’t tell anybody. Protect my secret.”

“Of course,” you giggle. God you feel good hanging off him– usually he loves how physical you are but he has to figure out a way to keep his distance without offending you and quickly. “You like mine?”

The way you pick up a thick swirling red lock and direct his attention to the very thing he’s trying not to look at is killing him. Of course you look even better up close. The leaves of your corset give the thing depth and texture, your gloves are fingerless and go over your elbows, and your heels are high, like make- him- feel- his- below- average- height high.

“I like these.” Dewey plucks at the ring of leaves at the top of your gloves. It’s a way to keep his mind off your everything else. “Did you dye your hair?”

“It’s a wig.” You tug on the top and then the bottom, wincing a little. “Sew in, so don’t go snatch it.”

“I would never!”

“Poison Ivy, eh? Think that’s one of Dewey’s favorites,” Ned blabs.

Dewey sends him a death glare so powerful Ned chokes on his beer but you’re looking at your Spock-dressed friend so you can’t see it.

“Oh, really?” You return your gaze to Dewey and say, “well you must be loving this, then.”

Dewey swallows. No words come to him and there is nothing to stop the awkward silence that follows. You appear unbothered by it, maintaining eye contact as you smile almost knowingly…

“We should play twister,” he says with the most unsure voice ever.

“We don’t even have twister,” Patty mumbled. “Come on, there are like twenty other games setup, let’s play!”

Dewey gives it a minute and when he’s free from you, he catches Ned by his pointy green ear and drags him into the hall. “Hey? What the fuck are you doing?”

“Whah– what are you talking about?” Ned slaps at the hand fisted in his shirt but Dewey doesn’t budge.

“You can’t just go telling people I’m into them, dude! Do you know how close you came to giving me away?!”

Ned scoffed. “Her? I hardly think she’s ignorant to your feelings, you’re not like that Steven from Austin fellow.”

“– Are you talking about stone cold Steve Austin?"Dewey buries his face in his hands- "It’s his last name, not his birthplace–”

“And besides…” Ned peeks around the corner to see you in the middle of some sort of posing game. Everybody's trying to take the form of some sort of vehicle, and you've got Chloe in a headlock and Vance's leg in the other hand. Ned never got to finish his thought because someone dropped a huge bowl of popcorn and that too became a game of ‘how many can you eat off the floor before Patty cleans it up.’ Ned’s got to help and he’s got to help now.

Dewey finds himself on the couch with his fifth beer of the evening. Vance, Jeremiah, and Chloe are talking baseball stats when suddenly Dewey’s vision is filled with green and red just before you sit down. Right between his legs. He unconsciously scoots up to make room for you and before he catches on to your game, you nestle into his space by the arm of the couch and sling your legs across his like you belong there.

Ok, something is definitely up with you.

Would he describe you as cuddly? A little. Perhaps a more appropriate word would be… hands on. Long before he started wanting more than friendship with you, you two were always just touching. Your presence and your love language was physical. Dewey never felt like you were invading his personal space or overstepping his boundaries because he simply had none with you and the feeling was mutual. But this was something else. Something that wasn’t there before.

Was it him? Was he fucking up his perfectly in sync companionship with you because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants or (his heart for that matter)? He wasn’t sure if he wanted to drag you closer or push you flat on your ass right now.

You were listening to Chloe chew Vance out for hating Gritty the mascot when you felt Dewey plant a hand on your forehead. “Hey, are you feeling ok?”

You gently shake him off and raise a single eyebrow. He seems serious, his voice gone all soft and making you feel gooey inside.

“You just seem… I dunno,” he fumbles, “do you want me to take you home after this?”

Hellooooo opening! “Actually, can I stay here tonight?”

“Yeah, of course.” Fuck, who said that? Dewey? Ah, shit…

“Thanks,” oh oh you should not be rubbing his thigh right now… “I think I’ll go change here in a minute.”

Oh please do, please please puh-leeaaase–

After a brilliant movie drinking game (which Dewey tapped out of), the crowd began to disband. 24 became 20, then 18, then 12. You went out to your car to grab your overnight stuff and Dewey was hoping for a brief reprieve from the assault of your visage. He just needed a few more people to leave so he can sequester himself and rub one out– you know, get his head straight. Ever since you left his lap he’s been rock hard, there’s not enough blood flowing to his brain. The guest count is down to 3– 2 with you in your car, and he can’t wait anymore.

Dewey slipped into the only bathroom in the house and prayed to god nobody noticed him. He barely got his hand wrapped around his shaft when Patty’s fist banged on the door demanding he help clean up. Sulking and agitated, Dewey managed to calm down while cleaning up red solo cups, glass beer bottles, cans, and small pocket sized objects that would need to be returned to the guests after their hangovers subsided (no keys, thankfully, everybody’s got a DD). His “predicament’ is nearly forgotten when you finally return with a bundle of clothes, disappear into the bathroom and reemerge in loose sleepwear with your makeup wiped clean and uh… braless.

You catch him looking. Dewey– surprisingly sober after he gave up drinking half way through his sixth beer– does nothing short of raise a slightly irritated eyebrow at you. “Cold in here, huh?”

“Shut up. You know how uncomfortable it is to sleep in a bra?”

You help him collect a couple bottles that rolled under the couch and walk with him down to Ned’s car. Patty would sort the recyclables from the trash in the morning (late morning, she did a couple rounds of tequila shots thanks to you). It’s almost like the party never happened; you’re shooting the shit again and everything is right in the world. He’s got no ulterior reaction to putting a hand on your hip– that’s just a normal thing in your perfectly platonic relationship. God, he really must have been imagining things, he was beginning to think you were actually trying to flirt with him!

Ned’s bent over the kitchen sink with Patty and holding her hair back. He looks up as you enter the apartment and shakes his head. You and Dewey make yourself scarce by slipping into the shared bathroom to hide. You try to giggle quietly as Dewey surveys the skincare products you covered the counter with. He points to your head and asks, “you wearing that to bed?”

“It’s sewed in, I’m not taking this off for three weeks at least,” you answer. “Get my money’s worth. I can work it like my natural hair.”

Dewey nods. You rub your arm nervously and look for something to say, something to circle back to the whole point of showing up looking like a sexed up goddess. What do guys like? Girls wearing their clothes, right? But you need to phrase it perfectly…

“Dewey?” He looks up from the scrubby lip balm in his hands. “I’m not quite ready to go to sleep yet and it… it is a little chilly in your place. Can I wear your jacket?”

Just to bring your meaning home, you tug on his sleeve– the very jacket on his back. You don’t want just any jacket, you want that one, already warm and scented by him. You don’t miss the way his eyes glance past you like he was reluctant to comply. And yet…

“Yeah, here.” He slips out of it with ease and drapes it over your shoulders. You miss the sigh of relief he makes when you pull the zipper closed and obscure your pebbling nipples. “Think I’m gonna go help Ned put Patty to bed.”

Ned was a scrawny little thing and couldn’t carry her by himself, and she needed to be carried. Competitive by nature, it’s easy to talk her into virtually anything, especially if it feels like girl time. You need Patty in a deep sleep for your plans tonight (sorry not sorry). Dewey’s very sexy as he bears most of Patty’s weight. She’s clinging to Ned, arms around his neck and babbling incoherently while Dewey’s got an arm around her waist and legs, keeping Ned on his feet. You skirt ahead of them and open the bedroom door, help pull her shoes off, her captain insignia, her earrings, you even wipe the spit from her lips and the eyeliner smeared on her cheek.

“You’re my favorite ever,” she whimpers, “I love you so much, you’re like my best friend ever…”

You shush her gently. “You say that about everybody when you’re drunk, baby. I promise I’ll make you a fat breakfast in the morning but you gotta go to sleep now, OK?”

Patty nods. She snuggles into her pillow just as Ned is taking up position as the big spoon when she looks back up at you and asks, “can we go for a run together?”

You blink evenly. “Yes.” You already regret it as she smiles big and wide. It would be just your luck this is the one thing she doesn't forget in the morning.

Finally it's just you and Dewey in the hallway. It feels like you're standing between two choices: his open bedroom door and the living room. But it seems like only you can feel the weight of it.

"Are you sure you want to stay over?," Dewey asks, "you can use my bed."

You perk up out of your heavy mood. "Really?"

"Yeah, I'll take the couch tonight."

He can't possibly miss the way you instantly deflate but he's still not putting the pieces of the puzzle together. "Dewey. I'm not going to kick you out of your own room."

He shrugs. "Suit yourself. I'll grab a few blankets."

There's a storage closet in the main building with this one extra soft blanket that Dewey knows you'll love. You on the other hand have got no more patience left. Once the man leaves, you stomp your foot and decide to try one final act.

Dewey returns to the apartment to find an empty, quiet living room. Ned and Patty are in bed, but where are you? He wanders past the bathroom door because it's dark inside and checks his room. There you are reclining on his bed. He could have sworn you were wearing pants before but your legs are bare and his jacket hugs the tops of your thighs. He also could have sworn you were wearing a shirt. He finds both items folded neatly beside you with your underwear right on top.

Oh…

This cannot be happening right now. He just survived tonight by the skin of his teeth and now you were doing this to him. He’s going to pull his hair out, going to scream, it’s so frustrating because he can’t just ask you what you want– you’ll turn the question back on him and he’ll fuck it up. He lets the blanket fall from his grip and with a heavy sigh he whispers in a weak voice, “straight answers only. What are you doing to me? Why you doin’ this?”

You cock your head and answer leisurely, your eye drifting across the items in his room. “You know that’s not how I roll, but if you want me to address the elephant in the room: I'm naked in your bed right now."

Against his better judgement, Dewey moves closer. "I can see that."

One step closer and your eyes find him again. Like an invitation you lean back more, even uncross your legs but go no further. Dewey swallows his tongue and waits for you to elaborate and every second is agonizingly slow.

"You think you can just walk around here with your pretty face and cocky little attitude like it’s nothing,” you said accusingly.

Dewey glared at you. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

“Well we're in agreement then,” you’re almost sneering at him, but he knows it’s because you’re really frustrated with yourself, “I look and I touch and I feel but I don’t know, you know?”

“Not a clue,” he sighs and sits himself beside you. He’s done trying to keep his distance. “Let’s go back to you being naked in my bed.”

“Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?,” he repeats incredulously. Dewey leans back on his elbow to look you over from top to bottom. You look damn good in nothing but his jacket. You’ve got the long ends of your red hair in braids that sweep down to your navel. The zipper rests tantalizingly right below your ribcage. Dewey dares to reach out a mollifying hand and give a tiny stroke to that silver keeper. He cannot bring himself to speak above a whisper as he nods, “yeah, I… I like it.”

The tension leaves your shoulders and you wear a small grin. “It’s not too late to take it back. Say no, and I’ll put my clothes back on and sleep on the couch like none of this ever happened. This,” you point between the two of you, “doesn’t change unless we want it to.”

… this was real. In answer, Dewey’s chin wrinkles and he watches his finger travel upwards, drawing a light line up the expanse of your chest between your breasts to feel you shiver at his touch. Thing is he doesn’t want to say no, but wouldn’t it be better? Safer? He asks the question he’s been dying to know all night. “What do you want from me?”

“Whatever I can get,” you answer truthfully. “Whatever you’ll allow. Don’t trouble yourself with labels and things ‘cause what we have has always been so much more than that.”

Dewey feels a weight lift off of his chest. His hand works around your waist and drags you closer, halfway under him and he rests his perspiring forehead on your breastbone. Whatever happens next happens, for better or for worse.

You’re not troubled when Dewey moves the jacket to expose one of your breasts, however you are taken aback when he bites you. You barely manage to stifle your yelp when you feel him growl against your flesh and the sound vibrates straight to your core. Dewey drags his head up and stares you dead in the eye as he kneads your savaged breast.

“All night,” he growls, “all fucking night for this? We could have done this ages ago. The salon, the drive in, Chloe’s cat’s birthday– grocery shopping last week. But no, instead you pick a party full of people and you’ve had me riled up for hours.”

Dewey pinches your hardened peak and you keen. “‘m sorry…”

“No you’re not, but don’t worry: you will be.”

AN: Check Out Part 2 @hoodoo12 @go-commander-kim @escape-your-grape @softbeej @imma-fucking-nerd @werwulfy

#Dewey Finn #Dewey Finn x reader #three bees writing #🐝🐝🐝✒#black reader insert #🖤❤💛#dewey finn x female reader

103 notes · View notes

foulcrownkryptonite · 3 years

Text

Tracing Constellations

A storm rages through the 104th's wooded training quarters, leaving a long hike for Jean and Marco to fix a water-logged issue... the time alone making for some unexpected discoveries.

(for the sake of the fic + levels of maturity I am achieving with this story, everyone will be legal adults!)

Chapter One: An Obscurity.

“I’ll kill them all! Just you wait and see!!” The dining hall had been relatively calm, the tranquil buzz of steady conversation and cutlery clinking against plates mixed to create a pleasant hum. It was one of those rare nights their usual starchy glop was exchanged for a more sustainable, hearty potato soup, paired with a cheap but effective booze. A good night to say the least. A good night until Eren (Dumbass) Jaeger opened his obnoxious mouth. The young man’s tired phrase reverberated throughout the hall, pitching obnoxiously off the high ember ceiling. God, I’m too sober for this…

Eren’s endless prattling of ‘I’ll save the world’ or ‘I have more passion than anyone here’ had gotten old fast. It bugged the ever-loving shit out of him, and with the current daggers-for-eyes and under-the-breath-scoffs Jaeger was getting, the sentiment was well shared.

“Don’t give me that Mikasa, I mean it! I’m going to kill every last one of those-'' Eren was promptly cut off by Jean’s hands smacking the table in front of him, causing a nearby fork to clink to the ground. Jean rose from his seat with an overly dramatic flare, making a show out of swooping his hair back. If the entire dining hall weren’t already watching the pair with dreadful, tired looks, they certainly were now. Some hushed whispers and exasperated groans sprinkled about the room as Jean assumed his stance towering over Eren.

“Well, all hail King Jaeger, eh? Oh don’t worry my friends, the man who can’t balance on his ODM gear will stop the incoming apocalypse!” he taunted, voice oozing with that special kind of ridicule Jean knew got Eren’s blood boiling. He was up and out of his seat before Mikasa had a chance to pull him back. Jean snorted loudly.

“Eager are we? Well then Jaeger, fight me like the man you’re always claiming to be.”

“Says the fucking horse face”

“Oh how original”

“Foal!”

“Jackass!”

The surrounding cadets watched with jaded faces, sighing at the scene unfolding for at least the third time that week. It was no longer entertaining, or really worth wasting any time or energy on, so they returned their attention to their much more exciting dinners and side banters.

The ever arrogant duo stepped to the center of the room, assuming, of course, all focus to be on them. Sharing dissent and ill-bred sneers, they theatrically assumed their fighting position. Guess I’ll just have to put him back in his pla-

“Nope. Okay-hah, we’re done here.” Marco interrupted, their foolish behavior striking his last nerve, the last nerve of the entire collective dining hall for that matter. Sighs of relief and annoyance sounded around them as Marco marched over and grabbed at Jean’s jacket, pulling him out from the table and towards the door.

“‘Ey, what’re you doin-” Marco wordlessly dragged the half pissed, half confused and positively tipsy Jean across the room, the grip on his jacket unwavering. A small chuckle escaped Jean’s mouth at Marco's unexpectedly forceful behavior. Damn, those muscles aren’t just for show, huh?

Marco sighed as he led him towards the door, a poorly concealed smile creeping its way onto his features. “Bedtime.” Marco concluded, biting back his smile in need of a more threatening look. Jean didn’t fight it. Instead, he bristled as he caught Conny’s snide face before the door to the dining hall was shut by Marco’s boot. The low lit lantern illuminated the two in a soft orange glow and the thick wooden door effectively drowned out the murmurs coming from behind it.

The change in air was drastic, shifting from a crowded and loud mess hall to the peaceful sounds of an autumn night and Marco’s freckled face incandescent under that old lantern. Marco’s hand remained firm in the layers of his jacket yet neither made motions to move. Jean was in a weird sort of trance and yeah he should move and unblock the way for Marco but for some reason he didn't. It wasn’t as if the other had really given him a chance to, what with him still holding onto the front of Jean’s coat.. A couple still moments passed and Marco had a strange, almost calculating look on his face.

Jean couldn't remember how long he had been standing there, the alcohol starting to intoxicate his body and the sheer closeness of Marco starting to intoxicate his brain. But if the loosening grip on his chest and Marco’s suddenly flushing face said anything, whatever this was had gone on a bit too long. The last thing Jean wanted was to make his good friend uncomfortable- No matter how nice just standing there in the cool breeze with Marco’s hand on his chest… Nope. Backtrack on that line of thinking. Immediately.

Things were getting awkward fast and Marco looked like he was going to say something and shit he probably shouldn’t have chugged that last bit of his drink, huh? To clear the sudden tension caused by his inability not to fucking gawk at Marco, Jean did the only thing his dumb tipsy brain could think of: make a drunken escape.

“Betcha can’t catch me.” he blurted before breaking out of Marco’s loose hold, running towards their quarters in a less than put together fashion. Was Jean literally running away from whatever moment just passed between the two? Why yes, indeed he was. But Marco’s eventual breathy laugh and quickening footsteps enclosing in on him told Jean everything was fine. Well consider that a job well done.

The two then stupidly ran around the camp, Jean hiding behind every tree and supply wagon trying to scare Marco, and Marco doing everything in his power to tackle the other. After a particularly bone crushing embrace and a loud laughing fit quickly admonished by Shadis, the inebriated pair walked the rest of the way to their dorm, the air around them now whimsy and casual.

They trudged through the wooded path, torches lighting the ground every few yards. They sprung into sporadic fits of giggles over absolutely nothing, both of the men now feeling the full effects of dinner’ mead, and Marco no longer playing the role of the responsible sober friend.

The cadets had been training in the woods for a week now, the goal being to get them used to ODM gear and combat in a dense forest. It was a welcome change of scenery from the usual parching desert and brutal heat. Being surrounded by rich greens and active rivers somehow made the strenuous drilling and long hours somewhat enjoyable.

Though navigating the dark forested path whilst drunk proved to be more than a little difficult. His attempts at walking straight in the dense woods were apparently remarkably entertaining, as when Jean confidently waltzed straight into a tree the slightly less drunk Marco lost his absolute mind, laughing himself into a puddle on the ground.

With minimal bumps and bruises, they eventually made it to their quarters. Marco plopped himself dramatically onto an old shipping barrel and started to squirm his way out of his jacket. Ok, perhaps the other was drunker than Jean thought.

Chuckling to himself, he walked over to help his struggling friend out of the confines of the fabric. Marco stopped squirming and tried to accommodate for Jeans helping hands, flushing slightly when his eyes met Jeans. He quickly averted his gaze, turning to eye the door as Jean finished struggling with the last button.

With the jacket discarded, Marco straightened his gaze to look up at Jean, who seemed to tower over him. A couple heated seconds passed in silence until Marco started… shaking? Before concern could settle in, sporadic chuckles started to escape from the man underneath him, evolving into a full on belly laugh. Jean took a small step back and looked down at him in bewilderment but Marco just shook his head, words be damned in his current state.

“Sorry, I just-” he began to topple over himself, a fit of laughter bubbling in his stomach. “I don’t know why I’m laughing honestly-” he spat out through giggles. He was fluctuating between attempting to catch his breath and then losing it all over again. It was utterly ridiculous, but Jean couldn’t hold back his own ugly laugh at the scene. Every couple of seconds Marco would try to stop and speak through the laughter but to no avail, making Jean slump to the ground in front of Marco, clutching his stomach as his body heaved with mirth.

Marco was snorting at that point and on anyone else he would’ve been annoyed at the sheer volume. Say, if Eren was sitting on that barrel losing his damn mind over nothing at all he would’ve slapped the sense back into him. But something about Marco’s water filled eyes and big loud smile just made him feel warm. Or.. perhaps that was just the alcohol.

He grinned as he looked only at the mad man sitting in front of him. From this distance he could see each little freckle adorning his nose and cheeks and the way his nose would scrunch in between sets of giggles. It was an endearing sight, cute even, though Jean would never admit that aloud.

Too caught up in their snickering, the two almost didn’t notice their comrades briskly stumbling in, Ymir being the one who pushed the two large wooden doors hurriedly. “In.” she commanded, and stepped back as everyone else dashed inside. Jean startled and Marco’s laughter alleviated as Ymir eyed them, her face contorted so it was impressively indecipherable. She had quite the poker face, though some general annoyance seemed to seep out as usual.

“What’s the damn ruckus about?” Jean demanded more than he asked, his filter coming back down hard now that more people were around. Ymir looked at Jean with a face that basically read as, ‘Shut the fuck up you’re the one making a dopey ruckus.’ Instead of voicing any of that though, she shut and locked the door as the final cadets made their way inside.

“Massive storm coming in, it’ll do some damage” she stated plainly before her eyes went back to Marco. “Maybe you two lovebirds would’ve noticed if you weren’t screaming like damn hyenas.” she joked dryly, her arms coming to a close across her chest. Marco snorted slightly at the tease but Jean stood up defensively, though perhaps a bit wobbly.

Before he could say a word, Ymir cut in with a raised brow. “Whoaaa relax there horsey, I’m kidding. Mostly. Just go lock the windows in the other rooms before they blow out in the middle of the night.” he nodded hesitantly in response and gave Marco a floppy wave of sorts. He still looked like he was glowing, as if somehow the light from the torches outside still reflected in his pale brown eyes. A sneer from Ymir brought his attention back to… what exactly? Oh right, the windows. Jean quickly left without another word, cursing the alcohol slightly under his breath. The rest of the cadets shuffled about, fulfilling whatever it was their makeshift Captain Ymir ordered.

Not without a scoff and an eye roll, she turned back to Marco. “Just us,” she demanded. “Help me with the rest of the rooms.”

__________

(MARCO POV)

After a solid half hour of flood-proofing the place to the best of their ability, as well as general clean up, Ymir poured the two of them a small whisky to top off the night. Marco relaxed into the sole couch of the common room and Ymir slumped herself into a chair by the window.

The living space was dusky and growing winds pounded the windows, putting them slightly on edge. Nevertheless, Ymir seemed to have something to say to him. She gulped down her drink and tossed the empty glass onto the ground, Marco’s eyes widening in both awe and intimidation. He steeled his nerves as he prepared for whatever it was Ymir needed out of him.

She looked at him like a scientist to a specimen, searching for something upon Marco’s features. Marco squirmed under the intense stare, and it was then that Ymir asked the burning question, cutting right to the chase.

“Do you like Jean?” she probed. Marco sucked in a quick breath at this question. The answer was yes, but why was she asking in the first place? Not knowing exactly what angle she was getting at, he tried to answer in the simplest, most non revealing way.

“Yeah I mean we’re definitely good friends.” he said apprehensively. Not wanting to look Ymir in the eyes, his gaze fell back to the rather pretty glass in his hands, thumbs tracing the engraved pattern.

Ymir smirked at this reaction and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees in a carefree ‘Ymir’ kinda way. “Marco. You know what I'm asking.” her voice was laced with mirth and her sneering face told him she probably already knew his answer. Damn her perceptiveness. Marco had hoped he wasn’t too obvious in his… feelings. But he supposes after tonight's less than subtle antics, e.g., grabbing a laughing Jean into an animalistic embrace and holding it for much longer than necessary, people would start suspecting something.

His eyes still didn’t meet hers as he sighed shakily, knowing there was little to no backing away from this conversation. “Please just… Don’t tell him?” he pleaded, looking back to the girl sitting across from him. Her previous visible mockery and inevitable taunt had faded, her features setting into something akin to understanding.

“Sure, you can trust me.” she said casually, taking a swig of the remaining whisky straight from the bottle. “We’re the same in that way if ya catch my drift.” Although compared to, say Christa, Ymir’s words would seem invasive and rude, they were sweet in their own way. And although Marco wouldn’t say this wasn’t invasive, he appreciated the kindness nonetheless.

Regardless, Marco definitely “caught her drift”. He looked at her with a sort of twinkle in his eyes, pleased to know there was at least one other person in the 104th that wasn’t straight. He chuckled, still embarrassed despite the genuinely accepting nature of their conversation thus far. “God, what gave it away?”

“Oh, I dunno,” she sighed dramatically, “Maybe the way he was looking at you. Maybe the way you were looking at him… Or maybe just a hunch I happened to get right.” Marco laughed at the sentiment before a frown crept onto his face. “Does anyone else…”

“Know?” she finished. Marco nodded. “No, they don’t. It seems only I had the misfortune of seeing you two ogle each other all the damn time. Awful luck on my part. But don’t ya worry, your dirty little secret’s safe with me.”

He snickered as he raised his glass to his lips, downing the rest of the liquid inside. Ymir gave him a curious glance, and Marco softly set the drink down to his side, hands reaching up to grab at his warming face.

“God, what do I even do about it?” he mumbled through the palms of his hands, and Ymir could taste the desperation from where she sat.

Resting her chin between her fingers, she spoke. “Look, hear me out before you interrupt and tell me I’m wrong - but he likes you too.” Marco lifted his head to speak but Ymir cut him off with a glance. “I said, listen. I see the way he looks at you. I saw the way he looked at you tonight. He wasn’t just glancing at his friend… He was admiring you, Marco, your features. Now to me, that’s pretty telling.” Marco contemplated what she was saying, tried to really think about it before he shot it down entirely.

Is that really true? Is it even possible that the oh so straight Mr. ladies man Jean could… Feel the same way about him? It’s true they had some… moments tonight. Hell they’ve been having “moments” for as long as they've known each other. Though Jean did end up speeding away from one of those so called moments just over an hour ago… Was he being too hopeful? Oh god was he coming on too strong?

Ymir groaned at Marco's crestfallen face and stood up, closing the distance between the seats and plopping herself next to Marco. He gave her a curious glance, and in turn she gave a patient smile, well it was really closer to a grimace but still, it was the principle of it all.

He sat quietly, picking his lips with his bottom teeth. Ymir let him wallow in his worry for a whopping three seconds before kicking his ankle with her boot.

“Ow!” Marco pouted. An unspoken question of ‘The hell was that for?’ being shut down before it could be voiced.

“Oh shut it you were visibly spiraling.”

Ymir sunk into the back of the couch, pondering a moment before speaking again.

“You know, Jean isn’t going to initiate anything. Seeing as you’re more in tune with your emotions than that knucklehead is, you need to drop your damn balls and make a move.” Marco scoffed, shaking his head with a slight smile at Ymir’s bluntness.

“I know, I know… You’re right.” Marco finally begrudged, causing Ymir’s ‘Of course I'm right’ smile to appear. “But we never get alone time - we’re always interrupted before he can fully open up to me…”

“Yes!” Ymir exclaimed. “You see it now. Sure it might seem tricky, but if Christa and I can find a way, you can too.” she winked and Marco damn near choked.

“You- and- I had no idea I mean-“ he stuttered before she kicked him again.

“Shut up. And don’t tell a soul.” She smiled cheekily. He nodded intently.

“Course, Ymir.” She playfully punched him, standing up from the sunken couch.

“Good luck, Marco.” she whispered.

He beamed, his chest gleaming with a soft gratitude. “Thank you.”

When Marco turned in for the night, his mind raced with endless possibilities, ranging from transcendent to nightmarish. Wishful thoughts flashed through his mind; Jean getting impossibly close, feather light touches of hands, his head resting in the crook of Jean’s neck, Marco being told he was wanted, telling Jean he wanted him. He bit his cheek, smiling stupidly at the fantasies before he felt a deep sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Jean could easily not feel the same. Jean could easily have never entertained the same idyllic fantasies as Marco was now.

Great, now it hurt.

Plagued with a new sense of guilt, he tossed and turned in the seasoned cot, praying for sleep to take him away from the build up of emotions in his chest. He pondered the possibility of similar thoughts dancing in Jean’s mind…

__________

(Jean POV)

Jean didn’t “wake up”, he just was up. That damned storm last night had kept him awake practically all night. What first was an occasional gust quickly turned into a rampaging wind-demon set out to prevent him and apparently only him from sleeping soundly. Someone had cursed him. Probably that damn Jaeger out for revenge due to Jean always winning their feuds. Typical.

The little sleep he did get consisted of repeated unsolicited scenarios about… Well that didn’t matter now.

It was the morning after a ferocious storm and he was reluctant to see the wreckage he knew he had to help out with. He groaned, rolling out of his bed in an overly dramatic pout. Sure he was acting a bit like a child but right now he just needed sleep so damn everything else, he’s going to throw his little fit. He caught Marco looking at him out of the corner of his eye, his hair ruffled and looking extra fluffy. He was giggling at Jean’s stubborn theatrics, a sweater-hooded hand loosely covering his mouth. Cute. Jean felt a bit more energized after that and he didn't bother to question why.

Once dressed, he headed out to meet the rest of the trainees outside the sleeping quarters. Holy hell, the damage was bad: shingles of the roof scattered the grass, trash was knocked down, even some large trees had fallen in the distance.

Eren rolled his eyes before their commander could even step close. “God, can’t we make someone else clea-” the brat began before getting hit softly by Armin.

“Eren! One day of cleanup doesn’t equate to the fall of humanity.” he sharply retorted. Jean chuckled at this exchange, overjoyed to see the prick put in his place by his own best friend. Speaking of which, he couldn’t seem to spot Marco…

“ATTENTION CADETS.” their Commander roared as he marched toward the gathered crowd.

“YES SIR!” They yelled back in unison, fists crossing chests in an assertive salute.

“Deep woods ODM training is put on hold for today due to the storm. I will be assigning you each in groups of two or three to aid in cleaning this mess.” Jean scanned the surrounding area nervously, where was Marco? “Proceed to the front to get your duty from me before you grab a cold meal.” the Commander directed. Pairs of people made their way to get their job of the day, but Jean stayed behind, unable to spot Marco. Nerves crept up his spine as the line got shorter, indicating he would have to grab a job with someone he possibly couldn’t stand - especially after such a shitty sleep.

A few moments later and the remaining crowd was scant, still no Marco to be seen. “Jean, you’re on running water. I need you to go up to the creek and find the source stopping the water from running back to us. We have enough for the day, but this cannot go on. You will need a partner…” Shadis trailed off, finding only Annie and some guy Jean barely could remember the name of. Tomas? Tobiaus? Timothious?

He sighed, knowing nothing but complaints would come from either cadets if forced to spend an entire day with him. Jean crossed his arms, awaiting a choice of partner from his boss while he dreaded the inevitably long journey stuck with either insufferable silence or annoying small talk.

“Commander sir, I can go with Jean.” A pleasant voice chirped in from behind. And with those few words: salvation. Jean subconsciously uncrossed his arms and smirked as the Commander let out a sigh of relief upon seeing Marco approach.

“Thank Heavens, the one person who can stand him.” he murmured, Marco frowning at the not so quiet comment as he walked up to Jean's side. “That is fine, pack plentiful in case you get stuck for a night, we are not sure how much wreckage is up there, nor how long the journey on foot will take. There’s a shed around there you could set up in for the night. Do not come back today if you do not have ample time before sundown. Now get moving!” he ordered, his last words reverberating in a loud squawk.

“Yes sir!” They saluted before Jean met eyes with Marco. “Where the hell were you?” he questioned. Marco playfully rolled his eyes.

“Worried, hmm?” he chuckled, “Don’t worry, I was just helping Ymir with something.” he replied brightly. Ymir? That seems random… But he decided to not question it.

The two went back to their rooms to pack for their lengthy and no doubt strenuous trip up the mountain. Jean found himself not only not dreading the excursion, but actively looking forward to it. He felt a bit like a hyperactive kid as genuine excitement coursed through his veins. Should he bring his comb? Nah he probably won't need it. But what if they do end up having to spend the night and Jean turns too much in his sleep and his hair gets all messy and floofy and Marco looks at him with damned bed head and then probably giggles to himself and makes a dumb but cute comment about it because its Marco and somehow he always manages to make what Jean is insecure about into something he can actually like about himself just like when he’d said Jean’s eyes were pretty like a brown hibiscus and he stopped hating the way his eyes looked when he saw his reflection looking back at him and- Jean grabbed the stupid hairbrush and threw it into his bag.

Once sufficiently supplied, they scarfed a crummy cold meal before heading out as quickly they could manage.

Marco seemed awfully giddy as they started down a gravely path lined with fern. Though cheerful he often was, Marco was struggling to hide a smile. It wasn’t a bad sight at all, though Jean was curious. “What’s got you so damn happy today?” he questioned. Marco shrugged.

“I think I made a new friend - always a nice feeling, yknow?” Jean would say he’s surprised, but everyone in the 104th loved Marco, even the stoic ones, and he had a sneaking suspicion of who exactly his new friend was.

“Ymir?” he asked plainly. Marco nodded, a soft smile finding its way onto his face.

“Yeah. Y’know, she may seem edgy but she can be really kind.” he expressed, eyes a bit starry and thoughtful. He clearly didn’t hear how the words sounded to Jean.

Jean bit back the bitter remark already forming as envy crept its way into his mind. Why was it bothering him? He’s still his friend. His best friend even. Gah, not a big deal, keep it together. He told himself before rephrasing whatever edgy comment he was going to sneer into a hopefully harmless question.

“You like her?” he ended up asking, false humor falling from his tongue.

Marco looked visibly confused. “What? No I’m- not my type. She just has a good head on her.” he surmised. Why won’t Marco ever admit attraction? Does he not trust Jean? Jean had no problem divulging about those he found hot, so why wouldn’t Marco do the same?

The next few hours were spent bullshitting around as they walked; sharing stupid jokes about who in their class was most likely to get kicked out, a stupid conversation about Ymir that probably shouldn’t have peeved him so much, Jean going on a long winded rant about how justified he is in smacking Eren atop the head, Marco stopping to pick up random bird feathers exclaiming each time that, “No Jean, you don’t get it, this one is rare.” and eventually, as the sun started its descent towards the horizon, their casual banter shifted into their hopes for the future.

“Eh, I don’t wanna get married. Who wants to be stuck with a chick forever?!” Jean quipped. At his words Marco chuckled nervously, his gaze diverting to the coarse dirt beneath him.

“Yeah, me too. I don’t wanna get married. I’m fine living a life alone with me and my hobbies.” he said flippantly, fiddling with the strap of his backpack. Jean found the tone of his voice had changed into something more sullen and somber, and a glance over at his friend did not yield him any better results. Jean must do something about this.

He lightly elbowed his friend. “Well, if ya change your mind, I think you’d make a great husband some day.” Jean said honestly, no lick of sarcasm to his voice. Marco’s knees wobbled for a moment before he corrected them, clearing his throat to cover his obvious nerves.

“Thanks, Jean. You too.” he replied, biting his cheek. Another glance towards his friend showed a soft smile and a flushed face. Jean succeeded. Though now he too felt a bit hot in the face. He once again decided not to unpack that.

As they hiked, they spotted a would-be stream leading down to their base. Taking note of the lack of obvious running water, they were certain something rather large had blocked it. “Guess it’ll be a chore huh.” Marco pointed out. Jean began flexing dramatically, his tight muscles showing slightly through the thin white tunic.

“Pfft, your ol’ buddy Jean here will fix it right up for us, eh?” he joked, Marco eyeing him with a raised eyebrow followed with a hearty laugh. Sure, he wasn’t helping Jean’s ego, but he didn’t care.

The more they conversed alone, the more Jean felt his social facade fade, ending up losing whatever filter he had in place for other people all together. He wasn’t sure why this was the case, only knew that it made him feel relaxed and just genuinely, all around good. Perhaps it was the lack of a crowd - or Eren Jaeger. Either way, he was loosening up and took joy in seeing Marco enjoy himself on this trip as well.

“This is nice,” Jean said, smiling at the open air and lack of obvious walls. It felt open here, almost free. Hell, for the most part, they’ve forgotten completely about life inside the walls. Marco looked over and followed his friend's gaze to the sky, basking in the comfortable feeling.

“It is…” he began, sneaking another glance at Jean. “Really nice.”.

PART 2!!!

https://foulcrownkryptonite.tumblr.com/post/663166809268224000/tracing-constellations-pt2

#JeanMarco #jean kirstein #jean kirschtein fanfiction #marco bott #marco bodt #jean x marco #fluff #kissing #making out #spicy #marco x jean #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #our second fic ever #please be nice #and gentle #slow burn #slow build #cute

33 notes · View notes