#two more years with my parents sucks but it is nice that they’re not charging us rent
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#the good news is I finished paying off my student loans back in 2020#the bad news is my husband still has $16k in them#we’re pushing buying a house/moving to another state again#which sucks#but I’m also tired of the way I’ve been treated at work for fucking years now#and we’ve already had to push buying a house and moving back several times#I was mostly staying cause I’ve been there so damn long and that looks good to a mortgage company#but enough is enough#I don’t get paid enough for what I put up with so after my surgery in a few months I’m job hunting#nervous about it but I am in a leadership position and that always looks good on a resume#realistically if I can find something that lays a few more dollars per hour it would be good#I think I figured that as long as that happens then I can be the sole one saving and my husband can focus on laying down his student loans#and also he can save for a new car cause we only have one right now#I figure in two years he should have laid off the loan + gotten a car and then he can go back to helping to save#we’re not that far off from having enough now for the down payment but like things would be tight after buying with his loans and the car#two more years with my parents sucks but it is nice that they’re not charging us rent#so we’ve been shoving as much of our paychecks as possible into savings#we got pushed out of the area we were hoping to go look in when inflation skyrocketed#we were figuring we’d probably end up like 45 mins to an hour away#but if we save for two more years we’d wind up back in our target area and we’d have more of a cushion#or we could pick like a closer area like 15-ish mins away and have even more of a cushion#eh#it kinda sucks but I feel like it’ll all work out in the end#my life for so long has felt like it’s been hurry up and wait#what’s two more years at this point if after that things are way better?
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NICE.
+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader
+ genres: rich kid au, college au, friends to lovers au, fluff, light-ish angst, smut/nsfw content (everybody gets a piece)!
+ warnings: mentions of depression/anxiety, mentions and use of drugs and alcohol, some of the smut happens under the influence so be cautious if that’s something you don’t like, i swear this is all more idiots in love than angst tho i just wanna disclose everything fairly
+ notes: this is alternatively titled super rich kids and you can probably figure out why. some of this is based off of real life, some of it is straight out of gossip girl and i challenge you to separate the facts from the fiction :’) anyways, i hope we all remember the lyrics to in my feelings
+ more notes: one quick reference for ages in this fic—all the vets are older but not by that much, think various stages of grad school. armin, connie, sasha, annie, and bertholdt are all college sophomores. eren, the reader, and pretty much everybody else are college seniors, so they’re about a year or two older. also here is a playlist for your reading pleasures, shoutout to ryn for letting me mooch of their spotify account :’)
+ word count: 19k. i’m sorry.
+ summary: fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool, fuck you.; or the story of notorious rich kid and self-proclaimed bad boy eren yeager, and his not so goody two-shoes best friend.
“So you’re saying that you don’t love me? That you’re not riding? That you’ll actually leave from beside me?”
“I’m saying that it’s ass o’clock in the morning and I’m not driving in the rain to Brooklyn to pick your sorry ass up.”
“But… but I want you, and I need you, and I’m down for you.”
You check the time on your phone screen and groan. 3:57am. Far too early to be dealing with the likes of Eren Jaeger. “Just get an Uber or something. I don’t know what you and your idiot friends were up to this time, but I don’t want any part of it.”
“First, they’re our idiot friends. Second, I don’t think they let you take Ubers from jail, and even if they did, it’s, like, four in the morning, so I don’t think there are any Ubers driving around, so could you pretty please come pick me up? I promise I’ll make it up to—”
“From where?” you cut him off, slowly sitting upright in your bed. You hold your phone closer to your ear, ready to listen again; because, certainly, you must have misheard him the first time. You wait, but the line is silent, save for Eren’s awkward chuckling. “Eren Asher Jaeger, tell me that that was another stupid lyric from that stupid song, and that you are not in prison right now.”
Eren makes a sad attempt at laughing. “Technically, it’s a holding cell, not really prison… and I would leave, but they suspended my license for a month, and Min can’t drive yet, so we kind of need you,” he explains, “Uh, no pun intended.”
“Min?” you pull your eyebrows together at the mention of the younger’s name, “Is Armin with you?”
“Uh, yeah.”
With a frown and a heavy sigh, you push yourself out of bed, wedging your phone between your shoulder and your ear as you grab the nearest pair of sweatpants.
“Why did you get him caught up in whatever stupid shit you were doing tonight?” you complain, scanning your dark bedroom for a shirt to wear, “Erwin’s going to castrate you when he finds out.”
You curse as you stub your toe against the edge of your bed on your way out of the room. Given the time, weather, and the fact that you have several exams to start studying for, hanging up and leaving Eren in the middle of god knows where Brooklyn doesn’t seem like such a bad idea, but you couldn’t go back to sleep knowing that Armin would have to suffer with him.
“Relax,” Eren breathes in a tone all too nonchalant for the situation at hand, “He didn’t get charged with anything, and nothing’s going on his record.”
“You don’t know that,” you retort, sliding your raincoat over your free arm, as you paddle down the stairs of your apartment, “The NYPD suck.”
“True,” he hums, “But I paid off the cop, so it’ll be fine.”
You pause in your steps, but really, you shouldn’t be surprised. “Of course you did,” you mumble, moving again and grabbing your car keys off of the kitchen island.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he questions. His tone is actually genuine and it tempts you to roll your eyes.
“What it always means, Eren,” you sigh, stepping into the elevator, “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
“Thank you, baby. I love you.”
“Eren?”
“Yeah?”
“Get off my line.”
He doesn’t have time to throw in another pitiful “I love you” before the line goes dead and he’s met with static silence. He hangs up the station telephone with a silent chuckle, turning around to face Armin and Officer Hannes.
“Someone’s coming to pick us up,” he says, trying to focus on Armin’s sigh of relief and not the warmth creeping up his neck and into his cheeks, “I’ll, uh, call a tow for the car in the morning.”
The cop, too tired to care, only shrugs, and pays them no further attention. He hands Eren a plastic bag with his car keys and newly suspended license, escorts him back into the cell, and returns to his desk. Eren gives Hannes the finger while his back is turned.
Beside him, Armin is still quivering; bouncing his leg up and down, fiddling with his fingers, gnawing on his bottom lip. Eren frowns, a heavy wave of guilt washing over him as he takes in the younger’s anxiety ridden state. It wasn’t fair that Armin could have potentially suffered legal consequences because of his stupidity.
Eren’s lucky that Hannes was sleazy enough to accept his bribe and let him off with minimal punishment. With that they were doing, things could have ended up far worse for the both of them tonight.
“I’m sorry, man,” he apologizes, hands stuffed in his front pockets, “About tonight, I mean. We—I shouldn’t have done that, not with you there.”
Armin looks up at him with sparkling, doe eyes and Eren wants to punch himself in the gut for making him go through all of this, even if it didn’t amount to an actual arrest. “You couldn’t have known this was going to happen.”
“I could have prevented it,” he says. Because it’s what you would have said, too.
“It’s not your fault, I wanted to come, remember?” Armin tells him, redirecting his gaze to the grey floor of the precinct cell. He takes a deep breath, almost calming down completely when a sudden thought reignites his nervous ticks, “You… they’re not gonna tell my parents, right?”
“No, no—of course not.”
Armin was legally an adult; he, nor Eren, nor the police had to tell his parents anything. Sure, Hannes could rat them out, but honestly that sounded like way more work than he was cut out for; not to mention he’d be bound to reveal that he let them off easy for a couple thousand bucks.
Armin nods, “And… that wasn’t Erwin on the phone, right?”
“Are you kidding me? He’d murder me on the spot,” Eren says. He pauses before tacking on, “I, uh… I called (_____).”
“Oh,” the younger gapes, “She’ll kill you, too.”
“Yeah,” Eren sighs, scratching the back of his neck in nervous anticipation, “Trust me, I know.”
“You have your access card on you, right, Armin?” you ask. He nods sheepishly, hand on the car door handle.
“Thanks again for coming to get us,” he says meekly, “I’m sorry about waking you up and everything.”
You offer him a warm smile through the rear view mirror, “Don’t worry about it, I’m just glad you’re safe. Text me when you get up tomorrow, okay? We can get brunch, my treat.”
His face lights up at the prospect of free food, and he nods once more, enthusiastically, but his expression falls again when he speaks, “Okay, and I’ll, um, pay you back for the tickets and stuff as soon as I can—”
“It’s fine, really, don’t worry about it,” you repeat.
“It was almost three thou—”
“You forget who you’re friends with,” you cut him off with a smile, “Don’t worry about it, okay? It wasn’t your fault.”
Armin’s eyes dart to Eren quickly, before clearing his throat, a light pink tint to his cheeks. You know that the prospect of money can be a sensitive subject for Armin, one easily triggered by his very environment, but this wasn’t negotiable on your end. You know that Armin doesn’t like the feeling of owing anyone anything, but he knows he won’t get you to budge; so, he quietly nods, appreciative of your generosity, before bidding you and Eren a final goodnight and sprinting towards the dorm. Once you see that he’s safely inside, you wave one last time, and wait for the door to shut behind him.
Slowly, Eren turns to the driver’s seat to look at you. You were eerily calm when you came to pick him and Armin up from the station. You didn’t yell, cuss, or punch him in the face like he expected. You politely talked to the officer, thanked him for his service, paid their fees, and up until now, you’ve shown no signs of being angry with him at all.
The two of you drive back to your shared apartment in complete silence, Eren too confused, and borderline scared, of initiating a conversation. He wonders if you’re too tired, or if you really don’t give a damn anymore, but when you pull into the underground lot of your building and put the car in park, he finds out the silence was simply the calm before the storm.
You take your hand off of the gear shift and turn towards him. It’s a quiet stare down for nearly a full minute before you break the mime act with a slap to his thigh.
“Drag racing? Are you out of your fucking mind? Of all the stupid shit you’ve done—and you’ve done a lot of stupid shit—this has got to take the cake. Just what the actual fuck were you thinking?”
“Ouch!” he inhales sharply, rubbing over where you’d hit him, “We were just having fun! Then these other guys showed up and started talking shit so—”
“Having fun?” you echo, “You couldn’t think of anything fun to do that’s not illegal in every borough of New York City?”
Eren feels his cheek flush, but he only huffs with the illusion of disinterest, “I don’t know why you’re freaking out so bad. I’m a good driver, it was those other squids that got us into shit, I’m telling you. They showed up looking for a fight, then ran like a bunch of pussies when the cops came.”
You exhale slowly, shaking your head in disbelief. You seem to have no other words to say to him, choosing to step out of the car and slam the door behind you. Eren quickly follows, slamming his door equally as hard, and hot on your trail as you march towards the elevator.
“(_____), come on, enough with the silent treatment,” he whines when you stick yourself in a corner of the elevator after pushing the button to the penthouse, “I told you I didn’t start shit, Armin and I got ratted on.”
“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about whether or not they started it, Eren. You’re still the problem here.”
“Me? How am I the problem?” he pulls back, eyebrows drawn together in genuine confusion, “I just told you I didn’t do shit.”
You scoff, crossing your arms and shifting your left leg, “I’m not doing this with you right now.”
“Doing what with me?” he presses, tone growing icy.
“This, Eren!” you reiterate, “I’m too tired to hear your bullshit right now.”
The elevator dings and opens into your apartment. You push past him, continuing your deliberate strides through the living area, and to the stairs, but Eren catches you with a hand on your wrist before you can go any further.
“Will you fucking stop that,” he growls, “If you’ve got something to say, then stop running away from me, and just say it.”
“Funny,” you sneer, pulling your wrist away from him and settling both your feet on the bottom step, “You’re one to talk about running away from things.”
He takes a step back, standing just a notch below you, perfectly frozen in place. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means your little drag racing episode was not only dangerous and immature, it was you running away from your problems like a spoiled child, yet again.”
Eren’s features narrow at your accusations; eyes fading into hooded slits, lips curving downwards, and voice bobbing low, “I’m not running away from anything.”
“Oh, please, Eren,” you roll your eyes, arms retreating to their crossed position in front of your chest, “Cut the bullshit.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” But he bets that even in the dim lighting of the apartment, you can see the tips of his ears growing red, just like they always do when he’s lying.
“Oh, really?” you ask, eyes widening in mock surprise, “You don’t think I don’t know this whole thing has something to do with the fact that your mom came home on Friday?”
Another pause. “Who told you that?” He asks, but it comes out more like a statement.
“Nobody had to,” you snap, “Jean said he caught you with a sack of coke over the weekend, and I knew something was up.”
“It wasn’t mine, I was—”
“I said cut the shit, Eren. If I went up into your room right now I bet your ass I’d find more than enough of it in a shoebox somewhere.”
He retreats, almost bashful, but unapologetic all the same. “Fine, whatever, I did a few lines. Big deal.”
“The big deal is that you think this is fucking normal, and now you’ve upgraded from coke to getting yourself arrested! It’d be one thing if you were acting like a misfit on your own, but to drag Armin into it because you—”
“Drag him into it?” he echoes with the snare of sarcasm dripping from each syllable, “You talk about Armin like he’s six. I don’t know why you think he’s some helpless little baby, but you have no goddamn responsibility over him. He’s not your fucking charity case.”
“I never fucking said he’s my charity case—don’t you ever fucking say that,” you say, “Having some basic respect and concern for my friends isn’t charity.”
“Wake the fuck up! You baby Armin when he’s a grown ass man. I didn’t force him into the fucking car to get sympathy points from you.”
“Grown? Armin is barely nineteen, disowned by his parents, is on a full fucking ride to an insanely expensive university, and you got him arrested tonight! Do you know what could happen if NYU found out? They could fucking kick him out, take his scholarship away—and then what, huh? Or were you just gonna buy off the headmaster, too?”
“You’re acting like I fucking planned for it!”
He’s screaming now, voice bellowing throughout the apartment, face red—and he doesn’t mean to, he doesn’t mean it at all; but it’s late, and he’s tired, and those shouldn’t be excuses, but he’s too prideful to back down.
“Of course you didn’t! You didn’t plan for anything, you were just being a reckless, irresponsible asshole like always,” you tell him, too blind-sighted by anger and the need to chide him that you miss the teary undertones in his words.
“And what’s it matter to you?”
“It fucking matters to me when you call at some godforsaken hour asking me to pick you up from prison!”
He takes a step forward, right leg elevated by the same step that both your feet rest on. “Well, what else am I supposed to fucking do!” He shouts even though he’s mere inches from your face, “Tell me just what the fuck I’m supposed to do instead!”
“You’re supposed to act like an adult and fucking talk to someone!”
“Who the hell am I supposed to talk to, huh?” he presses, taking a step forward and forcing you to retreat backwards, and up a step, “My mother who’s never home or her bastard boyfriend?”—another step forward for him, another step backwards for you—“The step-brother I can’t get in contact with?”—one step forward; one step backwards—“Or maybe the dad I never had, right?”
“Me, Eren!” you yell back with equal vigor, throwing your hands up at your sides, and planting your feet firmly. “Armin, Mikasa, Jean—anyone! You have people who fucking care about you! Stop treating us like correction officers, we’re your fucking friends!”
There’s silence for a while, just you and Eren staring at each other, heavy breathing, waiting for the other to make the next move. He opens his mouth, but when he tries to speak, his resolve washes away, his throat tightens and the words get sucked back in.
It would be easy to keep yelling, screaming, blaming you for blowing up on him. He used to think the scolding he got from you after pulling some stupid stunt was the worst part; but now, he thinks it might be his favorite part. He hates to hear you scream, and it hurts to see you cry, but if you’re yelling, you’re angry that he hurt himself; you care that he’s okay.
“I—” he stutters, words quiet and broken, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to get like this tonight, it was an accident I—”
“You never mean for any of it to happen, yet it always does,” you interrupt, voice soft yet strained, “I know you have your own shit to deal with, but so does everybody else.”
“(_____), please, you’re right, okay? I should have said something before,” he admits, mouth small as he voices his confessions, “I should have talked to you or one of the boys, but I—I don’t know what else you want me to say.”
He’s groveling now. Mouth in pout, eyes wide, voice small, and honestly, he thinks he might cry. At this point he doesn’t care if he does.
“I want you to mean it,” you finally say, and when he looks up, he hates the look he sees in your eyes. It’s something between sad and hurt and empty and it’s awful. Someone like you shouldn’t feel that way. He shouldn’t make you feel that way.
“I—”
“When you’re ready to tell me exactly what’s going on with you—what’s happening that made you think going to jail would be better than facing your issues—I’ll be here to talk,” you continue, eyes watering, “But until then, goodnight, Eren.”
Eren winces when you turn around and ascend up the remaining stairs. He flirts with the idea of following you, going to your room to finish talking, but you’re probably angry enough to have it locked. His room is up there, too, but he opts for part of the sectional, laying down with the palms of his hands kneading against his closed eyelids.
For as long as he can remember, you’ve been there for him. Your friendship, at times, was like a game of tag—Eren always on the run with you loyally chasing after him; he’d always run amuck, and you’d always be there to catch him in the act. Now, it’s five in the morning, there’s no more yelling, no more chasing, no more racing, but he’s still running.
The following morning, you take Armin out to brunch, as promised. Jean tags along too, something about hanging out with the two of you being infinitely more entertaining than his genetics lecture. It doesn’t seem like Jean knows anything about Armin and Eren’s late night antics, so you don’t bring it up yourself.
Oblivious, Jean chats your ears off as if nothing is awry. Whether he knows it or not, he does a great job of distracting Armin from his own thoughts. They both eat to their heart’s content when you remind them you’ll foot the bill; and you don’t bat an eye when Jean convinces Armin to order his third round of pancakes. He deserves it.
Afterwards, Jean convinces the three of you to go window shopping with him in SoHo, claiming that he needed inspiration for his latest fashion assignment (you don’t question why he’s taking a fashion class as a biology major, but you suspect it has something to do with Mikasa). Window shopping soon turns into actual shopping, so almost completely unprompted, and with little effort on his part, Armin gets a few pieces of clothing on your behalf, while you try to ignore Eren’s words itching at the back of your mind.
Armin’s not a baby, but he certainly is a kid with a rough past and rough relationship with his parents at a time in his life where he arguably needs them the most. A little extra support from his friends wouldn’t harm him.
It’s nearing six when the three of you are wedged in a small booth inside a café, indulging in overpriced hot chocolate. Three sips into his second cup, Jean excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving you sitting across from Armin.
“You know, you don’t have to keep buying me stuff to make up for Eren,” Armin says, a small smile playing on his lips.
“I’m not trying to make up for him,” you sputter, careful not to spill your drink over your lap, “You had a rough night. Just accept my gifts, don’t be a brat.”
“I do accept them. Erwin’s been eyeing that Off White sweater for, like, three weeks now. He’s gonna have a hissy fit when he sees me wearing it.” You chuckle, and he continues, “But you know, as much I love spending time with you, you can’t use me to avoid Eren forever.”
“I’m not avoiding him,” you frown.
“You said you were going to take us to brunch, and then spent the whole day with us.”
“Funny, I recall you saying something about how much you love my company about thirty seconds ago.”
“He’s called you at least ten times today.”
“I was spending the day with my favorite NYU student… and Jean,” you bat your lashes, “I see you maybe once a week. I live with Eren, I have to see him every day.”
Armin calls your name with a pout, “He’s sorry, you know.”
“Not sorry enough,” you mumble. Armin opens his mouth to say something again, but then Jean’s sliding back into the booth, chatting about how he’s finally come up with the perfect anniversary date for Mikasa.
Armin doesn’t notice your sigh of relief, but he does take note of the way you wipe away your notifications when a text rings through. If Eren could spend his days running away from his problems, then you could, too.
Despite being arguably the greediest of you all, Jean loves company, so he doesn’t hesitate to say yes when you ask to crash at his place after your shopping escapades. You expect to be welcomed with sounds of screaming, laughter, and loud music, but to your surprise his apartment is completely silent upon your entering.
“Bertholdt has class and Marco has a meeting,” he prompts, as if he could read your thoughts. He shimmies his coat off his shoulders and tosses it over the bar in the foyer.
Their apartment has the same amount of rooms as yours and Eren’s, but is all stretched along a single floor. It’s more of a maze, really, with intricate turns, and hallways, that all more or less open up into the expanse of the foyer and bar. Their living room is your favorite part. A dark, brown leather sectional wraps around the back three walls and an oversized flatscreen encased in an ebony frame takes center stage. A collection of vinyl records litters the walls above the couch; each of the boys contributing their favorite discs as décor.
“If he has class, shouldn’t you have class?” you question, fingers dragging over the ridges of the closest record.
“I’ve had class all day, but that doesn’t mean I go,” Jean shrugs, walking up behind you and taking your jacket off your shoulders and your bag from your hand, “Besides, Bertholdt will probably cut half-way to go see Reiner, if he can even stay awake that long. Going with him is just as productive as staying home.”
“You’re all a mess,” you scoff, turning around as a cheesy grin grows on Jean’s lips. His smile is infectious, and soon you catch yourself grinning just because.
“You want something to drink?” he offers, throwing your coat over his elbow and tilting his head in the direction of the bar.
“You’re bad at mixing drinks,” you remind him, but follow him anyway.
Jean laughs, not bothering to deny the jab. He doesn’t try his hand at anything mixed or complicated this time; simply offering you a glass of your favorite red, and pouring himself a smaller amount.
He puts the album you were gawking at earlier on the record player, the two of you sinking into the couch as lovely melodies radiate throughout the apartment.
He spends the first hour bitching about how Marco’s supposed to become a CEO in less than a year, yet has the attention span of a squirrel; but the playful lilt in the brunette’s voice, and the begrudging smile on his face lets you know that it’s all love. He gushes about Mikasa for a good half hour, cramming you with stories about his girlfriend’s talent for sewing and fashion. You also learn that Bertholdt’s been busier than usual these days, and Jean suspects it has something to do with a secret lover.
You pinch your eyebrows at his hunch. Bertholdt’s never been one for dating. He’s had many friends with benefits in the past, but they weren’t relationships, nor were they secrets. In fact, you don’t think that he could keep a secret to save his life.
“Why would he be hiding it if he were seeing someone?” you question, swirling your newly refilled glass.
“Dunno,” Jean shrugs, “But it’s sus, I’m telling you. He’s been oddly busy for someone with a 2.3 GPA. Either way, I’ll pry it out of him eventually.”
“You’re so fucking nosey,” you chuckle, watching the mischievous, satisfied grin settle onto his features.
“I kinda think it’s Armin,” Jean says after a while, downing the remaining wine in his cup, while you choke on your own drink.
“Why on Earth do you think if Bertholdt had a secret lover that it’d be Armin?”
“Because he was in love with him for, like, two years in high school,” Jean says, as if the information should be painfully obvious.
“Yeah, and Bert also hooked up with a million different people in high school.”
“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t still in love with Armin.”
“I don’t think Armin’s kissed another human, let alone is in a secret relationship with one.”
“Hm, true. I forget he’s still a virgin.”
“Hey—there’s nothing wrong with Armin being a virgin, leave him be.”
“I know there’s nothing wrong with it,” Jean whines, “But it’s so—he doesn’t have to be. Armin’s cute! And very attractive—dare I even say sexy. He could go outside and get laid right now if he just tried.”
“Stay humble, Jean boy. If I remember correctly, you only started breaking hearts a year ago,” you tut. Jean’s nose goes pink as he shoves you away when you continue, “But, if you’re so concerned with Armin’s virginity, why don’t you go help him out with it.”
“Actually, if I remember correctly, I think that’s more your gig,” he shoots back, a smug smile tugging on his lips. “Not to mention, I’m not trying to get beat up by Annie. Though, I wonder how much longer it’ll take before she finally snaps. Hey, maybe the both of you can tag team him, I’m sure Annie wouldn’t mind, and it might even make Armin less nervous to have you—”
It’s your turn to shove him now, throwing in an extra punch when his head bobs back with laughter. You’re very certain Annie would mind; you would mind if someone inserted themself in your kind of, sort of, not really relationship, and ruined your four years of pining.
“Speaking of lovers,” Jean prompts, once his laughter dies down, bending his knee and turning closer to you. “Why are you and lover boy fighting? Trouble in paradise?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hum, sipping your drink in between words. Jean’s eyes pinch together. “Marco and I would never fight.”
“My god, will you let your Marco fantasies go already? You’ve already caused him one sexuality crisis,” Jean groans, “You know I mean Eren.”
You sigh, lowering your glass and reaching forward to pinch his cheek. “It’s nothing you have to worry your pretty little head over.”
“Please,” he scoffs, flicking your offending hand back, “He’s been texting us nonstop since this morning at, like, nine. I didn’t even know he was capable of waking up before noon.”
It’s your turn to roll your eyes, but Jean continues, “Why he would ask us for advice on you is beyond me. He knows you better than all of us combined.”
“And why you’re saying all of this is beyond me.”
“Oh, come on, what’d he do,” Jean pushes, borderline whines, as he puts his empty glass down in a cup holder embedded in the couch. He’s always been the most prone to gossip, but you forget that wine makes him even more of a nosey prick. “Must have been pretty bad. Or stupid.”
“Try both,” you mumble, “Well—I don’t know, it wasn’t… the worst thing anyone could do, but it was really fucking reckless—and why he did it, I couldn’t even tell you. I don’t know what goes through his mind half the time, but I swear he must have been on crack last night.”
“He probably was. On crack, I mean. I told you, I took an ounce from him over the weekend, but that was after Eren and Ymir did, like, five lines.”
“Do they really do that regularly?” you nearly cry, a hand massaging your temple, “Fucking Christ, if he really was high while driving, I’ll kill him myself.”
“Well, I don’t know if regular is the right word,” Jean ponders, “Maybe for Ymir, but god knows what she’s on half the time, anyways. Besides, coke isn’t the worst thing they could do.”
“You sound like you speak from personal experience.”
“Maybe,” he shrugs, pausing when you shoot him a disapproving look, “Oh, come on! You’re no angel, either—if memory serves, you were high as shit at Moblit’s birthday party, and kept singing the star spangled banner all night.”
“Yeah, on weed! One time! It was on a rooftop and the stars were out and it has the same rhythm as the happy birthday song, cut me some slack!”
He finds laughing at your expense to be much more fun, however, as he continues to chuckle while you throw a fit. He’s also not one to let a topic of gossip go undiscussed, and has no problem bringing the conversation back to Eren.
“It’s because you two don’t talk, you know,” Jean tuts, “That’s why you fight like this.”
For the second time, the younger’s words have your eyebrows growing close together. “I mean, I guess—but it’s more than that. Eren and I live together, we obviously talk, but—”
“I know, I know, but just hear me out, okay? You and Eren talk about a lot of things, yeah, but you also… don’t. And sometimes you don’t have to, because you guys, like… get each other.”
“Wow. What a way with words you have, Jean Kirstein. You should write a self-help book.”
“What I mean,” he sneers, unhappy with the sarcasm being thrown his way, “Is that you guys understand each other in weird ways. It’s actually kind of cute—sometimes a little freaky, in all honesty. It’s why you don’t always have to talk about serious things. But you take it for granted and let shit bottle up, and then get in denial about it until you blow up in each other’s faces.”
“Please, you barely passed one philosophy class and now you think you’re Plato.”
“You’re doing the in denial thing right now!” he taunts, “Come one, when you two fight like this, what’s it usually about?”
You sigh, sinking back into the plush leather of the couch, and wrapping your hands around a fluffy throw pillow. Thinking about arguing with Eren isn’t particularly something you like to do, and truthfully, you don’t really get pissed at each other that often. Not to the point of ignoring each other, at least.
“I don’t know,” you drawl, “Drugs, me forgetting things, him doing stupid shit, him thinking Mikasa could do better than you, school, drinking, the fact that he leaves his big ass shoes at the top of the stairs for me to trip over and fall to my death every morning, when—”
“His parents?” Jean cuts you off.
“I—we don’t really… it’s not so much fighting over his parents, it’s all the stuff he does to deal with his parents. He never gives his mom’s boyfriends a chance, and he never really talks about why, either. I know he’s secretly just angry and insecure about his dad, but… I don’t know. That doesn’t really make it better.”
“True,” he nods, “See—he doesn’t talk about it.”
“I know, and I told him that last night, too, but… it’s a sensitive subject for him—his dad, I mean,” you sigh, “And you’re right, he shouldn’t bottle his feelings up, but, on the other hand he’s watched his mom get married five times. I don’t always blame him for not wanting to talk about it.”
“Yeah, but just because it’s hard to talk about doesn’t mean he shouldn’t,” Jean lolls, “Wouldn’t you have rather he said something than have done whatever stupid shit he did to make you want to sleep here tonight?”
“Okay, Socrates, I get it,” you lighten up, “I’ll talk to him—or get him to talk to me. Are you happy?”
“Quite,” he says, annoyingly chipper as he rises from the couch. “I hate seeing my favorite power couple fighting.”
Jean knows his words would elicit a slap to his arm, so he takes off just before you can reach him, prompting you to chase him out of the living room and down the hall. The brunette cackles ridiculously loudly as you scream his name with profanities sprinkled in-between. You catch a hold of the bottom of his shirt and pull him back, finally flicking him on the forehead.
He accepts his punishment with pride, offering you a signature smile in return while you both catch your breaths. It’s a sweet moment, the two of you looking at each other with stupid smiles on your face, exhalations tickling your cheeks.
Jean’s eyes break the gaze first, as he looks down the remainder of your face, and back up to your eyes again. His words could get caught in his throat, but he doesn’t let them—he shakes his head, and swiftly turns around, beckoning for you to follow him.
“Come on, we can steal Marco’s clothes for your pajamas this time.”
Jean spends all of three minutes pulling apart Marco’s dresser before swiping a t-shirt and Christmas themed pajama bottoms from his room. He tosses them in your direction before leading you back down the hall and to the left, opening the door to the guest bedroom for you, before leaving you to change.
They have more than one guest bedroom, but this one is unofficially yours. Little pieces of you can be found littered throughout the room, from spare jewelry to mismatched makeup. You spot a single, gold, teardrop shaped earring on the vanity and sigh as you run your fingers over it.
You swear you’d lost it a few months ago. Trust Jean to put it away for safekeeping without telling you he’d found it. The boy in question returns moments later, knocking while walking through the door with your purse in hand.
“How’d you know I was about to ask you to get that?” you question, a smile on your face as you retrieve the small bag from his hands.
Jean offers you a cocky grin, “Cause I’m the best.”
“Don’t go getting a big head, now,” you tease, “Or, well, an even bigger head.”
Jean ignores your insult, as you take a seat at the edge of the bed, fishing through your bag for your phone to plug it in for the night. He’s about to turn around and bid you goodnight, when the flash of something orange peeping out of your purse prompts his next thought.
“Hey, you picked up your refill, right?” he asks innocently, “It should have been ready last Thursday.”
You sigh, head falling slightly when you close your bag and place it on the vanity. “Uh… no.”
Jean’s mouth is already open, ready with equally friendly and scolding words, but you cut him off before he can talk. “I was going to on Thursday, but I had class late, and then I forgot on Friday and I haven’t really had time since then. But I have a few left-overs from the last two months, so I’ve been taking those!”
Jean’s mouth closes, but his eyes narrow as he begins to walk towards you. You know he’s putting two and two together, so you speak ahead of him again.
“I know, I know, I shouldn’t have any left over, but it’s only five, I promise! I’ve been really good, lately.”
Jean’s eyes remain in concentrated slits, but his resolve is waning when he reads over your expression. His facade fades as he takes the final steps towards you to stand directly in front of your body.
“Okay,” he says, voice soft through his smile, “I’ll go with you to pick them up tomorrow before I drop you home, yeah?”
It elates him more than it should to see the smile you flash his way. Unfortunately, it’s short-lived, as his next question leaves your face twisted with guilt.
“Have you… told Eren yet?”
You consider lying and saying yes, but something tells you Jean won’t buy it. Your silence seems to speak loud enough, as his shoulders drop with a quiet sigh.
“I want to, I just… well I’m mad at him right now, and even when I’m not… I don’t know why it’s so hard,” you confess.
“He’d wanna know, you know,” Jean says, and it’s not the first time he’s said it to you, either. “You know he wouldn’t judge you or anything.”
“I know that. But, truthfully, if I had things my way, not even you would know, Jean.”
It was an accident that Jean found out that you’d been taking anxiety medication.
It was at somebody’s house party where the majority of your friends and their guests had gotten piss drunk. Reiner’s date had suggested mixing their alcohol with molly she’d supposedly had in her bag. In her drunken stupor, she’d mistaken your purse for her own, but luckily, a not so drunk Jean had noticed the label didn’t match her name, and snagged the bottle before the worst could happen.
They ended up not finding her molly, anyway, but it’s a moot point. Jean had cornered you about the bottle later in the week with honest intentions; he’d been concerned that might be another kind of drug disguised by a prescription veil. However, you’d assured him that it was indeed your prescribed Lexapro, and not a shady mixture of black market substances.
And, he’d been more than understanding in the aftermath. Quite frankly, he had somewhat made it his business to ensure that you got and took your medication on time and felt comfortable getting to and from your therapy appointments.
It’s endearing in a way that made you pause and count your blessings sometimes. Jean had been nothing but unequivocally supportive in his understanding about anxiety and had gone the extra mile to comfort you where need be. It made you wonder why you hesitated to tell Eren on several occasions.
It was probably the very nature of anxiety itself that had you doubting your trust in Eren. You wanted to tell him—of course you did—but, you couldn’t. You know that Eren would do everything in his power to make it better, even if that was just being. You know that he’d want to know and he’d kill to understand. But you couldn’t possibly burden him with your problems, not when he has a million of his own.
The one person in the world you wanted to tell, you were terrified of talking to. And you know it’s irrational to be afraid of him, but you can’t seem to control those thoughts. It’s a tiring, consuming, endless cycle.
Jean watches the way your gaze lowers to the floor. He knows exactly what you’re thinking, and, god, he swears if he could take that train of thought away from you, he’d do it in a heartbeat.
With a heavy heart and tired eyes, he takes a final step forward and wraps his arms around your body. He counts three, four seconds before you hug him back. He raises a hand to the back to your head, cradling your face into his shoulder and squeezing you tightly.
“Hey, I’m proud of you, you know that,” he speaks, just a notch above a whisper, “I know you’ll tell him when you’re ready.”
“I will,” you murmur into the fabric of his shirt. You hug him back a little tighter and close your eyes, “Thank you, Jean.”
And Jean holds on, and hopes you know that he wouldn’t let you go, “You’re welcome, (_____).”
You come home to find your entire apartment littered with flowers; in the hallway, on the sectional, atop the counter, up the stairs.
There are several boxes of your favorite macarons stacked in a small pyramid on the kitchen island, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you checked the labels to find that they were shipped straight from the south of France this morning. There’s too many bottles of Ace on the coffee table, sparkling next to a basket of what looks like your regular skincare products. A pretty, gold bow rests atop an even prettier pair of red-bottomed heels, and if you’re not mistaken, that’s a limited edition, vintage YSL clutch on the sectional, resting against your favorite throw pillow.
You sigh, making your way to the couch to pick up the orange envelope sticking out of the handbag. Just as you’re about to open it, you hear footsteps, and a voice that follows.
“You’re back,” Eren chirps from mid-way on the staircase, “I, uh, there’s catering coming from Butter coming soon. I know it’s your favorite,” he continues as he descends the stairs.
He has his hand on the back of his neck and there’s a faint, pink tint to his cheeks as he slowly makes his way towards you. You cross your arms, looking him up and down when he stands in front of you.
He’s wearing dark jeans and a tweed sweater with patches at the elbow. His hair is split down the middle, longer than usual, so the ends of sweep over his eyelashes; and there are telltale signs that he’d been toying with it.
“Eren, what is all of this?” you finally ask, shifting your weight to your right leg.
“Part one of my apology and explanation,” he replies, a hopeful timbre to his voice. You roll your eyes, but he continues anyway, “Actually, part two is in that envelope.”
Skeptical, you unfold your arms and open the envelope. You don’t know what you were expecting—a card, maybe tickets to a musical or something; but what you definitely weren’t expecting were two tickets to Paris.
“France?” you look up, tickets in hand, “You don’t get it do you? You can’t just buy all of this shit, jet us off to Europe and expect everything to be okay.”
“No, no it’s not like that—I swear!” he interjects, hands moving sporadically, “It’s just, well… Can we sit? Then I can explain everything.”
Eren looks at you with those big green eyes and that sad pout to his lips, and you find yourself sighing and taking a seat on the couch against your better judgement. There’s a small smile to his lips when you do—a little victory—and he sits next to you, your knees resting against each other as you face him.
He’s shaking, and your resolve to punish him with whatever solid exterior and half-assed silent treatment dissolves as you take his left hand in your right, and recall your conversation with Jean. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s me, Eren. You can talk to me.”
When he feels your smaller hand envelop his, the shaking stops, and for a moment, it feels like he can do this, like everything is okay. He smiles, and takes a deep breath.
“The other night, you were right, about my mom and her boyfriend coming home,” he starts, words slow and heavy, “I didn’t even know she was coming—I knew she was visiting this month, but she didn’t tell me when, and I thought it was going to be just her, you know? But then she showed up with him, and, well, I don’t know. I was upset. She’s been home for a week now, and we haven’t even gone to dinner or anything.”
He pauses, and you squeeze his hand for reassurance, “We were supposed to get lunch on Thursday, but she cancelled. Had some meeting or something, I don’t know, I don’t care. Friday comes and she says she wants to have dinner, right?”
You nod, he continues. “I thought it was just going to be us, but he was there. That’s when she told me that… that they’re…” he squeezes his eyes shut, “They’re engaged.”
Your mouth falls into a small o-shape. Everything made perfect sense now.
It’s not that Eren didn’t love his mother, quite the opposite actually. He’s a mama’s boy through and through; she’s his role model, his everything, he adores her. Her career as a designer often takes her on long business trips, most frequently as prolonged stays in Paris, so much so that she relocated her primary office there shortly after Eren graduated high school.
Now, she only visits home for one or two weeks at a time, sometimes only for the weekend. Upon her decision to permanently relocate, she planned to leave Eren under the unofficial supervision of Mikasa. Instead, Eren bought Mikasa her own three-bedroom apartment in Midtown (according to his logic, it was better for her to have her own place than to move in with Jean), and a shared two-story penthouse for the both of you that overlooks Central Park.
Eren misses her more than he cares to admit, but he puts on the same facade every time she comes home because he hates the company she brings.
Paris is where she met her newest boyfriend, Mitchell, and Eren swears he hates that man with every fiber of his being. It’s not saying much, though, not when Eren’s hated every single one of his mother’s past romantic partners, right down to his own father.
“Is… is that why you—”
“Rented a brand new Corvette and went drag racing at one in the morning?” he chuckles, “Yeah. It was stupid, I know, but I was just angry, I guess. I dunno what I was feeling, but it wasn’t good.”
You nod, wrapping both of your hands around his now and offering him a warm smile. He smiles back, just for a moment. “That’s what the tickets are for, actually. The wedding.”
“They’re getting married in France?” you question, to which he nods, “On the first? Isn’t that a little short notice to plan a wedding?”
“I think you’re underestimating the power of Carla Jaeger,” he chuckles, “Apparently, it’s been in the works for a few months now. He proposed with fireworks or some shit. Said she wanted to tell me in person, though.”
“This ticket is for next week,” you say, rereading the dates on the papers. “The wedding is three weeks from now.”
“Well, I kind of figured we could take a little vacation before then,” he grins, “I texted most of the boys earlier, and they can probably come to the wedding, but I want to spend some time with you before it gets hectic, you know? Consider it an end of the semester present.”
Your eyes flicker down to your hand, still wrapped around Eren’s, when he starts to trace circles into your skin, “I thought I just told you, you can’t jet us off to Europe to fix things.”
“You did,” he hums, “And I know I can’t—I’m not trying to, I just… Truthfully, I reserved the plane and the hotel a few weeks back and it really was just going to be a surprise for us—well, more like a gift for you because I know you’ve been busting your ass in chem—but then… everything else happened, and I think a break sounds perfect before I watch my mom get married for the sixth time.”
You watch him continue to toy with your hands for a while, processing your conversation. It was typical of Eren to surprise you like this, so you can’t figure out why this particular present leaves you feeling warmer than usual.
“You sure you don’t need a break from me?”
Eren beams and takes the opportunity to lace your fingers together. “Nah, you’re annoying, but not Jean level annoying.”
You scoff, “I’m telling him you said that.”
“It’ll sound better coming from you, anyway,” he shrugs, “Besides, I might just murder Mitchell if you’re not there with me.”
You chuckle, on the verge of accepting his proposal, but the mention of Jean prompts another thought to cross through your mind. “I’d love to, but I… I don’t know. I don’t want Armin to spend the first few weeks of winter break here all alone.”
This Christmas would mark one year since Armin had seen, or even talked to, any of his immediate family members, with the exception of Erwin.
Last year, you all tried to salvage the damage by sticking around so, at the very least, he didn’t have to feel alone. You and your friends decided that Armin ought to be celebrated, not ostracized for any aspect of himself, so you all chipped in for a cute, impromptu trip to the Catskills so that everyone could be together and close to home.
This year, however, there seemed to be quite a few conflicts of interest. Even if Armin was one of the boys who was planning on attending the wedding, you doubt he had plans leading up to it. You know that Marco, Bertholdt, Mikasa, and Jean had invited him to go to Aspen with them, but Armin declined the offer. Similarly, Connie, Sasha, Annie, Reiner, and Ymir would be off to Dubai as soon as classes ended; an invitation Armin had also turned down.
You weren’t sure what Erwin’s plans were, though you’re certain they involved his own friends in some way or another. At the very least, it was unlikely that he would leave his younger brother completely stranded over the break; but you didn’t want to make plans without knowing Armin wouldn’t be alone.
“He won’t, actually he’ll be closer than you think,” Eren reassures you, “Hange and Moblit wanted to go skiing anyways, so Erwin is taking all of them to the Alps instead of Aspen. Armin doesn’t know yet, but he’s going with them.”
“Shouldn’t Erwin spend his break campaigning, and not skiing? Last I checked, he wasn’t too popular in Queens”
“Ah, you know Erwin,” Eren shrugs, “He has a way of making people devote themselves to him. He’ll win the election with or without campaigning, trust me—the point is, that little baby Armin will be safe and sound under Erwin’s protection, and you don’t have to worry about him.”
“How come you get to call him a baby?”
“Because I’m a hypocritical asshole who doesn’t deserve you, but is hoping you’ll come with me anyway.”
Eren smirks, but there’s a genuine undertone to his words as he moves his fingers to toy with the ring around your pointer finger. The same one he gave to you two Christmases ago. Well, kind of.
The ring he originally gifted you was a Harry Winston piece, with an encrusted band that wrapped into two sunflowers, both made of classic, white diamonds with emeralds sparkling in the center. After seeing the design, and the price tag, you demanded that he take it back, or at the very least, get it sized to fit on your index finger or thumb so that people didn’t get the wrong idea.
Instead, he came back with a simple, silver chain for the original ring to hang from, and the current ring on your finger; a rose gold band with tiny diamonds studded around it. Likely equally as expensive, but more appropriate according to you.
“Fine. But you have to be on your best behavior,” you agree, paying no mind to Eren’s thumb twirling your jewelry, “Do you promise me no drag racing or antics of any sort while we’re there?”
Eren shakes his head at the memory, eyeing the first ring that sits against your chest.
He smiles. “I do.”
The afternoon after your last exam, you bid the remainder of your friends goodbye, grab your bags, and hop on a plane with Eren. It arrives in Paris, but you’re rerouted off to Nice before you can so much as blink at the Eiffel tower; you’d be staying there for the two and half weeks leading up to the wedding, in a small villa.
You had to hand it to him, Eren really outdid himself. It’s dark and nearing three in the morning when you arrive, but even in your sleepy stupor you can admire your accommodations. The villa is secluded, the perfect distance from the water, and decorated lavishly almost to your exact liking. You wouldn’t be surprised if Eren sprung it on you that he’d bought the place, and wasn’t merely renting it for this vacation.
Every day after that, Eren proves he was honest in his intentions of this being a getaway gift to you. He’s planned every activity under the sun—from hot air balloon rides, to helicopter tours, to jet-skiing. The days are certainly fun and filled with beautiful memories, but there’s something special about Nice at sunset; something about the sound of gentle waves brushing up against the beach, and the spotlights carved from sun-cast shadows on the buildings.
It’s just after dinner time, bordering on your eighth night here, when you and Eren are walking along the cobblestone streets that border the beach, the length of your sundress flowing every which way with the breeze, and the tail of Eren’s blazer flailing like a cape behind him.
He looks nice tonight, but, truthfully, he always does. He claimed he hadn’t put on the casual green suit because of your outfit, but you swear he was wearing khakis before he saw your dress. The tips of his ears go red when you tease him about it at dinner, but it doesn’t really matter to you; he would have looked good, regardless. Those suits are made for him, after all; tailored to fit perfectly, and designed by his own mother.
The streets tend to settle down after six, locals and tourists retreating indoors or heading to the beach to relax and draw in the evening. Tonight, however, there’s much more commotion than usual on your route.
“Maybe we should take the long way,” you suggest. On the tips of your toes, you realize that there’s some kind of special event happening in the square, filled with lights and music that grows louder with every step you take.
But the crowd and the lights and the smell of food only piques Eren’s interest. “No way—let’s check it out!”
You don’t have the time to refute before his long legs surpass your own stride, headfirst into the sea of people. You can only follow with a smile and a shake of your head. The soft green of his suit jacket serves as your guide as he navigates through the crowd, but the closer you get to the center, the more people there are.
You can feel palms of your hands growing uncomfortably warm as you become hyperaware of just how many people there are. You clutch the end of your dress in your hand, for both practicality and as a sort of comfort mechanism, as you try your best to calm the anxious wave threatening to crash against you.
With a deep breath, you begin to walk again, unaware of Eren’s actions until you physically walk into his hand, long fingers poking at your belly. You hadn’t realized he stopped walking, or that you’d caught up with him, and your eyebrows crinkle when you look down to see Eren’s left hand extended behind him and towards you, palm facing upwards.
He doesn’t say anything, or look back at you at all. Only wraps his larger fingers around yours when he feels the weight of your hand in his, and continues to guide you through the crowd, his pace slower, and hand firm around yours.
The mass of people becomes more spread out when you approach what appears to be the center of the event; and it looks like a party, maybe a wedding of some sort. There’s food and champagne galore, and more than enough happy guests dancing along to upbeat music in the streets.
Eren’s eyes light up as he takes in the scene, “You wanna dance?”
“What—Eren, no!” you refuse, “We cannot crash these people’s party!”
“Why not?” he counters, without a care in the world, “Seems like an open invitation to me! Come on!”
And for the second time that evening, you find yourself being pulled into his schemes; this time in the direction of the open space dubbed dance floor.
You’re both terrible and ostentatious and people start to watch, but it doesn’t matter because you’re smiling too wide and laughing too hard to care. Eren has a way of moving both with and against the music, forcing your body to follow his lead.
He shouts something over the noise, but you don’t have time to register his words before he laces your right hand with his left, and places his right hand on your waist. There’s a blink of confusion for a moment before you’re being swept off your feet and into a dramatic dip. You don’t have time to secure yourself against his shoulders, but Eren does a fine job of supporting you with a single arm against your back.
From what you can tell the song is far from over and the dramatic pose is completely unwarranted, but you and the crowd alike are victim to his charm. You indulge yourself, looking up at him with eyes too fond to memorize every feature of his face in this moment; the way he’s laughing with that big, dumb, wide smile of his that makes his nose crinkle and his eyes light up.
You’re too busy looking at him to hear Eren’s voice calling out to you, or even realize that he’s moved you from your pose to standing back upright. He’s equal parts amused and concerned at the glazed over look in your eyes.
“Hello? Anybody home up there?” he teases, elongating the vowels and squeezing your waist to alert you.
The reminder of his hands on your hips pulls you back to reality, your eyes fluttering down to his arms, then back to his face. It feels stuffy suddenly, too close to function.
“Yea—yeah! Do you wanna get a drink? Yeah, let’s get a drink!” you exclaim, haphazardly pointing and walking towards the food.
You don’t see it, but Eren looks on with glittering eyes, his verbal agreement heard only by himself as you veer towards the buffet. He can still feel your body in his grip, still see the specks of gold in your pupils as he lingers on the back of your silhouette lovingly. And before you can realize, he snaps himself out of it—an out of body experience similar to yours a few moments ago—before catching up with you.
You end up socializing for much longer than intended. Eren makes friends with everyone, to no surprise, and, uncharacteristically, you feel influenced by his actions, and converse with a few people yourself. You let him take the lead, though. Partially because he’s better at it, and partially because you just like listening to him speak French.
“Hey, we should probably get out of here,” he whispers into your ear after waving goodbye to a lovely couple you’d just met, “Before the host of this party realizes we’re miles better than his actual guests.”
You nod with a smile, more than happy to play by his rules for the evening. He offers you his hand again, that same, dopey smile on his face when you take it.
He leads you out of the crowd and back on to the path to your villa, the smell of warm food and sounds of vibrant music growing dull as you venture further from the celebration. It’s much darker than it was when you began your trek back from the restaurant, but beautiful all the same.
Your sandals pad against the wooden dock that leads up the villa, and Eren unlocks the door silently, ushering you inside before entering behind you.
“I know I said I wanted to leave, but I’m not really tired yet,” Eren confesses, pulling his blazer off of his shoulders.
“Me neither,” you say, placing your small wristlet on the table with a shrug, “What do you wanna do though, I’m not—”
“Great!” he cuts you off, smile too big. You narrow your own in suspicion. That tone of voice with that look on his face usually meant something mischievous, at best. “Remember when you said the first time you’d smoke would be with me, and then pranced away and took a bowl from Hange and got high as shit at Moblit’s party?”
“Why does everyone remember Moblit’s party but me!”
“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles, waving the topic away, “Anyway… Do you wanna smoke now?”
You blink. “I… did you… smuggle weed all the way to France?”
“No, of course not!” he refutes, “…I got it here.”
You scoff, but don’t have the time to question him further before Eren’s tugging on your wrist and pulling you into the bedroom. You take to sitting on your bed while he rummages through his suitcase to retrieve a small, clear jar with several rolled joints inside and a lighter to match.
He shuffles next to you in the bed, mindlessly handing you the lighter while he unscrews the top off the jar. He takes out two of the joints, places one next to the jar on the nightstand, and tucks the other between his teeth. He asks you to hand him the lighter, and you do so wordlessly, distracted by the sight of Eren’s gaze and the blunt poking out his mouth.
“This’ll be fun, yeah?” He reassures you, “Technically, you let Hange take your weed virginity, but I’ll be better.”
“Can you not phrase it like that,” you roll your eyes, “You already took my virginity virginity, don’t be bitter.”
An all too smug grin settles on his features as he recounts the fact. “Besides,” you tack on, “I’ve never done it like this before. So, it’s still a first, kind of.”
Eren cups one hand around the joint, sparking the lighter with the other until it catches fire. He inhales, slow and deliberate, as if he were putting on a show, or a lesson, of sorts, taking the smoke into his lungs and out through his mouth.
You’d gravely miscalculated how attractive Eren would look doing this. Sure, he’s hot, you knew that, but the pronunciation of his jawline when he exhales, and the confidence with which he drags on the blunt is a stark reminder to you. He takes a few more hits, just as slow and sensual as the first, and the room begins to feel warmer.
“Come closer,” be beckons, smoke rolling off of his tongue with every syllable.
You snap yourself out of the haze of your imagination and scoot closer to him. He silently hands you the joint, and it feels heavy between your fingers. At the distance, you take in the smell—pungent and off-putting, but too familiar.
Eventually, you bring it to your lips, careful not to let your tongue press against the tip, and inhale slowly, like you’d seen Eren do before. You do your best to hold the smoke in your lungs for a bit, but seeing as the last time you did this you were amped up on adrenaline and drunk off your ass, the task proves to be much more difficult. It tickles before becoming uncomfortable and you exhale ungracefully, puffs of smoke punctuating your coughs.
Eren watches with a grin, amused at the sight of you fanning the excess smoke away with your nose scrunched in distaste. “You should have warned me you were gonna cough like a bitch.”
“Oh, fuck off,” you whine, trying to hide the hint of a smile creeping onto your face. You hand the blunt back to him, “You’re supposed to teach me, not tease me, asshole.”
Eren pauses his laughter, unsure of what to make of your tone; rushed, a bit embarrassed, but testy. It’s quiet while he stares at you, trying not to let the implication of your words run wild in his mind; but it’s futile when you’re pouting like that, the room is growing foggier, and he’s been semi-hard since you accepted his offer.
“Fine. Watch and learn,” he breathes, words coming out more jagged than he’d intended.
This time, he completely exaggerates every motion; he inhales at a tantalizing pace and flutters his eyes closed while he lets the smoke swish in his mouth, down his throat, and expand into his lungs. He cranes his neck upwards, and purses his lips to let the clouds exit in the streamline that follows the slope of his jaw.
Maybe it’s the drugs getting to you, but your mind is filled with nothing but sheer clouds that aren’t thick enough to block out thoughts of Eren. The weed is unattractive, potent in smell, and all kinds of wrong; yet, everything about him is soft, sultry, and pulls you in.
“Wanna try again, or do you need another lesson?”
You faintly mutter a profanity under your breath. His words end with giggles, a sign the drugs have already begun to take their effect on him, his expression is still smug. You forget Eren knows just how attractive he is. Motherfucker.
“Actually,” he cuts your train of thought, “I have a better idea, come ‘ere.”
Eren beckons you forward again, closing the gap between your legs so that your knees graze each other under the fabric of your clothing while you’re sat next to each other. He leans over, far too close into your personal space, as if to test something; he freezes when his nose is mere inches from your face, a dissatisfied scrunch taking over his features.
He reinstates his hold on your wrist, motioning your body backwards until your back is against the frame of the bed. He hums in approval, positioning himself next to you again, equally as close, but far more comfortable for what he has planned next.
“I’m—I’m gonna try somethin’, okay?” he stutters, the first word mistakenly coming out in broken German, “Just, don’t freak out on me. It’ll be good, promise.”
You nod, unsure of what you’ve just signed off on, but you don’t have time to ask questions. Eren takes another hit, then passes the blunt to his non-dominant hand. He turns to face you, leans forward, and places his free hand on the back of your neck to pull you closer; the expanse of his palm leaving room for his thumb to venture over the bottom half of your cheek.
Eren pulls you in until your lips are millimeters apart, and he can see the pattern of your eyes in beautiful detail. He shifts his hand now so that the majority of it covers your face, the pad of his thumb running across your bottom lip. He applies the perfect amount of pressure to pry your willing mouth open, and then, finally, exhales.
This time, you can taste it. It’s woodsy, and bitter, but the sweet undertones dance on your tongue. This time, there’s more to think about than just the smoke in your lungs; like the burn of Eren’s hand on your neck; the pressure of his thumb against your bottom lip; the proximity of his lips to yours; the look in his eyes.
“Feel good?” he doesn’t bother to pull away before asking, and the words ghost over your lips with the remaining smoke. You nod; he smiles. “Wanna try again?”
You let out a breathy note of affirmation, and then he’s inhaling and exhaling into you, and you welcome him with pried lips and a heavy thumping in your chest. The confidence with which he maneuvers his body and the drugs is nerve-wracking, yet comforting at the same time; he has an expertise and power that intimidates, but compels you to follow.
Together, you finish the first blunt, and Eren lights the second without missing a beat. His hands are more demanding this around; they guide you into submission, and he’s pleased to find that you’re willing to listen.
After the third exhale, you stop focusing on his hands, and more on his lips. After the fourth, you think you might be high—not to the stars as you infamously were during Moblit’s party—but with a comfortable, dull buzz in your head. Everything feels a little fuzzy, out of touch, but you host a burning want for something more, something tangible.
You don’t know it, but Eren feels the same.
After the fifth exhale, Eren pulls away, the blunt a simple stub as he flicks it away onto the night stand, and you miss him being too close. You miss his hands, you miss his warmth, you crave his touch.
“Eren,” you call, unable to think of or see anything but him in the haze. He answers with a strained, “Yeah?” keening towards the sound of your voice, wide eyes flitting all over your face.
It’s too much, too close, too hot. That’s when you cup his jaw, pull him forward, and meld your lips together.
Kissing Eren is painfully familiar, and unnervingly satisfying. It’s certainly not your first kiss with him; and, yet he has a way of making you feel like it is while reminding you of your history. His lips are soft, and they taste like smoke and the chapstick you swear by because he refuses to buy or test out his own.
You pull away too soon, gauging his reaction with blown-out eyes, before dipping forward to have him against you again. Then again, and again, and again, until Eren is tired of your leaving, and his hands are back on your neck.
This kiss is deeper, Eren searching to satisfy the hunger aching inside of him, and you’re happy to comply when his thumb is pressing at your lower lip again. You open your mouth for him and he doesn’t waste a moment, brushing his tongue against yours experimentally, and then flush into your mouth.
He groans when you rake your fingers into his hair, and pulls back with a hissing noise when you scratch at his nape. Large hands move to grip at your waist, and he pulls you into his lap with a concentrated gaze—a brief second for him to admire the sight of you on top of him, before he resumes kissing you. He sucks on your tongue, rolls his past your teeth, and bites on your bottom lip.
You know he relishes in the sounds he elicits from you, and under any normal circumstance, you’re willing to put up a fight with him, but not now. Now, you let him unzip the back of your dress and snake his hands beneath the fabric. The rubbing motions of his hands turn into gripping, gripping into grinding, and eventually, an unfiltered moan slips past your lips when you feel Eren’s erection roll against you.
“Fuck,” he pulls back with a suck of your swollen lip, “You’re so hot.”
Eren quickly switches your positions so that he’s hovering over you. You chuckle lightly underneath him, taking the opportunity to run both your hands through his hair and cradle his head in your hold, “Haven’t done anything yet.”
“I know,” Eren murmurs, dipping his head down to press kisses into your neck, “Still so sexy. So pretty, always.”
Eren bites a hickey into your collar bone, and everywhere he can touch; your neck, your ears, your cheeks, your lips. Your moaning serves as the spark to keep him going, but he’s barely coherent himself the way you keep pulling at his hair and grinding yourself against him. Even through his clothes, you can feel how painfully hard he is.
He barely catches your tongue between his lips when you moan again, sucking harshly before bruising his lips over yours again. His hands are grabby again, finally pulling your dress completely off of your body, leaving it to form a puddle on the ground. They’re back on your as soon as possible, massaging over your tits, and running his index finger over your nipples.
“Eren... Eren, please,” you whimper, chest heaving as you look down at him. He rolls his index finger over your right nipple, with his left hand teasing the other with his thumb. You can’t tell if the look in his eyes is a product of the weed, or just his glassy, borderline predatory stare, but it makes you shiver with pleasure when he wraps his mouth around your nipple and sucks.
“I want you.”
“Want you, too,” Eren hums, pulling back with a thin trail of spit from your breast, before moving to give your left nipple the same treatment, “More than you know.”
You keen to him when he teases his teeth against you, finally having had enough you force him off of you with a tug of his hair. “Then take off your clothes.”
Eren blinks, wide-eyed but glazed all the same. He chuckles lightly, a blush spreading over his cheeks as he nods. He sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head, forgoing undoing the buttons, and pauses briefly with his hands over the zipper of his pants.
“Please tell me you’re not that gone that you forgot how to undo your zipper,” you tease him, chest still heaving from his previous ministrations. Eren smiles, doe-eyed and hazy, and shakes his head.
“No,” he reassures you, finally undoing his zipper and shimmying his pants off his legs, “Was trying to remember what underwear I was wearing. Didn't want it to be embarrassing.”
His honesty makes you laugh, and Eren pauses for a moment to soak it in. Even like this, even with him stumbling over the steps to undress himself, and you almost completely naked in front of him, he can make you smile. There’s something equally sexy and endearing about your giggles; a juxtaposition that makes him want to hug you or kiss you or something in between. And you—you like the look in his eyes even through your giggling; the way he smiles back and blushes and tells you exactly what he’s thinking.
“It’s okay,” you tell him, “Don’t think mine are particularly sexy either.”
Eren hums, shuffling back on to the bed so that he’s between your legs, and leans forward to kiss you again. He still can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, his fingers immediately flying to your underwear and peeling them off your legs, pulling you closer despite the lack of space between your bodies.
“Yeah, doesn’t matter,” Eren echos, tossing the offending item to the side, before cupping your face in his hands, “I’d still wanna fuck you in your granny panties.”
“You wanna fuck me?” you question, eyes sparkling and hopeful.
“Yeah, I do,” Eren can’t help but to smile again, happy and high and drunk on you, too, “Will you let me?”
Your feverish nodding is all it takes for Eren’s mind to go hazy again; clouded with you, you, you. You pull him into a kiss, arching your body into his, and running your hands down the sides of his back. He moans at the feeling, punishing you by nipping at your lower lip and pressing your stomach back to the mattress with his palm.
Your eyes meet his as Eren lines himself up with your cunt, teasing your folds with the head; but it doesn’t take long before he finally pushes in, sheathing himself inside you completely without movement. He waits a minute, whether it’s to make you comfortable, or to gather his own bearings, you’re not sure; but when he’s ready, he flashes you a smile and waits for one in return, before he starts thrusting.
You know Eren’s not gentle; rough whether or not he intends to be by virtue of his size in comparison to you, but you seem to have forgotten just how capable he is of making you lose your senses. He has you gasping, grasping at him at him unintelligibly, feeling full with his cock inside of you.
Eren groans, borderline growls, when he feels you clench around him, when he sees you shaking beneath him. He could do this all; could watch you all day.
“So pretty, the prettiest. Prettiest girl, my favorite girl,” Eren praises, eyes raking up and down your thrashing body, “My favorite fucking girl.”
“You—you, too.”
“Yeah? I’m your favorite, too?” Eren coos, reaching out to guide your arms over your head, the force of his body pinning your hands down; you can hardly gasp before he lacess your fingers together, and gives you a reassuring squeeze.
“Promised you, didn’t I? That I’d be good to you, be on my best behavior,” Eren reminds you, leaning forward.
He eyes your necklace—eyes glued to ring around it—bouncing with your body. He bends his head down to kiss it, bites at the skin near it; a possessive streak overcoming him as the diamonds shine against you. “I said I’d treat you good, always. Meant it.”
He stutters, when you squeeze him back; fingers tightening around his hold, your pussy clenching around his cock. Your whining is insistent, and mixes with Eren’s low moans and guttural noises. Eren doesn’t let up his pace, fucking you fast and deep, and it’s only a matter of time before you feel a knot twisting in your belly.
You attempt to move your arms, searching for a release of the feeling building up inside of you but Eren is strong; stronger than you, and he keeps you in your place. Keeps your arms pinned above you, keeps his palms pressed into yours, keeps his lips hovering above yours, just out of reach.
“Eren,” you call his name through shaky moans.
“Yeah? What, baby?”
“Kiss me.”
And so he does, his lips needy and hungry over yours. Eren fucks you and kisses you through your orgasm, tasting your moans on his tongue in timing with him cumming inside of you. You don’t let up; kissing him lewdly while you both come down from your highs.
“So good,” Eren croons against your lips, down your jaw, into your skin, “So good for me.”
You both moan in chorus when he finally pulls out, Eren’s head laying on your collar, nose nuzzling into your neck. He lets your hands free, and immediately you wrap them around his back, holding him close as you both attempt to catch your breaths.
You don’t know how long you lay there like that, with Eren on top of you, and your thumb rubbing circles into his cheek while he sleeps soundly. Maybe an hour, maybe more, maybe less; but the euphoria of your sex doesn’t quiet seem to fade.
It might last all night, maybe even for the rest of your trip but you don’t mind. You think back to earlier in the evening, when you’d caught his gaze after your dance. The feeling isn’t all that different; warm, and fuzzy, and too much and not enough all at once. It feels good, it feels like Eren.
You hum softly to yourself, careful not to wake up the sleeping boy on your chest, when you realize exactly what these two moments have in common: a rare event in which Eren is still in front of you, steady and stagnant, no running or chasing; and you don’t want to let him go.
Sometimes Eren thinks you act oblivious on purpose just to fuck with him, because there’s absolutely no way you—or any human with a functioning nervous system and social cues—can’t tell that he’s completely, stupidly, and embarrassingly in love with you.
Long gone are his days of trying to deny it or get over it. He realized that sophomore year of high school—almost eight years ago—that no matter where he went, what kind of drug he inhaled, or how hard he tried, you’d be permanently etched into his heart. That doesn’t make it any less exhausting, and, in fact, only makes it more astounding that you haven’t caught on yet. Honestly, Eren’s considered hiring a private psychiatrist just to make nothing’s wrong with you.
Amazingly, the remainder of your vacation continues just like the former half. The only exception being that now you’re in Paris. And that he’s shamelessly coerced you into letting him fuck your brains out on several occasions. But besides that, everything’s chill.
Just two best friends traveling through France together and stopping to fuck in any semi-private location they can find. Just two peas in a pod walking along the Champs Elysées at damn near midnight. Just two best buds with linked arms tasting (see: feeding each other) every macaron flavor they come across while violinists play stupidly romantic, classical music in the background.
He knows he should probably talk to you about it, but for some reason he can’t. Like telling you would make it all too real, and give it a meaning that could so easily be taken away from him; give you a reason to want to leave him. Right now, it’s just a fantasy, and he’s free to keep dreaming, believing that he’s special and worth enough for the affection you’ve shown him.
He doesn’t want to be one in a list of your boyfriends, or fiances, or husbands; he wants to be your only one, and if he can’t be, then he’d rather be stuck to your side as your best friend. At least that way, in someway, he could remain special to you; not a forgotten, ordinary ex of your past.
Though, a best friend who he’s sleeping with regularly and he’s in love with and will always be in love with is starting to sound a lot like a husband to him. At least, the kind of husband he would like to be to you.
You call his name, asking him if he wants to try another sweet. Eren rolls his eyes. What he wants is to fuck you, and marry you, and have you bless his stupid little existence with two runts for kids that look like him but act like you so his life savings don’t run out by the time they’re twelve. But sure, he’ll settle for having you feed him another macaron in the meantime.
“This one tastes just like the coconut one,” he mumbles, chewing his way through the pastry you’d stuffed into his mouth whole.
It’s the seventh bakery you’ve stopped at tonight, and even though Eren’s growing pretty sick of the sugary treats, he’ll walk with you to every damn bakery in Paris tonight if that’s what you want.
He blinks at the thought. He’s so lovesick it’s disgusting. And he wouldn’t do a damn thing to change it.
“That’s probably because it’s almond and coconut flavored,” you say, wiping the stickiness from your fingers onto a napkin.
“I didn’t taste any almonds.”
“I don’t even think you could spell almond, much less tell me what they taste like.”
Eren simply pouts in refute, leaving you giggling at his expression. He doesn’t know if it’s possible, but you seem even prettier in Paris than in Nice. But, that’s probably his rose-colored glasses speaking.
“You think there’ll be macarons at the reception?” you question, biting into yet another pistachio flavored treat, “And if not, would it be rude to bring my own?”
He chuckles. “Yes, babe, I’m sure there will be macarons there.”
He’s always loved Paris, even when his mom moved away here and left him in New York, and he’d always loved it more when you’re with him. He feared that having to attend another, what he considered to be wasteful, wedding in arguably one of his favorite places in the world would leave a bitter taste in his mouth; but, thankfully, he’s only fallen deeper in love since being here.
“You sure you won’t be sick of them by tomorrow?” he asks, watching you debate between taste testing another variation of vanilla bean or rosé.
“How could I get sick of them?” you answer offhandedly, not sparing him a glance away as you choose the pink snack. How could he get sick of you.
“By the time we get back to New York you’ll have forgotten all about them,” he scoffs.
“Don’t worry I’ll quit it soon. I’ll have to eat something solid if I wanna take my meds and go to bed,” you spew with a smile, unaware of what you’ve actually just said, “But they are delicious and I have no regrets.”
Eren pauses. Then so do you, mouth stuffed with sickly sweet.
“I mean—”
“I know, you know,” he cuts you off, “About the meds and stuff.”
You look like you could pass out, or scream, or cry, or everything in between. Eren figures saying more is better than saying less, so he continues.
“I saw a bottle in the bathroom a few months ago,” he admits shyly, but careful about his tone, “Didn’t understand half the words on the label, but it had your name on it so I just, uh… Googled it.”
Of course he knows. Eren’s always kind of known, just never had the words to express it. He imagines that’s what you’re feeling right now.
“Oh,” you finally gape, “Why didn’t you, um… you know, like, say… anything?”
“It seemed like your secret to tell,” Eren shrugs, features softening out, “Besides, I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to.”
Eren’s always been better at showing than saying, anyway. He hopes that his actions, small as they may seem, might have provided you with any sort of comfort in the past few months. Maybe even before that, too.
“Oh,” you repeat, continually blinking at him, “That’s… that’s it? You’re cool with it?”
Now it’s Eren’s turn to blink. “What do you mean am I cool with it? They’re your meds.”
“Yeah, but like… you’re not mad I didn’t tell—”
“Of course I’m not mad,” he cuts you off with a soft smile, “It’s not really my business. I mean, like, you’re my business because I care about you, but you have your own private stuff, too, which is cool. Besides, when I was, uh, researching it, I learned that it can be hard to tell people stuff like that even if—”
Eren shuts up when he feels your weight against him and your arms wrapped around him. Shell shocked, he takes a moment to hug you back, and slowly comes to rest his chin atop your head after leaving a flurry of kisses.
“You didn’t have to look it up or do any kind of research, you know,” you mumble softly into his jacket. Eren borderline chortles, but only hugs you more tightly.
“Of course I did. If not for you, then for myself, because I meant it when I said I’d never seen half the words on the prescription before in my life,” he replies, heart glowing at the sound of your small chuckles.
He’s expecting an equally witty response, but you surprise him when you pull back just enough to face him, a hazy smile on your face. “You’re amazing, Eren.”
Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush—fucking idiot.
“Yeah, I’m pretty great,” he boasts, leaning back into the coolest pose he could muster up while ignoring the growing heat creeping up his neck. It’s all in vain as you reach over to playfully tug at one of his ears.
He thinks you’re pretty like this. All the time, but most notably when he has you in his arms. So pretty, that he has to lean forward to kiss you; you don’t seem to mind, if the way you smile into the kiss is any indication of your feelings. Eren finds himself mirroring your grin; moving his arms from around your waist to the sides of your face.
The workers in this poor little café probably hate the two of you, but he doesn’t fucking care. He’s got his favorite girl in his arms right now, and you taste like almonds and coconuts and like the love of his life.
And he should tell you. Eren wants to tell you, and he finds himself wondering if those same intrusive, fearful thoughts were part of the driving force behind your own reason to keep your secrets from him.
You pull away from him, hands lightly draped around his neck, and you smile like you’re shy—like he hasn’t known you your whole life. Still, Eren finds himself smiling back; and thinks that if you were brave enough to tell him how you were feeling, then he should do the same.
“(_____), I… I gotta tell you something,” he starts, voice soft as his fingers curl around your waist a little more tightly, “Though, I’m kind of hoping you already know.”
You blink at him, almost innocently. Eren bites the inside of his jaw; you’re going to have to stop doing that before he jumps you again.
Better now than never, he supposes. He tries to shake his nerves when he takes your hands in his, completely covering them with his palms, and closes his eyes. Despite that, you try to offer him comfort, squeezing his fingers as best you can; and Eren takes that moment to thank his lucky stars for whoever decided to put you in his life. Because he knows that no matter what, even if he royally fucks this up, you’ll find some way to be there for him.
He slowly blinks his eyes open again, gaze resting on the ring around your neck. A faded chuckle escapes his lips when looks at it. The only one who got the wrong idea about his gift was you. But, he supposes that’s his fault; he never did explain it, after all.
“It’s nothing… It’s just that, I’m in—”
But Eren’s startled by a voice that makes him freeze. He almost wants to believe he misheard it, but he can hear the telltale clacking of vintage heels on the floor of the bakery and he knows that he didn’t mishear a thing.
Eren turns his head, and sure enough, there is his mother, in all her five foot glory, adorned in designer clothing from her beret to her shoes. With a fucking street urchin on her arm.
“Well, well, well, what a lovely surprise,” Carla beams, red lipstick perfectly in place even after a long day of wear.
Eren’s eyebrows draw together, as he takes in his mother and her fiancé standing in front of him. He can just barely register you calling out towards her, carefully maneuvering yourself off of his lap, and into the neighboring chair; but still keeping your right hand wrapped around his left. He can feel you squeeze it—whether to give him comfort, or warning, he’s not sure yet; probably both.
“It’s so good to see you!” you beam, excitedly offering her and Mitchell a seat across from the two of you at the table. Eren opens his mouth to refute, but you squeeze his hand again; a warning.
Carla leans forward to encase you in a hug, exchanging cheek kisses, and leaving Eren to stare at the street rat across from him. Mitchell seems to know better than to make eye contact with him, irises scattering from Carla’s back to the décor of the bakery while the two girls catch up.
“We missed you at the rehearsal dinner on Sunday,” Carla recounts, eyes fluttering to Eren’s briefly. One look into her son’s eyes, and she understands why; one look into his mother’s eyes, and Eren knows she has him all figured out. “I was worried you might not show at all.”
Eren strategically averts your gaze when you turn your head towards him, choosing to look at his mother instead.
“I didn’t even know there was a rehearsal dinner,” you tell her, tone polite, but Eren can hear the clear jab directed towards him, “I’m sorry, I—we would have gone, otherwise.”
“No need to apologize, darling,” Carla smiles, “I’m sure you two were very busy.”
“We were,” Eren cuts in, words definite. He sees a hint of surprise flash in his mother’s eyes briefly, expertly covered up with her sweet demeanor. She only nods in understanding, sitting back a bit to wrap her arm around Mitchell’s.
“What are you even doing here, Ma?” Eren questions, even as you do the same with his hands under the table, “Isn’t it bad luck to see the groom before the wedding.”
“After the third or fourth wedding, you grow tired of pleasantries and superstitions, my love,” she replies, “This place makes Mitchell’s favorite macarons, we thought we’d share a few before the big day. Maybe get some tea as a pre-celebration.”
The topic of sweets has you speaking up once again, engaging both his mother and Mitchell in a discussion about them, and your other findings from bakery hopping earlier. If Eren didn’t love you to pieces, he would have left the table a long time ago.
It carries on much longer than he can bear to endure; almost an hour of you, and his mother, and Mitchell making pleasant conversation while he tries his best not to brood beside you, but it’s futile. He feels like a little kid again. Stuck at the dinner table with his mother and a man he was being forced to get to know, only for him to become a stranger to him in a matter of months.
Eren grinds his teeth into each other when you laugh at something Mitchell says. He’s not going to sit through his any longer; or ever again.
“Well, this has been fun,” Eren says, voice blatantly monotonous as his cuts through the conversation, “But we should all probably head back go to bed. Big day tomorrow.”
“Eren, we should—” but, he stands up quickly, hand wrapping around yours to force you upwards too.
He doesn’t care to look at you, knowing the dissatisfied expression he’ll be met with. He fishes for his wallet and pulls out too many Euros, neatly tucking them under an unused knife to pay for the meal.
Eren’s steps out from between his chair and the table. “We’ll see you guys tomorr—” But is stopped before he can take three steps away.
His mother’s hand wrapped around his wrist. She stands, significantly shorter than Eren’s full height. “Actually, Eren, could I borrow you for a bit?”
And he doesn’t want to, because he knows exactly the conversation waiting for him. But he looks down at her, lets his eyes flicker to you, and back to her, and he knows he doesn’t have the heart to walk away. Not even if he tried.
He sighs with a shallow nod. He can feel your hand on his shoulder, the proud smile on your lips when you tell him that you’ll meet him back at your hotel. Mitchell ensures him and Carla that he’ll make sure you get back safely, and Eren still can’t stand the guy, but he’s grateful that he can at least be of use for something.
Eren kisses you on the forehead briefly, a promise to you and himself that he’ll finish his confession later. After all, he probably should come to terms with the woman who taught him what love is before he vowed to love you for the rest of his life.
The walk to his mother’s hotel is silent, Eren choosing to keep to himself, hands stuffed in his pockets to prevent his mom from holding them. He’s probably acting like a child, but isn’t that what he is to her; isn’t that she treats him as.
“Look, Ma, you don’t need my approval to marry him,” Eren grumbles, when they finally exit the elevator into the hotel room, “It doesn’t matter to me.”
“Of course I don’t,” Carla offers him a small grin, even if he won’t look at her directly, “But it matters to me.”
“Why does it matter now? It didn’t matter with Keith, or Henry, or Henri with an I, or any of the others,” Eren mumbles, reluctantly taking a seat on the stool opposite the vanity.
His mother tracks his movements with soft eyes and an amused grin as Eren absentmindedly bends a knee and begins to fiddle with the hem of his pants. Just like he used to when he was upset as a child.
“It mattered then, too, Eren,” she tells him, sitting on the stool and facing him.
He’s surprised by her words, his wide eyes giving him away even if he attempts to act unfazed. “It didn’t seem like it.”
Carla opens her mouth to speak, but closes it, words stuck in her throat. She watches Eren’s hunched figure, her tall son not even bothering to look her in the eyes. She exhales slowly; if he were five feet smaller, he’d have tucked himself under her arm, still refusing to look at her, but he’d have snuggled his head into her side while he pouted anyway.
“I suppose it didn’t,” she admits, “In the end, the love wasn’t enough to make it last, then.”
Eren is quiet for a bit at that, pulling at his pants leg. “And… and you love him enough, now?”
“It’s more than love, Eren. It’s... happiness—for yourself and another person—it’s being okay with somebody knowing you now, and forever. Whichever version of you that is.”
“Then why did you marry them before?” Eren asks, “If you knew it wasn’t enough, if you knew it was just going to end up as another big mistake.”
“Maybe the marriages were a mistake, and some of what came with them, but I don’t think the feelings were,” Carla muses, “Love is never wasted.”
“How can you say that?” Eren questions, disbelief and exasperation painted on his face, “Of course it is—you wasted your time, and your money, and your—your everything on those people who couldn’t care less about you now!”
“Eren—”
“You let them into our house,” Eren speaks over her, “You let them into your life, and they left. They always left—”
“Eren—”
“—And you even let some of them come back! Everyone, you let everyone have another chance, another anniversary, another wedding,” He’s ranting, crying, hot, irrational tears streaming down his face; hiccups interrupting his speech, “So—so, so if it’s not wasted and everyone gets another chance and another chance and another chance—why didn’t he come back, huh? For his?”
Eren’s standing now, arms flailing every which way during his breakdown, but his mother doesn’t try to stop him. She lets him continue, hears him out.
“If it’s love—if it’s not wasted, and it’s real—then why didn’t he come back? Why didn’t he want to? Why—why didn’t he want me? Why did I end up the bastard?”
Eren looks his mother in the eyes for the first time in the duration of their conversation with that final question; with his vision blurry, and chest heaving, and cheeks wet. Carla has no words to say; can only carefully open her arms, and wait for her son to come crashing into them. And he does; and it rains and pours, and Eren holds onto his mother for dear life, and onto the pieces of her breaking heart.
“Am I not good enough to have that kind of love?” Eren asks through tears, “Am I not special enough to want to know?”
“Eren,” she finally speaks, moving to cradle his head in her hands, “You don’t have to be special or good, to be known or loved. It’s enough that you were born. That’s enough to make you deserving of love.”
She doesn’t mind the tears against her palms or the hiccups of Eren’s breathing, “And you already have it.”
And Eren looks at her with eyes wide and wild like a child, staring at the first person to have ever loved someone as messed up, and plain, and ordinary as him; and he can feel more tears bubbling at his eyes.
“Ma, I’m—I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, wrapping his arms around her even tighter, chin resting on her shoulder while his shake through his tears, “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Carla hugs her son as close as she can, like he’s five years old and the apple of her eye and she can take all his pain away. “You don’t have to be. You’re my son, and I’ll love you always.”
It feels like they have all the time in the world like that, to hug and cry and apologize; but Carla hopes Eren knows that he was always forgiven; that he never had anything to apologize for in the first place.
“She loves you, too, baby,” she coos, holding Eren as tight as possible, “But you have to let her know that. That you accept it.”
“Do you think she knows?” Eren asks, words muffled into the fabric of her clothing, “That I love her, too?”
“I do,” Carla confirms, pulling away to look at Eren in the eyes; his beautiful, shining, green eyes, “But I don’t think that either of you really realized it. I mean, you did give her an engagement ring, darling.”
Eren huffs at the memory, “She thought it was a gift.”
“Because you gave it to her as a gift.”
“I thought it was pretty obvious.”
“Love has a way of making people blind,” Carla muses, “Especially two lovesick semi-adults with too much money on their hands.”
Eren’s cheeks grow pink at the accusation, “It’s your money!”
“Yes, and I’m very happy to have it,” Carla chuckles, motioning for Eren to stand up. He does, and she looks up at him with glimmering, proud eyes. “Now, go, shoo. You have a girl to propose to, don’t you? There might be two Jaeger weddings this weekend.”
Eren nods, certain of himself for the first time in a while. He turns on his heel with a vigor igniting his footsteps, but pauses when he reaches the elevator. He makes a sharp turn, running back to his mom one last time, and squeezing her suddenly, and tightly against him.
“I love you, mom,” he says; the words too foreign on his tongue, and he vows to not let them be a stranger to his vocabulary from here on out.
“I love, you, too, Eren,” Carla calmly wraps her arms around her son one last time, “And I always will.”
You half-expected your walk back to your hotel with Mitchell to be painfully awkward, but he proves to be a pleasant conversationalist, even in Carla’s absence.
You know that Eren isn’t fond of him, but you wish that he would at least give him a chance. There’s no way to know if a marriage—if any relationship—will last forever, but, sometimes, you think it’s not about knowing about forever; but, rather about wanting it to make it there; about willing to go the distance with that person.
You can see that want, that willingness that works alongside love in Mitchell and Carla’s relationship, that stands out from her past marriages. You get the feeling they’re going to last; and that, most importantly, they both want it to, too.
It’s quiet out as you both walk the streets of Paris, Mitchell taking the time to point out small notes in architecture that interest you. You readjust your jacket as a gust of wind washes over you, careful to make sure your necklace doesn’t snag against your clothing.
“That’s a beautiful ring,” he calls to you gently.
“Thank you,” Surprised, you quickly let out an embarrassed cough, looking down to your left hand resting atop the uppermost button on your coat. “It was a gift.”
“I meant that one,” Mitchell corrects, carefully gesturing to his own neck to indicate that he was talking about the ring on your necklace, and not the one on your finger.
“Oh, thank you,” you repeat, “That one was actually a gift, too.”
The older man hums, continuing your walk to your hotel. “Must have been one hell of a gift. I don’t know many people who give out engagement rings as presents.”
“Oh, no, no, no, it wasn’t—it’s not an engagement ring,” you tell him, feeling a warmth creep up your cheeks even in the chilly atmosphere of the night, “Eren gave it to me, actually, a few years ago—it was a Christmas gift.”
“Eren, huh?” Mitchell smiles fondly, “That makes sense. Carla tells me how much he cares about you.”
“You—she does?” you stutter. Mitchell nods. “I—I mean, I care about him, too.”
“Enough to accept an engagement ring from him, it seems,” Mitchell taunts, “I’m no specialist, but I know a Harry Winston piece when I see it. They’re not cheap.”
“Trust me, I know,” you scoff, “I almost killed him when I saw how much he spent on it.”
“And you took it, anyway?”
“Well, he—he was supposed to return it,” you defend yourself, “Because I didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea! But he just, well, he gave me the other one instead, so I wear that one on my hand.”
Mitchell pauses, just as you both stand to the entrance of your hotel. “And what was the wrong idea you didn’t want people getting.”
“That... that...,” you pause, thinking back to that Christmas day.
Even though Eren is known for spending ludacris amounts of money, the ring came as a genuine surprise to you. A couple thousand on shoes, sure—you’re victim to that yourself; a couple hundred thousand on a lavish vacation wasn’t out of the ordinary, either; but a million, maybe even more, on a ring that you could have only ever asked of him in your dreams was another thing completely.
And, sure, even a few million didn’t mean much to you or Eren at the end of the day, but it wasn’t just the price; it was the object of the money, too. To accept a house, or a car, or a jet for that amount is something you could rationalize; but a ring seemed foreign, and far out of your league.
Then there was the display and value it held beyond money. It’s beautiful, gorgeous, but more than that, it’s tailored to your exact liking. The synthesis of your aesthetic and everything you could ask for, garnished with the memory of Eren in the very design; the diamonds you love, the flowers that remind him of you, and the way they stems wrap around each other and the petals meet in the middle.
A small gasp leaves your lips and instinctively, you reach to clutch the ring in your hold. There was no way this was an engagement ring... Eren hadn’t proposed to you when he gave it to you—in fact, he was so casual about it, that it had you stunned that he hadn’t thought to consider that other people might think it meant something more than what he intended it to be.
But, looking back, it seems like you’re the only one who didn’t understand what was going on. Because Eren told you, even then, that he’d wanted you forever; you didn’t know how to hear him. It was all right there—not just in the ring, but in all his gifts, in the entirety of your friendship.
Eren loves you, more than you could ever know.
“It’s an engagement ring,” you say aloud, but more to yourself than to Mitchell, “Oh my god, it’s an engagement ring.”
Mitchell can’t do anything but smile at your revelation. You’re practically bouncing off the walls, connecting the puzzle pieces of your relationship in the middle of the street at damn near midnight, but you don’t care; because it finally feels right, and it finally, finally all makes sense.
“He, but he never pro—oh my fucking god, I’m going to kill him.”
You feel elated and confused and happy and murderous all at once. Eren wanted to marry you; Eren loved you. He wants you for the rest of his life, and you’ve been too blind to see it this entire time.
Still, you think that maybe a verbal proposal might have helped to open your eyes a bit.
“Mitchell, I have to—”
You’re cut off by the echo of your name coming from the opposite end of the street, and you can just barely make out of Eren’s figure in the faded lights of the street lamps. His name falls from your lips like a whisper, and you hardly register Mitchell’s amused, soft laughter from beside you.
“I think that’s my cue,” he says, patting you on the shoulder, “I better get back to Carla. Something tells me you two have a bit to talk about.”
You can barely nod at him, eye still wide and stunned, but a smile on your face even in your fearful anticipation. You don’t have time to thank him before he turns away, bidding you goodnight; and then you have something else to focus on, as Eren’s footsteps grow louder, and his silhouette grows sharper the closer he gets to you.
He practically crashes into you, chest heaving, hair wind-swept and wild from his running. He puts his hands on your shoulders, to steady himself physically and mentally, labored breaths ghosting over the top of your head.
“Hi,” he finally squeaks; and that stupid, big, dopey grin is on his face.
It’s ridiculous, so utterly ridiculous that you can’t help but greet him back. The two of you stand there, smiling like fools for god knows how long, before the realization strikes you for a second time.
Eren opens his mouth to finally speak, but a pained squeal leaves his lips instead as he feels the back of your hand slap his chest. “Ouch—hey, what was that for!”
“What the hell do you think you were doing proposing to me without telling me?” you screech, packing another punch to his chest for good measure, but it’s a poor barrier and does nothing to stop your tears from falling, “You’re an idiot, I should kill you for this, you know that, Eren Jaeger?”
Eren laughs softly, only to be heard by you in close proximity. He takes your offending hand in his, and reaches for your other, pulling both of them between your bodies. He can feel tears welling in his own eyes, as he looks down at the necklace, glimmering perfectly under the moonlight.
“In my defense, the first thing you told me to do when I gave it to you was to return it.”
“I might not have said that if you told me what it meant,” you can hardly choke out a laugh through your tears; and Eren can’t stop his from falling either, “It’s insane, you know. This whole thing—to ask me to marry you at 19. For me to not realize until we’re 21.”
“I know,” Eren agrees, inching closer even though there’s barely any room between you, “I know. But I know I love you, every version of you. I always have, I always will.”
You close your eyes as Eren’s hands move to your face, gingerly sweeping your tears away from your cheeks. He feels too close, it feels like too much; but you don’t want him to move.
“You know... if you had asked me, then,” you start, blinking your eyes open with a sniffle; you’re met with Eren’s emerald greens one with far too much hope and love glimmering in them, “I—I don’t even know what I would have said.”
“And if I asked you now?”
You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, slowly raising your hands to wrap around Eren’s wrist, and lower them to your neck, before looking at him again, “Ask me.”
Eren blinks, carefully trailing his hands up and around your neck, nimble fingers undoing the clasp of your necklace. He hardly lets the chain pool into his hand before it’s tossed aside, and the ring is still between his thumbs and index fingers as he lowers himself on to one knee.
“You are the love of my life, and there’s not a single version of life—a single version of you, or me—where I don’t want to be with you forever,” Eren says, “And you know how shit I am with my words, but I fucking mean it. I swear to you, that I’ll do my best every day to show you how much you mean to me; marry me, and I’ll prove it to you, I swear, I will.”
Your lips are wobbling at Eren’s confession below you, and you can just barely beckon him upwards in your state. He’s hardly back on two feet before you’re pulling him against you, ghosting the word “yes” on his lips before you kiss him.
You both melt into the kiss, Eren’s hands skillfully cupping your cheeks, while he keeps the ring in his hold and bruises your lips together.
“You don’t have to prove it to me, Eren,” you assure him, hand shaking when you pull apart and let him slip the ring onto your finger—where it belongs, “You already have.”
For his first birthday as a married man, Eren requested something intimate. He wanted just a small celebration with all of your mutual friends, some good food, alcohol, and lots of fun.
Supposedly simple and intimate for him entailed renting out the top floor of the Whitney, which was currently encasing an exhibit portraying some kind of abstract modern art that allowed for a very drunk Eren and Armin have to entertain themselves by trying their best to recreate the paintings using very flawed couples aerial yoga.
The art, paired with the dimmed lighting, Jean’s choice selection of overtly sexual music, and Eren’s pick of overpriced champagne also meant that Marco, Bertholdt, Connie, and Sasha found everything ten times funnier than they were—which meant they were a million times louder than usual.
Jean stands next to you by the bar, watching as Eren attempts to hold Armin above his head by holding on to just his waist. They’re unsuccessful, of course, resulting in both boys toppling onto the ground as the majority of their older friends laugh along.
“Lucky me, I get to take him home at the end of the night,” you drawl, turning to the bartender to order another drink.
She smiles, easily preparing your martini and sliding it you with an inquiry. “That’s your boyfriend? The tall one with the brown hair?”
“No,” you sigh, eyes closed for a moment before taking the glass between your fingers. “That’s my husband, unfortunately.”
× even more notes: this fic. is my baby. it’s been a draft of mine for over two years at this point. it’s gone through various fandoms but i’ve never quite been able to complete and post it, so i’m very happy that it’s finally here! i hope you all enjoyed, and i just wanted to say that i’m glad to finally have been able to share this with you all!
#attack on titan#aot x reader#snk x reader#eren x reader#aot imagines#snk imagines#eren smut#eren fluff#levi x reader#I DONT WANNA TALK ABOUT IT
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Crashed Dates (Day 2: Scarecrow)
Marinette grins at her boyfriend, swinging their intertwined hands back and forth as they walk around the pumpkin farm. It was so nice, finally being able to go on cute dates like this. They’d first started dating while he was in Paris on business, around a year ago. Sure, he’d made trips to Paris and she’d made a few to Metropolis, but it was different now that she had moved to Gotham. Now they were able to go on random, unplanned dates, instead of dates that had been planned for weeks. He was definitely worried when she first told him she was moving to Gotham, but she had reassured him that it would be fine. (Not that she had a choice in the matter, Tikki had informed her on her last trip to Metropolis that Gotham was sick, that it was calling out for help and that as the Guardian, it was her job to help it). Gotham was….interesting, but she’d settled in just fine in the two weeks she’d been there.
And so, when he had called her out of the blue to tell her he found a place he thought she’d love, she made sure she had enough layers and jumped at the chance for a day with him. So far, the day had been absolutely perfect. They’d drank hot apple cider, ate warm donuts, taken a trip around the farm on the hayride- everything was great. But for some reason, her amazingly stubborn boyfriend didn’t want to go into the corn maze.
“Please! You’ll be my favorite person in the whole world.” She begs again, her grin quickly switching into a pout. She keeps pouting, leaning against his arm, until he sighs.
“Fine, we can do the maze.” He says and she cheers, standing on her toes and tugging him down slightly to give him a quick kiss.
“You are the best!” She says, over enunciating every word. He just grins, giving her another soft kiss.
“If we get lost, I’m calling the Demon Spawn to come get us out. Pretty sure he has a tracker on my phone.” Jason says, letting her tug him along towards the maze. She just rolls her eyes, grinning.
“You know you’re secretly touched that he cares enough to track you.” She teases as they near the entrance of the maze.
“Yeah, yeah.” He grumbles, glaring at the scarecrow situated at the entrance of the maze. Marinette raises an eyebrow.
“You have a problem with men made of straw?” She asks, legitimately confused by his reaction.
“Geeze M, I knew you were new to Gotham but I forget how new.” He says, pulling her closer. She melts into him, still confused by his reaction, but happy to be close. As they walk through the maze, frustratingly running into deadends, Jason explains Scarecrow. Marinette decides that he’s number two on the list of villains she never wants to meet. Joker is number one. (Joker is also number one on the list of villains she wants to meet, but that’s because she’s always wondered what it would look like to cataclysm a psychotic clown). She’s just about to suggest they call Damian and utilize the tracker that was, undoubtedly on Jason’s phone, when the screaming begins.
“There isn’t a haunted house here, is there.” Marinette says, her face pale. She wasn’t ready to be a hero again. She’d only defeated Hawkmoth a year ago. Just before meeting Jason. She didn’t want that part of her life again, not now.
“No, no there’s not.” Jason says, eyes glancing around wildly. Marinette’s heart breaks at the panic on his face. She knew that, despite his tough guy appearance, he struggled. A lot. He had nightmares, constantly, mostly of the time Joker had kidnapped him (hence the whole, cataclysm Joker thing). Pushing down her own fear and doubt, she tightens her grip on his hand and squares her shoulders.
“Come on.” She instructs, tugging him behind her as she darts through the maze, determined to get out. She stumbles over a rock and lets go of Jason’s hand in time for her to fall into a larger clearing. She curses as she falls, her palms stinging.
“What have we here?” A voice says. Marinette sits up, staring up at a man in a scarecrow costume and suddenly, Jason’s fear, or rather, dislike, of scarecrows makes more sense. So much more sense. She glances around and lets out a sigh of relief. She’d let go of Jason quick enough. He wasn’t caught up in this. Hopefully, he could call his father. She wasn’t sure if the rumors about Bruce Wayne and Batman dating were true, but Batman was always quick to interfere if it was a Wayne or Wayne adjacent involved.
“A girl who’s a little pissed that you crashed her date.” She retorts, standing up and brushing her stinging palms off on her jeans. She’d have to get the blood out later, which would be a pain. Better than having the blood on her palms mix with the dirt that also now covered her hands.
“You’re either very brave or very stupid, little girl. Let’s see how you deal with my newest strain of fear toxin.” He says, and she lunges towards the man, not willing to go down without a fight. Almost immediately, a sharp pinch on her neck has her stumbling back away from the man as she tries to take in her new surroundings.
She was back in Paris, but it wasn’t the Paris she had left. The city that was healing. Instead this Paris was underwater. Buildings were toppled over, and the moon was in pieces in the sky. She was back there. A place she hadn’t seen in person since she was fourteen, a place that had haunted her nightmares for ten years. She inhales sharply when she sees him. Chat Blanc. But instead of fear, she’s just angry. This isn’t real. It can’t be. Adrien Agreste was Chat Noir. And Adrien was….turning, she realizes that she can almost see him. Out of the corner of her eye, she can almost see Scarecrow, watching her. Waiting for her to react. Anger coursing through her, she charges the man, tackling him all the way to the ground. She pulls back her fist and punches him, repeatedly.
“How dare you! How dare you use his face like that! You son of a bitch!” She screams as she hits, the roaring in her ears blocking out all other sounds. She keeps her focus on feeling the man she’s hitting, because the second she lets her focus wander, she gets sucked into her surroundings again. The way the sky just looks wrong. The odd haze over everything. And now, the corpses floating in the water closest to her. Adrien. Maman. Papa. She’s not scared, she’s pissed. Sure, those were her biggest fears and that’s definitely why she was seeing them all like that, but she’d already seen it. She’s lived it. They were gone, not coming back. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to fall down and break about it. Not when some asshole with fear toxin was running around randomly injecting people. Suddenly, something is wrapped around her and she’s pulled up. She kicks frantically, trying to get out of the steel grip she’s trapped in. She had to- what did she have to do? Another sharp pinch in her neck makes her eyes droop sleepily. She struggles again, barely able to hear the voice calling her name as she succumbs to the darkness.
---
Jason Todd feels like a major prick. He watched his girlfriend trip and instead of helping her up, he uses it as a distraction to try and call B. How the fuck was he supposed to know she tripped right into the Scarecrow? He’s cursing himself mentally as he rushes towards the ambulance. Replacement had texted him.
Marinette was injected. At ambulances near front of farm
And Jason felt like shit. She’d never forgive him, not that he deserved it. He’d left her with one of Gotham’s biggest villains. His heart sinks when he sees the blood on her, and the oxygen mask attached to her face. Fuck. He’s almost to her, when one of the asshole cops stops him.
“Excuse me, sir, you can’t go over there.” He says and Jason scowls.
“Like hell I can’t. She’s my girlfriend, let me through.” He says, and the man shakes his head.
“Family only.” He states. Jason’s about to argue, when a hand lands on his shoulder.
“I still need to get a statement from Mr. Todd, if you’ll excuse us.” Replacement says, leading him away from the cop.
“I left her.” He says, the second they’re far enough away. Tim frowns.
“What do you-”
“I mean, I left her. She tripped and instead of checking on her, I was a complete and total asshole and left her so I could call B to get his ass over here and solve the goddamn problem.” Jason says, feeling like even more of an asshole now that he’s said it out loud.
“Did you see Scarecrow?” Replacement asks. Jason scoffs.
“Of course not! You really think I would’ve left if I had?” He asks with a glare.
“No, I don’t. So stop blaming yourself. I literally peeled her off of Scarecrow, she was beating the crap out of him. She’s gonna be tired and scared and confused when she wakes up. Just be there-”
“Jason!” Her terrified voice echoes out and Jason turns, sprinting for the cot he’d seen her on a minute ago. She had ripped the oxygen mask off her face and was looking around while arguing with the paramedic.
“Ma’am please-”
“Marinette!” Jason calls, and her face relaxes as she leaps off the cot and launches herself into his arms. He holds her as she shakes, sobs wracking her body.
“I saw them.” She mumbles once she calms down a little. He frowns.
“Saw who?” He asks.
“My parents. Adrien. Their bodies.” She says, and suddenly, Jason has another name to add to his kill list. Being a complete asshole to all of Gotham, sure. Making his girlfriend see the bodies of those she’d lost? Nope. Now the bastard better hope he didn’t meet Red Hood in an alley.
“God, Mari, I am so sorry. I’m so sorry I left.” He apologizes, his heart aching when she pushes him away. She frowns up at him and he winces, certain she’s about to break up with him.
“Left?” She asks and he nods.
“When you tripped, I swear, I didn’t know Scarecrow was there.” He says.
“But you got Batman here.” She says and he jerks back. How the hell had she figured it out? When did she- “I know Bruce said he isn’t dating Batman, but honestly, I think he’s just in denial.” She adds.
“I- what?”
“Batman always comes when anyone in the Wayne family is in danger. Like, so quickly. And I know that Bruce says it’s just a bunch of rumors, like the whole ‘the butts match’ thing? But I also think that Batman is head over heels for Bruce, and your dad is just kinda clueless.” She rambles. Jason just laughs before pulling her into a deep kiss. She was okay. They were okay. He pulls back and grins at her, until he notices the blood again.
“Shit, that’s a lot of blood.” He says, taking her hand in his to try and find the source. He glances at her face and raises an eyebrow at the blush that had taken over her face.
“Oh, um, it’s not mine.” She mumbles.
“Then who-”
“Apparently I beat the hell out of Scarecrow. In my defense, that fear toxin sucked. And I was kinda pissed.” She says, frowning down at the blood on her hands. Jason takes one of his hands and gently tilts her chin up so that she’s looking at him again. He grins at her, giving her a short, soft kiss before pulling back.
“I love you.” He says, and if the kiss she gave him in return meant anything, she felt the same way.
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#maribat#maribat fanfiction#maribathalloween21#maribat jason todd#jasonette#maribat marinette dupain cheng#marinette ships bruce and batman#i dont make the rules#major character death#mentioned character death#maribat oneshot
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Happy Birthday・Epel
Card: Birthday Attire - SSR
Characters: Epel & Yuu. Mentioned: Vil, Leona
Chapter 1
—POMEFIORE DORM - BIRTHDAY PARTY VENUE—
NRC Campus News
Interview with the Birthday Student
~Epel ver.~
Yuu: Happy birthday!
Epel: Thank you. I feel a little embarrassed... I’ll get people coming up and wishing me a happy birthday just by walking through the halls.
Did your family do anything to celebrate?
Epel: Yeah, they sent a letter and a bunch of apples.
My family lives on an apple farm that’s been around for generations. We grow all kinds of varieties all year round, so they send me some this time of year too.
But there were way too many for one person to eat, so I’ve been handing them out to people I know around the school...
I passed them out to all my classmates and the magift club, but I’ve still got some left over.
Please let me know if you know of anybody who might want to take a few.
Could you tell us about your family next?
Epel: Mawmaw and Pawpaw—er, I mean! There’s my mother and father, my grandfather, grandmother...
My great-grandma, my uncle and his wife and son. We all live together.
All of us work on the farm. But it’s so huge that we’re still kind of short on hands.
Since the neighborhood’s made up of farmers, everyone helps each other out during the busy season.
We all feel really close because of that, like we’re one big family.
We have a thank-you party for everyone after the busiest harvest season of the year. Everyone brings their harvests, or small dishes...
It’s huge celebration, almost like a festival! Gee, there ain’t nothin’ as fun as—ah! I mean, it’s a lot of fun... I think?
Is it difficult to harvest the apples?
Epel: The apple trees on my family’s farm are really tall, so I guess it is... maybe. It’s real tiring going up and down the ladder.
But not when you use magic. You can hop a broom and fly from tree to tree, which makes picking them really easy.
My grandma and great-grandma can use magic, so they’ve always been the ones in charge of the high-up places.
When I was little, I really wanted to help the two of them, so everyday I got on a broom and jumped up and down...
Then one day, I really flew!
Ever since then the three of us have been doing any harvesting you need to fly for.
Chapter 2
—POMEFIORE DORM - BIRTHDAY PARTY VENUE—
What’s your favorite food?
Epel: BBQ! It’s so darn divine! Gets my mouth waterin’, it’s that good!
Back home we’d round up my family ‘n the neighborhood folk, all the parents, ‘n kids ‘n do a whole lotta barbecues, all of us.
We’d all sink our teeth into the chunks o’ meat we grilled over the charcoal.
There ain’t nothin’ better than wolfin’ ‘em down like that!
Also ‘cause our vegetables are fresh that day, grillin’ them is enough to get ‘em nice and sweet.
So they’re real delicious without needin’ to add anythin’ to ‘em!
I can tell you really love it.
Epel: Ah...! B-But, actually, I love macarons the most...
What do you like about macarons?
Epel: Th-They’re cute, you know? And sweet, and they have all kinds of flavors...
...They’re not really filling, though.
What else do you like besides food?
Epel: Magical wheels... maybe.
They look mighty, and their movements are powerful too. And yet they can make such swift turns...
When I was little, I thought “Those look so cool!” and dreamt about getting one.
Sometimes the people who own one in my neighborhood let me ride on theirs.
The first time I got to go on one, it left me so excited I couldn’t sleep that night.
Ahh... Someday I want to have one of my own.
Chapter 3
—POMEFIORE DORM - BIRTHDAY PARTY VENUE—
What club are you in?
Epel: The magical shift club. It’s so much fun!
It’s exciting going up against players bigger than me, and there’s nothing more motivating than scoring a goal!
But I really sucked when I first joined, and I’d get hurt any time I tried going in for the disc...
Vil-san would give me an earful for “not taking care of myself” whenever I’d scratch up my nose or cheeks.
Since I was always getting scolded, I stopped going after the disc head-on and instead practised a style where I make surprise attacks on my opponents.
And just the other day, I managed to nicely dodge a player that was trying to stop me...! I was so proud of myself~!
On top of that, Leona-san told me that I could play in our next game!
I don’t get hurt or get scolded by Vil-san as much anymore, so I think I’ve improved a lot since I first joined!
Be careful about getting hurt, okay?
Epel: Thank you, but I’ll be fine. Nobody’s got more guts than me!
I’ve been teased my whole life for seeming “weak” just because of how I look...
But I kept going up against students older and stronger than me without ever giving up... and finally, I turned the tables on every single one of them!
Soon I started getting called “The Poisoned Apple of the Felmier Family” around the school.
It means “despite how he looks, he’s fearsome and persistent.” Ahaha.
Thank you for sharing all of this with us.
Once again, happy birthday!
#every time I tl epel's dialect I //looks away#twisted wonderland#epel felmier#personal story#birthday attire
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The Proposal ~ T.H
chapter two: the trip
series masterlist
“Good morning, miss.” Tom greeted when you walked into your shared office. “The updated manuscript is on your desk with new tabs. And I have your matcha right here. I already tested it to make sure they put soy milk and not regular.”
“Thank you, assistant.” You smiled tightly as you took the cup from him. “Are you ready to go to city hall this weekend? I want to get this over with as soon as possible.”
“About that.” Tom grimaced. “There’s been a small hiccup.”
“Hiccup?” You said, unamused.
“Small.” He pinched his fingers together. “More like a gurgle, really.”
“What is it?”
“I was going to go home for the week, remember?” He reminded you. “You approved my time off?”
“Damn it. Why would I do that?” You sighed. “Does it have to be this week?”
“It’s my little brothers birthday and I promised him I’d be there. I’m sorry.” Tom apologized. “Can we do it next week?”
“I don’t have until next week.” You whined. “We have a meeting with an IRCC agent next Monday and we need to be convincingly married by then.”
“I’m sorry.” He repeated. “But it’s his 16th birthday and I never get to see him.”
“Where are you from?” You asked him.
“Kingston, miss.”
“That’s an hour away from here.” You furrowed your eyebrows. “Can’t you just drive there and drive back after the party?”
“He and I have a tradition where we stay up the night before his birthday and watch movies. You know, so we don’t miss a second of his birthday.” Tom explained shyly. “I’d have to be there overnight. And my family is expecting me for the whole week. It’ll break their hearts if I leave after the party.”
“Tom.” You sighed and rubbed your temples. “We need to be studying facts about each other so the agent doesn’t think we’re committing fraud. How are we supposed to do that of you’re gone?”
Tom smiled a little as you called him but his first name, a rarity for you. He could feel the power dynamic between you shifting and he wanted to see how much he could push it.
“Why don’t you come with me?” He suggested. “You can meet my family and we can spend the week together. That should be enough time to build a semi-convincing relationship, right? I mean, it’s not like we’re strangers. We spend 9 hours a day together.”
“As colleagues.” You pointed out. “I hardly know anything about you.”
“I’ll teach you everything you need to know this week. And you can teach me all about you.” He offered. “You can tell me all the things you like to do when you’re not sending your flying monkies after little girls and their dogs.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather sit on a cactus than spend the week with you and your family.” You smiled tightly.
“Fine then.” Tom shrugged. “Enjoy Canada.”
“Wait.” You held up a hand. “I’ll go. We need to learn about each other if we’re gonna make this work.”
“Okay.” Tom smiled a little. “Great.”
“Stop smiling.” You snapped. “And no more witch jokes.”
“Sorry, miss.” Tom obliged. “It won’t happen again.”
You looked at him for a moment before scribbling something down on your business card. He heard the click of your high heels coming over to his desk, making his heart rate jump.
“Pick me up at this address tomorrow at 1.” You said as you handed him the card. “Don’t be late.”
“Yes, miss.” He blushed a little as he rubbed his thumb over your address. It took two years, but he finally knew a little about you.
Tom parked outside your house the next afternoon at 12:45 pm and waited patiently. He knew you well enough to know that being punctual meant being early. You came out of your house with your luggage in hand and a large black hat on your head. He smirked a little at the sight of you in something other than work clothes. He quickly got out of the drivers seat and opened the car door for you.
“Good afternoon.” He said as he put your bags in the back seat. “You look lovely today.”
“Don’t compliment me.”
“Sorry, miss.” He said as he got back into the drivers seat.
“Your car smells like laundry detergent”. You sighed and touched up your lipstick in his mirror.
“Sorry.” He said again.
“You don’t have to keep apologizing.” You told him. “Just drive.”
Tom nodded and took off, heading in the direction of Kingston. He snuck glances at you every now and then, unsure of how to act around you in a non work setting. You seemed content with sitting quietly for the next hour, but he didn’t want to do that.
“I can’t wait to see my family.” Tom sparked up a conversation. “I think you’ll really like them. And they’ll like you.”
“Doubt it. When was the last time you saw them?”
“A little over two years now.” He told you. You shifted in your seat to look at him in confusion.
“Really?” You asked. “If you only live an hour away, how come you never see them?”
“You keep me pretty busy.” He said sheepishly. Your jaw dropped a little, but you quickly shut it.
“Oh.” You said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.” Tom shrugged. “I love the job. It’s hard work, but it’s worth it.”
“I know. I love it too.” You smiled a little. “You can imagine why I’m fighting so hard to keep this job. I can’t go back to Canada.”
“Canada can’t be that bad, can it?” He asked.
“Nothings wrong with Canada.” You told him. “I’d just be alone if I went back.”
“Isn’t your family there?”
You got quietly suddenly and stared out his car window. Tom looked at you nervously, hoping he hadn’t touched a nerve.
“I don’t really have any family.” You said after a minute. “My parents had a nasty divorce before I was born so my dads side cut me and my mom off. I’ve never met them.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Tom looked at your sympathetically. “That must have been really difficult for you.”
“Yeah.” You avoided eye contact. “It was.”
“You know.” Tom began. “That was the first personal thing you’ve ever told me.”
“If you tell anyone, I’ll have you fired.” You said flatly.
“Oh, will you?” He humored you. “From Canada?”
“Shut up.” You laughed a little, but quickly stopped.
“Yes, miss.” He obliged and shut his mouth.
“You don’t have to keeping calling me “miss”. You can call me Y/n.” You rolled your eyes before looking at him.
“Does that mean you’ll stop calling me “assistant”?” He asked with a smile.
“That’s your name.” You insisted, and he let out a laugh. You smiled a little to yourself, realizing you had never heard him laugh before.
“Was that a joke?” He asked. “Are you capable of things other than commands?”
“I’m not all business.” You shrugged. “I can be funny when I want to be.”
“I can see that.” Tom grinned. “Still, you should start calling me Tom. I am your fiancé, after all.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t flatter yourself.” You waved him off. “This is strictly a business deal. And you are so not my type.”
“Oh yeah?” He raised his eyebrows. “Then what is your type?”
“I like a man in power.” You stated. “And you’re just an assistant.”
“Not for long.” He reminded you. “As soon as you’re Mrs. Holland, I’m Mr. Editor-at-a-big-shot-publishing-company.”
“Hmm.” You hummed. “Call me then and we’ll see.”
Tom looked at you and smiled, and you unexpectedly smiled back. You quickly stopped smiling, not wanting him to think he’d broken your walls down.
“You know, I always had a little crush on you.” Tom admitted when he returned his eyes to the road.
“It’s a big crush and I’ve known since your first day.” You said simply.
“What?” He laughed. “How’d you know?”
“Please.” You rolled your eyes. “Changing your coffee order to match mine? I’ve had you whipped since the first time I asked you to print something.”
“I couldn’t help it.” He said shyly. “You’re so bossy and mean. It’s enticing.”
“Yeah.” You laughed uneasily. “Not many people think that.”
“Come on.” He scoffed. “You’re in charge of every room you walk in. You must have men falling at your feet.”
“I do.” You agreed. “But then I let them get too close and I scare them away.”
You sucked in a sharp breath suddenly and looked out the window, feeling like you said too much.
“What’s wrong?” Tom asked when he noticed you getting quiet.
“I don’t know why I said that.” You admitted. “I don’t really like to open up.”
“It’s okay.” He shrugged. “You can open up to me.”
“No.” You shook your head.
“No?”
“Keep your eyes on the road.” You changed the subject. “And fix your hands. Both of them need to be on the steering wheel.”
“Yes miss.” He nodded and put his other hand back on the wheel. “I mean, Y/n.”
“Good boy.” You murmured as you looked at him out of the corner of your eye. “That’s better.”
“We should be there pretty soon.” Tom changed the subject. “I should warn you about my mum. She’s a hugger. She’s gonna squeeze you real tight. Like, make you turn purple kinda tight.”
“Yeah, no.” You scrunched your nose. “I don’t do hugs.”
“You’re gonna have to if you want to be my wife.” Tom shrugged.
“I don’t want to be your wife.” You told him. “I just don’t want to be deported.”
“Ah.” Tom smiled. “Modern romance.”
“What else do I need to be prepared for?” You asked him. “I don’t like surprises.”
“My dad will try to make you laugh. And he won’t stop until he does.” Tom began. “Harry and Sam are my twins brothers. They’re gonna have a lot of questions for us. They’re always up my ass about my love life.”
“I thought you just had the one brother? The one turning 16.”
“No. I’m the oldest of four.” Tom told you. “Paddy’s the youngest. He’s the one turning 16.”
“Wow.” You blinked. “That’s a big family.”
“Yeah. They’re a lot to handle at first but they’re all really good people.”
“Okay.” You nodded. “Good to know.”
“Looks like we’re here.” Tom said as he turned a corner and pulled into a driveway. You gulped anxiously and looked around, pleasantly surprised with how nice his childhood home looked. Tom parked and quickly got out of his seat so he could open your door. He got your bags from the backseat and carried them inside.
You stood awkwardly at his side and looked around his living room. Suddenly, a dog ran into the room and jumped on Tom.
“Whats that?” You backed away in fear.
“Thats Tessa.” Tom smiled happily and bent down to pet the dog. “Hi, princess. Did you miss me?”
“You didn’t tell me you had a dog.” You kicked his side lightly.
“I must’ve forgotten to mention her.” He looked up at you as Tessa licked his face. “Hi, pretty girl. Did you miss me? Did you miss daddy?”
“No.” You gulped and backed away even further. “I hate dogs. I can’t be here.”
“What?” Tom asked. “How can you hate dogs?”
“They stink and slobber all over you.” You whined as Tessa began to sniff your leg. “Oh my God, get it away.”
“She likes you.” Tom grinned. “Let her sniff you. It’s how she says hello.”
“Her nose is wet.” You gagged.
“Well, she is a dog.”
“I’m gonna vomit.” You gagged again. “Oh God. Assistant, get me a bucket.”
“Tom? Is that you?”
You looked around for the unfamiliar voice just as a kind looking woman came into the room.
“Hi mum.” Tom got up and went to hug his mom. “Good to see you.”
“Oh, Tom.” She broke into a smile and hugged him back. “I’ve missed you so much. You need to come home more.”
“I know. I will.” Tom said as he pulled away. “Where’s dad?”
“Hes outside with the boys.” She told him. You couldn’t help but smile at sight in front of you, feeling a sense of longing for a hug as well.
“Who’s this?” His mom asked as her eyes shifted to you.
“This is Y/n. My girlfriend.” Tom said as he took your hand and pulled you closer.
“I thought Y/n was your boss?” She looked at Tom curiously.
“I am.” You spoke up. “But after sharing an office with him for two years, I couldn’t help but fall for him.”
“Ah! That’s wonderful. Come here.” His mom beamed and pulled you into a tight hug. You looked at Tom over her shoulder as she squeezed the air out of you.
“Sorry.” He mouthed with a smile.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Y/n.” She said once she pulled away. “Look at you. So beautiful.”
“Thank you, Mrs...” You trailed off as you once against forgot Toms last name. You looked at him for help and he mouthed the answer.
“Holland.” You read his lips. “Your home is beautiful, by the way. Thank you for having me.”
“Of course.” She cupped your face. “It’s so nice to have you here. What a lovely surprise.”
You smiled and leaned into his moms hand, missing the warmth of a mother’s touch. His mom let go of you after a minute and turned her attention back to Tom.
“I set up your old room for you.” She told him. “Why don’t you put your bags down and meet us outside?”
“Sure. Thanks, mum.” Tom kissed her cheek before grabbing your bags. This time, you helped him with the bags and picked your own up.
“Thank you, Mrs. Holland.” You said before leaving the room.
“You can call me Nikki.” She told you and pinched your cheek again. “I’ll see you two in a minute.”
You turned to follow Tom to his room, but caught him staring at you with a smile.
“What?” You asked.
“Nothing.” He chuckled. “You’re nice when you want to be.”
“Shut up.” You scoffed, returning to your usual bossy behavior. “My feet hurt. Where’s your room?”
“Right this way.” He nodded towards the hallway and you followed him. You didn’t give his room a second glance as you dropped your bags on his floor and got ready to leave.
“Let’s go.” You commanded. “Your mom is expecting us outside. And remember, we have to act like we’re in love.”
“I know.” Tom said quietly, feeling unexpectedly eager to act like your boyfriend.
“It’ll be easy for you, since you already kiss my ass so much.” You tried to joke. “But I’ll probably have a hard time since I don’t care about you at all.”
“Love you too, honey.” He smiled and took your hand. You let him tug you to his backyard, where the rest of his family was seated. You stood back and let Tom greet each member of his family with a hug and a kiss, feeling a weird sense of jealously. You didn’t really think of Tom outside the office, so it was strange to see him as someone’s son.
“Everyone, this is my girlfriend, Y/n.” Tom suddenly gestured to you. “She’ll be staying with us this week.”
“Hello everyone”. You waved awkwardly. It was the first time in your life you didn’t feel in control of a room. “Thank you for having me.”
“These are my brothers, Harry, Sam, and Paddy.” Tom gestured to three similar looking boys on the couch.
“Hello.” You smiled shyly.
“And this is my dad.” He continued. The spitting image of an older looking Tom stood up to greet you. You held your hand out to shake his, but he pulled you by that hand and kissed both of your cheeks.
“Lovely to meet you, Y/n.” He said as he squeezed your hand.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Holland.” You smiled at the gesture. “I’ve heard great things about you.”
“I’ve heard plenty about you too.” He replied, and he wasn’t lying like you were. “Tom speaks very highly of you. I hear you’re quite accomplished for your age.”
“Well you can get a lot done when you have help. Luckily, I have the best assistant in all of England.” You complimented Tom as the two of you took a seat. Tom hesitantly put his hand on your knee to sell the look of a couple. You pushed his hand off immediately, and he gave you a stern look. You blew out an annoyed breath and let him put his hand back on your knee.
“I can’t believe you’re just an assistant.” Harry snorted. “What do you even do?”
“I do a lot.” Tom insisted. “I answer Y/n’s phone calls, I schedule her meetings, I print manuscripts for her, I help her with editing. Things like that.”
“That’s so lame.” Sam laughed. “Does he get your coffee for you too?”
“I drink matcha, but yes.” You nodded. You could tell that their words were hurting Tom from the way his body slumped.
“Oh my God, mate.” Harry egged on. “You’re like her little pet.”
“Actually, I’ll be promoting Tom soon.” You spoke up in Tom’s favor.
“Really?” Nikki asked.
“Yes.” You nodded. “I’m making him my editor. He’ll hold the highest position in the company. After me, of course.”
“Wow.” Dom lit up. “That’s amazing.”
“We’re proud of you, Tom.” Nikki added.
“Wow.” Harry looked impressed. “So how did you guys get together anyway?”
“Um...” You looked at Tom in a panic, but he was prepared.
“A few months ago, we had to stay late to finish editing this manuscript.” Tom jumped in. “It was hundreds of pages but we needed to get it in by the morning. Y/n took the first ten chapters and I took the last ten. After two hours of reading, we realized we had been reading two different books.”
“Yeah.” You nodded along as if you knew the story. “We were so exhausted at that point that we laughed for ten minutes straight instead of getting upset. It didn’t even matter anymore.”
“It was the first time I really heard her laugh, and I remember thinking that I had never seen her look so beautiful.” Tom continued as he looked at you. “Hair all messy and eyes begging for sleep. I couldn’t help myself. I just leaned in and kissed her. We’ve been together ever since.”
Your lips curved into a smile at Tom’s unexpected story. You put your hand over his and squeezed it to bring it home.
“Took him long enough.” You chuckled. “But yeah, that was the night he finally kissed me.”
“That’s amazing.” Nikki gushed. “I always knew he liked you. He used to go on and on about how amazing you were. I can finally see what he meant.”
“Well he’s pretty amazing himself.” You replied. “It’s hard to find good help these days, but he’s always there when I need him. That’s how I knew he was the one.”
“The one?” Sam mused. “So you guys must be pretty serious.”
“We are.” Tom nodded and looked at you for permission. “We um, we’re engaged actually.”
“Engaged?” Nikki gasped.
“Yes. Engaged.” You faked a smile, and you were met with a slew of congratulations and hugs. You knew telling Tom’s family that the marriage was fake would make them liabilities, but you still felt guilty about getting their hopes up.
“Nicely done, son.” Dom pulled Tom into a tight hug and patted his back.
“Thank you.” Tom mumbled, feeling undeserving of his fathers praise.
“Where’s the ring?” Harry wondered.
“At home.” Tom lied. “Y/n didn’t want to travel with it.”
“Home.” Nikki gushed. “So you live together?”
“We do.” You nodded quickly. “Tom moved in with me a few weeks ago. We live in a house by a park.”
“That sounds lovely.” Nikki sighed. “We’ll have to come visit for the holidays.”
“Of course.” You looked at Tom with wide eyes. “Holidays. Together. As a family.”
“I’ll teach you all the family recipes, Y/n.” Sam jumped in. “Every Holland must know how to make my great grandmothers special cinnamon raisin bread.”
“Ugh, don’t talk about it.” Tom chuckled. “You’ll make me want some. And we only make it around Christmas.”
“Well we can make it for Paddys birthday on Sunday.” Sam shrugged. “You can be my sous chef, Y/n.”
“Oh, sure.” You said hesitantly. You were supposed to be spending the week with Tom, not his random brother.
“You have to see the amazing food Sam has made. Look at this cake he made for my birthday last year.” Nikki said as she handed you her phone.
“Wow.” You were impressed with the picture. “Did you take this?”
“I did.” Nikki nodded. “I’m a photographer.”
“It’s beautiful.” You complimented. “The cake looks great. And you have a great eye for pictures.”
“Thank you. Aw, could I get a picture of you and Tom?” Nikki asked. Tom looked at your for permission and you reluctantly agreed.
“Sure.” You forced a smile and scooted closer to Tom.
“Come on.” Nikki laughed. “Get closer. Look like you like each other.”
Tom gave you an apologetic look before wrapped his arm around you. You reluctantly wrapped your arm around his waist and leaned into his side, smiling at his moms camera.
“You two are so sweet.” Nikki said as she snapped a few pictures. “Let’s see a kiss.”
“Oh, no.” You said quickly. “That’s okay.”
“Come on!” Dom chimed in. “Kiss your bride.”
“Really, that’s okay.” Tom insisted.
“Don’t be shy. It’s for my portfolio.” Nikki pleaded. “And I have enough photos of your smiling. I want a kiss.”
Tom gave you another apologetic look at you glared at him. You didn’t want to kiss him, but there was no way to avoid it.
“All right.” He announced. “Going in for a kiss now.”
You gave Tom one more angry look before shutting your eyes and pressing your lips against his. The kiss quickly went from feeling forced to feeling magnetic as your scrunched features softened. You felt Toms hand come to rest on your cheek as he kissed you, and for a moment, it felt right.
“Oh. Look how beautiful.” Nikki gushed when you pulled away. “I’m going to frame this.”
You stayed staring at Tom as the family talked amongst themselves. He looked different all the sudden, like you were seeing him for the first time. Tom gulped as his eyes flicked back down to your lips, silently fighting the urge to lean in for another kiss.
“You two make a great couple.” Dom spoke up. “We’re so happy to have you in our family.”
“Yeah.” You finally tore your eyes away from him to force a smile at Nikki. “Family.”
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#tom holland x reader#tom holland x you#Tom Holland fake dating#tom holland x yn#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland fluff#peter parker x reader#peter parker x y/n#peter parker x you
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maybe after today’s acls training i can finally write that chengqing ER oneshot.
— “Patient male, mid-twenties, motor vehicle collision, eta 3 mins”
— “What no vitals? No GCS? ETA 3 mins? Who’s on the paramedic team?!”
— “No one….Dr. Lu hit someone with her car on her way out of the hospital.”
【A Midnight Conversation in Your Local ER】- Complete
[1]
The night hunt had gone to shits.
That much was undeniable.
Jiang Cheng heard the panicked shout of his disciples just as he saw the array that he had stepped on.
Fuck.
The ghost of an once mediocre demonic cultivator wanna-be was going to bring Jiang Cheng, Jiang Wanyin - the Sandu Shengshou - to meet his maker. The irony of the situation would be laughable, if he wasn’t so irrevocably screwed.
That was his last thought before his entire body was engulfed by a blinding light and the world he knew disappeared.
The ground beneath his feet gave away, weightlessness paralyzing his body though he did not fall. He felt…launched, his body warping and squeezing and stretching, the air sucked from his lungs into the endless black vacuum.
But just like that it was over. Jiang Cheng barely had time to make peace with his death before his feet touch solid earth again.
Or at least….he thought it was earth, this black, tarry hard thing striped with yellow and white. He stared at it dumbly, breathless and disoriented, barely able to react when a loud blare assaulted his senses and his world went blindly bright yet again.
This time there was pain.
Jiang Cheng clutched Sandu, ready to fight, but then his head hit the ground and everything went dark. When he woke up again, an indeterminate amount of time later, he was in a small tube and had a distinct feeling he was not wearing pants, socks or shoes.
How the fuck do you ‘scan’ a cat???
[2]
Method actor. The nurse, from the other side of the curtain, mouthed silently.
“Sir, can you tell me your name.”
“Jiang Cheng, Jiang Wangyin.”
The resident paused, awkwardly contemplating how to continue. “Uh…..which is it? Jiang Cheng or Jiang Wanyin?”
“Jiang Cheng, zi Wanyin.”
“Traditional parents?” The resident tried to crack a joke, but it fell flat. The strange man stared up at him with a blank look in his eyes and a frown that was rapidly deteriorating into a scowl. The resident cleared his throat and cast his eyes back onto his clipboard. “Uh, ahem, just the name on your ID please.”
“My what?"
"Your personal ID….like a driver’s license?”
“Cultivators of the gentry fly on swords or ride horses. We do not rely on carriage valets.”
“Eh… right. Uhm, can you tell me how old you are and what year it is.”
“I’m 39, and the year is jiachen.”
Lu Qi frowned from where she stood by the door, arms crossed, watching her resident and medical student work. 39? He looks like a college student. But he also thinks he can fly, so I guess age is the least of our worries.
“Jiachen.…?”
The M3 fished his phone out from his scrub pocket pocket and typed it in. “Sounds like the ganji system, like an old timey way to record year used in the past.” He whispers clandestinely to the resident.
“….Right. And uh, do you where you are?”
The man scowled at him. “Am I supposed to?”
The resident scribbled something on the chart, and then looked up with a plastered awkward smile. “Well, thank you Mr. Jiang for your patience. Wang Fei here is the medical student on our team. He’s going to stay and ask you a couple more questions if you don’t mind. Afterwards we’ll confer with our attending and the team will be back to see you shortly.”
As he turned away, the R3 grimaced and shared a look with Lu Qi, who was the youngest attending physician in their ER, but was not technically working at the moment and so was not on the case. And technically, as the perpetrator who hit Jiang Cheng with her car, she had a severe conflict of interest.
At least this Jiang Cheng dude didn’t seem keen on pressing personal charges against her for MVA or suing the hospital in general… but that being said…
Yeah, they’re going to need a psych consult.
Unless he’s on acid.
Well… okay, psych consult either way.
[3]
"It’s okay, you can relax.” Jiang Cheng said, waving dismissively at the woman standing by his bedside. “I’m not going to take you to the magistrate for hitting me with your carriage - car. You didn’t mean to, and I just came out of nowhere.”
“....Thank you.”
“You’re not Wen Qing. I know that now. Your name is Lu Qi. You can call off those psychia - psych - psychics - head healers - or whatever, I’m not crazy. It’s not my fault, you just… look so much like someone I used to know."
"Wen Qing.” Lu Qi echoed.
“Yeah. Wen Qing. She was a healer - a doctor - like you, but different.”
“I see. What happened to her?"
"She died. Almost twenty years ago."
"I'm sorry... that's awful.” Lu Qi’s response rolled off her tongue so well, because she had said those word a thousand times during her residency. So much so that it no longer had much meaning to her. Tonight however, she meant what she said. “Were you two close?"
"No, well…yes, maybe. No we weren’t exactly friends if that’s what you’re asking. She...operated on me. Without my consent or knowledge. Took my brother’s golden core and put it in me and then lied with my brother to my face about it. So no we weren’t “close”, but Wen Qing saved my life - well the purpose of it anyway. Saved me from a life of ordinariness.”
Lu Qi did allow herself to dwell too much on what the fuck a “golden core” was, because her gut response was almost instantaneous. “That’s shitty of her.”
She clamped down on her tongue.
God, why did I have to say that? To his face?! He was obviously in love with this Wen Qing person and they were encroaching on some dangerous emotional territories, but Lu Qi swallowed down her caution and plowed on nevertheless. There were things she felt she had to say, and since she’d already hit him with her car, how much worse could this shit get? “What I mean is she shouldn’t have. Not without telling you. Besides...there’s nothing wrong with ordinary.”
Jiang Cheng chuckled bitterly. “Maybe you’re right. Still...she didn’t deserve to die. What her clan did was not her fault.”
Now that threw Lu Qi off. Did this guy...kill her?
Lu Qi half wondered if she stumbled upon a Yakuza-esque member whose psyche finally snapped after years of murder and violence. And yet, he seemed perfectly coherent, no flight of ideas, no tangential thought, no hallucations. Even his delusions seemed...logical.
I must be the one losing, damnit.
Jiang Cheng scratched a little at his chest, as if palpating for the “golden core” that he spoke of. "She saved my life, but when she needed help, I couldn't save her. But, if I were to go back… I can't say I'll choose differently. My clan needed me, my clan who was almost cleansed by hers. No, no I wouldn’t choose differently. I don’t regret my choices, but I am sorry. Sorry to her, sorry to my brother. I'll always be sorry that she died, and that I failed her when she needed me."
Jiang Cheng had no idea why he was telling this stranger any of this, but maybe after twenty years, he was finally ready to address this guilt that he lived with. I mean who else was he supposed to tell? Jin Ling? It was nice, to have that face as an audience, receiving his words of confession.
"She would forgive you."
Lu Qi had no idea why she was offering absolution as if she had authority in this matter, but when she said it, the conviction she felt was so real, it was almost as though some external force was acting through her.
Which was ridiculous of course, but...
"How do you know? You're not her." Jiang Cheng shook his head. “I wouldn’t forgive me.”
"No, but you said she was a physician. So she should know, more than most, that sometimes there is no choosing who gets to live or die."
Jiang Cheng fell quiet at that, and his gaze grew distant. Lu Qi thought perhaps he was no longer seeing her as she was in front of him - white coat, scrubs, stethoscope - but someone entirely different. The tension he held in his shoulders slowly eased, and he sighed. In the silence that stretched between them, Lu Qi hoped that this strange man with his strange past could find a sliver of peace.
[4]
— Did you love her?
— I thought so, foolishly, but maybe I didn’t. Even if I did, it was not well enough.
— Do you love her still?
— No... I don’t know. It’s been too long...but sometimes, late at night when Lotus Pier is quiet, I think I do.
...
— Are you ashamed of it?
...
— No. No I’m not.
[5]
The patient known as Jiang Cheng left AMA, that is, against medical advice. It was the term they used sometimes for people who just up and leave without informing the team.
Lu Qi had gone out to check on his labs, which came back with bonker numbers (I mean really, a hemoglobin of 455, sodium of 200, and a HCO3 of like...3?), but Jiang Cheng was gone from Bay 6 when she returned. The nurse made the overhead page, a code yellow was called, but four hours later, Lu Qi was ready to admit that she was never going to see this Jiang Cheng ever again.
Somehow, she was okay with that. She had said what needed to be said.
Her chief had given her a call on her cell and told her to go home and sleep. The guy didn’t look like he was gonna press charges, let’s count our blessings and move on. But the night had just been too damn strange that Lu Qi was all wired up from it and couldn’t possibly fall asleep. She had handover at 10 anyway. There was a change of clothes and toiletries in her bag. She could always take a shower in the anesthesia staff’s on call room and sleep until then.
Dr. Sun was the anesthesia staff on-call tonight and was currently stuck in trauma OR. They were buddies since medschool; she’d understand.
Sighing, Lu Qi took a seat on the bench across from the bougie cafe in the lobby of the hospital. At this hour, it was the only one still open in the entire facility. The drinks they sold cost an arm and a leg, but Lu Qi needed the pick-me-up after the night she had.
As she nursed the last bit of her matcha latte, two bickering voices pulled her attention to the front entrance.
“Aiyo, A-Liang I already said I’m fine! I don’t need to be here!”
“Fuck out of here with that bullshit, Chen Zhaoxi. You fell off the fucking roof! If Wu Kun hadn’t called me, you’d have gone on -”
It was him! Lu Qi shot up. It was Jiang Cheng!
But no...no it wasn’t him. The well-dressed man dragging the second man (dressed in red pajamas) into the hospital was not Jiang Cheng. He had the same face - chiselled, handsome, scowling - but it wasn’t him. For one, his hair was trimmed short and neat, unlike Jiang Cheng who looked like he walked straight out of a BL xianxia tv drama. Secondly, his face was softer, eyes younger, and he couldn’t have been older than Lu Qi herself in her early thirties.
“I was just trying to get to the litter of kittens trapped -”
“Yes, yes, and it was very heroic and I’m sure it would’ve made Wu Kun very horny, and you morons probably would’ve fucked once he got home had you not made a valiant attempt at breaking your neck -”
“Excuse me,” the security guard manning the information desk chastised sharply. “It’s 4am. This is a hospital! Lower your voices, sirs.”
“Sorry.” The men apologized sheepishly.
Then, A-Liang, Jiang Cheng’s doubleganger asked, “Could you please direct us to the ER? This is my brother, he fell off a roof.”
Lu Bin had no idea what possessed her to interject. “I can take you there.”
All eyes fell on her. She walked towards them, heart pounding.
This can’t be happening, this kind of thing just can’t happen...
A-Liang’s face broke into a grateful smile. “Thank you, Miss -” Then his gaze trailed to her badge, and he corrected himself, “Dr. Lu. I’m Shen Liang. This is my brother Chen Zhaoxi. I think he fractured...well multiple things, please help him.”
“Of course, come with me. Let’s get him a wheelchair. If he fractured is leg, he probably shouldn’t be walking.”
“I didn’t fracture -”
“You, you shut up.” Shen Liang rolled his eyes. “Don’t listen to him. He can lose three out of four limbs and say ‘ t’s but a flesh wound’.”
Lu Qi couldn’t help but chuckle as she put an arm under the complaining Chen Zhaoxi and helped him towards the wheelchair.
Shen Liang’s smile widened.
[Extra]
“Holy shit, took you long enough!”
When Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui finally dragged Jiang Cheng to their portal site, Jiang Cheng realized that the transportation talisman had created a channel through realities between what looked like two metal garbage dumpsters in a back alley behind a food establishment marked by giant yellow bunny ears.
Standing guard there, Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen were each munching on a strange layered bread and holding tall drinks contained in...what was it called again? Right. Styrofoam.
“What is that?” Jin Ling wrinkled is nose at it. Brat.
“It’s a Big Mac.” Replied Lan Jingyi as if Jin Ling was stupid. “And this is a milk shake.”
Jin Ling scowled. “I said the bag of gold I gave you was for emergencies.”
“Yeah but we were hungry.” Ouyang Zizhen defended. He neglected to tell them that the cashier had refused to accept the gold and instead asked for “cash” or “card”, neither of which they had, so Zizhen used a liiiiil confounding talisman he learned from Wei Wuxian. They did leave more than enough gold though...and that ought to cover the restaurant’s cost for their “burger”lary . Reaching into the brown paper bag he held under one arm, Zizhen pulled out a little box that opened to show pieces of... something. “These are chicken nuggets. They’re delicious! Try one! They’re really good with this sauce....hold on...”
Lan Sizhui sighed. “We don’t have time for this. The portal will close soon. Let’s get Jiang-zongzhu home and we can sample these exotic food later.”
The boys agreed.
Jiang Cheng shook his head and huffed.
#cql#the untamed#chengqing#wen qing#jiang cheng#a midnight conversation in your local er#cql ficlet#corie fics
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📁 for the fuckboy anon.
TW: toxic relationships and abuse
Bakugou has a distorted understanding of romance.
His mother is always loud, always pushing and pushing and pushing until she gets what she wants. She’s violent; she’s crass; she hits her husband when she gets mad because it makes her feel powerful, hits her son because that’s just what you’re supposed to do with shitty kids like him, right?
His father is quiet. Unassuming. No one expects much of him, and that’s exactly how he likes it. Honesty eludes him; manipulation is his friend. He lies to his wife when she asks him where he was last night, lies to his son when he asks why his mother hurts him like she hates him.
Bakugou also wants to be the best. He loves a challenge, thrives in spite and winning and the thrill of proving people wrong. So when his friends start teasing him about his lack of romantic life, he takes it like the bait it was never meant to be.
Long story short, Bakugou gets into a toxic relationship.
It’s a general studies girl. She’s been approaching him, flirting with him, constantly for weeks. He’s told her no, told her to fuck off multiple times, but she’s kept at it. And that’s a good thing, right? Admirable. It means she’s serious, persistent, stubborn, strong. Just like his mother was when she’d gone after his dad. This is how relationships work, isn’t it?
Bakugou thinks so. So when she corners him outside the locker room for the fiftieth time, he tells her yes - just two days after his squad’s teasing. The two go on their first date that weekend, and Bakugou tells the squad the following Monday.
They look shocked, and weirdly enough, not nearly as happy about this new development as Bakugou had anticipated. But they’re supportive, despite their strained smiles.
Bakugou keeps going out with this girl. He doesn’t like it much, but he made a commitment and damn him if he’s going to back out now. For a while, she sits with him and the squad at lunch, always clinging to his arm and demanding a share of his food even though she knows she can’t handle the spice. Bakugou honestly thinks it’s cute how she pushes past her limits like that, finds it refreshing how she isn’t afraid to throw his shit right back at him when he’s being a dick.
(The class is always weirdly nice to him when he fucks up, but she isn’t; she tells him when he’s being lazy or stupid or mean and it’s familiar. It makes sense. He listens when she tells him to shut up because his laugh is too ugly, to stay still when she kisses him even if he doesn’t want to. He listens because that’s what you’re supposed to do in relationships, and he always gives his best no matter what.)
(His friends... don’t seem to like her very much. He doesn’t know why.)
She starts dragging him away during lunches. Bakugou supposes it makes sense; they’re dating, so they’re supposed to spend a lot of time together. She gets angry at him when he doesn’t text her back right away, and a lot of their dates are scheduled on the same days as Bakusquad hangouts. When Bakugou tries to back out, to explain, she pushes and pushes and pushes, and he lets her.
(His mom is happy with him, too. He let it slip that he got a girlfriend, and she called him brat and ruffled his hair like she hasn’t in years. You’re lucky she has shit taste, she said, told him not to scare her away by being a pest.)
(And quietly, secretly, he wants her to look at him like that again. Like he’s worth something. He wants her to smile at him more and pet his hair and love him, just a little bit. So he keeps at it, keeps going out with this girl as she tells him to stop talking so much and don’t smile, you look like a lunatic and it’s just a hickey, Suki, don’t be such a prude.)
He comes to class and he can’t look anyone in the eye, because he knows they see the marks on his neck and his face. The imprints of teeth and bruises and little crescent moons on his cheeks and his jaw and his nape from her fingernails. She likes to dig them into his face to get his attention, into his neck to keep him still while she kisses him. (It’s almost worse than the hickeys, because they’re proof of how often he fucks up, how often she needs to set him straight.)
She slaps him sometimes, when he’s done something especially shitty - ignored her for too long, said the wrong thing. Sometimes she’ll ignore him for a few days, when she’s tired of dealing with his shit, but she always comes back. She’s nice about it too - doesn’t make him drag himself out to apologize like his mom does.
Meanwhile, his classmates, his friends, his teachers are just. So concerned. Fucking enraged. Bakugou has become subdued in a way that they have never seen before, and Deku, for his part, is terrified and furious. This girl walks all over his Kacchan and he just lets her, and for the life of him Deku can’t figure out why.
(Once, at lunch, when she and Bakugou were still sitting with them in the cafeteria, she told Bakugou to laugh quieter, it’s gross and everyone can hear you. And he’d just listened. That wide, rare, precious grin had been wiped right off his face and he’d quieted down instantly. No one had said anything out of pure shock.)
(Kirishima, Mina, the rest of the squad, Deku, Uraraka, hell even Todoroki - they were seething. Because Bakugou rarely, rarely let himself laugh like that - hell, all of them sans Deku could count on one hand the times they’d seen his little happy-smile - and this bitch had destroyed those few precious seconds of genuine, carefree laughter because she was fucking self-conscious. If they could kill people with a look, half the goddamn class would have been charged with murder.)
They all hate her. They want to grab Bakugou and shake him and tell him to break up with this bitch, but he doesn’t even have the time to talk to them anymore. The squad wants their Katsuki back, Deku wants his Kacchan back, the class wants their friend back. It’s been weeks. They don’t know what to do.
Their savior comes in the form of one Shinsou Hitoshi.
He’s been watching all this go down from afar, and it’s pissed him right off. He doesn’t know Bakugou that well, honestly thinks he’s a bit of an asshole, but he likes him. He cares about him. They spar occasionally (or they used to), and it’s grueling and fun and satisfying as shit.
There’s this... something in Bakugou. Too big and too bright to call a fire, too hot and too close to call the sun. And this girl - this toxic, abusive bitch - is smothering it, smothering him, and Shinsou is sick of it.
It’s week six of this bullshit and he does what no one has managed to do in all that time: he finds Bakugou and corners him - away from that toxic bitch he calls his girlfriend.
(Let’s all thank Aizawa for that one. Underground hero training is useful as shit.)
He confronts him about it - asks him, pointblank, “Why do you put up with her?”
And all he gets in response is the most genuinely bemused expression he’d ever seen on Bakugou’s face.
Something in Shinsou’s stomach drops.
“The fuck are you on about?”
“Your girlfriend, dipshit,” he says, like it’s obvious, because it is. “Why do you let her treat you like shit?”
Bemusement shifts into pure, unadulterated confusion, and that thing in Shinsou’s stomach falls right down to his feet.
“I don’t let her do shit, dumbass.” He almost sounds indignant. “Now outta my way, I got places to be.”
Bakugou lightly shoves past him, but Shinsou grabs his wrist before he can leave. The blond glances back at him in irritation. Pale, fluorescent light casts dramatic shadows across his face, darkens the marks and the bruises dotting fair skin.
Shinsou grits his teeth. “She hurts you.”
Bakugou doesn’t even hesitate. “Yeah, so?”
The brainwasher’s grip goes slack.
He doesn’t fully register that Bakugou has dislodged his arm until he’s standing alone in the hallway, but when he does, the first thought that crosses his mind is I have to tell dad.
(The thing about Shinsou is that he knows abuse. He knows what it looks like, what it sounds like, what it feels like, because he’s been through it himself. And yet for the longest time, he had no idea that what his foster parents were doing even constituted as wrong.)
(Then he met Aizawa, and he learned a few things. It fucking sucked, and for a while, nothing felt real and everything was wrong and he didn’t know what to do. But Aizawa was there for him, helped him through all the nitty-gritty-shitty parts of having your whole world turned inside-out, and lo-and-behold, Shinsou got adopted like four months ago.)
(But the point is, Shinsou isn’t an idiot. He knows this shit, he’s been through this shit, and the fact of the matter is that there is no way Bakugou would think that what he’s going through is okay unless he’s used to it. So what the fuck does Shinsou do now?)
(He goes to the man that pulled him out of the fire.)
(“Dad, I need to talk to you.”)
#I will FINISH this TRAVESTY#but TOMORROW because I am TIRED#seriously you fuckboy what the hell#this was supposed to be short#how did this even happen#bakusquad#toxic relationships#bakudeku#todobaku#kiribaku#platonic bakushin#dadzawa
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Anything Your Heart Desires
Author: SisterSpooky1013
Rating: General
Words: 1903
Tagging @today-in-fic
Read it on AO3 here
It was just the two of them in the lab, reviewing crime scene photos while they waited for the tech to return with the DNA sequencing results. He’d warned them that it would take a while, but they were at a standstill until they could say for sure whether the perpetrator and the victim were related, as was Mulder’s suspicion.
“Do you see here, the way the edge of this blood stain looks on her neck?” Scully asked him, holding up a color photo of a woman splayed on a carpeted floor with multiple puncture wounds to her torso, eyes open and vacant. “The line is smudgy and frayed, which is not how it would appear if it were splatter or had even pooled there. It looks to me like it was wiped with a towel or rag.”
“Did you notice anything similar with any of the other victims?” Mulder asked, spreading out photos of 6 other dead women, each with blood soaked bodies but clean faces.
“Yes, on two” she returned, picking up two and setting them aside. “Although on these three, the line is clean but not spatter” she continued, putting three others in a different pile. “I would almost suspect that something was covering their head and face during the attack, like a bag.”
“But cause of death wasn’t asphyxia for any of the victims, was it?” He turned his body towards her, leaning his hip against the countertop.
“No, it wasn’t. So whatever it was, if indeed something was put over their heads, it was porous, like maybe a pillowcase.” Looking down at the counter, she blinked her left eye quickly, trying to clear something that was irritating her cornea.
“That would suggest that the perpetrator didn’t want to see their faces while he assaulted them. Though that doesn’t explain those that were wiped clean. Maybe he just didn’t want their faces disturbed.”
Scully was now holding her eye closed in an attempt to let it water its way through whatever was bothering it. She kept her head down, shuffling the photos around. “If your theory that the perpetrator was all of their biological fathers turns out to be correct, that he was the sperm donor their parents used, then it would stand to reason that he didn’t want to harm the part of them that looked like him.”
“That very well could be” he answered, studying the side of her face. “You okay, Scully?”
“Yeah, I just have something in my eye, it’s fine.”
“You want me to take a look?” He dipped his head down in an attempt to see her face, which she ducked further from his view.
“No, Mulder, it’ll wash itself out, that’s what eyes were designed to do.”
He put his finger under her chin and tilted her head up so he could see her face. Her left eye was clamped shut, tears pouring from both corners as mascara ran down her cheek. He raised his eyebrows and have her a chastising look. “Hop up here, Scully” he said, patting the counter.
“Mulder, it’s fine, leave it alone” she replied, leaning against the counter rather than sitting on it, arms crossed. Her stance was meant to look confident and relaxed, but with one leaky eye closed tight she looked more like Popeye than anything else.
He stood in front of her, hands stuffed in his pockets, and tried to continue their conversation. “So what’s your theory on motive, Scully? Guy jerks it into a cup once a month for three years then one day just decides to go kill all his offspring?”
Her eye stung like a bitch, whatever the foreign object was seeming to have sharp edges. Bringing one finger up to press at her bottom lid, she attempted to respond. “Maybe, I don’t know, maybe something happened in his life that suddenly made the idea of having children out there that he didn’t raise upsetting-shit.” She felt like she needed to blink, but blinking hurt. Not blinking also hurt.
“Jesus, Scully, will you just let me look at it?” he stepped toward her, putting his hands on her hips and lifting her up on to the counter. She made a little surprised squeak and he couldn’t help but smile.
He moved close, occupying the space between her thighs as she titled her face up to him, her eye blinking wildly as it tried to find relief. Mulder put one hand on her cheek and the other on her forehead, using his thumbs above and below her eye to open it while she reflexively tried to pull it shut. She could smell his aftershave and the salty earthen hint of sunflower seeds on his breath.
“hold still” he admonished her.
“Sorry, I’m trying. It’s not completely voluntary” she responded, her hands moving to rest on his biceps.
“Ah-ha!” He declared, dipping his middle finger behind her lower eyelid. When he removed it, she blinked rapidly several times and sighed with relief that the offending material was gone.
“Oh my god, thank you” she breathed out. “What was it?”
Her hands were still on his biceps. One of his hands was now resting on the top of her thigh, the other was held palm up in front of her face where she could see a single eyelash resting on his middle finger. He stayed like that, holding it in front of her, for an abnormally long time. Long enough that the moment started to feel charged, the weight of his hand on her thigh warming her skin as her newly functioning eyes ventured beyond the eyelash to settle on his mouth. Oh that mouth. That plush bottom lip that she had dreamed of pulling between her teeth for so long. How might it feel if he were to brush those lips along her neck? Now he was smirking, which she found insanely sexy. His coy little smiles always set off a flutter in her belly. Wait-why was he smirking? Her eyes snapped up to meet his and she saw that he was looking at her expectantly, amused and confused by her staring. She returned an even more confused look, which probably paired nicely with the embarrassed flush that a was rising from her chest to her neck.
“You’re supposed to make a wish” he said tenderly, gathering that she had no idea what he was waiting for.
“What?” She questioned, pulling her hands from him and setting them in her lap. He kept his hand stationed on her thigh.
“When you lose an eyelash, you’re supposed to make a wish and blow it away. Didn’t you ever do that as a kid?”
She shook her head. “Shooting stars and 11:11 I got the memo on, but I guess I missed eyelashes.”
“Well, this can be your inaugural eyelash wish, then” he returned, holding it up again in front of her.
She looked at his face, his green irises shining with the joy of sharing something new with her, his mouth stretched into a warm smile. She loved this side of him that relished in the simple, unimportant minutia of life with the same excitement as he had for the latest EBE sighting. Thinking about what she wanted more than anything in this moment, she held eye contact with him while she pursed her lips into an “o” and blew the eyelash off his finger with a forceful puff of air.
Freed of the eyelash, he dropped his hand to rest on her other thigh, but didn’t move from his location between her legs. The smile faded from his lips and was replaced with something different, something desirous. She felt her pulse quicken as he lifted his hand and brought it to the side of her face, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone.
“You have mascara all over your cheek” he said, his voice low and syrupy, and she huffed a little laugh, averting her eyes from his.
He lifted his other hand off of her thigh to mirror its partner, her face now cradled between his palms. When she brought her gaze back to him, she sucked in her breath at the intensity in his expression, the tilt of his torso ever closer to hers, and while she was an expert at denial when it came to the possibility of Mulder returning her feelings, it was very clear that he was moving to kiss her. She leaned into his palms gently, a barely perceptible green light, and he closed the distance between them, pressing his pouty mouth against hers on the cool steel of the lab room counter. She brought her hands to rest on his chest, not to push him away but to grip gently at the lapels of his suit coat, encouraging him as he slipped his tongue between her lips. He grazed her teeth before she brought her own tongue forward to meet him, warm and smooth and salty.
“Hot off the presses, agents!” The lab tech’s voice followed only milliseconds after they heard the click of the door latch warn them that he was entering the room. Thankfully, he pushed the door open with his back, which gave just enough time for Scully to shove Mulder away and hop onto the floor before he turned to face them, waving two sheets of paper in his hand.
Forty five minutes later they were walking out into the afternoon sun, which was already fading into the horizon at this time of year.
“I think our best bet will be to put a police detail on each of the other 9 women we’ve identified as having been conceived by the same donor” Mulder was saying, continuing their conversation after the DNA test confirmed that the perpetrator was all the victims’ biological father. “7 of them are local, but the other two are in the Midwest and West Coast. Seems unlikely he’d go that far outside the target area but just in case I still want to make sure they’re protected.”
“Sounds like a good plan” she replied, climbing into the passenger seat of his car and flipping down the visor to survey the damage to her makeup after her eye incident. She did, in fact, have little mascara crumbles all over her cheek and under her eye, though they were now dried out enough that she easily brushed them away.
Mulder fastened his seat belt and started the ignition before turning slightly to face her. “So, what did you wish for?” He asked.
She gave him a coy smile. “I can’t tell you or it won’t come true. Everyone knows that, Mulder.”
“No, those are only the rules for shooting stars, birthday candles and 11:11 wishes. Eyelash wishes have no such restrictions.” His grin was contagious.
She shook her head ruefully. “Nice try, but no.”
He bobbed his head in defeat and pulled the car out of the parking lot. Scully drew air into her lungs slowly, letting it out in a long sigh as she looked out the window. As a scientist, she didn’t put any stock in the power of wishes, nor did she believe that revealing a wish could prevent it from coming true. Even so, she couldn’t deny the fact that when she blew her eyelash off Mulder’s finger tip and wished for what she wanted most in the world, her wish had immediately come true.
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There’s so many things I love about the show that I haven’t seen people give enough credit for and I want to go on a little ramble because people are focusing so much on what they don’t like vs. what they do. So here’s my list. Sorry for the grammatical errors 😬
I love that the lesbian main character is this sweet, innocent, big hearted young woman and not portrayed as a overly sexual fuckboi that hits on every woman. I love that Fatou is soft and gentle. More lesbian rep like that please
I love the soundtrack. It’s exactly the type of stuff I imagine Fatou would listen to and it’s not just the top 100 hit songs.
I love that they use the soundtrack as a way to connect to the plot line, like the lyrics to the song Fatou was listening to when she was on the rooftop said “And I hate to leave you feeling all alone.But your story cannot start until you've grown. You can find how to be OK on your own. I just can't be the one that makes you feel at home” which was a hint as to where the plot was going
^^ also the song playing during Kieu My and Fatou’s museum date
I love the little mannerisms Nhungi chooses to show as Kieu My. The happy little bounce she did in ep 1 when she called out Fatou’s name and when she subtly checked Fatou out by looking her up and down.
I love how their rooms show their individual personality so well. Like Fatou’s room in the beginning of the season was normal and then it became increasingly messy as the episodes moved forward, showing her stress and chaos in her life
I love the height difference between Fatou and her brother lol
I love when her brother and her were thinking of what to get their parents so they split the bill on a gift - a very subtle way of showing siblings interacting
I love when Fatou and Ismail interact cuz it’s so funny
I love the physics teachers speaking voice, he sounds like kermit the frog
I love fatou’s eyebrows. Idk it’s just so perfect. Give me tips plz
I love that the characters rewear clothing. And it’s not a show where every episode is a new outfit with new clothes. Very realistic and it always bothered me when teens on highschool on tv have new clothes every episode
I love that Fatou’s original bio on tinder was “wanna cuddle?”. I feel like that girl would rather cuddle with someone than win the lottery. She’s so soft (also why did it say she was 24 in ep 2 when she was on tinder lol)
I love that the show showed the struggles of coming from a bilingual family and being the only one that struggles to speak it. When fatou was talking to her grandparents with her brother and her brother had to translate for her and it was awkward af, I felt that. I’m the youngest in my family and I struggle to speak Tagalog so people have to translate for me sometimes and it sucks.
^^ I relate to fatou so much in that scene cuz the dynamic in my family is the same as Fatou’s. My parents lay off and let me and my brother do our thing unless there’s an indication we need their help. The only time I ever spoke about school with my family was when report cards would come and they would see my grades weren’t that good. I remember my mom seeing I had a D in middle school and automatically jumping to conclusiosn without letting me speak. My brother is academically successful and he would also try and get me to do more school stuff when I was younger. Like he would make me do math problems to help with my grades. So it’s all very relatable for me
I love when Fatou sings, her voice is so soft and smooth.
I love whenever Kieu My and fatou are flirting both so blatantly and yet so subtly. Like the tension is there but it’s still awkward despite how smooth they both try to be it’s so adorable
I love how Fatou and Kieu My are so confident flirting and talking to eachother through texting but when it’s irl it’s still awkward and new. It shows the reality of an actual relationship in the making. It’s not just a full head dive into “I love you”.
I love when they were at the table tennis bar place and Fatou was hyping up Ava when there were dudes looking at them and Ava did a fancy ass turn and smile. She’s so pretty
I love that Fatou’s problems were shown in subtle ways in the beginning with money. Counting money at her job and when she wa trying to pay for the drink at the bar. It was a small interaction but in real life it would cause a lot of stress and anxiety if money counting problems kept happening over and over again
I love Yara and Josh’s friendship. More platonic friendship between a male and a female please. Also more Yara in general please.
I love that Zoe owned up to her actions last year to the entire group (minus Ismail Constantine and Kieu my) on New Years. I see her owning up to the role as Nora’s big sister.
I love when Josh was drinking a lot during New Years and Fatou was trying to get him to slow down. It shows how big her heart is for her friends. Also I think Josh and Fatou could be great friends
I love that Kieu My looks at Fatou like she hung the stars. When Fatou mentioned she knew Kieu My was a Scorpio, it’s the first time I’ve ever seen that girl smiled so big (before episode 5 of course)
I love that whenever they kiss Kieu my is smiling.
I love Sira’s side profile. There I said it. Girl has the jawline of a Greek goddess.
I love that they change Fatou’s hair. She looks good in every hair style but it’s always nice to see her in different styles.
I love that they showed the struggles of being a passive and gentle person. Because we’re not assertive in regular everyday life we are easily looked over. And it’s hard for us to muster the gusto to be assertive and take what we need because we prefer shying away from conflict and just letting things flow. I relate to fatou’s character so much in that sense. I lowkey think this is the universe’s way of telling me to stop being so passive about life and to take charge idk.
I love that the topic of white savior and performative activism was touched on. And I love that it was between two friends because it’s very realistic to how dynamics work between young people these days. The way they handle it differs in opinion but the fact that they even spoke about it was great.
I love that moment when Kieu My wrapped the vietnamese pancake in the lettuce snd handed it to Fatou. Its so sweet. If I was Fatou I would have forgiven her right then and there lol
I LOVE THE HEIGHT DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE TWo. YES MORE HEIGHT DIFFERENCE.
Episode 6. Just all of it. Even the angsty part. I want more of that. Episode 6 yes. I’ll marry episode 6
Kieu My wearing Fatou’s cardigan. 💕💕💕💕💕💕✨✨✨✨✨😫😫💕✨✨🥺
^^ but also as a person that tried bangs before, you can’t tell me that girl woke up with her bangs perfectly in place lol. This girl probably bought a mini straightener or something too
Fatou telling Kieu My it doesn’t matter if she wears make up or not rather than going off on how she looks prettier without it. She’s just like “it doesn’t matter. You’re pretty no matter what, my little space nerd”
Pissed off fatou is a hot fatou. Js
I love Sira’s acting in general. But the way she shows Fatou’s sadness is great. It’s not just tears and that’s it. When she got fired it was a build up of tears but she wasn’t sobbing, same thing with the cashqueens argument. But she broke when her and Kieu My got in a fight.
Finn being socially awkward. It’s so funny cuz Zoe is this bubbly party girl and her boyfriend is so awkward. Nice balance.
^^also his hair makes me laugh idk why
Ismail opening up to Fatou shows how so many people feel at ease with her. Girl has a calming presence for everybody, she doesn’t even realize how much she’s helped others.
I love that Constantine wears the same jacket over and over again. Idk it seems to fit his character.
^^also kudos to the actor who plays him, he’s doing an amazing job
Love Fatou. Love her dimples and her soft voice. She gets all high pitched when she’s normally speaking but when she was fighting with Kieu My her voice became lower. Just love the way Sira’s voice sounds. Also Nhungi’s speaking voice.
Love the shaky camera movements. The fast pans and the slow motion dance scenes.
Love the aesthetic of Kieu My smoking but PLEASE DONT SMOKE, CHILDREN. ITS BAD FOR YOU.
Love the different aesthetics of the cashqueens
Love maike. Great actress. Give this turtle an Oscar.
Love Kieu My climbing the roof to help her Fatou. Softie to her girlfriend but an ice queen to the world lol.
Love the actors. Love the characters. It just makes me so happy.
This is so well written, i might actually cry no but really it was really nice to read your positive and cuteee facts after the tag check :/ and it really helped because i get mad and sad when i see bad takes. Everything you said was so true and i think im fangirling over this essay. And it made me emotional 👉👈. Represantation does really matter.
This season is so important for so many people and i don’t think some people realize that when they’re ‘’criticizing’’ some things. Not only we have a lesbian main, we have a black lesbian main who is the softest person in the world and she has LD and/or ADHD. I sometimes can’t believe we got to the point of skamverse where we get rep instead of hurtful,problematic seasons and plots, some might interpret that as shade but it really isn’t, careless storylines really does hurt ppl and why would you want to hurt people when you can give 8 min of sapphic museum date instead 👭🌌 :)
i love this season, i love this gen and i love this essay
#no but i could go one by one and talk about everything you numbered#but im not gonna for the sake of other ppl#because everyone hates long post#people were really so cute in my asks today instead of defending constantin so that was nice👍#i do the others later#but this was so cute stopppp#shut up about my grammer!!#do not talk about my grammer#druck#ask
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WTWT: The Sequel | Part 4/5 [Reggie Peters]
pairing: reggie peters x fem!reader
word count: 6.6k
warnings: angst, swearing
a/n: hey babes it’s drea :) hope you enjoy this part and get to meet mimi and my favorite ocs!!! make sure to like, comment, and reblog! also send in your memes because we adore them!
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If Rose thought he was stupid then, he wondered how she would have thought of him now. Incredibly sleep deprived, clothes wrinkled, and a bouquet of flowers he most definitely sat on at one point in his hand. But none of that mattered now. He was finally here in Canada to see you, his most chaotic plan yet.
Penticton was not like Los Angeles in the slightest. Reggie felt as though he was out of place. This city was calm and small, in contrast to his loud and unpredictable life. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to make the adjustment if he had to move here, but he knew he’d do anything for you.
With a shaky hand, Reggie knocked on the door. The door slowly opened to reveal an older couple, one that Reggie barely recognized. Reggie was about to apologize and leave until the woman spoke up.
“Aren’t you that horse boy?” the woman asked, narrowing her eyes. “The one that (N/N) was friends with, right? From Idaho?”
Reggie’s cheeks were flushed red. “Um, Wyoming, ma’am,” he corrected politely.
The woman seemed impressed. “Manners and flowers,” she mused. “Turns out they did teach you a thing or two on that ranch of yours. Come in, I made scones.” Without letting Reggie speak, she took the flowers and shoved them into her husband’s hands. “Earl, put that in water, the poor flowers look parched.”
“Um ma’am I’m not too sure this is a good-,”
“Nonsense, you must have come all the way from California,” she waved him off, “We need to get you fed and rested up don’t we?”
Her husband nodded while finding a vase to put the flowers in. “Best take a seat, son,” he whispered. “Tamara gets a little pushy, so there’s no point in fighting her.”
Sighing, Reggie took a seat on the couch as Earl walked off to the closet.
“I’ll be right back honey,” Tamara insisted, just have to go grab something from the kitchen.
Reggie nodded and sat quietly, waiting for her to return, and when she did she was accompanied by a large plate of what Reggie had assumed to be scones. You were obsessed with them, the cafe you worked at had even started selling them at your request.
“You must be hungry from that flight, right?” she asked, removing her oven mitts. “Have some of these, they’re (N/N)’s favorite, can’t get enough of them.” Without asking for permission, she took a scone and --for lack of better word-- shoved it into Reggie’s mouth. “Taste good, honey?”
They were delicious. Only issue was that they were fresh from the oven.
“T-they’re h-ho-” Reggie tried to tell the woman.
Only Tamara didn’t listen. Instead, she took another scone, prepared to feed Reggie once again. “You’re like a stick, honey,” she scolded with a shake of her head. “I told Eloise about those weird fads in California. Stubborn girl doesn’t want to listen.” Reggie nodded, finally swallowing the scone. Not the smartest choice. “Oh, you’re finished? Have another.”
“No thank-” Reggie was cut off by the pastry filling his mouth.
Tamara tutted, seemingly not noticing the boy’s discomfort. “You know, I remember you from when you were little,” she continued to talk. “Very skinny. But short. You grew quite a bit from last time we visited, right, Earl?”
Earl came back, flowers now in a purple vase. He nodded wordlessly before turning to look at Reggie, his cheeks red and puffed out. Earl’s face showed no surprise. That was his wife, after all.
“Oh, Earl, not that vase,” Tamara sighed, giving Reggie a sneak attack by feeding him another scone. The poor boy let out a muffled groan, but didn’t say anything else. “Get the white one, it matches the flowers’ colors much better.”
“Yes dear,” Earl said, going back to the closet in the back of the house. Reggie slouched back on the couch, hopeless and in desperate need for some water. He came to Canada for you, not to be subjected to some sick twisted grandmotherly world war two-esque torture.
Tamara looked down at Reggie. “You must really like these scones, dear,” she said, visibly impressed. “Have another, there’s plenty to go around. Now I see why (N/N) likes you. You two must really love my cooking, hm? Remind me to give you the recipe for when you go back home. That is, if you want to go home.”
Earl mouthed an apology as he came back with the new vase and Reggie just looked at the old man and questioned whether this was going to be him in fifty years.
Reggie tried to say something but only crumbs flew out of his mouth, stuffed like a chipmunk.
“Hey Nana is someone out here I thought I-Flicka?!”
Reggie turned over to you, eyes wide, face full with scones and he gave you a pained smile.
“Hi Foofie,” he attempted to say with his mouth full.
Tamara pinched the bridge of her nose. “Well, looks aren’t everything,” she sighed. “Come on, boy, swallow before you speak. This is your future bride for crying out loud.”
“Nana,” you whined before rushing over to Reggie, taking a cloth napkin and wiping his face. “You look absolutely ridiculous, Flicka.”
“You lofe me,” he shot back, mouth still filled with scones.
You hummed in response. “Sometimes,” you teased. Tears began to well in your eyes. “I can’t believe you flew all the way here, and suffered Nana’s scone feeding for me.”
Eloise and Mateo walked into the room next looking at the sight before them with great confusion.
“Mom not again!” Eloise complained while her husband just let out a small chuckle, remembering the similar way he was greeted when he was getting to know Eloise. “I’m so sorry Reggie honey, but it’s really great to see you,” the middle aged woman smiled and leaned down, giving Reggie a big hug. “It’s been a while.”
“It has,” Reggie said, finally able to answer properly.
Mateo was next, helping Reggie out of his seat and welcoming him with the same kindness.
“Good to see you son,”
“You too, sir,” he nodded.
Mateo ruffled the boy’s hair before Reggie was pulled in some other direction and out the door of the house.
You sat Reggie down on the porch swing overlooking the rest of the city from where the house stood on the mountain. He could see how the mountains dipped into a valley, surrounded by bushes and trees that faded in the distance, pooling into the crystal blue lake, of which he could see more than one.
His driver had told him the large one was the Okanagan lake, and it spanned multiple cities, the middle point being the city he flew into, Kelowna, the other smaller lake that was more popular with locals was called Skaha.
“You know,” you hummed as you leaned your head on his shoulder. “This is by far the stupidest plan you’ve ever come up with.” Reggie snorted, shaking his head silently. “But I’m glad you went through with it.”
“Me too, I was going to leave a few days after you left, but Rose made me pick up some shifts at her parents store so I could pay for the ticket,”
You laughed softly, taking his hand and weaving it together. “Seems like Rose,” you mused. “How are all of them? I miss them a lot, you know.”
“Yeah, we all know,” Reggie nodded. “Can I just say your grandma is a lot more intense than when we were younger. I legitimately thought she was trying to suffocate me with food,”
“Yeah, Nana does that with all the boyfriends, dad got the same treatment back in the 70s,”
“I hope I passed her test, then,” Reggie chuckled.
“You definitely did, she shoved like five scones in your mouth, I think that’s a record,”
“Pays to have the stomach of a cow,”
“Cows have six stomachs Flicka,”
“Exactly,” he grinned, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “And look at this, no universe, just me in charge, huh?”
“Or, is that what the universe wants you to think?”
“You know I thought you believed in God,” he fired back and you laughed.
“Same idea Flicka, just deal with it, higher power’s got your back,”
Just when Reggie opened his mouth, the door creaked open, revealing Eloise’s head poking out. “As sweet as this little reunion is,” she began sympathetically. “I think you two should get inside, now. You know, the mosquitoes are the one thing that don’t follow the ‘nice Canadian’ stereotype.”
You sighed, nodding. “Come on, Flicka. Sunburns are one thing but I’m not going to help you if you get a mosquito bite.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice, mosquitoes suck,” he said grabbing your arm and pulling you up and into the house.
As soon as you entered the room, Tamara smiled, exiting the kitchen. “There you two are,” she said. “Would you like another sco-”
“No!” both you and Reggie exclaimed in unison.
Reggie’s face turned red. “I uh mean, no ma’am,” he corrected sheepishly. “I’m full, but thank you. They’re really good, though.” Tamara, seemingly pleased with his response, nodded.
“Don’t forget, separate rooms you two,” Eloise warned.
Tamara looked at her daughter with a frown, “You act like you did sneak Mateo in here when you were teenagers. Plus he likes my scones! He’s family!”
“Yeah mom, listen to Nana I’m 22, you can relax,” you sighed.
“I promise no shenanigans,” Reggie added, “Swear it on Tamara’s scones,”
Tamara walked over to her daughter, patting her back. “Let the kids let loose,” she told her. “They’ll be fine together.”
You grinned, kissing your grandmother’s cheek gratefully. “Thank you, Nana.”
“Don’t thank me just yet, honey,” she stopped you. “I still want you to keep your door open. I approve of him, but I’m not ready to be a great grandmother just yet.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not ready to be a dad yet either,” Reggie chuckled. “One step at a time right?”
“We’ll see about that,” you chuckled mischievously earning you a scold from your father.
“Don’t tease the poor boy you’re just like your mother,”
Your mother rolled her eyes, elbowing him not so subtly. “Well, get to bed, the two of you,” she told you both. “I’m sure you have a bunch of things to show him tomorrow, so best get to bed now so you can have an early start,”
“Of course mom, love you guys,” you said, waving to your family and giving your grandfather who had been silent a kiss on the cheek.
Reggie was taken into Mateo's arms for a hug which he received warmly, your parents were like his second parents, they helped raise him, so it was only fair he looked at them that way.
Eloise was next, but along with a hug she whispered in his ear,
“I swear to sweet baby Jesus, Reginald, no funny business,”
“You have my word mama,” he chuckled and pressed a kiss to her cheek before following you out of the living room and up the small set of stairs that brought you to the rooms.
Your bedroom was small, and resembled that of a child’s. It was a bright pink with stars adorning the walls. Your twin sized bed was in the middle, pressed to the back of the wall. Reggie assumed that not much had changed in your room since you hadn’t been here for years.
“Nice room, Cookie,” he complimented as he set his bag down. “Very um, Disney princess chic.”
You shot him a look before throwing a pink throw pillow in his direction. “Shut up,” you shot back. “My grandparents haven’t really changed up the place. Hell, they still think I’m their baby granddaughter that wears princess dresses all the time.”
Reggie approached you, placing his hands on your waist. “Well, I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a pink princess dress,” he teased. “You’d look adorable.”
“As long as you wear the animal sidekick suit. You’d look adorable,” you mocked.
“Okay, I don’t mean to be a downer, but I’m exhausted, somehow my flight had a connection in Colorado then Alberta, so I’ve been awake for hours,”
“The washroom is through that door, you can get changed and then come and rest on the Aurora bedspread,”
“Looking forward to it Cookie,”
As instructed, Reggie made his way to the washroom and got ready while you did the same in your room, turning off the lights and leaving the door open. When you climbed into the bed, Reggie had just opened the door to the washroom, he was wearing flannel pants and a very large Sunset Curve shirt.
“Did they run out of your size, Flicka?” you teased, in your pajamas, a pair of old shorts and Alex’s sweatshirt you had stolen prior. Not that Alex ever noticed you took it, though. The drummer had a lifetime supply.
Reggie scoffed playfully. “I’ll have you know, this is just my size,” he told you. “Size beautiful, duh.”
You held your arms out to him in a welcoming hold and he didn’t hesitate to fall into them, resting his head against your chest while you pressed a kiss to his forehead.
“Hey, how is everyone?” you asked with a quiet yawn.
“Well, that’s the million dollar question isn’t it,” he laughed. “Bobby drank Rose and Ray’s place dry when you left, Luke didn’t eat anything but Twinkies for three days and wouldn’t leave your old apartment, Alex stayed with him but he was just as bad and Rose and Ray just took time off from everything to take care of everyone.”
“Wow,” you breathed.
“But,” Reggie continued. “They’re better now, they convinced me to come back up here. I think they want to come and visit at some point,”
“I’d like that a lot,” you smiled softly. “To see them all again. Maybe I’ll come back down for the wedding.”
Reggie chuckled, his fingers running through your hair. “There’s no “maybe,” Cookie. You’re going to be there, even if Rose has to drag you while in a white dress and veil. You’re her maid of honour.”
“About that,” you said, squinting your eyes. “Do you think they’re actually getting married? Like Rose didn’t say she told her parents or anything it was all very weird.”
“Oh, no, they’re definitely lying,” Reggie laughed. “But it’s fun to play along, see how long it takes for them to break or you know, break us.”
You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Those two are crazy,” she sighed. “Definitely Rose’s idea, though.”
Reggie nodded, his eyelids slowly closing. “Yeah,” he hummed. “I always thought we’d be the first ones to get married in the group, anyway.”
You chuckled lightly and nodded, “With our track record? Really Flicka? I was expecting at least one of us to get married and divorced first, probably me to be perfectly honest and you would have gone on some self actualization trip to Borneo and then we would have found each other again and gotten married,”
“Borneo does sound nice,” he mused and laughed. “We were never one for a normal relationship.”
You agreed. “Normal’s too boring,” you said. “Where’s the drama in a normal relationship?”
“When you put it that way it makes it seem unhealthy,” Reggie poked you and you squirmed under his touch.
“It’s not unhealthy it’s just… just… spicy! That’s it, our relationship is spicy,”
“So were those dances Mrs. Leona taught us,”
“Oh Tamika! She’s such a sweetheart, I went through part of my practicum with her,”
“You’re on a first name basis with her?” Reggie asked, surprised.
“Well, I am almost a teacher now so yeah,” you nodded. “Still wouldn’t let go the whole deal with us having unparalleled chemistry,”
“Why am I not surprised,” Reggie yawned loudly.
You tilted your head upwards to see Reggie, barely staying awake. “Okay, we definitely should go to bed now,” you told him. “You look beyond exhausted.”
“I feel beyond exhausted.”
Laughing softly, you snuggled yourself closer into Reggie’s chest, his arms finding their place around your waist. “Goodnight, Flicka,” you whispered. “I’m glad the universe brought us back together.”
Reggie hummed in response. “I’m glad, too. I love you, Cookie.”
—
You woke up the next morning to the loud sound of banging. Sitting up abruptly, you turned to see the other side of your bed empty. You frowned to yourself. Were you just dreaming? Did Reggie not actually come to Canada?
“YOU HORSE BOY, I TOLD YOU TO ADD SUGAR! WHAT IN YOUR RIGHT MIND MADE YOU THINK ADDING SALT TO PANCAKES WAS A SMART DECISION?” you heard your grandmother yell.
You let out a sigh of relief. Reggie was here.
“I’m sorry!” you heard him yelp. “They look similar, so I-”
“Oh, these Brandanowitz women, worst taste in men, I tell you,” she grumbled loudly. “None of them can choose a man who knows how to cook!”
Rushing down the stairs, you poked your head around the corner to see your grandmother, father, and Reggie trying to cook. Your father seemed to have taken a major offense to your nana’s comment.
“Tamara, I’ve gotten much better, plus I did teach you how to make arepas,”
Your grandmother narrowed her eyes. “Don’t get smart with me, boy,” she snapped, snatching the pan from your father’s hands. “I still remember the cake incident back in ‘84.” Your father blushed sheepishly before stepping back to let Nana take the lead in cooking.
“Mom before you start attacking my husband you do know that dad can’t cook right? I’d say that proves you have equally bad taste in men,” your mother countered.
“Mhmm,” Earl nodded, not looking up from his newspaper and sipping his coffee. “Very bad taste ‘Mara,”
Tamara shook her head, swatting Reggie’s hand as he tried to taste the batter. “Oh, I know,” she said back. “I just hoped that after five generations of our family choosing terrible cooks, we’d get some change.”
“Reggie’s got some other talents,” Mateo came to the boy’s defence. “An amazing musician, Eloise and I went to a few of his band’s concerts,”
Tamara gave the boy a dead state. “Fiddling with banjos and drums won’t feed you, unless you plan on eating strings,” she deadpanned.
“Actually ma’am my band and I just landed a huge gig at one of the most popular theaters in LA. Our tickets sold out,”
“Are the drumsticks made of bread?” she asked.
Reggie furrowed his eyebrows. “No?”
“Are the bass strings made of spinach?”
“No, ma’am.”
Tamara made a sour face, taking the batter from the table. “Then not my problem,” she said before continuing to make the pancakes.
“Mom,” Eloise groaned, smacking her forehead. “Reggie honey just ignore her, she’s too old fashioned for her own good. We,” she said motioning to herself and Mateo. “Love you and that’s all that matters,”
“I don’t think he’s that bad either,” Earl mused from the table.
“Oh sure,” Tamara murmured to herself. “I’m too old fashioned until you come running back to me for my scones recipe.” She looked up from her bowl of pancake mix to glare at her husband. “Earl, next time you ask for coffee, you’re getting dirt and worms, you hear me?”
The older man only smiled at his wife. “Yes, dear.”
“Good morning,” you said, finally coming into the kitchen.
You went around, giving the routine kisses, saving Reggie for last and pressing a quick peck to his lips.
“Sleep well Flicka?”
“Like a log,” he nodded. “I-I was trying to help your grandma make breakfast but she seems to think I’m a bad cook,”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” you grinned. “She labels to the sugar salt and the salt sugar just to get people, you’re a fine cook Flicka,”
“Tamara!” Mateo explained, completely betrayed and flabbergasted.
The woman shrugged her shoulders, flipping a pancake on the stove. “Serves you right for thinking I’m old fashioned. I can have fun, too.”
“I-” Mateo stammered before looking at his wife in disbelief. “Eloise!”
Eloise smirked as she approached you with a cup of coffee. “You’ll need it if you’re going to tour around town today,” she told you.
“I’m gonna need it if dad is gonna try and find a way to prove he's a good cook, I can see the gears turning,”
“You know I can cook (N/N)! I always made dinner at home,” he insisted. “Now what do you like more, my empanadas or tira de asado?”
“Ohh the tira,” you and Reggie both nodded, having tasted the delicious steak already.
Tamara turned around with a plate of pancakes, setting it on the table. “But is his cooking better than mine?” she asked, giving you a serious look.
“Well that depends,” you said, you were always honest with your grandmother, no matter what other people had said, “See Papa can beat you without a doubt on the South American dishes, but when it comes to North American comfort foods you’re the queen,”
“At least you raised her right,” Tamara grinned, pinching her granddaughter’s cheek.
The rest of breakfast went by smoothly, with Tamara only threatening to make Mateo sleep on the roof once, a new record. Regardless of the constant threats Mateo loved his mother in-law, that was a fact.
You ran back up to your bedroom to get dressed for the day, while Reggie was held back by your dad, more likely than not to help clean up the mess that they made in the kitchen with Tamara.
But downstairs, Reggie was sat down by Mateo and Earl, serious expressions on their face. Eloise and Tamara were nowhere to be found, but Reggie wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.
“What’s up?” Reggie asked to break the silence, despite the erratic beating of his heart. “I’m not in trouble, am I?”
“No, son,” Earl reassured him, sitting down across from him. Mateo sat beside him, patting Reggie’s hand reassuringly.
“We just wanted to have a chat,” Mateo said and Reggie raised his brows, looking over at the two men.
“Am I right to think this has something to do with (N/N)?” Reggie asked and the men nodded.
“You’d be right, sonny,” Earl smiled. “I don’t think we’ve ever asked you how your flight was?”
Reggie shrugged his shoulders. “It wasn’t horrible,” he answered. “But honestly, all that really mattered was that I’d find my way back to Cookie.”
Mateo couldn’t help, but smile, reminiscing the days when he was falling in love with his now wife. “Cookie,” he repeated. “You and (N/N) have the silliest names for each other. I don’t remember why you call each other that.”
“It’s a long story,” Reggie laughed. “I’m pretty sure Flicka’s a horse from Wyoming and well she always did like cookies didn’t she,”
The men laughed and agreed with him. “That girl eats far too many desserts for her own good,” Earl shook his head. “You better keep your pastry stock full at all times once you’re married to her, you hear me? She’s just like Tamara, can never get enough of sweets.”
Instantly, the edges of Reggie’s lips turned up into a smile. “I guess I’ll be needing that scone recipe too,” he joked lightly.
Suddenly, the room went silent. Reggie stared down at the bracelets on his wrists, playing with the loose strings. You had made them for him when you were kids, and he swore to never take them off. And there he was, seventeen years later, upholding that promise.
“Um, sirs,” he began, immediately cringing at the titles. “I-I… you know how much I love your daughter and granddaughter,”
“More than you love Tamara’s scones?” Earl cut in with a teasing wink.
“Oh yes, much more,” Reggie laughed nervously. “More than anything in my life, to be honest. And actually,” he reached into his pocket, pulling out a velvet box and showing Mateo and Earl. “I-I really want to ask her to be my wife. I just thought maybe I could ask for your blessings first.”
Earl and Mateo fell silent once more, making Reggie stammer sheepishly. “I promise you, I’ll keep my pastry stock filled and everything,” he rushed. “I’ll buy the entire company of cookies if it meant she’d be happy. Hell I’m prepared to move here, I’d do anything for her,”
Reggie pulled out the ring from the box, fiddling with it anxiously. “I’m ready to even give up music, if I have to. Because she’s worth everything to me. I’ll take up a job here, a-and I’ll learn how to cook, too. Cookies, scones, tira de asado, whatever she wants to make her happy. I know I don’t have much, e-even my family is falling apart, but I promise I’ll make her my first and only priority, sir and...sir.”
Earl glanced over at Mateo. “If you don’t approve of this young man, I’ll marry him myself,” he said with a grin.
“Reggie, Eloise and I always had a hunch that you’d be the one for (N/N),” Mateo explained. “You’ve been like a son to us and we watched you grow up into such a fine young man, I don’t think there’s anyone more perfect to be my daughter’s partner for the rest of her life,”
Reggie nearly dropped his ring. “Wait, really?” he stumbled over his words. “Like...you’re allowing me to propose? Like marry her and-and everything?”
Mateo nodded. “So long as she says yes,” he told him.
“Which she will,” Earl chuckled. “Welcome to the family son,”
Without thinking, Reggie stood up and leaned over and wrapped his arms tightly around them. “T-thank you, sirs!”
Mateo and Earl laughed heartily. “I think Dad and Grandpa will do,” Mateo insisted, patting Reggie’s back. “Now, I think you have a girl to propose to, right?”
As if on cue, you made it to the bottom of the stairs, ready to go. “Ready, Flicka?” you beamed.
Reggie quickly tucked the ring box back into his pocket. “Always, Cookie,” he responded.
Tamara entered the dining room, wearing a large floppy hat and sunglasses. “Yes, we are,” she announced. “Where to?”
Your cheeks were flushed red. “Oh, Nana, we were-”
“I’ve got the keys,” Eloise grinned. “We can drive to Kelowna for the day!”
“I can drive,” Mateo nodded, taking the keys from his wife and sending a wink to Reggie.
A good ten minutes later the whole household was packed into a car, heading out of the small town for the hour drive up to Kelowna, the largest town along the Okanagan lake.
“Oh mom can we go to Moo Lix? I love their ice cream,” you asked your mother, leaning up from the back seat.
“I’m sure we can stop there,” Eloise nodded. “We can walk through the city park and grab something to eat by the beach,”
The drive wasn’t too long, only around an hour and when they crossed the bridge to enter the city Reggie could sense your excitement, finally being able to show you around some of the places you grew up in.
“Excited, Cookie?” he asked with a teasing grin on his face.
You turned your head from the window, beaming at Reggie. “Beyond excited,” you replied, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it tightly. “Maybe later on, you can show me around Wyoming?”
Reggie threw his head back in laughter. “I’d love to show you the ranch,” he told you.
“Good cause I’m not entirely convinced it exists,”
“Oh not with this again,” Reggie groaned and banged his head on the seats in front of you.
Mateo finally parked the car along the front of the large city park, spanning the length of the beach and lake. You were ready to drag Reggie out of the car and try to take him to some of the places you wanted him to see, but you were interrupted by your grandmother insisting you all went in the opposite direction.
“Reggie, I have to show you Ogopogo,” you told Reggie, pulling on his arm. “I need to tell you the story about it, it’s awesome! It’s this monster that’s said to inhabit the lake, you’d love it!”
Reggie chuckled as he tried to catch up with you, running down the sidewalk. “I guess there’s another monster I need to befriend in the lake,” he joked, remembering the lake back in California.
Tamara shook her head at the two, readjusting her straw hat. “Oh, no one wants to see that pile of rubble,” she told you both. “Come on, there are far better things to see.”
“But Nana,” you whined. “I wanna show him-,”
“Come on dear,” she interrupted you and you sighed.
“We’ll come another time Flicka,” you said, wrapping your arm around his and intertwining your fingers together.
“Of course Cookie, I’m yours, for whatever or whenever,”
Your grandma dragged the group of you through the park, explaining the history of certain statues and whatnots. You were paying attention, but Reggie’s focus was on you the entire time, his hand nervously fiddling with the ring in his pocket, waiting for the right time, any time to pull it out. But every time he tried to take a moment to be alone with you, either Tamara would pull you two to another site or Reggie would get too nervous.
Finally, when Reggie got a moment alone with you, it was absolutely perfect. The sun was nearly setting, and your parents had managed to drag your grandparents to the bench to rest for a moment, but Lord knows Tamara can’t sit still for long.
“This place is beautiful, isn’t it, Flicka?” you asked, looking out in the distance. You turned to face Reggie, a mischievous grin on your face. “Maybe if you go for a quick swim, you’ll see Ogopogo.”
Reggie chuckled. “Maybe.”
The two of you turned back to the scenery, taking in the small moment of silence you were finally given.
Do it. Get on one knee and do it.
“Cookie?” Reggie spoke up. You hummed in response, not tearing your eyes away from the sunset. “You talked about the universe bringing us together, no matter how many times we’ve been pulled apart.”
You laughed softly. “Higher powers always have your back, Flicka,” you said, recalling what you told him last night.
Reggie placed his hand in his pocket, about to pull out his ring and propose to you. “Well, I-”
“(N/N)! Horse Boy!”
Reggie sighed, slouching slightly. Dropping the ring box back into his pocket, he turned around to see Tamara marching over to them. Earl was close behind, mouthing an apology.
“It’s getting late,” she frowned. “We have to get going now if you want to get scones for dessert.”
You smiled giddily, kissing Reggie’s cheek before following your grandmother.
The ride on the way back was spent the majority of the time in silence, just resting. You laid your head on Reggie’s shoulder as he stared out the window, frustrated with himself for not proposing today. There were countless amounts of times where he could have asked you, but there was always something holding him back.
Once you got back to the house, you dragged yourself up the porch steps saying you were gonna go take a power nap before dinner and dessert were ready. Reggie couldn’t help, but look fondly at you while you walked up the stairs, yawning loudly. Even when you were tired you were perfect to him.
Reggie couldn’t stop replaying the day in his head. All the missed moments were taunting him. He needed help, but from who? Suddenly, it was as though something clicked in his head.
Reggie entered the home, finding your mother in the dining room with her father. “Hey, um Eloise is there a phone I could use? I’ll pay for the long distance charges,”
“Yeah of course, there's one in the studio room downstairs,”
“Thanks,” Reggie smiled and jogged down to the phone. After taking it in his hands he took a deep breath. This had to be it, what was holding him back.
Dialling the number and hitting call there was no turning back.
The phone rang for a few moment and just as he thought no one was going to pick up the phone line clicked and there was a quiet,
“Hello?” on the other end.
“Hey dad,” Reggie said quietly chewing on his lip. “C-Can you get mom I want to talk to you both about something,”
A long pause followed. “Um, sure,” he responded. “Is everything alright, Reggie?”
“Yeah,” Reggied sighed. He pulled the ring box out of his pocket. Flipping open the top, he stared down at the small jewel resting on top of the ring. “Everything’s fine.”
There was a quite shuffle on the other line along with some hushed chatter before the phone clicked again,
“Okay Reg, you’re on speaker,” he heard his father’s voice once more.
It had been almost three months since he had last seen or spoken to either of his parents aside from getting the confirmation that they were going through with the divorce.
“Um… well,” Reggie didn’t really know where to start, so that’s what he said. “Everything’s a little all over the place I’m not really sure where to start,”
“Take your time sweetheart,” Diana’s soft voice came through. “Your dad and I have time,”
Reggie took another deep breath, “A-A little while back (Y/N)’s parents… they-they lost the house,” Reggie started to explain. “The job market just wasn’t working for them in LA so they needed to move back to Canada. They’re staying with Eloise’s parents for now until they can find work and get settled.”
“Oh wow,” Darcy whispered on the other end, “W-We didn’t know. I’m sorry to hear that,”
“Yeah me too,” Reggie nodded. “A-Anyways, (Y/N) had to come up with them. To stay and I… I just-I couldn’t lose her again so...”
“Reggie,” Diana spoke up. “Are you in Canada right now?”
“Yes?” he answered, more so like a question.
Murmuring followed from Diana and Darcy’s end. “Okay, we’re not mad you went to another country without telling us,” Darcy began. “But a heads up would have been nice.”
“I-I got a job and everything to pay for the ticket. I’m not in debt or anything,” he assured. “But yeah, I guess maybe I should have said something, but you can understand why I was hesitant to call,”
“Sweetheart,” Diana said. “We’re happy you went to follow the girl you loved. So long as you’re safe.”
“We’re sorry for not being the best parents to you,” Darcy added. “But we want to be here for you now. Is there anything we can do to help you with whatever’s troubling you?”
Reggie remained silent, fiddling with the phone wire. “Dad, how did you know you were ready to propose to Mom?” he asked in a quiet voice.
“I-I’m sorry?” Darcy said back. “Son, you’re going to have to speak up, I didn’t catch that.”
Reggie took yet another deep breath. “How did you know you were ready to propose? Like...what feeling did you get? Because I know deep down I’m ready to spend the rest of my life with (Y/N), but something’s stopping me and I don’t know what.”
There was silence on the other line and Reggie cursed in his head, this wasn’t a good idea he shouldn’t have-
“I-um… I don’t really know how to describe it…” Darcy started softly. “It was almost like… like pain, in my heart. When I wasn’t with her I-I just couldn’t function. Your mom she was… she was my everything.”
Reggie could hear his dad faltering on his words, but before he could get any further he could hear his mother’s soft voice reassuring him,
“It’s okay… we just… we weren’t cut out to be married. I-... Reggie I hope you know your father and I still love each other very much. It’s just sometimes life throws you one too many curveballs. D-Do you think you would be able to get past that with (Y/N) if it were to come to it?”
“I would do anything for her,” he whispered.
“Then I think you got your answer, Reg,” Darcy told him, no doubt smiling. “Reggie, I know we haven’t said it much, but I just want you to know that we are so proud of you for growing up to be such a brilliant young man, despite all the things life has thrown at you, what we have done to you.”
Reggie sniffled, wiping away a stray tear. “You haven’t done anything, Dad,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “Life got in the way, you know? I can’t blame you two for that.”
Eloise poked her head around the corner. “Reggie, dear,” she called out. “Dinner’s ready. Do you want me to save a plate for you if you’re still on that call?”
Reggie shook his head. “No, erm I’m okay, Eloise,” he reassured her. “I’ll be up in a minute.” Eloise smiled before going back upstairs.
Turning back to the phone, Reggie sighed. “I should probably go now,” he told his parents. “But thank you for the advice. It um, means a lot.”
“Of course, Reggie,” Diana said into the phone. “We’ll always be here for you.”
Reggie nodded, gripping the phone tight. “I...I love you,” he whispered, trying to fight back the tears from falling down his face. For once things felt normal. They felt like a family.
“We love you, too, Reggie,” Darcy told him. “Remember to tell us everything, okay? How it goes, if the wedding will be in Canada…”
Reggie laughed. “I will, Dad.”
“A-And, I know you probably have a ring already,” his mother started. “But the one your father gave me is passed down in the family. I-If you want I think we’d like to give it to you.”
“I-I’d love that,” he nodded, “We can save it for the big day… if there is one,”
“I have a strong feeling there will be,” Darcy said, a smile in his voice. “Trust me on that,”
“Well, we don’t want to keep you from dinner, sweetie,” Diana told him. “Tell (Y/N) we said hi, okay?”
After saying their goodbyes, Reggie set the phone down and smiled to himself. For once in his life, everything felt right.
Reggie, not wanting to make them wait any longer, stood up from his seat to join your family for dinner. There, Earl was pouring lemonade in each glass while Eloise set up the table.
Tamara was the next to enter the kitchen with a tray of roast chicken. “There you are,” she spoke up, looking directly at Reggie. “We were wondering where you were. Afraid you’d run off and make friends with the mosquitoes.”
“Tamara’s warming up to you a little more,” Mateo teased. “She’s worries for you. That didn’t happen for me until after (Y/N) was born.”
Tamara rolled her eyes, pointing a carving knife at him. “I’ll have you know,” she began with a pointed look. “I like this boy a whole lot more than I did when I first met you. This one finishes my scones and calls me “ma’am.” You should take some notes.”
Reggie laughed, taking a seat beside you. “Well, ma’am,” he smiled. “I hope you’ll get to see me more often.”
Eloise and Mateo grinned, a knowing twinkle in their eyes as Reggie spoke. You glanced over at Reggie, quite confused. “What?” you asked.
The bassist only shook his head. “Nothing,” he told you softly. Still exhausted from the day, you simply nodded, leaning your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes.
“I’m tired,” you whined in a hushed voice for only Reggie to hear.
Reggie tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “Eat quickly, then you can head to bed, okay, Cookie?” You groaned, but listened to him.
“Wow, Reggie,” Eloise mused, impressed. “She actually listens to you when she’s tired. (N/N) never does that.”
Reggie shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a gift,” he joked.
With a mouth full of chicken and rice, you agreed. “He’s the special one,” you teased.
Reggie grinned, subconsciously patting the ring box in his pocket.
Yeah, he sure hoped he was.
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The Train To Apparent Death
(don’t worry, no one actually dies)
Draco Malfoy x Non-Slytherin Reader
Summary: You’re lucky enough to get a ride with Draco Malfoy on the Hogwarts Express, but madness lies along the way.
Platform 9¾ was still Platform 9¾.
Just like every other day at the Hogwarts Express, first-years still bidding goodbye to their parents, much older students rushing in to sit with their friends, lots of mothers and fathers asking if they brought their wands, their books, their robes, their everything.
The difference was, there were more words of warning.
“Dear, always stick with someone, Sirius Black is on the loose!”
“Don’t go wandering in the middle of the night or Sirius Black will bite your fingers off!”
“Oh, golly, I’m having second thoughts about it now that Sirius Black could be anywhere!”
You subtly covered your ears as you walked past the crowd of sobbing and waving parents and stepped onboard.
You looked in the windows of each compartment, looking for one that wasn’t too crowded. The first had a bunch of first-years, trying to show off their magic abilities, which were none, thanks for asking. The second had a girl your age reading an upside-down book, talking and singing to herself, which you absolutely did not need.
The third cart had just one sleeping man, his face covered with a newspaper, laying sideways, occupying the entire seat. No thanks, I’ll pass, you scrunched your nose in disgust.
The fourth one was empty, except for a boy on the corner, his face covered by the cover of The Daily Prophet he was reading. You opened the door and walked halfway in with your trunk.
“Could I sit here with you? Everywhere else is full, so-”
Your words got lost in your throat as the boy put the paper down and stared back at you with intimidating grey eyes.
It was Draco Malfoy.
“-or, I could just find someplace else.” Your voice cracked as you spun around to leave. “Have a nice d-”
“No, I suppose I could tolerate just one person for the train ride. Consider yourself lucky. Get in and shut the door.”
Did Draco Malfoy just let you sit with him? For an entire bloody train ride?
“I-” your face heated up. “W-Well… thanks then.”
You slid your trunk under your seat and sat down across him as he turned his attention back to his newspaper.
“Anything from the trolley, dears?” A high-pitched voice made you look up. It was the trolley witch with the sweets trolley, which was your favorite part of the train ride.
“I’ll have two bars of chocolate and a sherbet lemon, thanks.” You paid for the sweets as she handed them to you.
“Do you want anything?” you asked Draco, but he only responded by rolling his eyes and blocking your view of his face with the paper.
“You know what? I’ll take a chocolate frog too.” You paid for it and thanked her, and after you closed the door, you slid the chocolate frog next to him.
What you didn’t know was that he pulled the newspaper over his face because he could hardly stop from smiling.
You looked up at the headline of his paper and yelped in surprise as you came face-to-face with the screaming image of Sirius Black.
“Mother of Merlin!” you cried.
Draco put his newspaper down with no trace of the grin, in its place an annoyed grimace.
“What?” he asked blatantly.
“Sorry, it’s just- I…” you looked away and pointed at the paper. “…Sirius Black.”
“Oh,” he folded the newspaper and went back to reading, the headline page covered by the other pages.
“Thanks,” you opened your bag and took out your copy of Newt Scamander’s Fantastic Beasts & Where to Find Them.
A few hours passed, and neither of you said a word to another, until he put his paper down and looked at the time, and you were able to stay calm as the image of Sirius Black came into view once more.
“Do you think Sirius Black could get into Hogwarts?” you asked just above a whisper.
He stared out the window, and you were just about to drop the conversation until he spoke softly.
“My father said the Ministry’s in charge of preventing that,” he said, without glancing at you.
“But isn’t the Ministry the people who run Azkaban?” you asked again. “I mean, if Black’s escaped them once, he can sneak right under their noses again too.”
“Are you scared, L/N?” he smirked, still not looking at you.
“Yes, of course, he’s killed people, so it’s natural to fear for my life,” you pulled your sleeves over your hands, “I’d rather be scared than apathetic.”
“A pathetic what?” he joked, and you failed to hide your laugh. But you shut your mouth as his face suddenly grew serious.
“Father said the Ministry’s setting up tighter security throughout the school perimeter,” he sat straighter. “He says even Dumbledore hesitated for a while. So, there’s nothing to worry about, is there?”
“I suppose not,” you mumbled.
There was a few more moments of silence until the train rumbled, slowed down, and shook to a stop.
Draco stood up and grabbed his luggage. “Oh, great! I can finally get off this bloody-”
His words turned into a shout of terror as all the lights went off.
“Merlin, what is going on! Wait till my father-”
“Malfoy-”
“-hears about this! By Salazar’s beard, he’ll probably have me study somewhere else than this pathetic-”
“Malfoy, y-”
“-pig sty! He’ll probably have Dumbledore removed fr-”
“Draco, please stay quiet, you’re making it worse,” you pleaded.
He snapped around as he heard the slight tremor in your voice.
“What is it?” He asked, trying to keep the concern from showing in his words.
“No, no,” you replied. “It’s nothing, really.”
“Stay put. I’ll get you some water.” He cursed himself as he stood back up. Why was he doing all this for you?
You heard the compartment door slide open and pulled your knees to your chest. After a while, he came back with a glass of water. He took something out of his bag, and light filled the room as he whispered, “Lumos.”
You took the water and took a light sip, but stared at the water with confusion.
Your breath was visible, and the water in your cup formed cold mist.
You turned to the compartment door, and on its window ice formed, spreading like a web until it filled the entire door and even enveloped the knob.
“Draco?” Your voice shook as you moved crawled further away from the door.
“Wha-” he stopped in his steps as he saw the ice forming on the door.
The two of you stared at the frozen door in silence until he snorted.
“It’s probably just some snow, I’ll wipe it off.” He said, but even he could hear the uncertainty in his voice.
“Draco, no-”
He didn’t listen to you as he walked over, pushing the door open as some shards of ice fell to the floor, turning into puddles of water.
“Malfoy, would you stop?”
You pushed him away from the door, slamming it. But your eyes widened and all breath left you as you took in the figure standing very still right outside the door. It was a creature covered in grey, shredded material, and the only thing separating you and this monstrosity was a single pane of glass.
It gave out heavy breaths, and fog appeared on the window. You didn’t realize the tears trickling down your face until they turned cold on your cheeks. You wanted to move backward but you couldn’t; your feet were planted on the ground, telling you if you moved it might not be so patient with killing you.
It gave out one last exhale, the grey cloth fluttering dangerously as the entire door filled with fog. When the fog receded, the creature was no longer there. But you still didn’t budge.
“Bloody hell,” you heard Draco’s voice behind you, but you didn’t turn around.
“So that’s what a dementor is? Merlin, that thing was ghastly! If this doesn’t keep Sirius Black out of the school I don’t know what will- Y/N? Y/N, it’s gone. Y/N, don’t stand there like a-”
“What the hell was that?” You croaked, your voice harsh.
“Y/N, it’s gone,” he chuckled. “there’s absolutely nothing to worry about!”
You felt someone grab your arm, and you tried to pull away, but you were face-to-face with Draco.
“Merlin, you’re cold as ice. And you’ve gone white! Y/N, what’s wrong-” He stared at your tear-stained face for a second, then his expression changed.
“Oh, no,” he brushed his finger across your face. “Hey, Y/N, sit down.”
You didn’t move, but squinted hard to clear your vision. He sighed, then you felt one arm rubbing your back and lightly pushing you down onto the seat. He took your hands in his, blew a little on them, then massaged your palms with his thumbs. You felt yourself slowly come back to your senses, and steadied your breathing as he looked on.
As the two of your locked gazes again, he took you in his arms, rubbing circles into your back.
“Wha… What was that, Draco?” you asked.
“That was a dementor, it’s the kind of creature that guards Azkaban. Those are the things that the Ministry sent to Hogwarts to keep watch at the gates.” He frowned, then turned to the door as a knock startled you.
Draco groaned, then stood up and strutted over to the door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Professor Remus Lupin, your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”
You looked up and realized it was the man you had seen in one of the compartments.
“Oh, well, what is it?”
“I’m just here to warn you about the dementors. They won’t harm you unless you’re Sirius Black.”
“Oh, thanks a bunch, professor,” Draco rolled his eyes, “Thanks for telling us they’re harmless after a student went into a panic attack because of them.”
“Oh, dear, is she alright?” Professor Lupin looked past Draco and at you.
“I’m fine professor, just a little cold,” you said.
“Oh, and she’s cold, professor, aside from the fact she went ghost-pale and couldn’t move, professor,” he added sarcastically.
You were about to tell him it was fine, when you felt him drape something around your shoulders. It was his robe. You snuggled deeper into it and looked back up at Professor Lupin.
“But anyways, I’m fine. How are the other students?”
“Oh, Mr. Potter’s soul was nearly sucked out by the dementor, he lost consciousness for a while. Which reminds me, do any of you have a cloth or a towel?”
Draco rolled his eyes at the mention of Potter, but looked back at you as you almost fell off the seat reached for your bag and rummaged through it. He pushed your hand away and knelt down to you.
“What are you doing, L/N?”
“You heard him, Harry needs a towel.”
“Well, I’ll get it, sit down, you just looked like Death a few minutes ago.”
He got a towel from your bag and handed it to Professor Lupin.
“Ah, Professor,” you sat up, sticking your hand in your pocket. “I heard chocolate helps relieve the pain. Maybe this could help?”
As you handed Professor Lupin the chocolate, Draco Malfoy stared at you in awe. You had just been so terrified just a few minutes ago, yet now you were more concerned of someone else’s wellbeing. He was so puzzled. He expected to fall in love with someone who was as spunky as him, someone who was as cold as he was, yet his heart chose you, someone who he could never imagine to be bad.
What the bloody hell was going on with him.
“Thank you, Y/N, I look forward to seeing you in class,” Professor Lupin smiled.
“Oh, and five points to H/H.”
You smiled weakly, then as Lupin left the compartment, you looked back at Draco, who was staring at you with an unreadable expression.
“What? Do… Do I still look like Death?” You laughed nervously.
“I…” Draco opened his mouth to speak, but closed it immediately, and shook his head while smiling.
“What?” You sat up as he shuffled in next to you.
“It’s just… do you know how beautiful you are?”
That took you aback. It left you stunned for a second.
“Why would you say that?” You were nothing short of confused.
“Because… I always saw you as one of the prettiest girls of our year, but the only thing that outshines that is your heart. I just saw you nearly die of horror five minutes ago, but you just… gave Lupin that chocolate instead of keeping it to yourself.”
“But Potter needed it more-”
“Potter, Schmotter.” He rolled his eyes. “What I’m saying is, I’m madly in love with you.”
You stared at him, speechless.
There was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “Of course, if you don’t feel the same way-”
You leaned forward and kissed him. Not actually kissed him, but a temporary brush of your lips on his; slow enough for him to stutter in surprise, but too fast for you to even register it in your brain.
He turned to you and furrowed his eyebrows.
“Did you just kiss me?”
You suddenly realized the danger of what you did and practically flew to the other side of the compartment.
“I-I didn’t mean to,” you stammered. “I’m sorry-”
But you were cut off when he pulled you up by the shoulders and leaned in.
“If you’re going to kiss Draco Malfoy, you have to do it absolutely perfectly,” he whispered hoarsely, “As you know, all Malfoys settle for nothing but the best.”
He pressed his lips to yours, and your hands found their way to his neck and up to his hair as he pulled you closer by the waist.
It felt like he wouldn’t pull away for a long time -but then again, neither would you- if the train hadn’t stopped.
“Well, a-are we dating now?” you asked unsurely.
“Not yet,” he pecked you on the nose. “This Saturday, Courtyard, wear something nice.”
You smiled.
“Of course, Draco,” you winked. “As you said, all Malfoys settle for nothing but the best.”
=
You and Draco sat down at your respective table wearing the biggest smiles on your faces.
Your friends were talking and chattering happily, but as they turned to you their jaws hit the table.
“Wh-what’s the matter?” You asked.
Your best friend pulled on your arm.
“You’re wearing a Slytherin robe.”
=
A/N: Now y’all know why Draco was concerned about Harry fainting ;)))
#draco malfoy#draco malfoy oneshots#draco x y/n#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy imagines#prisoner of azkaban#draco fluff#draco malfoy fanfic#harry potter oneshots#harry potter fanfic
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BWYD Chapter 38
Parent Swap
The three almost siblings sat at a table, Marinette facing the window while Matthieu sat closest to the door. Three chocolate cupcakes sat on the table, not a dollop of frosting in sight.
“How have you been?” Jocelyne asked, her eyes flicking over Marinette as though she could take in every change the girl had made since leaving her home. “Have they been good to you?”
“Your boys are nice to you, aren’t they?” Matthieu implored, looking over her as he had become accustomed.
“When Batman and Red Hood finally moved me from Paris, they put me with Ubaba. Ubaba gave me several siblings, brothers and sisters, who care for me like you two did.” Marinette picked at her cupcake, surprised when the chocolate cake gave way to a blood orange compote in the center. “My oldest brother, Dick, and one of my middle brothers, Duke, are here with Damian, Colin and I. My second oldest brother, Jason, is just in town for a little while to make sure I don’t have another catatonic episode before he’s going back home. My three sisters, who are all so much like you, like doing my hair. My other middle brother, Tim, helps Ubaba run the family company that Ubaba’s parents founded.”
Jocelyne nodded, a smile on her face. “I like your necklace.”
Marinette touched her necklace. “It was Maman’s. A lady who was like a grandmother to me found it for me, after our home burned down I never thought I’d have anything from them ever again.”
Jocelyne nodded and placed her hand over Marinette’s hand resting on the table. Matthieu smiled sadly.
Lou, ever the diligent partner, went about running the shoppe for Jocelyne while she was busy talking with her almost siblings.
---
Dick rushed into the cupcake shoppe, his eyes scanning the interior before they landed on the form of his sister. “Tiny Bat!” He vaulted over the tables and chairs, Duke running through the closing door behind him.
“Oiseau bleu! What’re you doing here?” Marinette frowned, pulling protective instincts from her two almost siblings.
Jocelyne forced herself between the two Wayne siblings while Matthieu pulled Marinette behind him. “Excuse you. Who do you think you are?”
Duke bounded across the shoppe to stand beside Dick. “We’re her brothers. Who’re you?”
“Oiseau blue. Oiseau jaune.” Marinette sighed and placed her hand on Jocelyne’s shoulder. “They’re Ubaba’s sons, two of my older brothers.” She paused and frowned. “How did you find me?”
“So, Tim may or may not have put a tracker on everyone’s phones so we all know where everyone else is, and when Damian and Colin came home but you still hadn’t, we waited a little while longer. But as the time between the boys coming home and you not coming home almost reached an hour, we decided to track your location?”
“Tim-Tam and I will be having a discussion.” Marinette sighed and pressed a kiss to Matthieu’s cheek. “You two, on the other hand, need to learn to call first.”
“We were worried. Especially after what happened last time.”
“That doesn’t count.”
---
Marinette frowned at her brother on the computer screen. “Tim-Tam. Why did you bug my phone?”
“I bugged everyone’s, not just your’s.” Tim sat back in his desk chair and ran a hand through his hair. “We need to be able to find everyone at all times, especially since Diana vacated the city a few years before you guys popped up and you’re only letting the family in.”
“Tim-Tam. If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume you guys didn’t trust me. Oh wait, the only one who initially believed I was capable of being a vigilante like the rest of the family was Damian.” Marinette frowned and shook her head. “I’ve gotta go. Oiseaux bleu and jaune are making me participate in a family day tomorrow.”
“Bug-” Tim started to say before Marinette ended the call and closed her laptop.
She sighed and pulled her hair out of the ponytail she’d pulled it up into. She looked around her room, Oberon and Houdini curled up in a stray ray of sunshine, before her eyes landed on Tikki. “Hey, Tikki?”
Tikki turned to look at her holder. “Oh Marinette.” Tikki put down the cookie she was eating and zipped over to Mari. “You have the support of your team, the support of Damian, and all of the kwamis support you. Queen Hipplyta and the Amazons support you, I’m pretty sure if we asked Arthur King of Atlantis would support you.”
Marinette nodded and cupped Tikki in her hands. “Thanks Tikki.” Marinette pressed a kiss to Tikki’s forehead. “Some days I swear you’re more of a parent to me than Ubaba. Granted Grampa Alfie has been more of a parent to most of my older siblings.”
“Oh Marinette.” Tikki wrapped her arms around Marinette’s finger and frowned. “You’re not the first Ladybug to see me as a parent. You are the first one who’s seen me as a parent without also seeing Plagg as a parent.”
Marinette shrugged. “I guess I need to convince Adrien to swap kwamis with me for a little while then.”
---
Marinette walked into school the following Monday wearing an olive green shirt (which was nearly two sizes too big), over a black skirt and black tights, she wore one black boot with red laces and a red boot with black laces. Her hair was pulled back in twin bubble braids and tied with little black canary ribbons. She quickly spotted Adrien and skipped over to her blond friend. “Hey ‘drien.”
Adrien jumped as she linked her arm with his. “Oh. Hey Mari.”
“So, I have a question. Do you see your pocket-sized god as a parent? Because if the answer is yes then we should switch pocket-sized gods so that we both see them both as parents.”
“I mean, yes, but why?”
“Because our dads suck and we deserve cool parents.” Marinette smiled. “Come on. Please.”
Adrien sighed before pulling Marinette into a quiet alcove. “You swear you’ll give him back after you see him as a parent?”
“I swear on my parents’ graves.” Marinette took out her earrings, allowing them to revert to their charged state of red with black polka dots, and watched as Adrien pulled off his read which reverted to its charged state of black with a green paw print. She handed over her earrings, which turned into a red and black spotted ear cuff, as he handed over his ring which became slender in her hand.
Adrien put the ear cuff around his ear, where it lost its red and black appearance and took on the appearance of a silver vine shaped ear cuff. “Take good care of him.”
Marinette slipped the ring onto her right-hand middle finger, where it lost its black and green appearance and took on the appearance of a Wonder Woman double-ring spanning her middle and ring finger. “You take good care of her. I can deliver some cookies if you need me too.”
“That’d be great.” Adrien smiled and slung an arm around her shoulders. “And we can refer to it as a parents swap!”
“Please be careful with Mom. She can be temperamental if you’re mistreated.” Marinette smiled and led him to the classroom.
“Dad just sleeps all day. But he likes cheese, the runnier the better.” Adrien separated from Marinette at his desk and watched as she shot him a thumbs-up as she climbed the stairs to sit between her brothers.
Taglist: @dast218 @amayakans @toodaloo-kangaroo @crazylittlemunchkin @marinettepotterandplagg @duckies16
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“Lyra’s Jordan” Reaction:
Hello!! I just recently got into the His Dark Materials series, and now that I’m almost done with the The Subtle Knife, I wanted to start the first season of the show! It caught my eye on Tumblr and made me want to start the books in turn. I’ve heard such good things about the series, and I’m keen to see what it does with this gorgeous world of Pullman’s.
DJDJS, nooooo, not the expositional text scrawl. I get it. You have to introduce people to this world, but still.
OH, it’s Asriel, Stelmaria, and Lyra!!!!!
Aughshsh, baby Lyra smiling at the Master. 😭
Lmao, the canon of Asriel literally just dropping his baby off at a college is objectively the funniest thing in the world. The Master is just like, Wtf? What is wrong with you, man? (To which the right answer, ofc, is a lot of things.)
OH, Dafne Keen is already everything I’ve ever wanted in a Lyra adaptation. Playful, witty, adventurous, (currently) carefree. The type of girl who has no qualms playing with a skeleton’s bones.
And I’m also really glad we get to see these shots of Lyra and Roger playing together. It feels like such a real childhood friendship.
Ooooooh, the show’s letting us see what Asriel’s up to even when Lyra’s not around, which I think is a great move. In the book, Asriel really only showed up at the beginning and end, so having some extra content to help flesh out his character is nice.
Whoa! The title credits and score are so pretty. They remind me of the ones from The Crown.
The Librarian’s fond smile at Lyra when she says please is wonderful. And then she yeets out JSJSJSJSJS. Perfect Lyra.
“The retiring room is expressly forbidden!” / “Not for family reunions.” SJSJSJ.
The Master’s hand shaking as he pours the poison into the Tokay. 🥺
They did such a good job capturing Stelmaria’s air of elegance and regality. I love her VA!!!
God @ Asriel pinning Lyra down. You suck. When I was reading the book, I didn’t know what to think of him until this precise moment, which shaded all my impressions of him from there on out.
(Holistically, tho, I actually do love both his and Mrs. Coulter’s characters. They’re both stunningly vile, but Pullman invests them with such interesting nuances that they’re genuinely two of the most electric characters in a series full of electric characters.)
God @ Lyra rubbing her shoulder after Asriel lets her go. Worst. Father. Of. The. Year.
“I’m sure he had a good reason. To be honest with you, if I were him, I would be afraid of me.” / Huh, I don’t remember if these lines were in the book, but the self-awareness here is really interesting. Asriel knows that he’s playing with dangerous fires, and he’s still doing it anyway.
That sweater on Asriel? And that little gray curl in his hair? Hot damn.
A subtle worldbuilding detail that the show was spot on to pay attention to is how all of the Scholars are essentially old men.
Between Asriel and Dr. Malone, Pullman really understands how much of academia runs on asking for grants hahahaha.
OH, MY GOD. IS THAT MA COSTA.
SHE’S SO WARM AND LOVELY AND OH MY GOD. BILLY. HE’S SO SMALL. JESUS.
And the inclusion of this little coming of age ceremony is beautiful. 😭 The Gyptians are so wonderfully communal.
BILLY 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭.
Aufh, Asriel carrying a sleeping Lyra to bed. That’s so soft.
Ur still a shitty father, tho.
But you’re a nuanced man, and I appreciate that.
Lyra waking up and smiling gently in realization. Asriel untying her shoes. Oh, my g o d.
“Can I see the man’s head?” / “No, why would I let you do that?” KWEODIDJ.
This Master and Librarian conversation has me tender. They both care for Lyra so much.
Lyra desperately pleading for Asriel to take her with him. 😭😭 And Asriel’s response: “I am sorry, but I just don’t have time for you right now.”
GOD.
“Did it look like this?” / “What?” / “The airship that my parents died in.” / “No. No, it was smaller.” Jesus.
Something that got me from the books, and that gets me here, too, is that the adults in Lyra’s life had had a similar refrain. “A college is no place for a child.” “The North is no place for a child.” And because these are the only paradigms that Lyra knows, whether through experience or imagination, the most consistent lesson that she’s ever been taught is that there is no place where she belongs.
JOHN FAA!! I love him.
And man, I’m really appreciating the way the show is paying close attention to the Gyptians, who are marginalized in their world. The way that they’re organizing to look for Billy just has me feeling some type of way.
OH? Lord Boreal!!??
“That includes her.” IT’S TIME.
I’m not going to lie. The Tumblr gif that got me interested in the series was a set of Ruth Wilson acting her ass off, so I’m ready to be hurt by her in so many more ways than one.
LMAO, this evil theme at her power walk entrance. Perfect.
The golden monkey!! He looks so deceptively cute here.
It is insane how much Dafne and Ruth weirdly favor each other. If you told me that they were really related, I’d actually believe you.
Thinks about how this is the first time Mrs. Coulter has seen her daughter in, like 12 years.
Also, ooooh, the Master in the background is intently monitoring the conversation because he knows how significant it is, and ofc, he’s absolutely wary of Mrs. C.
She’s so soft-spoken here. 😭
AUGH, and her reaching up to briefly stroke Lyra’s cheek.
“You feel utterly alone. And you feel utterly... magnificent.”
Lyra’s wide-eyed adoration of Mrs. C breaks my heart. It only makes the revelation of her true nature all the more awful. Though she doesn’t know it at this point, Lyra looks up to both of her parents, and both of them so completely fail her.
Wow, in the show, is the implication is that Mrs. Coulter gets Roger kidnapped because Lyra talked about him to her??????? Brutal.
OH, GOD. RUTH WILSON’S FACE AT LYRA UNRESTRAINEDLY HUGGING HER FOR THE FIRST TIME. THE SURPRISE, the CONFUSION, the TENDERNESS.
Roger. 😭
Ma Costa sobbing and Tony hugging her oh my g o d. I’m upset. It is no coincidence that this scene almost comes directly on the heels of the Mrs. Coulter/Lyra hug. The juxtaposition is bonechilling. Mrs. Coulter is partaking in the joys of motherhood for the first time, and Ma Costa is contending with the grief of missing a child directly because of everything that Mrs. Coulter is doing.
“Lord Asriel himself brought it to the college when you were just a baby.” Cue the Master and Librarian smiling fondly at their little Lyra, remembering. 🥺
Lyra frantically shrieking for Roger stings. The show did an excellent job of capturing their friendship—honestly, better than the books I would argue.
“BECAUSE YOU’VE BEEN A GOOD AND STRONG MOTHER TO HIM, MAGGIE.” I’m crying a little at this line because my name is Maggie, and so now I love Ma Costa even more if that’s at all possible.
John Faa’s casting is pitch perfect. He’s authoritative and stern but so caring and compassionate at the same time.
In an alternate universe, Mrs. Coulter and Lyra track down the Gobblers would be such a badass plot line.
“We’ll have plenty of time to discuss whenever you wish.” Wow, this line echoes Asriel’s from earlier: “I am sorry, but I just don’t have time for you right now.” But the irony is that they’re both saying nearly the same thing. Mrs. Coulter may say this, but she absolutely doesn’t mean it.
OH, the complexities here!! The monkey noticing that Lyra shoves the alethiometer deeper into her pocket, Pan noticing the monkey growling, and then Mrs. Coulter looking up. Such quick but charged moments.
What a magnificent first episode. I’m already hooked.
#his dark materials#lyra silvertongue#marisa coulter#lord asriel#ma costa#roger#john faa#f: his dark materials#reginian blogs#maggie blogs
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Wedding Planning
It is impossible to write an entire post on all of the intricacies of wedding planning, because it would just be too long and frankly exhausting. But here are some of the highlights that I think will help people in need! There are also extensive sources on the internet that are way more in-depth, but here’s an overview for you…
The Venue
The first thing you should do when planning a wedding is to pick your venue. Picking your venue will likely inform what date you set to be your wedding date. Most venues have limited availability, and if you want a specific venue for your dream wedding, best get that locked down ASAP. You may already have something in mind! If you don’t, my recommendation is to look for venues that host weddings year-round.
Choosing your venue will determine how “hands on” you’ll have to be in regards to planning your wedding. Venues that specialize in weddings and similar events will come with an entire staff of vendors ready to go for your wedding. If you’re doing a DIY wedding (like I did) you’ll have to find your own vendors. On that note- choosing a reliable and trustworthy vendor is SUPER important. There are so many options, it can be overwhelming to choose which will be right for your wedding.
If you choose a venue that is specifically used for weddings throughout the year, you will have the EASIEST time planning the resources part of your wedding. The venue will provide contact information for trusted vendors including (but not limited to): caterers they trust (or they may even have an in-house chef), photographers, make up artists, flower arrangers, DJs or musicians, etc. Simply choose which vendors you would like at your wedding, and of course, if you find a different vendor you like better, you’ll be able to use them. The venue will also assign you a key person who will manage all of the comings and goings of vendors and employees at your wedding itself. This is different than a wedding planner who you hire, this is just specifically a point person for you to go to with any issues during the wedding planning process.
If you choose a venue that may not specifically be made for weddings but is allowing you to get married there, they may or may not have contact numbers of trusted vendors. You may or may not have a point person, and I recommend that you at least consult with a wedding planner to make sure that you have everything under control.
If you’re creating your own venue (that’s what I did) you’re completely on your own and will have to find vendors your own way! See “DIY Vendors”.
Wedding Planning
Setting the right deadlines and expectations for your wedding will help the process be as smooth as possible. The easiest way to do this is to use an app specifically made for wedding planning. There are many good options out there, but I personally used The Knot.
These apps will create timelines for you based on when your wedding needs. They’re easy to personalize and disregard tasks and plans that are not relevant to your wedding. For example, I didn’t have bridesmaids, so I removed all the bridesmaid-related notifications from my timeline so I wouldn’t get notifications about those tasks.
You’ll receive notifications on your phone, reminding you to accomplish specific tasks. You’ll know which tasks are overdue and the order of which you should accomplish specific things. You’ll also learn how much contact you’ll have with specific vendors before locking them down.
My favorite part of using The Knot was the fact that it gave me a realistic expectation of when I should accomplish specific tasks. Which things would take more time, how many meetings I would need to set with specific vendors, etc. As a newbie, having all of these deadlines already created for me was wonderful.
The Knot doesn’t just stop there. It helps you set up your honeymoon, rehearsals dinner, as well as writing thank-you cards.
DIY Vendors
Because my husband manages a restaurant that also does catering, he had lots of networking connections he used to secure reputable vendors for us. While you may not have that direct of a connection, someone you know does have that connection! I recommend reaching out to friends, families, co-workers for recommendations. People LOVE giving recommendations.
If you went to a friend or family member’s wedding that was local, ask them for any recommendations. Ask them what worked and what didn’t work.
If a friend or family member has a wedding-related side hustle, consider working out a deal with them. For example, my parents own a garden, and one of their workers moonlights as a wedding photographer. We hired her, and she turned out to be AMAZING. Of course, always verify someone is legit before hiring them by checking their references and/or website.
If you find a trustworthy vendor, ask them for recommendations on other vendors. For example, our caterer recommended an ice cream truck company that we ended up using.
Use your network! You can always make a post on social media if no one in your immediate circle can help.
Creating “Save the Dates”, “RSVPs”, announcements … etc
We used Vistaprint for all of our paper goods. But there are SO many websites out there to explore! These websites have many different formatting options and always allow you to create your own formats. Make sure you have high quality photos saved on your computer that you can use to create cute mailings.
If you use a website like Vistaprint to create your mailings, they’ll have templates specifically labeled for weddings.
Also simply searching “wedding RSVP” on Google will give you millions of ideas.
Shop around on all the sites and create a dummy program and or mailing to see which site is the cheapest.
Search online for discount codes! A lot of websites will give you a discount for signing up for their email list
ALWAYS order more copies than you think you need. You’ll find yourself adding people to the guest list last minute and will be glad you’ll have extra. You also want to have extra copies of everything for your wedding scrapbook.
RSVPs
Shocking thing that I learned about weddings- most people DO NOT RSVP! If they’re coming, they’ll assume that you know that they’re coming. Even if you haven’t talked to them in two years. They may even be insulted that you’re asking them to RSVP. It’s bananas. I invited just under two hundred people to my wedding, and only fifty five RSVP’d. I’m not kidding.
There are lots of ways to track the mail you send to your guests, but from my experience, none are foolproof. In all likelihood you’ll find yourself contacting friends and family and asking them outright. This wasn’t an issue for me, because I didn’t have a formal dinner. If you do have a formal dinner planned and need people to make reservations for food, you may have to send out multiple reminders to RSVP and set a firm deadline.
There are ways to track the mail you send using an app, such as The Knot. But they only work if you have every single person’s email address. That may work if you have a smaller wedding, but asking two hundred people for their email is a time waste and not something I was willing to do. However, my friend got married, and communicated with people exclusively using Knot emails. The Knot even offers to bug people who haven’t RSVP’d for you, which is a nice feature. The Knot also allows you to go on and RSVP for people, which they can later go back in and edit, which is what I used.
There’s always the old fashioned way of tracking RSVPs… track of who responds via a spreadsheet or written document. Utter madness.
Registries
Online registries are so common, that most major retailors or stores have their own. For example- Amazon, Target, Etsy, all have their own registries. You can set these registries up so that the items are shipped directly to an address of your choosing. There are also apps that allow you to make “wedding fund” registries where people can send you money that is then deposited directly into your bank account.
If you don’t want to use The Knot for anything else, consider using them for your registry. The Knot registry is easy to use and connects to literally every website. You can literally find something obscure on some weird corner of the internet, and link it to your registry on The Knot for people to buy for you.
ALL of these registries keep track of who bought what for you, which is super helpful for after the wedding when you’re feverishly trying to complete your hundreds of thank you notes.
“Wedding fund” registries are great. Usually you’re asked to set a goaled monetary amount and to explain what you’re using the money for. People who donate are charged a small amount for sending you money, but that is something they pay on top of what they’re sending you.
Make sure to include items from a variety of different price points!
Don’t put an overwhelming amount of things on your registry. I don’t recommend putting more than forty things. You can always replenish if needed (I did that once).
Many people won’t buy anything from your registry until the week before your wedding. It sucks.
People with either buy you exactly what you want from your registry, will give you cash or a check at your wedding (make sure you have a box for these), or will just give you something random that you don’t want. We had a beautiful set of bowls and dinner ware on Etsy requested on our registry, most of which was purchased for us. And my husband’s one aunt went on to the artist’s profile on Etsy, and ordered us something random that did not fit our color scheme AT ALL. So now everything matches, except these random ugly bowls that she bought us.
General Tips/Tricks
The “wedding surcharge” is real fam! Vendors will charge you more for your wedding then they will for a regular party. Avoid using wedding terminology when speaking to specific vendors, if you can.
Some people will simply not give you anything for your wedding. It’s mind boggling and never who you would expect. Try not to take it personally.
If you do not grant every single guest a “plus one”, it’s likely that at least a few people will text you angrily and demand that you give them a plus one. So may even just show up with a “plus one” without talking to you.
Your family WILL get super offended that you didn’t invite an obscure person you haven’t spoken to in over a decade. Deal with it in the way you feel is best.
Speaking of your family, wedding guests will likely reach out to your parents before reaching out to you. So make sure to keep your close family updated on all of the wedding details.
People are OPINIONATED and it SUCKS. Bless her heart, but my Bubbie spent the months leading up to my wedding predicting every choice we made would blow up in our faces. She helped bankroll the wedding, so we had to sit there and take it. Nothing blew up in our faces, the wedding literally went off without a single hitch, and Bubbie even apologized afterwards and said it was the best wedding she ever went to. That hoe was trying to tell us that an ice cream truck instead of a cake was a bad idea! What nonsense.
In conclusion- You do YOU! Weddings are super stressful and EVERYBODY is judgmental and has an opinion, even if they aren’t married. Even if they have no direct relation to you and haven’t spoken to you since you were a child. Be willing to hear other suggestions, but stick to your guns. LIE LIE LIE if you have to. It’s your wedding! Your friends and family may seem upset in the moment, even though that’s dumb because it isn’t their wedding, but in the end they will love your wedding for what it is, and will forget they ever complained.
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Surveys #431-432
two biggins’ in one, beware the long post.
Do you own any Funko Pop! figurines? No.
How many cats and dogs have you had as pets in your lifetime? I couldn't possibly count the cats. A lot. We've had I wanna say eight dogs through my entire life.
Can your mom and/or dad play any instruments, or how about anyone else in your family? No. My older sister played the clarinet in school, though.
Have you ever colored in an adult coloring book as a stress reliever? I have, but they don't really affect my stress level.
Can you crack crab legs without a tool? UGH EW I hate crab legs. So mushy and just... ew. I don't think I've tried to without a tool.
How many light sources are in the room you’re in? Excluding the natural light out my windows, three.
What’s your favorite thing to put on bagels? Just your usual cream cheese.
Who’s your favorite director? Tim Burton. I love his style.
Bats: cute or gross? Bats are SO goddamn cute.
What was the last really intense pain you felt? I had a sudden pain in my chest the other day that scared me quite a bit.
Would you rather vacation by a beach or a lake? A lake, for sure.
How would you feel about traveling abroad alone? I'd be way too lonely.
What is your father's middle name? John.
Where did your last kiss take place? The airport.
Which movie villain do you find the most terrifying? Probably Jason. A masked guy just casually pursuing you with a knife is horrifying to me.
If you married your favorite celebrity what would your last name be? Fischbach alskdfla;wer;lkwera;wle
Do you stick your tongue out often in pictures? No.
Which one of your family members are you closest to? My ma.
Would you rather have name brand shoes or name brand clothes? Shoes. It's very important for them to be comfy for me.
Are you a good liar? Yes. :x
Are you proud of your parents? Yeah.
If you could get backstage tickets to ANY concert - which would you pick? If Mom was with me, Metallica. She would actually fucking die if she met them. Like she cried and laughed with joy when she found out about the concert in Raleigh some years ago, and we thought we were going to go, but yeah, money.
Which is better: orange or grape soda? Orange cream soda. Grape soda is so gross.
Was the last thing you ate hot or cold? It was room temperature.
Who was the last person in your house who isn’t family? Our landlord/family friend. I think.
What color was the last swimsuit you wore? Black.
Can you remember the last song you listened to? I'm listening to "Thoughts & Prayers" by Motionless In White right now.
Have you ever been dumped really harshly? Ha, that is a colossal understatement...
Can you do a back flip, or anything else of that sort? Definitely not. I couldn't even do stuff like that as a kid.
Do you have any exes you can’t stand anymore? No.
What happened to cause you to feel that way about them? ^
Are you more of a phone or a computer person? Computer, for sure.
Do you have a job, and if so, where do you work? No.
If not, do you want one? Not right now. I want to focus on the gym and getting in shape.
Do any medical afflictions run in your family? A whole lot.
What’s your favorite Mexican dish? Shrimp quesadillas. Or rice with cheese sauce.
Have you ever been to a professional sports game? Yeah, hockey and baseball.
Do you prefer pads, tampons or something else? I'm actually conflicted on this right now. I use tampons, but there are reasons I don't really like them and am considering something else.
Have you ever ordered a specially made cake from a cake shop? Not me myself, but Mom has.
What months were you and your siblings born in? My two immediate sisters were born in April and June.
What did you have for dinner last night? Uhhhhh... I want to say I had a chicken pesto bowl?
Have you ever had sex in/on a vehicle? No, that sounds so uncomfortable.
Do you do anything to groom your eyebrows? No. I don't care about that anymore.
Has your town ever flooded? Oh, for sure. Hurricane Floyd from when I was... I wanna say two or three WRECKED my area.
Have you ever played at the McDonald’s play place? Yeah. That was a blast as a kiddo.
Have you ever taken a picture of snow? Yeah.
Do you cry easily? Very.
Are you happy with where you live? No. The suburbs suck. I miss living in the country so much.
Do people ever mistake you for being a different race? No.
Do you hate the last person you kissed? No, she's my best friend in the whole world.
What genre is your favorite movie? I actually don't know what it's considered? It's a kids movie, though.
Who was the last person you were in a car with? My mom.
Do you like the picture on your license/I.D. card? My permit picture is fucking hideous.
When was the last time somebody hit on you? *shrug*
Was the last person you met a male or female? A guy - my personal trainer.
What brand is your underwear? I'm in my pjs, and only a madman would wear underwear to bed.
What’s your favorite Thanksgiving food? Just the rolls, really, lol. I'm not a big fan of Thanksgiving foods at all.
Do you have a TV in your room? No, because I don't watch TV.
Are any of your electronics charging right now? My laptop always is, though I know you shouldn't do that. I need to charge my phone, too.
What was the last video game you played? Video game, not computer, I want to say uh... The Legend of Spyro: Dawn of the Dragon?
What’s the biggest promise someone’s ever made to you? Did they keep it? To never leave me. He didn't.
Google, Bing, or Yahoo? Google.
What was the last song you had on repeat? The song I mentioned earlier.
Who is your favorite person to watch on YouTube? Markiplier. :')
How many college degrees do you want? It'd be nice to have a Bachelor's in SOMETHING, but I'm not returning to school. Three tries was enough money down the drain.
Can you wink? Yeah.
Do you own any jerseys? No.
Have you ever tried to snort Pixie Stix as a child, or even an adult? Uh, no.
Do you like going to baby showers? Do you go only for the cake? No. The last time Jason and I hung out in any capacity was his brother's wife's baby shower, and it's a bad memory. As well, it just reminds me of what I once wanted with him. I'll go to them and be okay, but definitely not thrilled.
Has there ever been a time in your life, you felt sexually undecided? Yes, especially in the I want to say 8th grade. I had an inescapable crisis that literally lasted a whole week (or maybe more) forcing myself to believe I was straight, despite already showing but denying bisexual attractions. I was religious back then, so believed if I wasn't straight, I'd go to Hell. Then I came out as bisexual in uhhhh... 2018 I wanna say, and that was a long examination of my feelings. It felt like a massive weight off my shoulders when I accepted it. I felt legit happy.
Do you think tattoos and piercings are sexy on the opposite sex? ugggghhhhh yes
Do people ever ask you to do things they’re too short to accomplish? No.
What color are the headphones you have at this moment in time? My earbuds are pink and white.
Ever choked severely on something during lunch at your school? No.
Do you eat more vegetables or fruits? What’s your favorite fruit/veggie? Fruits, for sure. My fave is strawberries.
What would you say is the color of your favorite bra? I have a pink and black lacy one that is super cute, but it's too small for me right now. It just stays in my drawer.
Is anyone in your family a firefighter? Who is it anyway? No.
What do you usually buy when you go to the dollar store? If I'm stopping there for a snack (which is usually the only time we stop by one), I tend to get a honeybun.
Ever peed in the pool? Be honest! No, that is so gross.
When you’re older, what kind of house do you want to live in? I want a medium-sized house that's semi-isolated in the woods. I'd love a nice path to walk down and take photos, a catio for Roman or whatever cat I may have in the future... stuff like that. I need lots of nature.
Where do you want to get married? In some sort of gothic building, though I'm sure that would be a WILDLY expensive venue, so I doubt that'll happen. Realistically, either in the woods or even a massive flower garden.
Do you plan on having both your parents at your wedding? Yes.
What is your favorite childhood TV show? Pokemon.
Honestly, do you like school? No, I didn't.
Last thing that made you cry? PTSD.
Honestly, are you keeping a big secret right now? No big secrets, no.
Last person you took a walk with? Sara, years ago.
Have you ever liked someone who didn’t like you back? Oh, have I...
Who was the last person to actually pick you up in the air? Probably Jason, honestly.
Does any part of your body hurt? My non-existent abs are killing me from exercising yesterday.
If you had to choose between a million bucks or to be able to change a regret what would you do? While it's tempting, hand me the cash.
Can you keep a secret? Absolutely. You tell me a secret, you can guarantee I'll be keeping it between you and me.
Your favorite romantic movie? The Notebook.
How do you feel about Valentine’s Day? I honestly like it. I love the aesthetic of it, and I know people say "well you should celebrate love every day," and while that's right, what's so wrong about nationally designating a specific day to appreciate it? I think it's a very cute holiday.
Who was the last person you took a picture with? My sister Katie.
Do your jeans have rips, tears, and holes in them? I haven't worn jeans in yeeeeaaaarrrrssss. When I did though, I loved jeans like that, especially for skinny jeans.
Do you celebrate 420?No.
Have you ever kicked a vending machine? No.
How do you eat Oreos? I prefer to just dip them in milk. If that's unavailable, I separate the two parts, eat the cream, and then the two cookies.
Do you wear your shoes in the house? No.
Would you survive in prison? Absofuckinglutely not. It's dark, but just to be entirely honest, I'd probably find a way to kill myself.
Ever been to Georgia? I've been through it.
Do you get your hair cut every month? Not every month, no. It needs a trim right now badly, though.
Current relationship in detail. I'm single and should be.
If you were kicked out of your house, who would you call/go to? My dad.
List things you spend money on in an average week. Nothing.
Rate each of your sexual partners (if any) from 1-10. He was honestly a 10 lmao like I don't have a lot of experience at all, but yeah.
Post the last FB group/page that you joined. I actually don't remember because I've been on break from Facebook for around a month.
Would you parents be mad if you were in a relationship? No...
Think of the last person you had sex with. Do you think they’ve slept with anyone else since they last slept with you? I'm sure he has. He dated someone right after me for like... eight months or something?
Is there someone that you believe you will always be attached to? I think that's very obvious by now.
What board games are you good at? Idk, I don't really enjoy board games.
Is there a sport/hobby you keep thinking about taking up, but that you’ve never quite gotten around to starting? Definitely no sports, but I've been wanting to get back into video editing. I just... haven't, even though I have the software.
Do you think pranks like egging/toilet-papering someone's house are funny or immature? They're incredibly immature. I see zero humor in them.
Do you think “sleeve tattoos” are a good idea? They're hot as fuck, man.
Is there anything in particular that your parents argue about? What? I'll just say they're divorced for good reasons.
Do you ever actually read the “Terms and Services” when you sign up for websites and such? No.
If you have a handheld games console (a DS or GameBoy, for example), how often do you use it? Almost never.
Your phone is ringing. It’s the person you fell hardest for, what do you say? Realistically, I wouldn't answer because I don't answer numbers I don't recognize. Hypothetically, if I knew it was him, I'd probably say something along the lines of, "Hey J, are you okay?", because something must be seriously wrong if he wants to talk to me of all people.
If your best friend was kicked out, would your parents let him/her live with you? Mom absolutely would.
Are you afraid of falling in love? I'm terrified of it.
Is there anybody you wish you could be with right now? I wish I didn't.
Have you ever kissed someone & wished you didn’t? Yes: Tyler.
Did you get kissed last night? Haven't been kissed in years.
Do you enjoy going through a carwash? Bring out the rainbow soap and it's hype lmao.
How did you get most of your scars? My cat, ha ha. He sometimes plays way too rough, and I just scar very easily.
Ever had to take an inkblot test? Yes, when I went to a psychologist.
Have you ever been in trouble for something you honestly didn’t do? Maybe?
Have you ever seriously slapped someone in anger? My sister as a kid on her arm. Safe to say I got in trouble for it.
What/who woke you up this morning? Just my body.
Who was the last person to be in your bedroom besides you? Mom.
What’s one of your locked text messages? da;lsd;fakwer I have one locked from Sara that says something like, "You are so beautiful." I cried.
Have you ever finished a game of Monopoly? I think? Jason and I used to play the digital one you could download on the PS3.
Is there anyone you know who’s in any way paralyzed? No. I mean, I know of a girl who went to my school who was paralyzed from the waist down in an accident, but I didn't/don't know her personally. She was a MASSIVE deal in my education community. Like you would see "prayers for (name)" on school and church signs.
The truth all comes out when someone is drunk, true? Usually true. I sometimes think back on the one time Jason was drunk, and he just told me in the most adoring voice, "I love you, Brittany." It's painful as fuck to remember. I really do wonder if he meant it, given this was in the later half of our relationship.
When was the last time you felt disappointed in yourself? Constantly.
How about feeling disappointed in someone else? I dunno.
For you, do you commonly feel more jealousy or envy? I definitely experience envy more often.
Do you rely on the heads/tails flipping of a coin sometimes for decisions? No.
Do you have any specific chores you do around the house? I'm supposed to empty the dishwasher in particular.
For you, does comfort or fashion come first in dressing? Comfort, 100%.
Have you had two friends that absolutely hated each other? No.
Do you like Laffy Taffy? I do. That sounds pretty good right about now.
Do you prefer electric or manual pencil sharpeners? Electric.
Are your biceps at all noticeable? Yeah, no.
Have you ever seen a walrus? Yeah, at SeaWorld as a kid.
Did you ever have one of those Easy Bake ovens as a kid? Yeah. My little sister in particular was obsessed.
Does your bathroom have a theme to it? No.
From inside of your house, how many doors lead outside? Two.
Are there a lot of trees in your yard? No. :/ I miss that.
Have you ever liked someone that treated you like crap? No.
Have a best friend? Yeah. :')
Does it bother you when your best friend does stuff without you? That is so childish. Everyone needs space sometimes. But to answer the question, considering she lives many states away from me, obviously not.
Is there a secret you’ve never told your parents? Yes.
Does anyone hate you? I wouldn't at all be surprised if Jason does. Colleen might, but I really don't give a shit if she does.
What’s the one thing you regret more than anything? The way I spoke to Jason after the breakup. If only I could take those letters back.
Do you remember important dates? I am VERY bad at dates, doesn't matter how important they are.
What’s some lyrics from a song that means a lot to you? "For such a little thing, you sure are in your own way" from a Mother Mother song.
Who gives the best advice? Sara.
Who do you usually see in your dreams? :) Jason is nearly a permanent fixture. Jeez, I'm bringing him up a lot in this one. I'm surprised my PTSD isn't dragging me into a pit for it.
What type of cake did you last eat? Uhhh I wanna say double chocolate? Mom got two slices from the store for me and herself a long time ago.
How many of your friends are gay or bisexual? A large number. I don't feel like counting.
What’s your favorite type of sandwich? Just your usual peanut butter and jelly.
When was the last time someone asked you out? Did you accept or decline? Years ago by Girt. I accepted.
Do you like The Offspring? Sure, I like a handful of their songs.
One pillow or two? I sleep with two.
Do you like Mad Libs? Sure, they can be funny.
Are you suicidal? Well damn, just throw that in there. Anyway, no. I'll admit I've had very brief, passive thoughts very rarely as of the late, just wondering if there really is a point to me being here, but I'm not actively suicidal at all rn.
Where do your grandparents live? They're dead. When alive though, they lived in Florida and Michigan.
Do you cut yourself? And this one? No, I haven't in many years.
What is your pet’s name? Roman and Venus.
Have you ever been to Canada? No, but I'd love to visit.
Aren’t babies overrated? "Overrated" is definitely the wrong word... I don't particularly find a lot of babies cute and I don't want my own, but they're not overrated.
Have a built-in pool in your backyard? Never have.
Ever won yourself a stuffed animal? Yeah.
Ever had someone else win you a stuffed animal? Yes.
Ever been to a circus? No. I wouldn't set foot into one.
Ever shot animals? I never, ever could.
Do you consider yourself intelligent? I USED to. I think I'm dumb as shit now. School knowledge did not latch onto me well, I guess.
Have you ever run away from home? Yes. It was so overdramatic. I came back hours later because I had my phone and Mom texted me threatening to call the cops.
Do you put family first, friends, relationships, school, or something else? I will never put my mental health behind anything/one again.
What’s something you’ve stood up for in the past? When Colleen and I were friends in middle school, we both spoke before the class in absolute disgust at how our classmates were treating our poor substitute teacher. Colleen had AT them, while I was more tame about it but still wanted to bash into their heads that they were all being absolute trash to the poor man.
What’s something you worked extremely hard to get? My mental wellbeing. Granted, I'm not exactly "well" now, but once upon a time I was living in the deepest ocean trench as far as depression goes.
Are you satisfied with your body image? Hell no. I really, really, really hope loyally going to the gym will help me with that.
Have you ever been labeled negatively or otherwise been called something extremely derogatory? Not that I know of.
Have you ever seriously taken advantage of someone or been taken advantage of? No.
Have you ever been seriously ill? Mentally, immensely. Physically, not really. I've had some nasty stomach bugs, but nothing truly severe.
Have you ever befriended a former enemy? Ha, it's funny, I used to hate Jason's first ex/heartbreak for how badly she hurt him. Like she could've been falling off the face of the earth with only me to save her, and I'd let her keep falling. I hated her. Yet now we're Facebook friends and comment on each other's stuff like it's nothing, ha ha. She reached out to me a few years ago to apologize for high school stuff (she also hated me for Juan - her ex or something along those lines - being interested in me instead of her), we chatted a bit, and now I think she's great.
If you’re not religious, would you ever pray as a last resort? If you are religious, do you often pray for other people? I don't pray anymore. That's all I'll say to keep this from becoming potentially very offensive.
Have you ever dated someone, then after you dated they came out of the closet or switched (for lack of a better word) sexual orientation? I'm pretty sure my middle school boyfriend Aaron is gay, but I'm not certain. He vanished from Facebook a long time ago.
Has a boy/girl ever walked a ridiculous distance just to see you? How about vice versa? I tried doing that the night of the breakup. By car, I know it was a seven-minute drive, but walking there, never mind at night, was ludicrous. I only didn't manage because after a few minutes, Mom came after me and kept cutting me off with the car.
When was the last time you felt really uncomfortable? Right now. My abs REALLY hurt, and I'm also cramping like a motherfucker after not having a period for 3+ months because of TMS therapy. I'm still pissed about how it had a physical effect on me, but didn't mentally do what it was meant to.
Is there anything that your mom is really known for as to how she is as a person? She is very, very loving and lives to help others.
Who have you been talking to the most today? Nobody, really. I've spoken with Mom obviously, but for the most part, today's been quiet.
Are you nosy? I can be pretty damn nosy, yes.
What’s the meanest thing you have done to a friend? Consistently flirted with her boyfriend behind her back. I was 12, okay?
If your ex called you crying, what would it most likely be about? THE ex, I have no idea. I don't know what's going on in his life, besides his mother dying quite a few months ago, but I don't see why he'd contact me about that.
Who was the best kisser out of all the people you have kissed? Jason.
Have you ever been told that you have an annoying laugh? No, but I think I do.
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clicks onto the dash wearing kitten heels n coyly holding my bang....... hi. me again. it took me so long to select a gif to use on cricket’s intro n i settled on this one bc he looks so unsure abt his smile n it’s rly his essence <3 u can find his pinterest board here n his (work in progress) spotify playlist here. hmu to plot!!!
* alex wolff, cis male + he/him | you know cricket donahue, right? they’re twenty-two, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, all of their life, on and off? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to should have known better by sufjan stevens like, a million times this year, which slipping on wet leaves to photograph a tree struck alight by lightning, delivering a tedtalk to your own reflection to hype yourself up to buy groceries, hiding your hands inside of your sleeves in case you grew an impromptu megan fox thumb overnight thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is october 1st, so they’re a libra, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nai, 24, gmt, she/her )
HISTORY:
cricket ws born to a couple tht lived in lilac ridge. their trailer was tucked closest to the woods n always fell under the shade. it was like the leaves wanted to pretend they were a perpetual hanging cloud on the family n that was kind of fitting. their only reason fr having him in the first place was a kind of shrugged like........... we’re under the income bracket we’d get child benefits so why not! may as well try it to rake in some extra cash! needless to say they didn’t rly think it thru or anticipate all of the responsibilities tht came w children n wound up seeing him as an extremely large burden n boy didn’t he know it!
(child neglect & abuse tw) i’ll try to keep this part vague n brief but things were Not Good for cricket growing up. people in lilac ridge didn’t like his parents n it was for a gd reason. he remembers foggy things. being little n wandering around combing the grass with a stick to search for wrappers to suck on bc he was hungry. feeling uneasy when the front door opened. finding out his name was cricket bc the insects used to crawl into their trailer thru the vents n his parents liked to squish them into the carpet -- his mum told him as much once. i think this says a lot. to excessively trim the fat of the story he wound up entering the system at around 8 after his latest and most serious hospital visit. his parents hd to deal w the authorities n last he heard they bounced to evade charges.
(anxiety & violence & trauma tw) cricket sustained a few lifelong injuries from his time in lilac ridge. his knee didn’t heal right which meant he had (n still has to this day) a limp n he’s partially deaf in one ear. he’s always been an incredibly insecure n anxious person so this mde him rly self conscious going into a strange n new environment tht wld b difficult fr any kid to adjust to, nvm w these added worries. he jst felt like something weird to ogle at honestly. he probably wld have felt like that no matter where he was or what he looked like. he cld be in a huge hall of 200 people all wearing the same uniform n he’d still feel like the odd one out. needless to say this didn’t rly help him make friends
cricket’s coping mechanisms were romanticising the things tht other people found ugly or embarrassing or painfully ordinary. he liked it when the rain hit clunky drops against school windows n forbid everyone from playing outside bc he could feel the vibrations through the rubber soles of his shoes n it was a little bit like hearing all of the world at once fr just a moment. he liked medieval fantasy lore about stout gnomes w crumbs in their beards n cheeks red from ale. he liked fallen nests with the remnants of hatched eggs still dirty from the branches n soil they’d hit on the way down. he liked the way the sunlight leaked thru the leaves of the trees in the woods and how, when he sat very still, he could tune into the ringing that was always in his ear n pretend it was coming from the same place, that light thru the leaves, that the angels were trying to talk to him.
he spent a lot of time in the red room at his high skl (i’m begging u this is not a 50 shades reference) (after googling i jst realised it’s called a darkroom bt i’m leaving this fr the sake of sexy bimbo authenticity) n felt quite at home in there. he borrowed a camera whenever he cld (maybe he did yearbook) n photography became his way of immortalising the world as the romanticised version he wanted it to be. his memories were bad bt his photos were beautiful. maybe if he took enough they’d paste over n bleed into each other. maybe bad cld be replaced w beautiful if he tried his very best.
he got placed into fostering w a family once bt apparently didn’t meet the vibe check of their tastes so he wound up returning to the group home he’d initially been placed in. overall this is where he grew up n he aged out the system rather than getting adopted. there was a sense of floundering/isolation/not feeling gd enough in tht bt cricket made do the best he knew how.
that said there were some gd points! (shocking i kno bc his life hs been so fking bleak so far bt please it’s ok........) (is it?) (🤔). basically he interned as an assistant at this local photography studio during high skl working under this kind of whimsical yet endearing old man. suspected wizard possibly in cricket’s eyes, as an avid fantasy genre reader. for one of his bdays said old man / his boss bought him his very own film camera n cricket cried bc he’d never been bought a bday gift. this ws rly embarrassing bc this old man didn’t know how to emote n neither did cricket so he ws jst sort of sat wiping his eyes n sniffling saying he wasn’t crying as the old man pretended to suddenly clean his lenses. when cricket graduated he offered him a full time position there. they do like. wedding photographs n family portraits n all kinds of things...... pay isn’t huge bt it’s something n he Loves taking photos so it’s sexy <3
PERSONALITY:
SUCH an anxious person it’s actually unreal. overthinks absolutely everything he’s ever said. one morning he might hv put green socks on n for the rest of the day he’s nervously looking around like omggggggg they’re all looking at my socks probably thinking im a little green sock boy thinking i’m a fool n a jester this is all everyone’s probably thinking about i hv to hide my green socks..... even tho literally no-one cares
once saw a girl eating a chicken wing n in his head was like ok she likes chicken good future gift idea..... n turned up at her house with an entire rotisserie chicken
probably thinks WAY too hard abt what to write in bday cards n googles like generic ideas that he can use.... u open a card from cricket n it always says smthn weird like “Warmest wishes and love on your birthday and always!” or “You deserve everything happy. Wishing you that all year long!” tht he got off google
nervously fiddles w things a lot. literally anything. his hair. the cuffs of his sleeves. a thread on his bag. u name it
struggles w eye contact sometimes............ it’s like. he wants to talk to ppl n make friends bt he’s honestly so bad at it. he’s fumbling thru life like a nervous headless chicken
ALWAYS has his camera on him. like always. will tke a photo of u bc he thinks u look nice then be like im so sorry im so sorry...... bowing his head shakily holding his camera bc he doesn’t even kno what possessed him he jst thought it’d be a nice photograph bt boundaries exist. probably breathes very heavily over this later in his room panicking thinking he nw seems like hannibal lecter
probably more confident online bc he has time to think abt what he says more.......... i can see him hving a group of online friends tht he’s more confident w. honestly he’s pretty witty at heart he jst has a hard time verbalising things so ppl overlook him sometimes bt once u get to know him more / he’s more comfy he can b a funny little man.....
loves photographs where he cuts something out of them. loves missing spaces n voids. thinks it’s a rly interesting concept when something that isn’t there becomes the focus of a photograph where everything else is. probably loses his mind fr a collage like a front row 1d stan. likes experimenting w light n perception. pretty artistic honestly hs probably made a stop motion film in the past bc that’s just an extended form of photography in his mind bt i doubt he showed anyone
ummm...... very sweet bt like. he reminds me a lot of this quote. “he had the awkward tenderness of someone who has never been loved and is forced to improvise.” feel like tht sums him up quite nicely
WANTED CONNECTIONS
someone he met at a wedding: cricket probably ws forced to photograph a wedding fr his boss one time n it cld b interesting as a place to meet from that....... like. i can imagine either it being rly awkward maybe he accidentally spilled a drink on ur muse n was stuttering rly apologetic n it ws just a train wreck. or mayb they took pity on him or even (in a shocking turn of events) a shine to him n invited him to drink n dance. omgggg the thought of cricket trying to dance makes me wna die n probably mkes cricket wna hyperventilate bt idk maybe he went wild n let loose. mayb they wound up damaging the camera somehow. mayb they had to scramble to get another one n ur muse covered the cost n it was a strange late night excursion tht cricket thought about a lot since. cricket probably vowed to pay them bk somehow no matter what. idk. we can work things out. lots of diff options here. doesn’t have to b a wedding either can b any event tht required a photographer
ppl he went to school w: pretty self explanatory i suppose...... maybe they were frm completely different worlds..... mayb ur muse was popular n cricket was definitely not but they got paired fr an assignment n had to work on a project together....... mayb cricket asked ur muse on a date one time n it was completely embarrassing bc he didn’t realise they had a bf n it haunts cricket at night still bc he’s rly dramatic.... mayb ur muse felt sry fr him n ate lunch w him n inducted him into their group like a lost puppy finding a home.... world’s our oyster
neighbours from his brief time at lilac ridge: not to reference taylor swift but i’m gna reference taylor swift n say we cld do a seven inspired plot here. sighs a little..... then sighs a lot. he was here ages 0-8 so idk. we cld work out childhood plots perhaps....
sickening simp: i mean.............. cricket probably gets crushes on ppl so easily like just. anyone who’s the slightest bit nice to him.................. he’s a disgrace. ok i take it back. bt also please get it together freak............... i didn’t say that. he’d probably b extra nice to this person n try n pay close attention to things they liked so he cld get them little gifts. just a bit embarrassing n lovestruck bless his heart. wldn’t expect anything back tho honestly that just isn’t something he tends to do.
let’s go gays: cricket’s bi but he probably was rly in his head abt liking boys n tried to sort of squash it internally during his younger yrs...... i think he’s more comfy w it now MAYBE idk bt back then i picture him having a friend tht ws kind of like. similarly loserish as him perhaps (no offence to ur muse potentially filling this plot or cricket bt let’s face the facts) n they’d hang out n play games a lot n one time it jst kind of happened n he was like............. *struts in looking around sharply* What going on here? except not. bc it’s cricket. more like *shambles in looking around anxiously* What’s, uh... What’s... the happenings? S--... I’m sorry. (immediate apology for saying what’s the happenings bc nobody talks like that n it was an impulsive panic bc he didn’t know what else to say)
those who grew up in the system w him: maybe at the group home or i’d also like the family that fostered him n said sayonara. honestly i imagine the parents just thought he ws a bit too much of a handful / had too much baggage which is rly quite merciless n terrible but. if u think that aligns w ur muses home situation hmu......
um. can’t think of more bt just anything honestly. jst go wild.......
#irvingintro#abuse tw#neglect tw#trauma tw#anxiety tw#violence tw#DOES A LITTLE JIG#admittedly i didnt include a formative moments section like my other intros bc idk what kind of superpowers i was inhaling the fumes of#for those intros but#i'm a mere mortal now.
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