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soaps-mohawk · 29 days

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 15: Bonnie

Summary: Your heat is over and your pack has moved on with their lives, settling back into the familiar routine. Except, some things have begun to change, and you're not entirely sure if its for the better.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7456 words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, oral, handjobs, overstimulation, P in V sex, unprotected sex, creampie, hair pulling, switch Johnny, Johnny's lingerie kink, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, mention of nightmares, brief talk about killing and violence, insomnia, fluff, and of course a bit of angst

A/N: This chapter was an absolute bitch to write. I'm not kidding this was a nightmare. I'm happy with the changes I've made though, and how things are progressing. We've made a little bit of a time jump here, but not much. I think I'm getting sick so, posting the chapter before I inevitably pass out again. Oh, and Happy Easter everyone that celebrates.

Want early access to chapters, as well as other bonus content? Consider supporting me on Patreon.

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Your eyes fly open as the alarm blares. They burn as you squint against the bright phone light. An arm reaches over you, the warm skin sliding against your back as he fumbles to turn off the offending noise.

You let out a quiet groan as you catch the numbers dictating the time on the screen before the phone is placed back on the nightstand. “‘S too early.” You grumble, rubbing at your crusty eyes.

“Go back to sleep.” John murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before he shifts, climbing over you to get out of the bed. He tucks the blankets back around you before slipping into the bathroom.

You won't go back to sleep. The last time you'd glanced at the time on your phone had been two hours ago, at 2 A.M. You’ve been awake most of the night, as you have been the last couple nights. You haven't been sleeping well. It was like your heat opened a floodgate and now every time you close your eyes, you're transported back into the past, back when you were a child. Back when things weren't fine.

You've started trying to avoid sleep, waking constantly during the night from nightmares or from your brain’s own fear of them starting back up. It’s only been a week since your heat ended, and yet you feel no more rested than you did coming out of it. Nothing you’ve tried has worked, not even staying awake until you inevitably pass out prevents your subconscious mind from pulling up the horrible memories of your past.

Even sleeping next to your alpha hasn’t provided any comfort for your mind. His presence isn’t enough to quell the fear in your mind that the nightmares might come back, that the memories might surface.

Even he can’t protect you from this.

You close your eyes as the bathroom door opens again, pretending to sleep as John dresses for his morning workout. He’s quiet, near silent as he moves about the room. It’s almost terrifying how quiet they can be. Though, you suppose, if your survival depends on it, it’s a skill you’d spend plenty of time honing.

John grabs his phone from the nightstand, running a gentle hand over your head before he leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind him. You lay there for a few minutes, trying not to let the guilt eat you alive. You should tell them you’re struggling to sleep, that your mind is plaguing you with memories from your past, but you’re afraid of what they might think of you. You’re not the perfect omega, you’re not as whole as you might seem.

You’re held together with duct tape on the inside. They already have enough to worry about now, they don’t need the weight of your misery thrown on top of the loads they all carry.

You let out a long breath, turning over in John’s bed. You press your face into the pillow, inhaling the imprint of his scent on the fabric. It’s still warm where he was laying, and you shuffle over into that spot, letting your body go lax as you imagine him still there with you, arms still wrapped around your body. You want to bury yourself in his arms, press against his chest until you sink into him and become one.

Only then, perhaps you can feel safe enough to sleep.

You press your face further into the pillow, every inhale filled with John’s scent. It lulls you into a daze, the hypnagogic stage between sleep and wakefulness.

You jolt as a hand touches your arm, calluses smoothing over the bare skin. You blink your eyes open, letting out a quiet groan. It’s light outside now, the room bathed in white light instead of the yellow tinge of the nightlight John had bought for his room for you.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” John says, gently squeezing your arm. He’s already dressed for the day, hair still damp from the shower. You hadn’t even noticed he’d returned.

You roll over, rubbing your eyes. “‘S fine. Didn’t even know I was asleep. Breakfast time?”

John hums, leaning over you. “Almost. You’ve got time to get ready.”

You blink up at him blearily, your mind still trying to wake up completely after your short nap. You stare up into his eyes, getting lost in their blue depths. You feel like you could swim in them, his deep earthy scent drawing forward memories of camping and swimming in the lake. Memories you could pretend were happy, memories not tainted by fear and grief.

“Christ,” He breathes, pressing his lips to yours. “So fucking beautiful.”

Your cheeks warm at his words, your lips moving against his as you kiss. You trail a hand up his arm, sliding it to his back. His shirt is soft, thin enough that you can feel the muscles in his back as you smooth your hand across his shoulder blades.

“Wish I could stay here all day.” He murmurs, his face pressing into your throat. You tilt your head for him, a quiet groan rumbling through his chest at your sign of submission. He sighs, pressing his nose against your scent gland for a moment before he straightens back up. “Got a job to do.”

You let out a groan as you stretch, arching your back. “Fuck your job.”

“I’d much rather be fucking you.” He says, leaning down to nip at your bottom lip before he stands up, grabbing the shirt you’d worn to slip into his room last night off the floor. It’s one of his, one you’d stolen from his laundry hamper while he was in the shower. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that.”

You grin, pushing the sheets down before sitting up on the edge of the bed. You rub your eyes tiredly, stretching again before pulling on his shirt, slipping your slippers on. You pad back to your room, changing into more appropriate clothes for breakfast. You’ll be left to your own devices again afterward as the guys return to their normal training schedule. You won’t be napping this time, though, you fear. Instead you’ll be looking for ways to keep yourself awake.

You and John walk hand in hand to the mess. It’s been a while since you’ve been inside of it, and you find you’ve grown to miss it a bit. You don’t miss the stares, the looks that pass over you and your entwined hands as John leads you to the line to get food. It’s like they know, like they all somehow witnessed what had transpired over the last couple weeks, like they had all been spectators to it.

John makes your tray for you again, carrying it to the table where the others are already seated. You take your normal spot next to Kyle, both him and John sitting closer to you than before. Perhaps they were picking up on your nervous energy, but even Johnny and Ghost seemed to be sitting closer. You cast a glance between them before digging into your tray. Something had transpired, but you’re not quite sure what.

You might never get to know.

It’s quiet as you eat, the coffee bitter and watery, but you don’t care. You’ll suffer anything that might give you a boost of energy to make it to lunch without falling asleep.

Johnny walks you back to the barracks after breakfast is over, his arm around your waist as you take your time crossing the courtyard. He’s oddly quiet compared to how energetic he usually is this early in the morning. Something must have happened to make him silent.

“Johnny?” You ask after a group of soldiers jog past behind you.

He hums, looking down at you. His eyes are still bright, but his brows are slightly furrowed.

“Is everything alright?” You ask carefully, not wanting to risk pushing any buttons.

“Aye.” He answers after letting out a sigh. “Jus’ an incident in the gym this mornin’. Nothing ye need tae worry about.”

You raise your brows at him, silently conveying your desire for more information, if he can give you any.

“Just some alphas talkin’ shite, like they do. Callin’ ye the 141’s whore. Askin’ if we all take turns or if ye let us all go at once.” He says, his tone practically seething as he leads you into the barracks. “Simon reminded them of their place.”

You can only imagine how that went.

Despite their obvious tension at the jabs made at you by the other alphas, you don't feel as angry as you probably should. Being called a whore was a bit demeaning, but part of what was said wasn't entirely wrong. Perhaps it's just some leftover hormones surging from your heat, or maybe being claimed has shifted your feelings towards your packmates, but the idea of being shared by them has warmth spreading through you. The mental images piecing together in your mind of taking them all at once would probably make the alphas that made that jab at you blush furiously.

“Johnny?” You ask, turning to him when you reach your door.

“Aye?” He stares down at you, his blue eyes soft as they gaze down into your own.

“I, uh, I wouldn’t mind if at least part of what they said was true...” You sink your teeth into your lip. “You...uh...you’ve been waiting for a while...for your turn.”

He gulps, shifting slightly on his feet. You can’t tell if he’s nervous or excited or something in between.

“Well, I’ve been officially cleared to partake in more...strenuous activities..”

“Christ.” He breathes, crowding you against the door. For a moment you’re worried he might just do it right here, right now, but instead he leans in, close enough you can smell the coffee he had with his breakfast. “I’d love that, kitten.” He bites his own lip as he stares down at yours. “Let me know, and I’ll be ready for you.” He leans down, closing the short distance between you as he kisses you.

You lean into him, kissing him back. It feels like the first time you kissed him, except you can feel the hunger, the restraint behind this kiss. You can feel how much he’s been holding back, how long he’s waited to finally have this moment. To think of anyone desiring you in such a way makes your head spin. He wants you for you, not what you can do for him, not what you can give to him. Not even just for what’s between your legs, even if that’s what you’re going to do.

He wants to be with you because you’re you. He doesn’t have to, he could choose not to, but he does.

He pulls away, staring down at you. His eyes are darker now, speaking promises of what’s to come. “When you’re ready, I’ll be waiting.”

“You're tired.”

You blink, your gaze snapping to his face. You had been drifting thoughtlessly, quite enamored with a single spot on the floor. You're not sure how long he let you stand there, empty-headed and practically dozing upright.

You rub your eyes, trying to force your brain back to awareness. “It's early.” You give the excuse, toeing off your shoes. “Been a while since we've done this.”

“You're going to have to work extra hard to gain it all back.” Ghost says, pulling off his sweatshirt.

Your eyes are immediately drawn to his arms, the strength in them, the tattoos on his skin. You bite back the desire to move closer, to get just a glimpse at one close up. You want to sit and trace them, hear the story of every single one. You want to push his sleeve up, watch the way his muscles bulge and flex, see how far his tattoo goes up his arm.

You snap yourself out of your thoughts, moving onto the mat before you do something embarrassing like starting to drool. You watch him as he stands at the edge of the mat, brown eyes taking you in as you stand there. Something tickles in the back of your mind, a hint of fear, the sense of sudden danger prevalent. What would you do if he suddenly ran at you? Try to dodge and make it to the door? Where would you go? The med center again?

“Easy.” He grumbles, sensing your obvious tension.

Your gaze snaps back to him, his posture relaxed as he stays still. “I'm putting a lot of trust in you.”

“I know.” He says, standing almost as still as a statue. You wonder how he can possibly be so still, but you suppose it's something he learned to do. “I should never have broken that trust in the first place.”

Your eyes widen, brows lifting as you stare at him. You didn't expect such a straightforward apology from him. You haven't really gotten one, until now. You hesitate as you stand there in silence, Ghost obviously waiting for your response.

“I don't know if I can forgive you.” You finally say.

“You shouldn't.” He shrugs, his gaze shifting to the wall behind you. “Even if you weren't really in danger, it was still a dick move.”

Your eyebrows raise even higher. “An apology and admitting you were a dick? Should I be worried?”

He huffs out a breath, shaking his head. “Consider it an offering of amicability, for Johnny. I know you two are getting close, so inevitably we're going to find ourselves around each other more often than we have previously.”

“Well, I suppose I could accept that.” You say, shifting on your feet. “I don't think you could convince Johnny otherwise.”

“Hardly. He wouldn't listen anyway.” He finally moves, shifting on his feet. “You gonna put your hackles down so I can approach?”

You take a deep breath, relaxing the tension in your body. You don't really have a reason to fear him, despite what he did. He hasn't given you a reason to fear him since then, and he's even gone so far as to apologize in his own way. John wouldn't have allowed this to start again if he didn't trust Ghost not to do something that might put you in danger.

John trusts him, so you should be able to as well.

Ghost slowly approaches, your eyes watching him carefully until he's directly in front of you. You stare up at him, holding his gaze. You wish you could see the rest of his face on the off chance it might give you a hint at what he's thinking and feeling. You wonder if that's partially why he wears the mask.

Ghost holds out his hand and you place your own in his. It's so much bigger than yours, his long fingers engulfing your wrist as he wraps your hand. You could probably do it yourself by this point, but you like making him do it. You like the way his hands hold yours, the roughness of his skin against your own.

He starts out reviewing things you already know. Punches, kicks, dodging. It doesn't take long for you to get back into the groove of things, moving like it hasn't been nearly a month since your last training session. You notice the fatigue faster than you had during your last session, but you expected that after almost a month, paired with your heat two weeks ago.

“Now, punching and kicking will only get you so far in a fight.” He says, giving you a moment to breathe. “Almost all fights are going to end up on the ground. Even if your goal is disarming enough to escape, the chances of you and your opponent ending up on the ground is highly likely.”

He swipes your feet out from under you before you can even blink, nearly knocking the wind from you as you land on the mat on your back. He’s on you quickly, dropping to his hands and knees over you. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him above you, his hulking form seeming even larger from this angle. Your mind begins to run wild, imagining all the things that could happen in this position.

“Focus.” He grumbles, arms flexing as he presses his hands into the mat where they rest on either side of your head. “You don’t want to be in this position in a fight. You’re too vulnerable.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his words. You are vulnerable like this. Even with him, someone who doesn’t want to hurt you, it would be so easy. Your head begins to turn, your gaze leaving his as instinct begins to take over.

“No.” He snaps, gripping your chin to turn your head back so he’s looking in your eyes. “You do that in a fight, you’re not going to see the other side.”

You gulp, trying to ignore the warmth of his fingers on your face, the firmness of his grip as he keeps you from showing submission to him. That’s not why you’re here. He’s right. If you do that in a fight, it’ll be over before you even have a chance to run.

“Your legs are far stronger than your arms. Use them to your advantage.” He says, showing you how to get him into the right position to flip him.

You know he’s helping you as you flip him onto his back. If he really was fighting you, you’re not sure you could have done it, even if you managed to land enough of a hit to disarm him. You wind up on top of him, sitting on his stomach. The position doesn’t help your racing thoughts, and you pray you can keep enough control over yourself so you don’t make it obvious.

“Use your legs to pin my hands.” He directs you. You shift your knees slightly, trapping his hands against the mat. “Good.” He says, laying still under you. “You can’t hold a bigger opponent down here for long, but that’s not the point. This gives you a moment of opportunity to go for the face or the neck. Stun them and that gives you a headstart. If you have a weapon available, then you have one less person to worry about chasing you.”

You gulp at his words. It hadn’t even crossed your mind during your training. He had said it so simply, so easily. You suppose it is to him, after years of doing it, after countless moments where it’s his life or theirs. Is that what he tells himself? Is that how he rationalizes it? Is there so much blood on his hands now that killing is as easy as breathing?

You wonder how they all rationalize it. They all have blood on their hands, they all have killed, and will kill again. Every time they leave and come back, it’s with more blood, more nameless faces on the list of lives they've taken, all in the name of the greater good.

Is violence and death really the path to the greater good?

“What?” He asks, sensing your inner turmoil.

You sit back on his stomach, your body rising and falling with his even breaths. “I don’t know if I could do it.”

He tugs his hands from beneath your knees easily, resting them on the mat next to your legs. You can feel his fingers twitch as the blood rushes back into them. “You might not have much of a choice.” He says, holding your gaze. There’s a softness in his gaze you have never seen before. “Sometimes it’s the only choice. If they’re attacking you, they’re better off dead. Even if their goal is to take you alive, the things they’ll do to you.” He shakes his head.

He’s speaking from experience. You know he’s seen things, witnessed the brutality omegas are subjected to at the hands of the worst kinds of alphas and betas. He’s watched omegas die in front of him while he’s sat helpless.

His hand lifts, cupping the back of your head to pull you down closer to his face. You catch yourself with your hands on either side of his head, fighting the urge to tense your shoulders. His hand doesn’t move from the back of your head, his fingers not even twitching as he holds you steady.

“If they’re willing to do it to you, how many others have been on the receiving end? If you’re not willing to be the last, how many others will come after you?” He says, his gaze intense as he stares at you. “I hope you never have to, but you always have to prepare for the worst.”

He holds you there for a breath, staring up into your eyes before he releases you, flipping you off of him and onto your back on the mat. He pushes himself up to stand, staring down at you as you lay there, catching your breath and thinking over the last few moments that transpired.

“Come on. It’s almost time for breakfast.”

It’s quiet in the rec room. The TV is off for once, only the hum of electricity and the occasional turning of a page the only sound breaking the silence. You and Ghost are the only two in the rec room, both of you relaxing silently as you read. He’s in the chair as usual, and you’re stretched out on the couch.

You’re only halfway paying attention to your book, still thinking over your conversation with Johnny earlier, and what transpired in the gym during your training session yesterday. You know how much Johnny wants to be with you, and you're more than willing to go that far with him. You like Johnny, more than just as a packmate. It's hard not to fall for him with his confidence and his playful demeanor. You know he's been desperate to take things to the next level too.

All he's waiting on is you saying the word.

He will never force you into it. He'll impatiently wait for you to go to him, to tell him that you want it. All jokes and teasing aside, you know he'd never make you feel like you were being forced into something.

The thought makes you want to cry.

“Pull his hair.” Ghost’s voice cuts through the silence, nearly making you jump.

You lower your book so you can see him, eyebrows raising in surprise at his words. “What?”

“When you finally fuck Johnny, grab him by the mohawk. He likes it.” Ghost says, not even looking up from his own book.

You stare at him wide-eyed, wondering for a moment if he can read minds, or if you’re just not quite as subtle as you think you’re being.

“I'll, uh, keep that in mind.” You say, lifting your book again to hide your blushing face.

The room descends into silence once more, the two of you continuing to read as if nothing had happened, as if that conversation hadn’t transpired. You wish it felt that way in your mind, though. The mental images Ghost’s words have drawn up drowning out the words on the pages that you’re trying to read. You’re trying not to get worked up further, but you can’t help it. After your training session and the thoughts that had come to mind with Ghost, and now these new images of Johnny, you’re sure your scent has begun to sweeten with arousal.

You need to rectify this, and fast.

You knock on the door, shifting nervously on your feet. Your hands have disappeared in your sleeves, the weight of your phone in your pocket the only thing keeping you from floating to the ceiling and dissipating into the air from the anxiety.

Your stomach nearly drops from your body as the door swings open, Gaz standing there in his full glory.

“Everything alright?” He asks, staring down at you with those big brown eyes. “You look nervous.”

You swallow the nerves, nodding in response. “Yeah, I just...wanted to talk to you for a minute.”

He steps away from the door, brows still pinched in worry and confusion as he motions for you to enter. You brush past him as you step into his room, taking a look around. You haven't been in his room before. It's slightly smaller than yours and John's, and it doesn't have a private bathroom. There's artwork up on the walls, and a couple of plants on his desk, along with a few personal belongings. It's neat and tidy, not that you expected anything less.

“What did you want to talk about?” He asks, turning to face you after closing the door.

You take a deep breath, calming the nervous twist in your stomach. You shouldn’t be nervous. It’s a natural thing to bring up to packmates. You blame it on the fatigue from your lack of sleep putting you on edge.

“I wanted to ask you something.” You start, staring into his big brown eyes. They’re so beautiful, so expressive as they stare down at you. “Johnny and I...we’re going to...sleep together soon and...I just wanted to make sure that was okay? In case maybe you wanted to go first?”

Kyle’s lips slowly lift up into a smile as you stare at him nervously, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “He’s been an absolute tosser since before your heat, and he’d only become utterly unbearable if he didn’t get to go first.” He steps up closer to you, grinning down at you. “For the sake of everyone’s sanity, I don’t mind being patient. Besides,” He leans down, his breath fanning your ear. “I at least know what you look like naked, so I can occupy myself while I wait.”

Your face burns with warmth at his words, a shiver running down your spine. He’s not wrong. He’s seen you at your most vulnerable, lost to your heat, naked and stuffed with John’s knot. Your brain flashes back to the start of your heat, the feel of his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your pajama pants. You swallow thickly, meeting his gaze as he pulls back.

“Enjoy your time with Johnny, love.” He slips his hand into yours, lifting it to his lips. He presses a soft kiss to your knuckles, lips brushing your skin as he speaks. “I’ll be here waiting for you when you’re ready.”

You feel a bit out of breath as you leave Kyle’s room, and you’re sure your scent has sweetened with arousal and excitement. You might have been tempted to just jump Kyle’s bones right now, had it not been for your desire for Johnny, and your commitment to letting him be first again. You know Kyle’s right. You’d never hear the end of it if Johnny didn’t get the chance to be next in line.

Now you just have to find him and tell him the good news.

“Ye look nervous. Are ye nervous?”

“I mean, this is a big step...” You say, wrapping your arms around Johnny’s neck as he shifts you into his lap. You try not to think about how strong he is, how easily he moves you.

“Ye don’t have tae do this, if ye don’ want to.” He says, looking down into your eyes.

“It’s not that...” You say, shifting in his lap. “It’s more...there’s no going back after this.”

He wraps his arms tighter around you. “If I didnae want it, I wouldnae offer. Yer a fucking stunnin’ omega, kitten. Would be crazy not tae want ye.”

Your cheeks warm at his words, your gaze dropping from the intensity of his own. His stubble tickles your fingers as you trace the line of his jaw, working your way towards his lips. His tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip as your fingers trace the jagged scar on his chin.

“Just...go easy on me? At least this first time?” You say, tracing his lips with your fingers.

“‘Course, kitten.” He says, pressing a kiss to your fingertips. “Wouldnae want to scare ye away.”

Your eyes widen slightly at the implications of his words, your stomach fluttering with excitement and a hint of fear at what he could possibly be alluding to. His hand lifts, gently grasping your chin, tilting your face slightly. He closes the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours.

“Don’ worry.” He murmurs against your lips. “Take good care of ye.”

You hum against his lips, tasting the chocolate he’d been snacking on when you sought him out as his tongue slips into your mouth. His hand leaves your chin, sliding down your throat to rest right at the base of your throat, fingers splayed across your clavicle. His thumb rests right on the edge of your mating mark, the pressure making you shiver.

Johnny pulls you tighter against his chest, your arms wrapping around his neck. He moans against your lips as you shift against him, the bulge in his pants pressing against your ass. It’s not the first time you’ve felt it, but this time it’s different. This time you’re going to do something about it.

“Fucking christ, take ye right here on this couch, if I’m not careful.” Johnny groans, nipping at your bottom lip.

“Then best take me to bed, Sergeant.” You say, pulling back slightly to give him what you hope is a sultry look.

The groan that’s pulled from his lips is downright salacious, something flashing in his eyes as you call him by his rank. He curses, tightening his hold around you before he stands, maneuvering you so you’re tossed over his shoulder. You let out a squeak of surprise that’s quickly replaced by giggles as he packs you down the hall to his room.

He sets you on your feet once you're inside, closing the door. You look around his room, surprised to see it full of art supplies with drawings and paintings all over the walls. You stare open mouthed, taking it all in. It's messier than John and Kyle's rooms, though there's still a sense of order to it. A chaotic order, but you suppose that explains Johnny perfectly.

“You draw?” You say, studying the art on the walls.

“Aye,” Johnny says, coming up behind you. “In my free time.”

“I didn't know that.” A small smile tugs at your lips. “They're beautiful.”

“Thank ye, kitten.” He wraps his arms around you from behind, reminding you of why you came in here in the first place. “Not quite as beautiful as you.”

Your face warms at his compliment and you tilt your head back, staring up at him. “You're such a charmer.”

“Try my best.” He grins, leaning down and kissing your forehead. “Promise I'll show ye my drawings later.”

You turn in his arms, wrapping your own around his neck. “I know. You're desperate.”

“Been waitin’ weeks for this, kitten.” He groans, grinding against you.

He leans down, pressing his lips to yours. You tighten your grip around his neck, jumping into his arms. He manages to catch you, stumbling half a step back as his hands grip your thighs. You wrap your legs around his waist, lifting yourself so you’re face to face with him.

“Christ.” He groans against your lips, walking forward until he reaches his bed.

He drops you on your back, your body bouncing on the mattress as he settles on his knees over you. His eyes have darkened as he stares down at you, your stomach twisting in excitement. Warmth has started to pool between your legs, your scent sweetening with arousal.

Johnny’s hands are rough as they slip under your shirt, tugging it up over your head. He groans, eyes fluttering as he realizes you’re without a bra underneath. He curses quietly, something you can’t quite understand as his hands immediately close around your breasts. Your lips part as he squeezes the flesh in his hands, leaning down to take a nipple in his mouth. You gasp at the sensation as his lips close around the sensitive bud, suckling at it like he’s a man starved.

Well, you suppose he is.

He has been waiting for quite a while for this opportunity. Something about it makes your brain tingle, arousal pooling in your stomach at the thought of someone desiring you that much.

It’s not just him, though. Three of the four members of your pack have expressed their desire for you in such a way. The thought makes your head spin. You’re just a simple omega, and yet, here they are going half crazy over you.

Johnny releases your nipple with a pop, shifting so he can give the same attention to the other one. Arousal continues to pool between your legs, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. You drag your fingernails across the back of his neck, a shiver wracking through his body, his hips grinding down against your thigh.

“Fuck,” He gasps, releasing your nipple to stare up at you.

You repeat the motion, dragging your fingers slower. His eyes roll back, hips grinding harder against your thigh. He’s so sensitive, you think, pushing your thigh up against him. He lets out what can only be described as almost a whine, rutting his hips against your leg.

“Fuck,” He curses again, pushing himself back up onto his knees. “Tonight is about you, kitten.” He takes a deep breath before slipping his fingers under the waistband of your pants, tugging them down quickly and tossing them on the floor next to your shirt.

He sinks his teeth into his lip as he stares down at your panties, one of the pairs he got you on your shopping trip before your date with John. You had changed into them specifically for Johnny, remembering how excited he’d looked when he bought you five pairs of the lacy garments. He groans quietly as he runs his fingers over your lace covered skin, slowly lowering his fingers between your thighs. He glances up at you, meeting his gaze and you give him a nod before his fingers dip lower, trailing the wet spot on the lacy fabric.

You part your legs more for him as he rubs you through your panties, quiet moans leaving your lips at the feeling of the friction from the fabric. His eyes are still on you, glued to your face as the pleasure begins to build just from his touch. You buck your hips against his hand, searching out more. More pleasure, more of his touch, more of him.

“Look at ye, needy little thing.” He groans, his thumb dragging up your slit until he finds your clit, slowly circling it through the fabric. “Barely touched ye an’ yer cunt’s already soakin’ yer skids. Fucking sweet little thing, so needy for me, aren’t ye?”

You push yourself up onto your elbows, staring down at him. “Are you going to sit there and run your mouth all night, or are you going to fuck me?”

He grins wickedly at you. “I’m just gettin’ started, kitten.”

He leans down, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee before trailing kisses up your inner thigh. His thumb continues to stroke you through your panties, applying more and more pressure as he gets closer and closer to your center. He whispers out a curse as he shoves your panties to the side, revealing your glistening folds to him. He leans forward, warm breath fanning your slit before he closes his mouth around you.

You gasp at the sensation, dropping back onto your back on the bed as he drags his tongue through your folds, flicking it across your clit before he closes his lips around the sensitive bud, suckling at it like he did your nipples earlier. Pleasure shoots through you as he eats you like a man starved, slurping away at your pussy obscenely.

“Fuck, Johnny!” You gasp, legs trying to close around his head, but he holds your inner thighs, keeping them spread.

You’re not going to last very long, not with him alternating between sucking at your clit and swirling his tongue around it like that. He’s done this before, and you can’t help the momentary spike of jealousy at the thought of him between any other omega’s thighs now that he has you.

“Gonna cum!” You whine, hips bucking against his face.

“Yeah? Gonna make a mess all over my face?” He groans.

You curse, your back arching as he continues to work you up, hands fisting his sheets.

“That’s it.” He groans against your clit, dragging his teeth over the sensitive bud. “Be a good omega for me.”

You cum with a cry, soaking his chin as he continues to tease you. He laps at your juices, not slowing any as he works you through your orgasm, even as you begin to shake with overstimulation.

“I-I can’t.” You gasp, the burning feeling starting to pulse through you as he continues to suck at your clit. It’s quickly becoming too much, the feeling overwhelming you.

Ghost’s words flash through your mind at that moment, his suggestion yesterday while you both spent time in the rec room reading. You reach down, sinking your fingers into Johnny’s mohawk, gripping the short strands. He lets out a groan as you tug, pulling his face from your pussy finally. His chin is glistening with your release, his tongue darting out to lick your juices from his lips.

He follows as you tug upwards, drawing him away from your pussy. He crawls up your body until you’re almost face to face, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

“I said that’s enough.” You say, slightly breathless from your orgasm, but you put as much authority in your tone as you can manage.

“Yes ma’am.” He practically whines, the muscles in his arms flexing as he sinks his own fingers into the sheets around you.

The sudden shift in control has something buzzing in your brain, the back of your neck tingling. You’re an omega. You’re not supposed to be in control, and yet, here Johnny is, practically folding in front of you. A thrill shoots through your veins at the thought of what you could make him do, what lengths he’d go to for you simply because you have him in this position.

“Take your clothes off.” You say, releasing his mohawk.

He sits back without complaint, tugging his shirt over his head. You take him in, the hard lines of his muscles, the dark hair on his chest, the line disappearing under the waistband of his pants. You lick your lips as he undoes the button on his pants, undoing the zipper before tugging them down with his boxers.

His cock is hard and practically standing at attention as he kicks his pants off. He’s slightly smaller than John, but not by much. Your pussy clenches at the thought of him inside you, but you’re not ready for that quite yet. You guide Johnny back up to your face, pressing your lips against his. You can taste yourself on him, making him groan as you lick into his mouth.

You guide him onto his back, trading places with him. He settles beneath you, his hands lifting to your hips, but you push them back as you pull away. You smirk down at him for a moment before you move, changing your position so you’re facing away from him. You trap his hands against the bed with your legs like Ghost showed you, sitting yourself on his taut stomach. He has a clear view of your ass still sporting your lacy panties, your wet folds pressed against his skin.

“Simon show ye that one?” He asks, flexing his hands under you. He could easily overpower you and free himself, but he doesn’t.

“Uh huh.” You say, wrapping your hand around his cock.

“Hells bells, what are you two gettin’ into during trainin’?” He groans, obviously starting to picture the lewd things you and Ghost might be doing. You wonder how he’d react to seeing you on top of Ghost like you were yesterday.

“He’s just teaching me how to defend myself.” You say, slowly pumping his cock. “I’m finding there’s not much of a difference between fucking and fighting.”

Johnny lets out another groan, but you’re not sure if it’s because of your words, or your hand on his cock. You continue to pump his length, feeling the softness of him in your hand, squeezing gently to feel the vein running along the bottom side. Johnny lets out a choked groan, hands twitching again under your legs.

“Fuck, I cannae last much longer.” He gasps desperately, his length twitching in your hand.

Pearly white beads of precum have begun to slip from his tip, and you can’t help but lean down and drag your tongue across his head, gathering some in your mouth. He lets out a whine that rivals ones of your own, his hips bucking as he gets closer and closer to his own orgasm.

“Please, kitten, let me cum inside ye.” He begs, pulling his hands free from underneath you so he can grip your hips.

You pull away from his cock, sitting up on his stomach. He’s panting, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips. You shift yourself again, turning back around to face him. His eyes are hooded as he stares at you, pupils blown with lust. His lips are parted as he pants, sweat beading on his forehead from the strain of holding himself back. You push yourself back until you’re hovering over his cock, pulling your panties to the side with one hand, grabbing his length with the other.

You groan as you sink down onto him, bracing yourself with a hand on his stomach as he stretches you open. His hands settle on your waist, squeezing your hips as you work yourself down his length.

“Fuck,” You breathe, pressing your hands against his abs as you sink down completely onto his cock, your hips flush with his.

“So fucking tight and warm,” He groans, his grip near bruising around your hips. “Fucking feel fantastic, kitten.”

You slowly begin rocking your hips, using your hands on his stomach for leverage. Your toes are curling already from this angle, the tip of his cock brushing that spot deep inside you with every rock of your hips. Small whines and whimpers leave your lips as you fuck yourself on his cock, squeezing your legs around his hips. They’re shaking already, and you know you won’t last long in this position.

Johnny seems to notice that as well, his grip on your hips tightening as he starts to guide your movements. You’re starting to sweat from the effort, your thighs burning, but it feels too good to stop. You’re getting close again, the stretch of him inside you paired with the high of having such control over him just a few moments ago driving you closer and closer to the edge.

Johnny pushes himself up as your movements begin to slow, wrapping his arms around you to shift you in his lap, laying you down on the bed facing the footboard as he slots himself over you. He takes over, thrusting into you, setting a frantic pace. Your head falls back as he pounds into you, your back arching as he folds his body over yours, pressing his face into your neck.

“Gonna cum for me? Need tae feel ye squeezing ‘round my cock.” He grunts, nipping at the skin of your throat.

You let out a whimper, nails digging into his shoulders. “Just like that.” You pant, squeezing your legs around his hips. “Don’t stop!”

“Yes, ma’am.” He groans, continuing to rut into you like your pussy is the only thing that can save his life.

You practically see stars as you cum, squeezing around his cock as pleasure jolts through your body like electricity. Your hips buck against his, grinding together like some sort of forbidden dance as he’s forced into his own orgasm by your walls squeezing around him. His hips stutter before he stills, warmth spurting into you as he cums. You hold him there, his body trembling with yours as he groans into your throat.

“Fucking hell.” He moans, starting to shallowly thrust into you. He’s still hard, his cock dragging through your sensitive walls as he continues to fuck you despite having just orgasmed. “Never gonnae tire of this sweet cunt.”

He probably won’t, you think as he continues to slowly thrust into you again.

You’re in for a long night.

Taglist:

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx @protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @thatonepupkai @redwites @kattiieee @141trash @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos @konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @smile-child-13 @anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @linaangel @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving @slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows @ttsbaby01 @heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10 @cassiecasluciluce @darling006 @sheep-from-rad @ohgodthebogisback @willow-sages @scythemood @daniblogs164 @mirzamsaiph

#call of duty #call of duty fic #x reader #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #a/b/o #omegaverse #john price x reader #captain price x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gax x reader

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peachesofteal · 5 months

Text

Light On- single mom/neighbor fic Simon Riley/female reader Prompt: 1 of 2 for sickfics / requested by multiple

I’m going to need a raincheck for dinner tonight.

Simon frowns at his phone. You’re bailing? You seemed excited about it when he asked earlier in the week, offering to take you and Emmaline down the street to the little café on the corner for dinner. It had taken him days to work up the courage, needlessly pushed on by Johnny’s ‘encouragement’ relentless text messages filled with date ideas, and bad pick-up lines.

Still, you had said yes. Had asked if meant Emma too, and he took secret pleasure in the way you seemed so relieved when he tilted his head and told you, of course.

Okay. Is everything alright? He fires back immediately, wondering if the crying that he’s been hearing on and off all morning has anything to do with you backing out.

I’m not feeling great, and neither is Emma. I think we’re coming down with something. Coming down with something, like you’re sick? You’re sick? Anxiety twists in the pit of his stomach, worrying curling his fingers into a fist with a clench.

Alright. Let me know if you need anything? He waits for a text back, an answer of some kind, an assurance that you’ll seek him out if you need help or need anything.

It never comes.

Six hours later, Simon is at your door.

He has grit his teeth through the day, paced around his own flat endlessly, tried everything he could think of to distract himself. Every time he heard Emmaline wail, his stomach flipped, worry, fear, breaking down his logical sense, the analytical part of his brain until he was standing in front of your door, waiting for the inevitable click of the handle.

When it comes, and you’re standing on the other side, his heart sinks.

He should have come over soon.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He says it as softly as he can, a newfound pitch of his voice that seems to only be reserved for you, trying to allay the panic that has started to form as ice inside his chest.

“Sorry about the noise.” You croak, and he smothers his wince. You sound awful, voice nearly gone, like your throat has been rubbed raw with sandpaper. Emmaline is clad only in a diaper, and when he looks closer, he can see the stain of what he thinks must be her vomit on your shirt. Over your shoulder, dirty bottles, dishes lay stacked next to the sink, a laundry basket with a mountain of baby clothes piled high sits on the table.

“Can I help-“ You sway, arm tightening around the baby, and he doesn’t think, doesn’t stop himself, he just moves.“Alright,” He murmurs, wrapping an arm around you, supporting both you and Emmaline by shifting you into his side, one hand against Emma’s back. She feels warm, but not nearly as hot as you, and panic tries to bubble up his throat again at the blaring heat that’s coming from your skin. “I’ve got you.”

“Sorry, ‘m a little dizzy.”

“It’s okay.” He keeps you close, turning you back through the door. Emma makes scratchy, unhappy noises, and he rubs his thumb against her skin. “Shhh. I know, I know. You’re okay.” You lean into him harder, and he accommodates it, moving the two of you towards the couch. “I know, you’re not feeling too good are you?” He says to Emma after he gets you down on the couch, hands now around her back, waiting for a sign of permission from you to lift her.

“She can go down. If you-“ Your breath gets caught in your chest, and you curl forward, his hand going to your shoulder, your body shaking with a cough. “If you want to try.” You whisper once you recover, brows knitted together in misery, and he cradles her, rocking her back and forth, mimicking your usual movements.

“You stay right here.” He nods to the couch, using a fraction of the voice he uses on Johnny, and you immediately nod, eyes shuttering closed with a slow blink. “Just rest.”

Emmaline is still crying when he opens the door to her room, the first he’s seen it, pale green walls and dark wood crib, small rocker in the corner next to a changing table. It’s a comforting space, decorated and cared for with love, and for a moment, his mind wanders to an image of you, painting the walls with a swollen belly, or curled in the plush rocker, reading a book to Emmaline, still nestled inside you. He wasn’t there for it, but he just knows you were so beautiful, the kind of glow that would have stopped him in the street. You still stop him in the street.

Emma wails, bringing him back to reality with a softer cry than earlier, and he keeps her close to his chest, murmuring low and soft. “Shhh. You’re alright, baby girl. You’re okay.” He continues the rocking side to side thing you usually do in a standing position, mumbling things to her, stroking his fingers down her cheek, her forehead, bouncing and swaying at the same. “Are you not feeling too good? Is that what’s got you all upset? Yeah. I get kind of grumpy when I don’t feel good either.” He coos, little lashes slowly blinking up at him, transfixed on his face during his stream of chatter until they begin to slip shut, her mouth still hanging half open. He holds his breath, staring in astonishment at her sleeping face, half shocked, half ridiculously pleased.

“Have you taken anything?” He barely sits on your ottoman, leaning over to get a better look at you, uncomfortable with the way your eyes seem glazed over, how slow they are to react. Maybe you need to go to the hospital?

“Some naproxen, a bit ago.” You look exhausted, eyelids heavy, and he can’t stop himself from pressing the back of his hand to your forehead.

“You’re really warm, sweetheart. Do you need a doctor?” Tell me what to do, he wants to beg. Tell me how to help.

“No, jus’ sleep.” A confused look flickers across your face. “Oh my god, did you…” you swallow a cough, his hand sliding down to cup your shoulder, thumb soft against your dirty t shirt. “did you get her down?” He nods, slowly, fighting the small grin that tugs at his lips.

“Wow.” You breathe, and your hand drags up your chest to where his still sits on your arm, fingers intertwining in his with a small squeeze. “You really are our hero.” He smiles at you, because how can he not, heart warm and full in his chest, the feeling something he hasn’t experienced in a long, long time.

There’s a moment, a second extended into a minute, maybe an hour, he’s not sure, where you don’t look away from him. Where you look at him, really look at him, and see him, see his twice broken nose, the scar on his cheek, the one above his eyebrow. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t try to hide or look away, just holds himself still, staring down at you on the couch, sweat dotting your forehead and neck, still beautiful with your fever parched skin and tired eyes.

“Simon.” You whisper, and he thinks, maybe… he’s supposed to kiss you right now. That if he were braver, if Johnny were here to egg him on, if he felt like it wasn’t taking advantage of your weakened state… he might. But instead-

“Why don’t you close your eyes, love. Try to get some rest. I’ll stay. See if I can get some of these dishes done. I can get her if she gets up.”

“You don’t have-“

“I know.” He soothes. “I know I don’t, but I’m here. Let me help.” Let me help you. Let me be here.

You take a deep breath, as deep as you can manage, and then your voice is light, but so sweet, and so, so trusting when you say;

“Okay, Simon.”

#peaches writes #light on #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley

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f1fnatic · 7 months

Text

LIAR ⤿ c. sainz 55

→ ( in which. . . ) you and carlos have been dating for three years. carlos started to grow distant. after charles shows you a picture of his infidelity, you catch him in the act after a day at work.

→ ( fanfic genre. . . ) written

→ ( pairing. . . ) cheater!carlos sainz x longtime!girlfriend!reader

→ (content warnings/disclaimers. . . ) mentions of sex, language, yelling, cheating, alcohol consumption, angst

→ ( author's note. . . ) this was my first time writing angst/cheating. it was fun experimenting with this type of writing. i hope you enjoy! see end for more.

→ ( masterlist )

"you fucking liar!" echoed through the otherwise quiet apartment. hurried footsteps sounded from the hallway, another pair following the first close behind. was this what everything came to? walking out on your supposed soulmate after years together? how did you get here? and what did you do to deserve this?

one week prior ↴

you had noticed the distance growing. carlos was becoming closed off and almost secretive. he didn't confide in you as much as he used to. you didn't think twice about it and assumed it was something to do with work. ferrari had been going through a rough patch, both him and charles struggling to start or finish a race for the past three weeks.

you understood how stressful being a driver was. you had been around formula 1 for a while now, because of him. you and carlos met when he drove for redbull, in 2015. the two of you started dating shortly after in 2017.

you were always there for him, through thick and thin. through the blood, sweat, and tears. after every win, podium, loss, dnf, dns, etc. you understood how hard it was for him to perform well but not get the results wanted.

so, when you received a picture of carlos with another woman, a blond, on his lap, hands on his shoulders and lips touching, you were livid. charles had sent it to you, with a simple caption that read "i am sorry." it was the after-party of a not-so-successful qatar grand prix.

rage, confusion, sadness, and disgust coursed through your veins. the thought of him finding comfort in a woman who wasn't you made you sick. your hands shook, eyes blurred, and breath quickened.

you could not believe that carlos would ever cheat, especially on you. you had given him everything. love, attention, comfort, and compassion. and this is what he gave you in return? you had sacrificed so much to make him happy. you felt useless. had you thrown away six years of your life just to get cheated on? did he feel guilty? did he regret his choice to kiss a random girl? thoughts sped through your mind.

what did you do until he got home? your apartment no longer felt like a home. it felt gross and unnatural to be in there. to think that the person you shared it with was sharing a different room across the world. did he share your bed with someone else as well? the pictures of the two of you that hung on the wall seemed to mock you.

every passing minute became more and more painful. could you act like everything was fine when he eventually did get home? or would you lose it immediately the second he walked in through the front door?

unfortunately, you knew that only time would tell.

present day ↴

today was the day that carlos got home. you were at work, trying to distract yourself from the inevitable conflict about to occur. you reached the front door of your shared apartment. shaking hands held the key and you placed it in the lock and turned it. pushing open the door, the apartment was quiet, suspiciously quiet.

you noticed that the kitchen was a mess. plates and cooking utensils were in the sink, dirty and waiting to be washed. two wine glasses left discarded on the quartz bar. a bottle of red cabernet left opened and almost empty. one of the glasses had lipstick stains littered around the rim.

your heartbeat quickened. adrenaline began to pump through your body. you quickly toed off your shoes, and your feet ached after a long day. you also discarded your purse and jacket, making your way to your and carlos' bedroom.

as you got closer, you heard moaning. your heart dropped to your stomach. you opened the door as soon as you reached it. low and behold, it was carlos and the same blond from the picture that charles sent you. the blond was on top of carlos, head back and mouth open in euphoria. carlos had the same expression as her on his face.

tears immediately welled in your eyes and quickly fell. you felt defeated. it was one thing to see a picture of your boyfriend kissing another girl, but to catch him with that same girl in the bed that you shared, in the same bed that he fucked you in, was different.

finally, carlos opened his eyes and noticed you in the doorway. his hands found the blond's hips to stop her from moving. his eyes widened with guilt and surprise; mouth wide open in shock.

"y-y/n?!" he shouted. the blond turned to look at you and god, she was pretty. you partially understood why he did it. she covered herself with one of the loose sheets and unstrattled carlos, allowing him to get up.

"y/n, i can explain-" he starts.

"explain what, carlos?!" you shout, cutting him off. "how on earth can you explain me walking in on you fucking another girl in our bed?!"

"it was a simple mistake, mi amor, that's all." he tried to reason, smiling meekly. the nickname that once held so much love now held nothing. the name that made butterflies flutter in your stomach now made them sink.

"you fucking liar!" you screamed. "this was on purpose!" it echoed through the now quiet apartment. you turned your back on the pair and walked away. your hurried footsteps sounded from the hallway, carlos' pair following yours closely behind.

"y/n, stop!" he yelled, grabbing your wrist and turning you around to face him.

"do not fucking touch me!" you say, yanking your wrist from his grip. the complete and utter audacity he had to try to attempt to explain why he cheated. "was i not enough for you? did i do something wrong? did i not fuck you the right way? did i not get you off fast enough? huh, carlos? what made you decide to throw away six years together huh? six fucking years!"

carlos stares at you, his brown eyes that you thought were breathtaking were now filling you with disdain. "tell me carlos!"

"i-i don't know why," he stutters, turning his gaze to the floor, taking a sudden interest in the hardwood paneling. "you were enough, you still are enough. please y/n, we can move past this. i was drunk and stupid, my judgement was clouded." he tries to reason, reaching to grab both of your hands.

"no, stop it. no amount of time can get me to forgive you for this. i will never forgive you, carlos." you said his name with such disgust that he flinched. "charles showed me a picture of you kissing her in qatar in a bar during an after-party. i have known for a week. but to think that you would take her into our home and fuck her?"

"wait, wait, wait. charles texted you?" carlos questioned. there was anger present in his voice. "why the fuck did he text you?" it seemed that he was upset at the fact that charles told you he cheated.

i scoff, crossing my arms. "unbelievable, you are unbelievable. you cheated on me and you are caught up on the fact that your teammate texted me proof? how much of an egotistical cunt do you have to be?"

"me? i'm the unbelievable one? you're the one walking out on me because of a stupid, drunken mistake." he says nonchalantly, glossing over the insult. it's almost like he didn't care that your relationship was ending.

"fuck you, carlos. i am done. we are done. do not call me, do not try to find me to convince me to come back to you." the tears were flowing vigorously down your cheeks. you knew your makeup was running, but you didn't care. "i am fucking done. thanks for nothing. i hope have fun fucking that slut and that you are happy with the choice you made." you finish, walking away through the home that once brought you so much joy to be in.

you gathered your things. purse, shoes, phone, coat, and keys. you would get everything else later. you opened the door and then slammed it once stepping outside. it was then when every emotion hit you at once. violent sobs wracked your body making you shake. you slid down the door hugging yourself. you could not believe it. you don't know if you ever would.

after eventually calming down, you decide to call the one person who made you aware of this whole situation. you clicked on his contact's name and then the call button. you placed your phone on your ear to hear two rings before he picked up.

"hello? y/n? why are you calling." asked the voice.

"charles," you pause. the question of 'was this a good idea?' ran through your head. but, at this point you didn't care. carlos and what he thought was the least of your worries. "i need you to pick me up."

low key happy with this one, wrote it last night and like where it went. i think i might turn it into a charles x reader :P let me know in the comments if you want that :) thank you for reading! as usual, feedback and requests are welcome; make sure to leave a comment and kudos! (only if you want :P)

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koqabear · 8 months

Note

Congratulations on 2k! I have request for the event in the mic is yours!

Dom! Gyu × bunny hybrid reader in heat ?

“In which you, Beomgyu’s odd and eccentric neighbor, take an interest in him.”

beomgyu x fem!bunny hybrid reader // wc: 2.7K // fluff, smut, hybrid au, MDNI.

warnings: barely edited hehe, dom!gyu, sub!mc, unprotected sex, breast play, dry humping, oral (f. rec), fingering, multiple orgasms, gyu is big sorry not sorry, dacryphilia, manhandling, creampies

Notes: haven’t written a hybrid au in so long omg… i've been thrown back to my roots.

Beomgyu who, when he first met you, thought you were a little strange.

The strange person he held the elevator for when he first moved into the apartment complex, unsure of who you were as he instead took in the way you were shivering violently, hood pulled over your head tightly and arms wrapped around yourself as you barely made an effort to look at him; you wore a mask, hiding your features and leading Beomgyu to assume you were just sick.

You had gotten off on the same floor as him, and it wasn’t until he found himself trailing behind you that he realized that you were neighbors— and, though he didn’t mean to, his eyes inevitably fell to a certain something that piqued his interest, white and fluffy and peeking from under the hem of your hoodie as he couldn’t help the breath of surprise that he let out— and, without realizing it, he got your attention, watching as you turned around and gave him a look through your wide, sparkling and slightly dazed eyes; he could only smile sheepishly before he turned back to unlock his door, pretending as though he didn’t feel your intense stare on him before you finally decided to go into your home.

Beomgyu never thought he’d be in this position before; his neighbor, a bunny hybrid, floppy ears and fluffy tail always twitching with surprise every time you bumped into each other; as much as you wanted to hide your emotions, you simply couldn’t, and it wasn’t long before your excitable personality forced you to strike a conversation in the very place you first met— an elevator ride has never felt so short when he talked to you, wishing nothing more than to properly be friends and maybe, get to know him better.

Over time, your wish comes true— but it’s never enough for you, stuck with small talk and conversations that are always cut short because oh, I have to go, or sorry, I just got back from work and I’m pretty tired, only getting more and more discouraged because your meetings are always limited to the hallways, or the lobby, or worse, the elevator. But of course, this does little to hinder you— your face always lighting up every time you see him, your cute ears always coming up in attention before you’re quickly forcing them down with a sheepish smile, your fluffy tail twitching wildly behind you as you tug your hoodie down a little more and keep your hands behind your back.

Beomgyu who, in one of your two-minute conversations, lets it slip that he’s been so busy these days, and that he hasn’t eaten a home cooked meal for so long, half-heartedly joking that my stomach feels so empty all the time.

And as a rational person, what do you do? Make him a meal, of course! Compiled of all his favorite foods you’ve managed to weasel out of him, pretending to be casual about it as you instead took note of them each, your mind racing on how to make them— for once, you find yourself oddly shy as you finally approach him, taking that it’s one of his few days off into account as you ask him if he’d like to eat dinner tonight.

All Beomgyu can think is that he’s never seen you like this— your usual outgoing and eccentric personality gone, your face flushed and your ears practically hiding you as you tap your foot absentmindedly— the feeling that festers inside him is new and intense, pretending as though he’s not holding back the urge to coo at you as he instead tells you I’d love to with a charming smile.

Beomgyu who, after aweing at the intricate meal you prepared and sheepishly telling you that you didn’t have to go all out for him, thinks he might have a little crush on you.

Two-minute conversations turn to five— only because he’s off to work in the mornings, but he tries really hard to push past his fatigue and stop you in the hallways to talk. Boring days off turn into days where he’s over at your apartment— or you’re cooped up in his, never a dull moment between you two as you eventually take those days to cook together— he finds himself looking forward to those days even more, unaware of the way he’s begun to actively seek you out as well; you’re no longer the one pining desperately, and you barely have to do anything but text Beomgyu are you home? If you want to see him.

There’s an unaddressed tension to your relationship; surely, it’s normal to spend days at each other’s apartments, acting clingy and stealing his hoodies every chance you get, right? Yeah, it’s completely normal to hug Beomgyu a little tighter when you’re about to leave, telling him it’s completely normal and instinct when you nudge your nose a little closer to his pulse point, your scent rubbing off on him and his onto you as you bid him goodnight with a satisfied smile.

It’s totally normal to be like this with a friend; normal to lay in bed restless, unsure of how else to get rid of the feeling that festers in your stomach than to reach for the hoodie you discarded because it was too hot, bringing the soft item to your nose and closing your eyes as you inhale deeply— and suddenly he’s there with you, and it’s not your hand that’s slipping under the waistband of your shorts, body alight with a carnal desire that seemingly doesn’t end— it isn’t until your mind is exhausted but your body continues to buzz impatiently that you realize what’s going on.

Beomgyu catches onto your ill state immediately— when he hasn’t seen or heard from you for three days, he’s at your door immediately, meekly asking if you’re home and pressing his ear against the wood for any signs of sounds.

Meanwhile, you’re absolutely miserable. The sound of his voice alone is enough to have you whimpering and crying, his hoodie wrinkled and held tightly in your hands as you shift restlessly on your bed— it doesn’t smell like him anymore, and your nose twitches at the way his scent practically floods through the door, your mind clouded and impairing your mind that screams at you to not answer.

But you’ve never been good with self-control, have you? Throwing yourself on him the moment you open the door, pulling him in a bone crushing hug and hiding your face into his chest as you inhale deeply— your body feels like it’s on fire against Beomgyu’s skin, and he’s gasping slightly at the way he’s practically holding you up, taking in your state before he’s leading you back inside, asking you quietly if you’re alright, if you need to go to the hospital.

Beomgyu shouldn’t have gone inside. It’s the last sober thought that passes through your mind, every other instinct soon taking over the moment he closes the door behind him; you’re tugging at his hoodie, face buried in the crook of his neck as you cling to him desperately, cute fluffy tail going wild behind you at the mere scent of him— he’s caught off guard by the way your hands grip onto his hoodie, pulling him closer to you by the waist as you merely whine that you missed him; voice shaky and soft, eyes brimming with tears as he feels the way your wet lashes brush against his skin— he tries to remain calm at the way your warm breath and soft lips continue to brush against his sensitive neck, gulping heavily as his arms slowly come up to hug you back.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly, feeling the way you barely seem to process anything as you stumble forward instead, pushing him back and against the door as you press yourself flush against him, too afraid to make any advances but too desperate that you just have to feel his touch all over you, “Are— are you sick? Do you need me to go get you some medicine?”

His worried voice is what lets you snap out of it, even if it’s just for a moment; pushing yourself off him with haste, eyes wide and sobered as your mouth parts slightly with shock from your behavior— you’re embarrassed to meet his gaze, his eyes wide like yours and his cheeks flushed a slight red; you’re stuttering useless excuses as you stumble back, wringing your hands nervously and chewing on your lip as you proceed to look everywhere but him.

It takes a while before it all clicks for him; your behavior— eerily similar to when you first met, he thinks— clingy and shaking yet holding yourself back as you tell him you should leave, your eyes longing but your actions saying otherwise as you reach to open the door for him— only to be stopped, pulled back by Beomgyu as you whimper weakly at the way his hand feels on your searing skin.

“Let me stay,” he whispers, watching as you only let out a shaky breath at his words, “Let me help you.”

There’s no going back after that; you’re on him without hesitation, ignoring any rationality that tells you not to give in, that you could ruin the way things are— but it doesn’t really matter to you as you’re pulling him along and stumbling to your room, unable to take your lips off his as the kiss grows rough and messy, his hands firm on your waist as he smiles at your eagerness.

You’re desperate to shed off everything; there is no slow and romantic moment, not when you feel as though your body is on fire and your mind craves nothing more than the man who hovers over you. His eyes are low lidded and dark as he takes you in, soft skin tempting and covered with a thin sheen of sweat from how hard you’ve been holding yourself back— immediately grabbing his wrists and encouraging him to touch you, back arching and mouth falling open the moment his cool hands play with your breasts, your mind reeling at the fact that you finally get to have him like this.

Beomgyu isn’t faring very well either; in awe at the way you’re so desperate and fucked out for him, kneeling between your legs and feeling the way you’ve already begun to grind against him— pussy leaking onto his sweats, leaving a stain you don’t seem to care much about as you press yourself harder against him instead. Your hair is mused and your face is flushed as you whimper desperately for him to touch you, do something to make the pain go away; need you, want you to fuck me so bad, please, gyu…

He never thought he’d be in this position; the cute neighbor he met a while ago, now in heat and under him as you whine and whimper for his cock, still not satiated even after he’s made you cum on his tongue and fingers, his hair tangled and held tightly in your hands as you cry and pull him closer to your pussy, still not satisfied even after countless rounds.

Gotta prep you baby, make sure you’re ready, you thought that was nothing more than him teasing you, stringing you along with the promise of fucking you as he played with your pussy until you were a crying and begging mess— fluffy ears plastered to the pillows below you as your hips bucked into his face, mindlessly babbling that it didn’t matter, you can take it, you need it.

But your reaction says it all; he’s much bigger than you expected, eyes widening and mouth watering at the sight of him pulling his cock out and slowly stroking it, hovering over you and aligning himself with your entrance as he lowly whispers if you’re sure, if you’re ready— you merely respond with a hasty nod, leg hooking around his waist and pulling him closer to you as you feel his tip finally push inside you.

The stretch is a bit uncomfortable at first. But you push through it, swallowing thickly and letting out a weak moan that only has his cock twitching inside you; shaky breaths escaping him as he waits for you to tell him to move, his fingers digging into your hips in order to try and control himself.

When he finally gets the okay, he’s no better than you— holding your hips still and fucking into you with hard, calculated thrusts, figuring out what feels best by the choked cry you let out, frantic hands grabbing onto his forearms and your cute ears perking up— eyes rolling back, your thighs close around him and threaten to pull him in closer, practically unable to move as he feels you cum around his cock; clenching around him so tightly he’s barely able to keep fucking you, resorting to harsh shallow thrusts that make you let out hiccuped, whiny moans.

Your body falls limp, but only for a second; Beomgyu’s cock is still hard and rutting slowly inside you, humping you pathetically as he has yet to cum— your mind is suddenly engulfed with the need to feel him fill you up, broken voice quietly begging him to keep fucking you as the same fire from before festers in your stomach, lips bitten raw from how desperate you feel yourself become; hips slowly rolling against his, feeling the way he hisses at the action, pulling your hips flush against his before he’s leaning down to kiss you.

Insatiable, is all Beomgyu can use to describe you, fucking you again and eventually turning you around, face pressed into the sheets and your ass up as he uses this new position to fuck you stupid— and it works, his chest pressed against your back as he hovers over you, fucking you into the mattress and whispering things that have you crying and clenching around his cock; whining cutely that you just want him to use you, fill you up and treat you like nothing more than his little toy— words that have him laughing meanly in your ear, cooing mockingly that he’ll gladly do so, sitting up and watching the way your tail and legs twitch with every one of his rough thrusts.

Even after he cums inside you, filling you to the brim and bottoming out as he feels the way you squeal and come undone after, he continues to fuck you; he’s hard again and your fluttering walls aren’t helping him, your hands gripping at the sheets and bunching them in your fingers as you cry for him to do it again, again again, just wanna feel you cum inside, pleasepleaseplease want you to do it again.

Round after round, Beomgyu fucks you like you deserve; putting your body into as many positions he can think of— putting you into a mating press or laughing meanly as he makes you ride him, your legs wobbly and weak as you can barely make a pace for yourself— and it all ends the same, feeling him cum inside you to the point where it can’t stay inside anymore, thighs and stomach all coated with the slick substance as you can only beg for more, more more more gyu please, just one more?

Beomgyu, ever the gentleman, is unable to deny you— fucking you good during the rest of your heat, making sure it doesn’t remain a one-time thing as he sticks around and takes care of you afterwards, telling you sheepishly that this is probably the worst time to tell you this, but I really like you.

Watching the way you’re only stricken with awe, ears upright and your tail wiggling behind you as a grin overtakes your face— your pessimist heart thought this would end with a friends-with-benefits situation or worse, and not with him laying next to you and staring at you with sparkling, hopeful puppy eyes— and you’re immediately jumping on him, a giggly mess as you pepper him with kisses and bury your face into his neck; inhaling his scent deeply, the warm and familiar smell that will be on you 24/7 from now on.

#txt fanfic #txt fanfiction #txt imagines #txt oneshots #txt ff #txt x reader #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #beomgyu smut #beomgyu ff #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu oneshot #beomgyu x reader #[2k event!]#[nsfw]#[the mic is yours]

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bloompompom · 1 year

Text

Always the Quiet Ones

One Shot

Pairing: eren jaeger x fem!reader

Summary: eren mistakenly took his new lab partner for being quiet, only to discover she was so much more than that.

Word Count: ~13.2k i am so sorry i just really like emotional investment ok

Content: explicit sexual content, explicit language, alcohol, rough(-ish?) sex, praise, spanking. reader discretion advised.

It was the honest-to-God truth when Eren said he wasn’t looking to catch feelings for anyone. But then you came along.

You were harmless enough—nothing more than his quiet lab partner in anatomy. Truthfully, he didn’t know what to think of you, other than you had a tendency to keep to yourself. When you did speak up, you kept your words brief, always pertinent to whatever assignment was at hand. But more days than not, you would only address Eren with a cursory nod, just when he’d take his seat beside you. Sometimes you couldn’t even bother to let your eyes flicker up from your textbook to acknowledge him properly.

So, Eren treated you the same, only bringing the bare minimum to your conversations. One-word answers. A specific grunt for yes, a different one for no—each you had to learn. The class dragged on long enough as it was, and there were many times when Eren found himself wishing he had a friendlier lab partner to spend his hours with. Or, at the very least, he wished he had one that could talk to him.

When Eren was exceptionally bored, his mind would wander to thoughts of you, why you were—for lack of better words—like that. Quiet. Standoff-ish. Withdrawn. He had a few ideas in mind, the most probable theory was that you were merely shy. That would make the most sense, wouldn’t it?

Or maybe you were the type of student that took her classes way too seriously. You were in your third year, after all. Maybe you were trying to get into a good graduate program. Or you just really liked anatomy. That’d make sense, too, because Eren would catch you reading with your face far too close to your book, sort of like a nerd. But other times, it seemed like you were just avoiding looking him in the eye.

Then there were the days—usually when Eren was particularly disgruntled—that your quietness irked him to no end. He knew it was irrational, but damn it, why were you like that? And all the time, too. Those were the times when he’d assume you were stuck up. What other reason could there be for you to ignore him so purposefully? He’d feel a little bad for it later, but sometimes he’d think you were just a bitch—simple as that.

Eren’s theories could go on and on, but none of them were true. At least, you didn’t think of yourself as a bitch. No, the reason behind your reserved attitude was much more straightforward than that.

You had a stupid crush on Eren.

A girlish, middle school, twirling-your-hair-around-your-finger crush. The kind of crush that made your stomach feel hollow and full, somehow at the same time, and had you gushing to your roommate even though you knew you’d never do anything about it.

You felt this way since last semester. But of course, Eren didn’t know that. You weren’t even sure he knew of your existence until Professor Hange partnered up the two of you.

Oh, God. Just thinking about that day made you sick with anxiety. When it happened, you swore you were going to die. Like, actually keel over from a heart attack in the middle of class and die.

Maybe there was another universe out there in which you would’ve been thrilled to have this forced time with your crush. Perhaps he’d even give you his number to text him about homework, and in that other universe, you’d be giddy over it.

But that was not the case because, in this universe, anatomy was far from your strongest subject. Very, very far.

When you were paired with Eren, all you could think about was the ways you would inevitably embarrass yourself in front of him, lab after lab. It terrified you, even to the point where you wouldn’t dare to ask him a question out of fear of sounding dumb. You’d go without having him repeat himself when you couldn’t make out what he had said, only managing to scribble down what little you could.

It was despicable. It was despicable, and you knew it, and you still couldn’t help it because it was much easier to pretend like Eren wasn’t there to begin with. Even if it meant you were starting to see your grade slip. You hoped to keep that—and your crush—a secret from him, but one day, he got too nosy for your liking.

Your lab report was handed back to you, face down, just like always. You knew professors did that for everyone, no matter the grade, but you couldn’t help but think it was specifically for you.

You didn’t want to, but you picked up the assignment—albeit, not as carefully as you should have for someone wanting to hide their score—and peeked in the corner. You, unsurprisingly, were met with a lousy grade. Again.

Eren leaned back in his seat, just far enough to steal a glimpse from over your shoulder. He shouldn’t have done it, but he was curious as to why you always hid your papers. He figured you must have been good at the subject. That would fit well with your stuck-up attitude, wouldn't it?

But what he saw surprised him, especially when he thought of his own grade. He wasn’t thinking when he chuckled, “Wow. Are you even writing anything down?”

You startled, clutching the papers against your chest. “Huh?”

You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. He was, but it didn’t come off as tactfully as he had hoped. Eren often let his thoughts haphazardly turn to words. But you didn’t know about that nasty habit of his. All you were thinking was, shit, because he had finally figured out you had no idea what you were doing.

Eren saw the panic as it ran across your face. Feeling a bit bad about it, he cracked a small smile at you, maybe for the first time. Still, his eyebrows wore a look of pity that he couldn’t hold back.

“The lab,” Eren said, pointing to the paper crumpling in your grasp. Embarrassment washed over you when you realized how dramatic you were being, and you quickly folded the assignment in half to store away in your bag. “We do them together every week. How are you screwing them up that badly?”

You gave him a hard frown and regretted thinking he’d be anything more than curt with you. Even with the pity brows, you weren’t feeling much sympathy from him.

You didn’t say anything back because what kind of question was that? You could only stare past him blankly, imagining how this horrible moment would torment you as you tried to fall asleep that night.

You only looked at him again when you heard his chair drag against the tile. He sighed—a little too loudly to be considered natural—and started to put his things into his book bag.

“Look,” Eren started to say. He glanced up at you once he had zipped his bag shut. It made you flighty. “You don’t have to get stuck with a shitty grade. I bet I can help.”

His voice was flat and you didn’t like his delivery much, but underneath it, there was a glint of kindness. You didn’t know where it was coming from, and frankly, neither did Eren. Maybe he was feeling guilty for being so thoughtless. It was hard not to, what with the way your face—always so stoic he’d think you were made of marble—turned sullen. He didn’t like how it made him feel. Or perhaps it was more like he disliked knowing you could pull such a reaction out of him.

“You still have my number, yeah?” Eren asked you.

You nodded. You did, in fact, still have his phone number. It was in the top corner of the front of your notebook—the very first thing you wrote down. Well, he wrote it down after your first class together, just like you hoped he would. You decided not to save it in your phone; you were too worried about the possibility of drunk texting him.

“Good,” he said. “We can meet up sometime to study together.”

“Okay, yeah. Thanks,” you said, quietly at first, but your confidence grew with each word when you realized that this might not have to go down as one of your top ten most embarrassing memories.

“Sure.” Eren stood up and swung his bag over his shoulder. He smiled at you again. It was real this time—big enough to make your stomach flop. “I can’t let my lab partner flunk out on me.”

So that was where it began. ‘It’ being that you and Eren would study together—occasionally. Nothing more.

By studying, you did not mean the fun stuff. You know, like having him study your anatomy rather than the pictures in his textbook. Oh, well. You could still dream.

It took about two study dates (you preferred to call them that but only to yourself) before didn’t sit on the edge of your seat around him. As lame as it sounded, he made you incredibly nervous—maybe even more nervous than you felt around him in class.

And just like in class, you tried your hardest to keep your eyes on your text. You knew if you looked at him, you’d turn into a pile of goo before you could even look away.

It was shameful to admit, but you’d find yourself stealing a glimpse of him, but only when you were certain he wouldn’t notice. You’d catch him when he was jotting something down because you liked when he was pensive. His dark brows would sit low over his eyes and his bottom lip would jut out ever so slightly. And sometimes, only when he was stumped, he’d run his fingers through his hair while he thought. You liked that, too.

By the time midterms had come and gone, you were seeing Eren more and more often—at least twice a week. Once during lab, then another when you’d meet up to study. Maybe a third time if you had a lab report due. By then, it was impossible to allow your heart to flutter every time you looked at him, otherwise it was bound to give out.

What you wanted to be study dates started to feel more like you were getting tutoring lessons from him. Once you were convinced Eren’s willingness to help was genuine, you didn’t worry as much about sounding dumb. He never seemed bothered when explaining a topic to you, even if you went overboard with the questions. Once you started talking to him, it was hard to get you to stop.

It was nice when you didn’t have to think as much when you were around him. He’d poke fun at you because you always mixed up dorsal and ventral, and you never let him live down spelling ‘brain’ as ‘brian.’ ‘It was one time,’ he’d always complain back to you.

After being snarked at one too many times in the library for goofing off, you tried to get one of those private study rooms. They were only available by reservation and since those were hard to come by, other spots around campus had to do. Sometimes you’d go over to Eren’s place, no further than a five-minute walk from campus.

Eren lived in a house with three other boys. Jean, Connie, and Armin. You found Jean and Connie to be nice enough based on the handful of conversations you had with them. But Eren blamed them for the reason you didn’t study at the house often, accusing them of being too distracting to think straight.

Eren wouldn’t ever tell you this—hell, he couldn’t think of anyone he’d admit this to—but the real reason he didn’t like to study at his place was Armin.

Armin. Eren’s blonde best friend for the last ten years. His roommate that you found to be as cute as a button. Armin knew much more about anatomy than you and Eren, maybe even combined. When he was bored, Armin would join you on the couch and answer your questions that Eren didn’t know.

Eren couldn’t pinpoint why it bothered him so much. He always knew Armin was smarter than him; it was never a problem before. It irked him endlessly, but instead of trying to figure it out, he decided he’d start going to your apartment to study instead. Your roommate, Hitch, was more tolerable to be around, anyway.

It was around finals when you were smacked in the face with the not-so-subtle reminder that you still had a crush on Eren. It happened when your study dates became less of a one-on-one thing and more like a group hangout.

You were friendly with a few of the classmates that sat near you. The girl, Mina, told you that she, Thomas, and Samuel were getting together to prepare for the upcoming final exam. She said you and Eren should join.

You didn’t respond right away, but you felt that sick churning in your stomach when Eren did. ‘She needs all the help she can get,’ Eren replied, giving you a playful pat on the shoulder. He was only joking, of course, but you wished he didn’t sound so eager. You especially wished his hand, innocently placed on your back, didn’t make your face burn.

You got over it quickly. It was hard to stay bitter at people you got along well with, so much so that you’d accomplish more chatting than studying. Luckily for the rest of you, Eren and Thomas knew enough to help you skate by.

But when Eren started to text in the new group chat more than he’d text you, you couldn’t help but feel a sting. It felt like you had let your chances with him slip by because, next semester, you wouldn’t be his lab partner anymore.

You left the final feeling okay at best. You walked out with your head down, not paying attention as Mina caught up behind you. She invited you to come by her place that Friday—said some of your classmates were coming to celebrate the end of Professor Hange’s pop quizzes. You didn’t think much about it when you said yes.

You were at the get-together for maybe an hour, maybe longer, when someone was drunk enough to start a game of Never Have I Ever. You had just thrown away your second beer and felt just adventurous enough to play.

Mina’s living room was a bit small for hosting, but it was nice enough. She had it decorated in string lights for the holiday season, casting a colorful but warm glow over the room.

She had everyone crowd around, sitting where they could whether it was on the couch or on the floor. In the center of that ragged circle was an old beer. According to Samuel, it had been left out for a few hours and chugging it would serve as punishment for putting the last of your fingers down. And while you were tipsy, you certainly hadn’t drunk enough to be down for that.

You didn’t know it then, but you were about to be the loser of this game.

You sat on the floor, legs folded to your chest, with your hand growing tired in the air. Only your index finger was left standing when Mina shouted that it was her turn.

“Never have I ever had a body count higher than five,” she said.

A few people put a finger down, but it didn’t matter. You dropped your forehead to your knees in defeat and let your hand slump to your side.

Everyone was laughing, hounding you to drink the beer, when you asked, “Do I have to?”

You were too busy cracking open that lukewarm can, frowning as you went, to look past the heckling. If you did, you would have seen that Eren went quiet. No one seemed to notice the shift in him, even as a firm crease formed just between his unsettled brows.

He didn’t know what he was feeling, but it reminded him of how he felt seeing you laugh with Armin. It made him not want to look at you because the sight made something burn uncomfortably deep in his stomach.

It wasn’t that your body count offended him. After all, he had to put a finger down for the same reason. Though he would say he was surprised—it was always the quiet ones, wasn’t it? He didn’t know what was wrong with him or why he couldn’t kick the feeling—whatever it was.

Eren studied you from across the room. Your nose crinkled, giggles spilling from you as you tried, for the second time, to finish the rest of the beer. He’d seen you laugh—many times, actually—but its chime never ceased to captivate him, absorbing every last bit of his attention.

His thoughts wandered further, wondering if you’d crinkle your nose for him just the same if he made you come.

Right then, Eren saw you, underneath him. Your brows would pinch together cutely as your teeth dipped into your swollen bottom lip. He could feel your thighs under his hands, soft and giving under his palms as he pulled down your—

It was so wrong of him. Wrong to be in a room full of people and pretend as if you were the only two people there—the only two people to exist.

The swarming in his gut burned hotter, and he tried to dull it with another sip of his drink.

He started doubting himself, casting a downward spiral—what was so wrong with him that you weren’t interested?

Perhaps the sick feeling was more than just insecurity; he was also caught off guard by how wildly possessive he felt over you. So quickly, too, like a turn of the tides.

No, Eren knew what the feeling was; he just wasn’t ready to name it. He was sick with jealousy. Jealous of people that he didn’t even know, and for no other reason than they had the chance to be with you in all the ways he craved.

Eren didn’t stay at the party long after that. You left Mina’s just before midnight and didn’t think of much of that night, or Eren, for the rest of the weekend. And on Monday, you checked your final grade for anatomy. By some miracle, you passed the class.

* * *

It was well into winter break when you saw Eren again. You bumped into him at a party. There was about a week left until classes started again, and everyone was trickling back to campus to celebrate the new year.

You didn’t expect to see him again this soon, but then again, you weren’t so sure you’d ever see him again. Anatomy was the only glue that held you together. You wished you could say you had more confidence in the friendship—in him—but he hadn’t talked to you since Mina’s party. You thought he would at least have been curious to see how you did in the class.

It was probably better off this way, considering you nearly failed your lab because of him. Well, you technically passed because of him too, but you wouldn’t have worried about it in the first place if he wasn’t your lab partner.

All of that for a silly crush.

You stumbled into Eren toward the end of the night—you know, when parties start to feel more like the Twilight Zone. The limbo that lived between night and day. A few lights were on now, and whoever was in charge of the music had clearly given up long ago. It was all a not-so-subtle hint to get out.

Believe it, you wanted nothing more than to go home. You would have been out of there thirty minutes ago if it weren’t for Hitch. Your loveable, yet self-admittedly ditzy, roommate had disappeared from thin air.

By the time you thought to search for her, you had already drunk well past your limit. You were left dizzy, starving, and having poked your head in every room and around every corner. All you managed to find was a lot of dry humping.

The last time you saw her, she was one of those dry humpers. She was all over some guy—you guessed him to be the reason she even wanted to come to this party. Anyway, you were sure you’d catch his name tomorrow morning.

You were too distracted and still bubbly from all the leftover New Year’s champagne to see what was in front of you—even if he was rather tall, broad, and hard to miss. You didn’t even look twice as you walked past him, ready to declare Hitch as MIA. Your attention was only grabbed once you heard your name called out, and you were disappointed the voice was too deep to belong to Hitch.

You didn’t realize how drunk you were until you spun around and the floor tilted beneath you. It took you a step or two to straighten back out. When you did, your vision settled onto Eren.

He gave you a lop-sided smile, serving as nothing more than a hesitant greeting. He only made it more awkward by throwing in a cheeky, “Long time, no see.”

You returned the favor by offering a chuckle that was only half-forced; the other half was genuine simply because it was easy to impress anyone after a night spent drinking.

And since you had spent the night drinking, you felt all weird when you looked at Eren. It wasn’t that you were upset at him—maybe disappointed, but it wasn’t exactly with him. Eren never owed you his kindness, and going out of his way to help you study was more than you could have asked.

But now that he was here, getting shoved even closer to you with every passerby, you didn’t know what to think other than you should have skipped out on that last drink. You hoped you’d have yourself more put together the next time you saw Eren so you wouldn’t get tangled up in him again. You weren’t confident you’d be able to unravel yourself for a second time.

Eren took a willing pace forward and recognized the distant haze of booze over your irises. He realized you weren’t going to say anything, so he asked, “Were you looking for someone?”

“Hitch.” There was a pause, and you weren’t sure if he remembered that he knew her. “My roommate.”

“I know.”

“We were supposed to go get food, but I think she took a guy home,” you told him, for no reason in particular. “Last time this happened, I walked in on them doing it on the counter.”

Eren laughed, a bit harder once your face winced at the memory. “You should really consider finding a new roommate.”

“And in the meantime?”

“You come back to my place,” he said, so casually that you weren’t sure you heard him right. The look on your face must have given it away because he shrugged. “What’s the big deal? You’ve slept on my couch before.”

He was right. You had fallen asleep on his couch while studying once. He teased you about it—said you got drool everywhere.

“That’s different. That was an accident,” you sheepishly said.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have fallen asleep in the first place,” he pestered.

“Maybe you shouldn’t make your flashcards so boring!”

Eren liked his simple flashcards; he actually preferred them. Not everyone needed to spend more time highlighting flashcards than actually studying them.

He tilted his head and gave you a look, one that said, stop being so stubborn for once. “Fine, then how about you tell me how to make them look nicer on the way to my place? I was just about to leave anyway.”

He took a daring step backward, and then another, until he turned on one of his feet and headed toward the front door. He knew you’d follow him, and thoughtlessly, you did. You were just behind him as you meandered through the house and out the door.

You told him, “You don’t really need them now, do you? The class is over.”

“I just thought you might need ‘em.” Eren was bounding down the porch steps when he tossed a glance over his shoulder, just to catch the look on your face when he said, “Figured you’d have to retake the class.”

You wished you had shoved him down the steps, but he was already across the lawn, you trailing him. He walked with longer strides than you and didn’t worry about slowing down.

“Thanks for that,” you replied begrudgingly.

“Anytime.”

It didn’t take long before the two of you were close to campus. You walked along the main drag, lined with all sorts of businesses that thrived in the college town nightlife. It made it difficult to tell the time, with every bar still playing music loud enough to thrum in your chest, the beat perfectly in tempo with each of your steps—those of which were still fighting to keep up with Eren.

He didn’t even bother to look back at you when he asked, “Did you still want to get food?”

“Hm?” You couldn’t hear him over your shuffling against the sidewalk. Your feet had already started hurting hours ago, and this certainly wasn’t making it better. You really shouldn’t have worn the new shoes you were gifted over the holidays without breaking them in.

“You never listen, do you?” Eren didn’t say it with annoyance but with an unsurprised laugh. “I’m surprised you’ve made it this far.”

“No, you just mumble a lot,” you defended. “And for your information, I am not retaking anatomy. I passed with a C.”

“C+ or C-?”

“Plus,” you said with inflated and drunken confidence.

“I’ll alert the media,” he replied. You stuck your tongue out at him even though he wouldn’t see it. “Now tell me, did you still want to get food or not?”

“I didn’t think it was still an option.”

“‘Course it is.” He finally glanced over his shoulder to look at you, nearly skipping to keep up with him now, just in time to catch you stumbling over a crack in the sidewalk. “I think you could use something to eat anyway.”

When you were about to round the corner onto his street, Eren stopped short just a few doors down. A 24-hour breakfast spot. You weren’t expecting to sit down, more so thinking you’d flag down a street vendor. But you had to admit, breakfast sounded wonderful.

Eren took the booth in the back of the diner after you were instructed to seat yourselves, not that there were many options. The place was small and smelt of pancake batter and stale coffee—just as any diner should at this hour. And stale or not, you knew you had to drink it to start sobering up.

The waiter flipped your ceramic mug over and filled it to the brim. If it were nine in the morning, maybe steam would pour out, like it did in the movies. But you didn’t want to know how long this coffee had sat out.

You took it with cream, then dumped some sugar in, too. You reached for a second packet. You caught Eren staring as you tore it open, his hands folded around his mug.

“What is it?” you questioned.

“Want any coffee with your sugar?”

“Ha-ha.” You added the sugar, now out of spite, and mixed it in. When you took your first sip, it tasted as bitter as you had imagined.

Now that you were off your feet, they were nagging for you to kick off your shoes. You wiggled them around at first, just enough for your heels to slip from the backs. When you felt a sting, you couldn’t bear to keep them on another second—the diner was empty anyway. Once they were off, your feet throbbed as if they had their own pulse.

The waiter took your order and then disappeared again, only making rounds to offer a warm-up here or there, one of which you accepted. Eren didn’t say anything when you added another packet of sugar this time. You kept your head down and fiddled with the loose scraps of paper. You didn’t even remember what thought you were having when his voice eventually snapped you from it.

“You know—” he started to say. You peered up from the wad of paper you had been rolling between your thumb and index finger. He sat back into the booth and looked out the window with a quiet chuckle. “I thought you hated me when we first met.”

You matched his laugh, yours more disbelieving. “Hated you? I don’t think I knew you enough to hate you.”

“You were always so quiet.”

“Being quiet doesn’t mean you hate someone.”

His eyes flickered from the window to you. “Then what does it mean?”

It was easier to talk to him when he wasn’t looking at you. You felt smothered by his gaze and started to twirl your spoon around your mug. It banging against the ceramic was the only sound between you and Eren because you still didn’t know how to answer him.

“I don’t know,” you said, thinking you would have come up with a more profound answer by now. “It just means you’re quiet, I guess.”

Eren was interrupted by your short stack of pancakes, sliding right between you and decorated with a gooey scoop of butter. He didn’t order anything other than coffee, even after you said you’d pay. And once the waiter dropped off the syrup and scurried off again, Eren was quick to jump back into the conversation, much to your dismay.

“But you’re not quiet, and you’re not shy either,” he said, like he had caught you in a lie. You urged him to continue with a raised brow. “Don’t give me that. I know that’s not you. I saw you dancing tonight.”

Your hand stalled in mid-reach for the syrup. “You watched me dance?”

He played it off when he said, “Well, yeah. My so-called quiet lab partner actually knows how to dance? It just surprised me, that’s all.”

“If you saw me earlier, why didn’t you say ‘hi?’”

Strike that—Eren almost played it off. He couldn’t mask his eyes flitting around, or how long it took him to excuse it away with, “Oh, I think someone grabbed me for a game of beer pong or something. I don’t remember.”

That never happened. Eren knew it, and it looked like you knew it, too. The truth was that Eren didn’t go up and talk to you because he had spent the last two weeks convincing himself he wasn’t into you.

He even went as far as reinstalling his dating apps, all of which he had long sworn off. He assumed if he just went on a date—maybe even brought a girl home—then he wouldn’t think about you anymore. But by the time dinner was over, Eren could hardly remember a single thing she said. He was too busy comparing her to you, finding himself disappointed every time she laughed because it didn’t sound like yours.

Then he saw you tonight. Of course, he had to see you tonight. And of all the things you could have been doing, you were dancing. He favored you like that—when you were carefree. You were nothing like the girl he first met in lab.

And when Eren heard your laugh—more remarkable than all the others, like he had gone deaf to anything but you—he couldn’t even remember why he tried to stay away from you.

But here you were, seated just across the booth from him, cheeks stuffed with pancakes, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do next. He had spent the entire walk wrangling with himself, scared that if he had you, even in the most innocent of ways, he wouldn’t be able to get enough. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking like this because—fuck, what if you didn’t want him back?

Eren only lied about beer pong because he couldn’t outrightly admit he needed another drink before approaching you. He was so close to getting away with it, too. If you had just glanced down at your plate a second earlier, or if he was faster about sipping his coffee to hide his face, you wouldn’t have caught the flushed bridge of his nose; so subtle but just telling enough that you had to bite your inner lip to prevent a smile.

You poked around your pancakes. You held your fork to your face, inspecting the bite as syrup dripped onto the plate. You were rather flippant about it when you finally told Eren, “It’s because I had a crush on you.”

“Huh?”

You plopped the pancake into your mouth, chewing so thoughtfully that it nearly killed Eren. When you swallowed, you said, “I had a crush on you. That’s why I was so quiet.”

He didn’t say anything back, even with you staring him square in the face. He was obviously flustered. You chuckled lightly, just through your nose, and said, “That, and you always got better grades than me. I didn’t want you to think I was dumb.”

Eren didn’t even hear the second half of what you said; he was too fixed on the first. “Do you still?”

You knew what he was asking, but you played dumb to it. “Still what?”

“Have a crush on me.”

You thought on it while you went for another bite, your eyes on him like he had the answer already. He did. You both did. But you let the question hang heavy between you, just for another second. You weren’t quite ready to lay your cards on the table yet.

You tossed him a flick of a smile when you answered, “To be determined.”

He nodded his head once, lips folded together in a similar sort of smile. “Got it.”

You were satisfied by that, but he wasn’t. He watched you while you took another sip of coffee, then immediately reached for another pack of sugar. Before you could pour it in, he shielded the mug with his hand. “But you better figure out an answer before all that sugar kills you.”

You swatted him away. “Yeah, it’ll definitely be the sugar that kills me tonight and not the keg stand I did.”

“You did a keg stand?”

You laughed at how his jaw nearly hit the table. “Only because Hitch talked me into it.”

Eren laughed with you despite the shake of his head. “See, what did I say? You surprise me.”

You had only taken a few hobbles out of the diner and onto the sidewalk before your heels started acting up again. You sucked your teeth at the pain, only made worse by another step. You had noted your fresh blisters when you first slid your shoes back on, but you hoped they wouldn’t be a hassle since the walk to Eren’s was short. Now, all you wanted was to be drunk enough to not feel them.

“Everything okay back there?” Eren asked.

You were behind him again. Not because he was speeding but because your toes were more tightly packed together than a can of sardines.

“Yeah,” you said. Eren thought it sounded unconvincing, and his hunch was only confirmed when he caught you stumble from the corner of his eye. “It’s my shoes. I’m sorry.”

Eren stopped walking and turned to you. “Why are you apologizing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Just take ‘em off.”

“I’m not just going to walk barefoot.”

“Didn’t say you had to.” You didn’t seem to understand what he was implying, even less when he gave you his back again, bending lightly at the knee.

He couldn’t be serious right now.

“My house is just a few more blocks away. I’ll carry you.”

Okay. He was actually serious. He was about to give you a piggyback ride.

Your laugh wasn’t intentional but when Eren heard it, he looked playfully offended.

“What? You think I can’t carry you?” He straightened out, shoved his hands into his pockets, and started to walk again. “Fine then. Suit yourself.”

He was about to start walking again when you called, “Wait!”

You wanted to blame it on your feet or that you didn’t want to slow him down, but you had to be honest with yourself—were you really going to pass up this opportunity?

He flashed you a smile over his shoulder. “That’s what I thought.”

You ignored his boasting and began slipping off your shoes. He took them from you in one hand, then let you hop onto his back. His body didn’t give like you’d expect, and his arms were sturdy as they looped around your thighs.

You hadn’t had a piggyback ride since you were probably eleven years old, but you didn’t remember it feeling like this. Eren’s neck felt warm against your arms even in the crisp night air, and his hands were even hotter, like they could sear into the backs of your thighs.

He jostled you forward, higher onto his back. “Hold on tighter or else you’re gonna fall off.”

You hugged him, your chest pressing into his back. You had never been this close to him before. His hair, only loosely tied back now, brushed against your face. His cologne was faint—warm like amber, but there was something refreshing about it that tickled your nose. You drew closer to him, inhaling the scent.

Eren worried that you felt the roll of his throat when your breath hit the nape of his neck. It was embarrassing that something as pure as a piggyback ride could have his heart racing. Suddenly, he was back in junior high and it was his first time holding a girl’s hand all over again.

If this was all he’d have of you tonight, he'd be happy with just that, even if it ended with waking up with a sore back. He wanted to earn your crush because he wasn’t so sure it had ever gone away.

Eren set you down on his porch and fished for his keys in his back pocket. Once inside, the house is too dark to make out anything. You stilled in the entryway, entirely unaware of your surroundings, but listened as Eren walked ahead.

Not even a second later, Eren flipped on a light from the other room. It was bright; enough to hurt your eyes at first, but you could at least see the floor now.

Eren stood in the doorway to the kitchen. He wore a look of trepidation, staring at you like you were a scared little puppy.

He asked, “Can I get you some water?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

He waved his hand toward the sofa before he disappeared around the corner. “Make yourself at home.”

You took a seat to ease the throbbing in your feet and sat with your arms folded across your chest. Now that you had a moment to yourself, you could suck in a deep breath. You forced it out on a lengthy and trembling exhale.

It wasn’t anxiety that you were feeling—it was more like anticipation. You weren’t naive; you knew how this would play out, and it had you clenching your thighs together impatiently.

You didn’t notice how rigid your arms were until you uncrossed them when Eren handed you a bottle of water.

He collapsed beside you on the other side of the couch, and it squeaked under his weight. He took a few swigs from his water bottle and then glanced at you.

“I imagine you wouldn’t want to sleep on the couch in a house full of guys,” he said. He laid his head back onto the cushion, like he planned to be there for a while. “If you want, take my room. I can sleep out here.”

You didn’t miss a beat when you shook your head. The thought alone had you unwittingly flustered. You hadn’t ever seen his bedroom before. “I’m not going to take your bed. You didn’t even need to go through the trouble of letting me stay the night.”

“Out of all the favors I’ve done,” Eren started to say. “You staying the night is the least of my troubles.”

You smiled at him. You smiled at him, and you had no clue how it pulled at Eren’s heart. A smile so shy, no greater than just a curl of the corner of your mouth, yet he wanted nothing more than to feel its shape underneath his lips and memorize the taste.

“Okay,” you finally said. “But I’m sleeping on the couch.” You could have stopped talking there, and you probably should have, but his unreadable gaze had you rambling, “But, really, if it’s too much—if you want me to go, I can call a—”

“I don’t want you to go.”

You stammered even though you didn’t know what you’d say next. The room felt suffocating, the air thick enough to make your throat go as dry as chalk. Something had changed. You didn’t know if it was the glint in his eye, just barely caught in the light, or that look on his face that made you shudder at the base of your spine.

Maybe it was more accurate to say everything had changed.

You didn’t have much of your voice back when you confessed, “I don’t want to go either.”

It was barely a whisper. So delicate and saccharine that Eren wasn’t sure you even intended to speak. Your eyes were big and genuine, like you had revealed your secret to him without saying much at all. He couldn’t look away despite barely clinging to what little composure you hadn’t stolen from him yet.

You liked seeing him like that—seeing such an unguarded look on a face that was normally hardened. Soft and electric, all at once. You never thought he’d look at you in such a way, and you didn’t want it to end.

Now or never.

“Eren?”

His voice was just as taken as yours. “Yeah?”

Eren knew you as anything but bold, but right then, you were. You stretched your leg across the couch. Slowly. Your foot, then your calf next—until you had your thigh dragged over his lap. You kept your eyes on him the whole time. The light from the kitchen cast shadows along the angles of his jaw, showing you how it tensed.

You purred the words when you asked, “Why are you so nice to me?”

You were feeling courageous now, but you knew you’d come to regret it the next time you saw Eren on campus. You could see him now—the smug smile he’d give you from across the hall, or on the far side of the green, or wherever you’d inevitably see him again. You would turn into a puddle right on the spot.

But that didn’t matter; you heard him stifle the groan at the back of his throat, and you wanted to hear it again. So for now, you’d let yourself play the role for the night, and you’d play it well.

“Am I?” Eren asked, his voice acquiring a new rasp. You nodded. “How so?”

“You know,” you said. You retracted your leg from him to sit on your knees, bumping them against his thigh. “You walk me home when I’m drunk. Carry me when my feet hurt. You let me spend the night and offer me your bed.” You leaned forward and rested your hand on his thigh, like you might kiss him, but you giggled instead. “Not to mention, you tutored me in anatomy for an entire semester and didn’t complain once.”

“I think I might’ve complained once,” he said with a smile in his voice. His hand cupped your cheek and you tried not to melt into him. “But I can’t help myself.” His thumb traced over your skin. “You’re very cute when you’re drunk and when you pass a quiz… and when you hold your book too close to your face when you read.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Yes, you do.”

You didn’t argue with him further because you were so close that your noses were almost brushing. He was still holding your face when his thumb swiped along your bottom lip. You wetted them, wanting a taste. His eyes flickered down to your tongue, then to your eyes again. Neither of you wanted to be the first to crumble the wall, the one you had spent a semester building together. One so tall that there were times you couldn’t see over it.

He gently caressed your face as you pressed your forehead to his. You felt his breath on your lips when you told him, “I still have a crush on you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Eren wasn’t cocky about it but soft. He sounded relieved.

Your hand left his thigh and splayed over his stomach. His muscles twitched under your touch. He couldn’t help but wonder if you knew what you were doing to him. You had to.

“So,” you said, long and drawn-out. Your fingers trickled lower until you palmed over the front of his jeans. He was hard. Much harder than you’d expect from harmless flirting. “Are you going to do something about it?”

He nearly gulped. “Fuck—C’mere.”

With the hand he had kept on your face, he pulled you to him. What you thought would be a crash of lips was much more affectionate. Instead of kissing as if you could make up for lost time, he kissed you slowly, his lips plush as they moved with yours. He was better at this than you had expected, taking his time with no destination in mind.

You parted your lips slightly, his tongue sliding in, hot and licking your own. He felt victorious when you gifted him with a moan, one he could swallow up before it met the air.

“Eren,” you whispered against his mouth. It came out more like a gasp. His hand curled around the back of your neck and tilted your head to the side, giving him room to explore your neck. He kissed the hollow below your ear, and when you gasped again, he grazed his teeth lower.

“Eren,” you reapeated, more breathily than the last but louder.

“Hm?”

“That’s why you didn’t want me to leave, right?” you asked, eyes fluttering shut as you felt him start to leave a bruise. You massaged over his length a few times before working on the button of his jeans. “Because you can’t help yourself?”

He didn’t answer before you had undone his zipper and snuck your hand inside his boxers. You wrapped your fingers around his cock, your grasp light and teasing as you slipped around him, base to tip.

“Yes,” Eren groaned—so wonderful to your ears. He would have tried to hold it back, but he was already too busy fighting the urge to rut into your hand.

He pinned you to the couch when he couldn’t take it any longer. Your back hit the cushion with another squeak from the springs, louder and more obnoxious than the one before it.

When Eren kissed you again, he didn’t want to take his time anymore. Because you were right, he couldn’t help himself. Not around you, at least. Not after you just told him you wanted him in all the ways he wanted you.

The couch was suddenly too cramped for your liking, limbs slipping and spilling until you were about to fall to the floor.

Your kiss broke when your head dangled off the couch. You each took a moment to breathe—or at least try your best to.

“We should probably go to my room,” Eren said.

“Yeah. We should.”

Eren took the back of your head into his hand and placed you back on the couch. You awkwardly fumbled around one another until you were climbing up the stairs in a hurry, clumsily tripping over your feet because you couldn’t imagine keeping your hands off each other. You trailed just behind him, your hand in his, as he led you to his bedroom.

But once you were in his room, Eren’s touch wasn’t as innocent as only a handhold. His hands were reckless—pawing over your body and gripping at your ass—yet so firm and sure that it had you moaning. Each tiny sound encouraged him further until he shoved you against the door, slamming it shut until it shuddered in its frame.

His forearms rested on either side of your head. He caged you in place, but you would have stayed right there and made out with him forever. His mouth was commanding but gentle enough that he could take you wherever he pleased.

Eren made you so damn needy. You took his loose, unzipped jeans between your fingers and tugged him close until you felt his cock pressed against you, your leg hooking around his waist. You ground against him helplessly because if you didn’t, you thought you might actually explode.

And, God, Eren wanted to give you what you wanted—everything that he had. There was a part of him that wanted to make you wait for it, maybe even beg for it, but he was only human.

His arms dropped to his side and he took a step back from you. Then, all he said was, “Bed.”

He sounded shallow when he said it, all breathless like his lungs were running on empty. You figured he intended it to be more demanding, but you liked this version better—when he was needy for you.

Your first step faltered, like you were high off him or something. You were about to lay in his bed when you heard him say, “Take your clothes off for me, too.”

Now that was demanding, his voice so gruff that it was still ringing between your ears.

Eren turned on the lamp on his bedside table. It was dim, casting an almost orange glow that was nothing more than a splash of watercolor paint over the room. Eren wanted to watch you undress, and he needed just enough light to show you off.

You were very aware of his gaze as you took your shirt between your fingers. It slipped and bunched over your skin as you peeled it up the length of your body. You were considerate of every move. How your fingers danced over your navel. How slowly and tightly you tugged the slinky fabric over your chest, revealing your bra with a bounce of your tits. It was so shamefully sexy. Eren couldn’t get enough.

He knew he told you to undress for him, but he couldn’t hold out any longer. You held your breath when you felt him behind you as you began to take off your jeans. His hands closed over yours, telling you, let me do it.

Eren’s hands curved over your hip bones, then met at the button of your jeans. He undid it, along with the zipper, expertly. All the while, he was kissing down the crook of your neck, the spot he had just learned you liked, especially when he sucked on it.

He did it without your asking, yanking a sharp exhale from you. He helped you shimmy out of the fitted denim, still leaving hot and open-mouthed kisses on your throat. When you felt your jeans pool around your ankles, you kicked them aside.

You turned to face him before sinking back into the bed. You laid down with the stretch of your back. It felt so good to sprawl along the billowy comforter, to finally be off your feet. If it weren’t for Eren and that ravening way he was eyeing you, you could have lulled off right then. You nestled around, relaxing your muscles that ached from the day.

It pulled a sound from you. A sweet, little moan that you didn’t even realize you had let slip. One so delicious that Eren felt his cock twitch before he could even take off your underwear. He couldn’t keep his gaze steady because he didn’t know where to look—he didn’t even know where to start. The sight of you, ready and beneath him, had him overwhelmed.

His fingertips, though lightly calloused, felt exceedingly gentle as he trailed them over your bare skin. So softly that if you shut your eyes, you wouldn’t have known he was there. He started just below the underwire of your bra, then down the length of your stomach. He tickled at your hip, and you squirmed cutely. He chuckled inaudibly through his nose, his head feeling a bit spacey as you stirred below him.

Eren’s hand stopped short of dipping beneath your underwear. He blinked a few times, hard, like it would clear some of the fogginess. He looked at you quizzically, as if he had reason to be suspicious.

He only asked, “How are you?”

You felt your brows knit together, mirroring his suspicion. “I’m good. Um, how are you?”

His face scrunched up, like he was about to say, ‘not good,’ and it made you nervous. You sat up on your elbows, interested, waiting for him. He ran his fingers through his hair, like he always did when he was trying to concentrate.

“We’re a little past exchanging pleasantries now, don’t you think?” you joked, mainly because you didn’t know what else to say right then.

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Eren brought his hand to his forehead as if he could capture his thoughts before they slipped away. “Like, I mean—” Coherency was far out of his reach, what with how you had sweetly angled your head in thought, staring up at him through heavy lashes. Had they always been that long?

Eren shook his head like it was an Etch A Sketch before he finally got out, “Are you still drunk?”

You were relieved that something hadn’t gone wrong. You thought about your answer, taking inventory of every feeling in your body, all of which only wanted him.

“Not really,” you said with a slight shrug. “Those pancakes were a real lifesaver.”

You weren’t sure why, but he still looked hesitant. You took his hand and gave it a squeeze, smiling up at him. “I want this. Like really, really want this.”

Eren let out a short laugh that softened you up even more. When his fingers started to move again, dancing along your hot skin, he pulled lightly at the band of your underwear. He was toying with it, his once-boyish expression turning more brazen when he asked, “Then is it okay if I touch you here?”

“Yes,” you whispered, your eyes fixed on him—on his fingers—until they slipped beneath the band, though you were hoping he’d take them off.

That single, breathy word was all Eren needed before he crawled over you, his free hand planted against the mattress beside your head. You were still propped up on your elbows, close enough to Eren that with just the tilt of your head, you were kissing him again.

When Eren’s fingers ventured even lower, gliding between you teasingly, he groaned—almost whimpered—into your mouth.

“You’re so wet,” he said, still playing with you. He’d circle your clit, just long enough to have your jaw go slack, then remove the pressure and tease your entrance. “All for me?”

“Mhm,” you murmured, feeling his fingers return to your clit. He rubbed languidly, having you twitch beneath him. When you lifted your hips, searching for more, his circles became tighter and quicker. Your elbows wobbled until you finally let them fall, tossing your head back against the mattress.

Your mind was consumed with him—Eren, Eren, Eren. Consumed with how good he was making you feel and every place you wanted him.

And when you cried out, “Ah—all for you,” you certainly weren’t thinking about how desperate you sounded for a guy who was nothing more than your lab partner.

That did it for him. Whether it was how pathetic you sounded or the neediness that was written all over your face, something in Eren snapped. In one impulsive motion, Eren stood up straight, hooked his fingers around your underwear, and pulled them down your legs with ease. Once they were tossed to the side, lost with your other garments, his hand was back between your legs.

He pushed his middle finger inside you at first, your back arching at that alone. He curled it just the right way that had your breath already hitching in your throat.

You’d think he’d be arrogant about it—how he already has you bending to his will—but he was entirely lost in you, every bit of you. Your tiny gasps slipped past your swollen lips. Your bra and the way its straps had started to fall down your shoulder, exposing the delicate skin. How pretty you looked taking his finger.

Eren quickened his pace and had you shuddering, but as that familiar feeling started to burn low in your stomach, it was stolen from you just as fast.

You let out a frustrated sob and darted your head to see why he had rudely edged you like that.

He yanked his shirt over his head and threw it aside. Yet another article of clothing to search through later. “I wanna go down on you.”

Your face suddenly felt hot. You weren’t sure if it was from the sight of his deceivingly-toned stomach or how his voice didn’t waver as he spoke so freely to you. But before you could decide what it was, Eren was stripping from his jeans. And if you were still unsure as to why you had clammed up, the tent in his boxers—large and threatening to undo you—was most certainly it.

You were trying your best to look at his face when you asked, “Don’t you think we should be fast? All of your roommates are here.”

Eren didn’t want to be fast, not in the slightest. He wanted to have you, all to himself, for as long as you’d allow him. But it was easy for him to say that now; his willpower was beginning to wane the longer he looked at you.

“They’re sleeping. Don’t worry about them.” Eren’s thumb was making small circles against your inner thigh. It was making it difficult to say no to him, at least until he cracked a small smile. “I thought you said you were quiet.”

The look on your face told Eren you were about to quip something back at him. Just before you could, he leaned over you again. He held himself up with his forearms this time, much closer than before, encasing you in his warmth.

His mouth was even warmer when it met your neck. You felt his lips—his tongue—as he ran along the silky skin he wanted to suck.

Eren nibbled at your ear, and you let out an airy giggle that traveled straight to his cock. When he was at your collarbone, your hips wantonly rutted against him. Then, once he tugged down the cups of your bra, his hot breath fanning over your perked nipples, you rewarded him with a moan—even louder once he took one into his mouth.

You were so, so sensitive. All for him. Eren wanted to discover every nook on your body that he could kiss and every sound that you’d make along with it. He wanted to learn every last part of you, especially the parts that would have you wrecked.

His kisses continued down your stomach, with him lowering to his knees on the ground. He took your legs, one in each hand, and tugged you until his shoulders were snug between your thighs, your bottom half hanging off the side of the bed.

Eren palmed over the tops of your thighs, the flesh molding to his hands. He left kisses there, too. His lips were open and warm and so close to where you wanted them the most. Just the thought had goosebumps scattering across your skin.

“Let me taste you.” His voice was a quiet plead. He placed another kiss on your thigh, then another, with his eyes fluttering shut like he was savoring you. “Please.”

Your voice was lost somewhere in your throat, so you bobbed your head, perhaps a bit too eagerly. Eren gleamed up at you like he wanted to smirk, but he was smart enough to not risk his opportunity to have you.

At first, you only felt his breath on you, and it quelled the chill bedroom air. Next, it was the tip of his tongue. It ran through you, painfully slow but still enough for your voice to return in nothing more than airless gasps.

“Spread your legs wider for me.” You did as you were told. He must have been pleased by it because you swore you felt him grin as he praised, “Good girl.”

You made an embarrassing sound at that—one that you didn’t expect and Eren surely didn’t either. But it excited him, knowing that you were weak to his words, to his voice, to him.

With you, now open and on display for him, Eren couldn’t resist burying into you, even if he had fully intended on teasing you for longer. His tongue flicked at your clit, sending pulses of electricity shooting up your spine.

You shifted your hips, raising them to meet him. His tongue was steady, never slowing once he learned the rhythm you liked—the one that had you lacing your fingers through his hair and undoing his bun.

And when you angled your hips just a little more, guiding his tongue to just the right spot, it was like you saw sparks behind your eyelids.

“Eren—ah—right there,” you said on a frantic exhale.

He had the flat of his tongue against your clit, letting his tongue lap at you in tandem with the rocking of your hips. But when your thighs began to quiver and shake, he hooked his arms around them, locking you in place for him.

He continued having you feverishly, filling the bedroom with a mix of your wispy cries and his own groans. It was like he was just as desperate for you to come as you were, worshipping every squeak and squirm he could get from you.

“I—I’m—”

Eren looked up to read your face. You looked breathless, your mouth only slightly opened in a vain attempt to pull in tattered breaths. He released his hold on your legs and they weakly fell on his shoulders.

He replaced his tongue with his thumb, not breaking his pace, and asked, “Do you want more?”

“Y—yes.”

“You want my fingers?” His thumb left your clit and you mourned the loss, only for him to trace a finger down your entrance, barely dipping inside of you.

“Oh, fuck,” you writhed. “Yes.”

Eren let his middle finger slip through you again before pushing it inside. He curled it, sliding in and out as he rushed to return his mouth to your clit. He gave you a few kitten licks before picking up right where he left off.

You were getting close—so close—and if time could allow for it, you would have stayed like that forever, just shy of becoming entirely undone.

Admittedly, there were many times when you imagined Eren having his way with you—imagined what it’d feel like for him to finger and fuck you. But never did you think he’d beg to have you this way. You decided to risk a glance at him to know what he looked like between your thighs. When you propped yourself back onto your elbows, that was when you knew you were done for.

Eren’s face was flushed, a blossomy pink spanning his nose and cheeks. You were so wet, he was so wet—soaked, actually, in a lewd mix of both his saliva and your slick. His finger pumped in and out of you, working with his licks at your clit to have you ruined for him.

His green eyes, now shameless and darkened like you hadn’t seen them before, found yours and a gravelly moan escaped him. He felt a bit pathetic for it, but what had him feeling even more pathetic was how he couldn’t stop his free hand from working his boxers down his thighs. He took hold of himself in desperate need of something—anything—because you were possibly the hottest thing he had ever seen. He only knew you would look even better once he had you coming on his tongue.

You whimpered when you saw him fisting his cock, nice and fast. He was so hard for you, and you weren’t shy about staring. You couldn’t even pretend to be. You wanted to see how he liked it, watching him jerk himself with only quick breaks to give extra attention to his tip. You thought about how he’d fuck you, wondering how he’d like it then, and it sent you over the edge.

Your moans came out choppy and strained until your voice cut out entirely, your breath getting caught up in your throat. You sobbed silently, carelessly rolling your hips over Eren's tongue, helping his finger dip against that spot again. You wanted to drag the feeling out as long as you could. By the end of it, you were trembling, panting, and couldn’t hold your eyes open.

Eren had to stop pumping himself or he would have come from that alone. He sat back on his knees, one of his hands palming over your thigh while the other rubbed at your clit, his touch nothing more than a feather and just to ease you back down. You looked like you needed it—you were absolutely wrecked, with your legs limply pulled apart for him, just like he hoped for.

God, he annoyed himself for pretending that he never wanted you because you—you were a dream.

The only thing that could wake him from that dream was your voice.

“Eren?”

He loved when you said his name.

You sat up to look at him. It was harder this time because it felt as if a ton of bricks sat on your chest as you struggled to find your breath. Eren was quite the opposite, looking entirely unbothered. He had his cheek resting against your thigh, his eyes fixed on his finger as he lazily pushed it back inside you. You jolted lightly at the intrusion. You were still coming down, and he could tell by the way your muscles spasmed around his finger.

He was mesmerized by the feeling—you sucking him in for more—and didn’t even look up at you when he replied, “Hm?”

You would have normally found it embarrassing, how he started at you so unabashedly, but you were already so sensitive from your orgasm that the winding feeling in your stomach had already returned. It begged to snap again.

“I want you to fuck me.”

He loved hearing that even more.

Eren finally looked at you then, and if he were a dog, his ears would have perked up like you said the magic words.

“What was that?” he said, more playfully than you expected. You didn’t like it, especially not with his smug grin to match. “I couldn’t hear you. You were mumbling.”

“You heard me the first time.”

He slipped his finger from you, running it teasingly up the crease of your thigh. “Say it again.”

It tickled. You fussed, “Eren, come on—”

“No, I don’t think that was it. I think you said something else.”

“Just—” You sighed grudgingly before finally giving in. “I want you to fuck me. Fuck me, please.”

He beamed at you, proud of both you and himself, and started to take off his boxers that still hung at his mid-thigh. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Eren stood up and didn’t let you respond before taking hold of your waist and flipping you onto your stomach. You bounced against the mattress when you landed, it squeaking conspicuously beneath you.

You felt his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. He then trailed his fingers lower, down to your bra, and quickly undid the clasp. You pushed yourself onto your elbows and felt your bra fall, its straps loosely hanging around your arms. He took you by the hips, just where they met your thighs, and helped raise you to your knees.

“You look so pretty like this,” he told you, giving himself a few more pumps with one hand and smacking your ass with the other.

You yelped, “Eren! Roommates!”

“I thought I told you not to worry about them,” he said, with another smack.

The print of his hand still stung when you heard rustling behind you. You peeked over your shoulder to find Eren tearing open a condom. He rolled it onto himself, all the while, his eyes stayed pinned on you—naked and with your ass in the air for him.

He flattened a hand against your lower back, having you arch it for him. With his other, he gripped his cock by the base and lined it up perfectly with you.

He guided himself in more slowly than he wanted to, letting you adjust as he listened to you suck in a sharp breath. It was a bit of a stretch, but it was easy enough for him to push inside having already prepped you with his fingers, only to leave you aching to be filled with more.

When his pelvis was flush against your ass, he felt you flutter around him, squeezing his cock so perfectly he’d think you were made for him. A groan bubbled up in his throat, low enough that it was nearly a growl. The sound made your heart skip—right between your lungs—so you clenched again to encourage another.

“You’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that,” Eren hissed hedonistically.

“Doing what?” you asked innocently. Then you did it again.

Despite his warning, he didn’t protest it. Instead, he started thrusting into you leisurely. He was self-indulgent about it, too, spreading you with his hands so he could admire how well you took his cock.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he muttered, quiet enough that it was like he was talking to himself. “So fucking good.”

“Eren.” The whine in your voice drove him crazy.

His hands, large and demanding, curved over the fat of your hips. His fingers gripped down as he pulled you against him, dragging you back to meet every snap of his hips. The indecent sound of smacking bounced off the bedroom walls. You didn’t complain this time. Your head dropped between your shoulders, eyes screwed shut, as you became lost in the throws of pleasure all over again.

“Eren,” you cried again.

He didn’t stop fucking you to ask, “What is it?”

He leaned over you, his hand snaking up your neck and cupping your chin. He angled your face to look at him—so he could see what you wanted. But you couldn’t form anything other than wimpy chants of ah, ah, ah, coming out mangled as he squished your cheeks between his fingers.

“Tell me how you want it.”

His words alone caused you to bite back a moan.

You finally managed to tell him, “Harder.”

Eren smiled, all slack-jawed and toothy, and you would have found it irresistible and totally ill-fitting for the situation if you saw it. But how else was he supposed to react after hearing what he thought only existed in his dreams?

He placed a kiss at the base of your neck, then on your shoulder. It was unexpectedly doting, but then you felt his fingers curve up and around your throat. Though you anticipated what was coming next, you still squealed as he hoisted you upright until your back was flush with his chest.

Eren held you there, fucking up into you—harder—like you asked of him. Your flimsy bra barely hung from you, just around your elbows, and flopped with each of his thrusts. He groped at your breast, taking your nipple between his fingers, rolling and squeezing at it until you were mewling.

He continued to take you as if you were his, and you let him have you. You let him use you like you were nothing more than a plaything for his pleasure, with your head feeling heavy as it lolled back against him.

But you were so much more than just that, and Eren was determined to have you coming again. This time, on his cock. He wanted to feel it.

“Touch yourself,” Eren demanded, right into your ear. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “I wanna hear you when you come this time.”

Your hand slithered down between your legs. The very tips of your fingers bumped into Eren’s cock as you got yourself off. Your legs wavered at the added pressure, and you were practically vibrating when you came, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

It was hard to stay upright. You fell from Eren’s hold and landed on the bed forcefully, him toppling right over you. You struggled to rub your clit as he fucked you into the mattress. You were still riding out the aftershocks, and it had you squeezing your thighs together so nicely for him.

“I’m—ah, fuck—I’m close,” Eren grunted.

It surprised you when he pulled out since he was wearing a condom. But when you felt his hands fly to your sides, you realized he was rolling you onto your back. Your arms, like jelly, were tossed carelessly above your head. He pinned them in place with a single hand around your wrists as he pushed inside back inside you.

“I need to see you.”

Your stomach flipped at his words like they were poetry. Fuck. He had you so irrevocably wrapped around his finger. He had all of you. And maybe you were just lovelorn and looking for something that wasn’t there, but you swore he looked like he was just as ensnared as you.

You wanted to touch him, squirming your wrists around until he released his hold. You took his face, sticky under your fingertips, between your hands. You wanted to see him, even more unguarded than before. His eyes were moony and heavy-lidded and had you swooning.

“Fuck, Eren—I want you to come,” you gasped.

Easy enough.

He came hard. As perverted as it sounded, you wished you had a camera. You wanted to remember how his eyes snapped shut and record every sound. He buried his face into your neck with a few stutters of his hips, grinding against you like he could go deeper.

His breath was hot and panting against your already sweltering skin. It was a bit hard to breathe, especially under his weight, but you wanted to hold onto him longer.

You didn’t realize you were gracing your fingers up and down the back of his neck until he lifted himself up. He let his face linger above yours, like he wanted one last look, nudging his nose against yours.

You laid still, watching while Eren straightened out and disposed of the condom. Your legs felt too soft and lazy to move, so you only rolled your head to the side to follow him as he stepped into a pair of sweatpants.

“The invitation to stay the night still stands, right?” you asked, admittedly, with some sass.

“No, I was actually going to call you an Uber home.” Eren rolled his eyes. “Of course it does. What kind of guy do you think I am?”

You giggled as you pushed yourself upright. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“Down the hall, last door on the right.” Eren took one look at you, then started digging around in his dresser. He tossed something at you, aiming it at your head by the looks of it. You caught it just in time. It was a t-shirt. “You can wear that.”

You held it up by the arms to inspect it, then peered over it to ask, “Is that weird?”

“It wasn’t until you asked that.”

You pulled the tee over your head and stood up to adjust it. You put your underwear on next but felt a bit more hesitant about the jeans.

“They’re sleeping, I promise,” Eren told you as he put on a shirt of his own. “Just be quick.”

“Okay,” you said hesitantly. You started to leave the room but poked your head back in. “I’m leaving the door cracked so I know which room is yours.”

He laughed, “Alright.”

You followed his instructions. The last door on the right. You even tried to be quick about it, too. You peed, washed your hands, splashed some water on your face, and only stared at your bruising collarbone for ten seconds before rushing back down the hall.

Eren was in bed when he saw the door swing open. “Look at you, Ms. C+, not getting lost.”

You made a face at him. “Whatever, Brian.”

Right on cue, he said, “It was one time!”

For whatever reason, you didn’t crawl into bed with him right away. You felt a bit like a deer in headlights, blinking at Eren, sleepy and with his hair still unkempt from your fingers. Seeing him like this, dressed in his shirt, and about to curl up under his sheets—were you supposed to just go along with it like it was normal?

You tried to think of something to say, but when you did, Eren cut in. “You can’t seriously try to take the couch after that.”

That was exactly what you were about to do. The purse of your lips had him chuckling because he knew he was right. He lifted the blanket up for you—once again, like this was entirely normal for you—and said, “Get over here already. I’m cold.”

Eren was extremely difficult to say no to, but you already knew that. You got into his bed and let him lay the comforter over you. Either his pillows were really soft or you were just exhausted, but your eyes went heavy almost immediately. Eren reached over you to turn out the light, and you felt his arm fall on top of you. He hugged around your waist and didn’t hesitate to pull you into him.

He nuzzled into the back of your neck and in your hair, pulling a giggle from you. “Are you always this clingy after sex?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, tickling you again.

Eren most definitely was never clingy after sex. But there was no way he could keep his hands to himself, not with how good you looked in his shirt, just barely long enough to cover anything. Maybe his intentions in lending you his shirt weren't as pure as merely helping you get comfortable—so sue him. You wearing his clothes like you were his was definitely a sight Eren could get used to, and one he had a feeling he’d see much more often.

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren smut

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salfishersface · 4 months

Note

Hey! I saw your fics and I really liked them 😊💖

I was wondering if maybe you could make a part three to baby fever where reader finds out they actually are pregnant?? I think it'd be really fun to see, only if you want to of course!

Have a good day/noon/nights 💗

Baby Fever Part Three || Sal Fisher

Synopsis - You and Sal find out you're finally pregnant.

Warnings - NSFW.

Notes - All characters are aged 18+!

Word Count - 1.9k.

{Caffeinate Me}

Part One || Part Two

Waking up nauseous wasn’t unusual for you, especially when you hadn’t eaten since the early evening before. You thought nothing of it, just ate some food and went about your day ignoring the sickness. Even after a few days of feeling nauseous, you put it down to a virus or some bad take-out food. Then other symptoms started: tender breasts, cramping and obscure food cravings. But yet again, you didn’t think anything of it. You just put it down to your period, after all these symptoms weren’t uncommon for your cycle. It wasn’t until you were adding some appointments down on the calendar did you notice that your period was actually three weeks late. Your cycle was usually like clockwork. It started on the same date every month, so for it to be late was out of the ordinary. You and Sal had been trying for a baby for months now, making love whenever you could, sometimes even multiple times a day to increase your chances of getting pregnant but to no avail. You tried your hardest not to get excited when you saw the calendar, not wanting to get your hopes up and mourn a baby that never even existed when your period inevitably came but you couldn’t help it. You ripped the calendar off the apartment wall and rushed into yours and Sal’s shared room, not caring whether you woke Henry and Lisa up.

“Sal! Sal! Wake up!” You shouted, shaking him. Sal groaned, turning over to you as his eyes fluttered open. Even in the mornings when he had ‘morning breath’ and bedhead, he was still the most handsomest man in the world to you. He lifted a hand up to cup your cheek and smiled softly at you.

“Good morning beautiful,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes with his free hand.

“Sal! This is important,” you whined.

“What is it?” Sal asked, finally sitting up in bed. You thrusted the calendar in his face and pointed at the date, but he didn’t understand what you were trying to tell him. “What is it?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

“My period is three weeks late!” You exclaimed, a huge smile on your face.

It took Sal a few moments to comprehend what you were trying to say, but when he did he immediately jumped out of bed. “You’re pregnant?” He asked, voice filled with excitement.

“I don’t know for sure,” you said, voice turning solemn before you perked up again. “But there’s a good chance!”

“Well, have you done a test?”

You shook your head. “No. I wanted to do one with you, but I couldn’t wait until your alarm once I realised.”

Sal nodded and smiled, grabbing his boxers and pyjama pants off the floor and slipping them on. “Well, let's go!” You nodded and grabbed Sal’s hand, practically dragging him to the bathroom. Once you were in, you closed the door behind the two of you as Sal opened the cabinet on the wall that contained all sorts of toiletries: including pregnancy tests. Shakily, he handed one to you. You took the test and watched as Sal took out the box to look for the instructions.

“What are you doing?” You asked, tilting your head to the side.

“Looking at the instructions,” he said, eyes scanning the words written on the back of the test box.

“We don’t need instructions Sal,” you said, a slight chuckle in your voice. “They’re pretty straight forward. I pee on the stick and it tells me if I’m pregnant or not.”

“But the lines are confusing,” Sal said, furrowing his eyebrows.

You shook your head, smiling. “No they aren’t. One line for negative, two lines for positive.”

“Okay. One line for negative, two lines for positive,” Sal repeated. He watched with intrigue as you pulled your pants down and sat on the toilet, placing the stick between your legs. After a few moments, Sal spoke up. “Why aren’t you peeing?”

“I’m nervous because you’re watching me!”

“Okay, sorry, sorry. I’ll look away.”

Sal turned around and faced the wall and surely enough, within a few seconds he heard the trinkle of your urine against the toilet bowl. When you were finished you removed the stick from between your legs and placed the cap on it, pulled up your pants and washed your hands. “Now we wait two minutes,” you said, putting a timer on your phone.

“Two minutes?” Sal exclaimed, to which you nodded. You could see through those two minutes how eager Sal was. He kept peeking between you and the test, biting the skin around his fingernails nervously as the timer on your phone ticked away. The second the timer went off, Sal grabbed the test from the side and looked at you. “We look together okay?” He asked, waiting for your nod of confirmation. “On the count of three. One, two, three.”

On the count of three, Sal turned the test around to face the two of you and immediately you were faced with two clear, red lines. “One line for negative, two lines for positive,” Sal repeated, his eyes wide. He looked at you and immediately broke out into tears. The two of you began to hold each other as tears of happiness fell down your cheeks. “We’re having a baby!” Sal gasped as he caught his breath.

“We’re having a baby,” you repeated, biting your lip and moving away slightly to look into Sal’s eyes.

“Oh my God,” Sal exclaimed as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “Finally!”

“I know,” you said, laughter erupting from your throat. “I thought it would never happen because we wanted it so much.”

Sal kissed the top of your head and smiled down at you. “I knew it would happen. I just knew it.”

“Oh, did you now?” You teased lightly.

“I did,” he remarked with a smirk. “Now come with me,” he said, holding out his hand for you to take.

You took his hand and looked at Sal curiously. “Where are we going?” You asked.

“Well, I was thinking we’d celebrate,” Sal smirked, grabbing your hand and leading you back to your shared bedroom. He closed the door behind you and took the pregnancy test out of your hand and placed it on his nightstand.

“And how are we celebrating?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, I think you know,” he grinned, pulling you down with him onto the bed gently. He pressed his lips to yours passionately, immediately poking his tongue into your mouth and fighting for dominance against your own tongue. You let out a soft moan into the kiss and sighed dreamily as Sal began to remove each item of clothing on your body. He did so teasingly, slowly, and passionately. His hands traced your curves, roaming over your stomach that was growing his child and cradling you protectively. “Oh my sweet girl,” Sal groaned as he squeezed your breasts slightly. “The mother of my child.”

You smiled upon hearing those words, and revelled in the way Sal was touching you all over. “Sally, please don’t tease me,” you begged silently.

“Okay, okay. Since you’ve been so good and you’re giving me a baby, I suppose I can reward you,” he said slyly. He removed his pyjama pants and boxers before climbing on top of you, lips attaching to your neck and sucking on the sensitive skin. Sal was already as hard as a rock. The thought of you finally being pregnant with his child had filled him with so much joy and arousal. He slipped his cockhead up your folds and lubricated himself before slowly inching into you. A loud gasp left your lips. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

You nodded in agreement, and held onto his shoulders as your legs wrapped around his waist. His cock pushed deep inside of you and he finally bottomed out. A moan left his lips almost immediately. “Jesus Christ, Sal,” you moaned out, biting your bottom lip to stop a louder moan from leaving your lips.

Sal’s pace was slow and sensual, a lot of love was poured into all of this. Your wish of having a baby together was finally coming true and Sal just wanted to show you how thankful he was. His hands roamed over your body, grasping and grabbing at every piece of flesh he could as he moved against you effortlessly. “God I love you so much,” he whispered into your ear.

“I love you too,” you managed to choke out between broken sobs of pleasure. It was all becoming too much and you wanted Sal to move faster. “Please Sally. Move a bit faster.”

He complied with your request, his hips snapping against yours but still keeping the sensual rhythm. You let out a whimper as he continued to thrust into you, heavy balls slapping against you. “You feel so good,” Sal groaned, biting and sucking at you. His hands cupped your breasts and began to play with them gently, noticing how tender they were.

“Sal, I’m gonna cum,” you cried out. Sal nodded and moved a hand down to your clit, playing with the bundle of nerves between your legs until you came undone around his cock. You squirted with ease, making a mess of the bedsheets and Sal’s torso.

“God I’m going to cum too,” he whimpered pathetically. His hips continued to slam against yours, but his movements stuttered as thick ropes of cum spurted from his head and deep inside of you. He moaned your name over and over like a prayer he could never get sick of as he shuddered deeply. When he had finished cumming, he pulled out of you and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. A wide smile laced his lips. “You’re amazing.”

“I know,” you joked, nuzzling into him.

“Thank you,” he whispered quietly.

“What are you thanking me for?” You asked quizzically.

“For giving the weird kid a chance. For seeing me as more than a freak who sees ghosts. For giving me the life I never thought I deserved.”

A tear rolled down your eyes at his words. “Sal,” you sat up, and looked down at him. “You deserve all the love in the world. More than I can give you. But this child and I, will do the best we can to make sure you feel that love.”

“I love you,” he said softly.

“We love you too,” you replied, pressing your head against his chest and listening to his heartbeat.

“I suppose we have a lot of people to tell the good news too,” Sal said, sitting up.

“I’ll contact the doctor tomorrow. We’ll get a scan before we tell people,” you answer, but nod at the same time. “We can have a little reveal party. Something grand and spectacular.”

“I agree,” Sal nodded, kissing your forehead. “Tomorrow, we’ll think of ideas.” You nod in agreement and smile at him. “Rest now, my love. You’ll need it.”

You let out a soft yawn. “But it’s still morning.”

“Have an early morning nap,” Sal chuckled. “You deserve it.”

“Suppose I could take a nap. I have been up for a while,” you reply. Sal nodded and pulled you even closer to him until you were almost lying on top of his body. He stroked your hair until you fell into a sleep, full of dreams of motherhood and the excitement that was to come in your life.

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moonsgemini · 7 months

Text

don’t delete the kisses - college!rafe

summary: Rafe loses all his confidence when it comes to the girl he’s been pining after for years but maybe her plan to be alone with him will help give him the push he needs. Or maybe the guy that flirts with her and doesn’t take no will be his final straw.

warnings: MUTUAL PINING, fluff, self doubt, alcohol, friends to lovers kinda, college au, semi creepy guy, fem reader, she/her

wc: 4.3k

an: HI FRIENDS!!! guess who’s back fr this fine. I started a very new chapter of my life recently & kinda went through a little depression but I’m doing much better now & much more adjusted. I missed writing sm but I’m a little rusty so uh sorry if it's bad LOL

p.s I turned 23 last week. ik my bio already says 23 but I lied & was 22 but now I’m 23. LOL. also I’m not a gemini but I have a gemini moon.

Rafe was confident. Some would say he was a little cocky, but he never saw it that way. He saw it as knowing what he wanted and never stopping until he got it. Whether it be being the best at soccer, taking out the hottest girl, or getting a 4.2 gpa. Rafe’s charming personality always got him far in every aspect in life. Parents loved him, teachers admired him, girls practically threw themselves at him. Of course he had no problem talking to girls, it was almost what he was best at.

Except when it came to her. She made his words get stuck in his throat, all his thoughts leaving his head when his eyes would meet hers. Whenever she was in the room he couldn’t function, something their friends had started to notice. Rafe’s sophomore year y/n started coming around with one of his friend’s Wren. She inevitably integrated with the group. Y/n would go to the frat parties at the boys frat and Rafe couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. Yet never once did he attempt to flirt with her.

Ever since Wren had introduced her to them he was gone. Her shy smile and wide excited eyes had reeled him in. She was sweet and a constant ray of sunshine. Which makes it an even bigger mystery as to why he can’t talk to her. It’s not like she’d be mean or reject him, but somehow he can never get any words out. Always turning into a clammy, awkward, stuttering mess.

Now that it was his senior year attending frat parties became less frequent and going to bars was more common for them. This just made his problem worse. Because now at bars guys would hit on her and he couldn’t do anything. He’d watch with a glare as some guy clearly not good enough for her tried to get her number. She’d always say no, he wasn’t sure why but he was definitely glad she never gave anyone the time of day.

Y/n was sick and tired of never having Rafe’s attention. She’d see him effortlessly talk to Wren and the other girls they were friends with but when it came to her it seemed like he tried to avoid conversation. He would make up an excuse to leave the conversation or would only give short answers. She figured it was to get her to stop talking to him, but she was not giving up that easily.

She wanted his attention because he was just so Rafe. He was smart, athletic, kind, and funny. Maybe he didn’t talk to her but she was always listening to him. When they went on a road trip last summer she sat in the back seat happily in silence because Rafe was talking to Mason almost the whole ride. Plus he is so handsome she swears he could be a disney prince. Y/n had a plan to get to spend some time with him. She wanted him to like her so desperately it was starting to hurt.

It was a Friday night and they were all going out to the bars and she had so graciously offered to host the pregame at her apartment. Everything was going according to plan as her friends all said they’d be there and said what alcohol they were bringing. Even Rafe had sent a text in the group saying he’d be there and that got her stomach fluttering with butterflies. Of course she had the perfect outfit to hopefully impress him and get his attention.

She was setting out shot glasses and solo cups when the first guests knocked on the door. With a giddy smile on her lips she walked over and opened the door. Of course Wren was a part of the group to first arrive.

“Y/n! I’m so happy you’re hosting!” Wren exclaimed as she hugged her. The other three behind Wren took their turn greeting her with a hug as well.

“What you don’t like our place?” Tyler, one of the guys she came with, asked.

Wren gave him a sour look, “Not really into houses with four boys who don’t clean after themselves.”

Kelce gave her an offended look, “Hey we do clean before you guys come over.” They all gathered in the kitchen around the breakfast bar starting to look at the different alcohol options.

“I wouldn’t call wiping down the counters with baby wipes cleaning,” Mariah rolled her eyes at the pair of boys. Just then another knock came from the door.

Kelce who was closest to the door went over to open it. Topper walked in first dapping (an: I cringed too) up Kelce. Behind him followed Mason and Jasmine who all took their turns greeting everyone. Then last but certainly not least Rafe’s tall frame walked through the door way. He smiled brightly as he greeted Kelce and moved on to everyone else. Once he got to y/n who was the last one left his wide smile turned into a closed lip grin. Instead of giving her a side hug the way that all the guys did and the way he did to the other girls he just gave her a small wave. She couldn’t lie and say that it didn’t hurt her but it wasn’t going to deter her from her plan.

Rafe had been a nervous wreck ever since that text she sent inviting them over. Kelce had turned to him knowing his best friend would be looking as pale as a ghost. Rafe didn’t know if he was excited or mortified. The hours before the pregame he had been trying on different outfits and making sure his hair looked okay. Why do I even care so much? is all he kept thinking as he finished spraying on cologne.

He cared so much because he was going to y/n’s. Every time he went in with the mentality that it would be different. He would be his usual self and be able to talk to her. But then when he’d see her all his confidence would disappear and he’d be trying to get away from her as soon as possible. He hated the effect she had on him, he hated feeling so defenseless.

After he chickened out of giving her a hug when he came over he lost complete hope for the rest of the night.

They were going to be leaving for the bar soon and all he had been doing was stealing glances at her every five seconds. She was sitting on her couch with a couple of the girls talking about who knows what. He knows that whatever it was it was making her smile big. She was glowing and radiating so much light he almost couldn’t look away. He loved how she blushed whenever talking about something she was passionate about, something he noticed she did. He also noticed how she constantly touched her hair when she was nervous.

His grip on his cup tightened as he thought about her. He wished he could be the one to brush her hair away or hold her hands when she felt nervous. He sighed and looked away, trying to pay attention to whatever story Topper was telling.

Y/n rolled her eyes playfully while smiling, “It’s a good plan guys! I’ll ask if he can stay behind to help me clean so then we can finally be alone together. God I hope he doesn’t say he’ll leave.”

Wren looked at her friend with sympathetic eyes, “This man has no idea what he’s missing out on.”

“You’re going through all this effort for the biggest player at this school,” Jasmine reminded her.

Y/n shrugged a shy smile on her lips, “But it’s Rafe. We know him, he’s-he’s a good guy.”

“She’s not wrong. He is a good guy,” Wren agreed.

Jasmine laughed, “Well let’s hope he actually tries to pull a move tonight. I’m tired of seeing you reject every guy for him.”

Y/n sighed, “If nothing happens tonight then I’ll give up and it means he really hates me.”

Wren put her hand over hers, “He doesn’t hate you babe. I promise you he doesn’t.”

“Ladies I think it’s tiiiime to head out,” Mason said as he walked over. The buzz he had clearly showing.

The three girls looking at each other before standing up. Y/n cleared her throat, “I-I think I’m gonna stay behind a bit.”

“Dude what? No you’re coming out tonight,” Topper said as they all walked into the kitchen.

“I’m coming out tonight Top. I just wanna stay back and clean a bit,” she gathered all the courage she could, “Uh Rafe could you stay back and help me?”

Rafe turned to look at her with furrowed brows. His kind was racing with reasons as to why she would want him to help. He was also fighting with himself to say no.

He looked over at his friends who were all smirking at him. He huffed a dry laugh, “uh yeah yeah sure.” He gave her a tight lipped smile. As soon as he saw her play with her hair and that smile form on her lips he knew she deserved a million yes’.

After everyone left Rafe and y/n started silently cleaning the kitchen and living room. Rafe glanced up at her every so often, catching her eyes a few times. A subtle heat would creep up on her cheeks when his blue eyes met hers.

She brought over a few beer bottles to the kitchen to recycle as she cleared her throat, “so Rafe how is uh soccer?” She needed something to talk to him about, the silence was killing her.

He looked up at her from where he was wiping the counter. The light buzz he had was making him feel a bit more like himself, “It’s good, season finally starts next week.”

She leaned against the end of the counter, “That’s good. I expect big things from you Rafe, you won the championship last year.”

He chuckled nervously, “Now I really have motivation to do good.”

She smirked, “well you’re like insanely talented so I regardless you’re going to kill it.”

“I will if you come to some games,” The words left his mouth faster than he could stop them. But he was glad he couldn’t stop himself. The blush on her cheeks and the way she looked down fighting a smile made any embarrassment he felt worth it.

“Of course I’ll be there,” She smiled at him, “thanks for helping me clean Rafe. I really didn’t want to come home to a messy apartment.”

“Anything for you,” He shrugged with a small smile.

Her heart was pounding in chest as she spoke, “One more shot before we go?”

He chuckled, “let’s do it.”

She looked around for shot glasses, “Uh I think we used all the shot glasses.” Her suspicions were correct when she opened the dishwasher seeing them in there.

Rafe’s stomach twisted at the idea that popped into his brain. He rubbed his hands on his pants anxiously as he spoke, “I can just pour it in your mouth like a couple of freshman.” He tried to joke hoping he didn’t make her uncomfortable with his suggestion.

Her eyes lit up mischievously feeling like a genius as her plan was going better than expected, “Only if you let me doing it you.”

He nodded laughing, “Fair enough, so what’s your alcohol of choice?”

“hmmm tequila,” She smiled.

He picked a bottle from the counter opening it and looking over at her with a smirk, “Ready?”

She chuckled nervously, “uhhh you first.” He handed her the bottle.

She looked up at him, his tall frame towering over her, “Okay you’re gonna have to lean down or something Rafe you’re too tall.”

He walked around to sit at one of the stools. His knees pointed to her, long legs spread. Without thinking she stepped towards him. Practically standing between his legs, “Get ready Cameron.” She smirked hoping to hide just how dizzy he was making her feel. She’d never been this close to him and it was overwhelming.

He tilted his head back opening his mouth. Her face felt hot as she started pouring the liquid in his mouth. She shouldn’t have been as attracted to it as she was. She pulled away after a few seconds. When Rafe was done drinking he looked at her with a smirk, “That was more than a shot.”

She shrugged feigning innocence, “Oops.”

He let a breathy sigh, a smile still on his lips. He couldn’t find any words to say because when he looked at her for too long he got nervous.

“uh it’s your turn,” He stood up taking the bottle from her hands. It was then he realized how close she was. She smelled so good he wanted to lean into her. He wanted to push her hair back and tuck his face into her neck, kiss her pulse as he breathed in her perfume.

Y/n opened her mouth and tilted her head back a bit. Rafe’s hands moved before he could think. He placed his hand on the side of her face, his thumb going under her chin tilting it up gently. Her mouth opened wider on it’s own accord, something in her wanting to do exactly whatever he wanted. Rafe noticed it too and his jaw clenched as he thought about her in ways that aren’t very gentlemanly.

She couldn’t even taste or feel the alcohol starting to go down her throat as she stared at him. Rafe looked incredibly hot as he stood over her. His lip tucked between his teeth as he concentrated not spilling all over her. The few seconds felt like minutes when he was this close. Rafe pulled the bottle away. As she closed her mouth swallowing the remaining liquid Rafe’s thumb wiped away a drop from the corner of her lip before pulling away. She quickly took a drink from the soda she had opened, trying to get the tequila taste out of her mouth.

He cleared his throat as the tension in the room was palpable, “So uh we should um catch up with everyone?” He said as a question because he didn’t know what to do from here. He wanted to do whatever she did.

Y/n wanted him to bend her over the kitchen counter. But she kept her composure nodding her head, “Uh yeah yeah.”

She stepped away from him instantly missing the closeness as she grabbed her purse. He waited by the door as she walked over. His eyes watched her every move. He held the door open for her as she walked out. He never once looked away as she turned her back to him to lock her door, he enjoyed this view of her. The skirt she had on could barely be considered a skirt, it made his pants suddenly get tighter.

He shifted between his feet as she turned around, a tight lip smile aimed towards her. Of course she returned a toothy grin with a short laugh, he was so cute she couldn’t get enough.

Y/n thought her plan was working, she felt like she was really getting him to open up to her and like her. But whenever she felt like she was getting somewhere his awkwardness would return and that feeling in her gut started blooming. The one that made her doubt herself, what if she had come on too strong back inside and that’s why he was being awkward?

Rafe watched her from where he stood by the pool table. She was waiting for the bartender to finish making someone their drink before ordering her second round when some random guy went up to her. From what Rafe could see it seemed like she wasn’t really enjoying the guy’s company.

He gripped his beer bottle in his hands as the guy stepped closer to y/n. She was giving him polite smiles and nods as he went on about who knows what.

The walk to the bar was mostly quiet between the two. A somewhat comfortable silence that was filled with small talk. Even after the moments they had pouring liquor into each other’s mouths they couldn’t be normal around each other. Especially Rafe. Anytime his shoulder would brush against hers he’d step over a little not wanting to make her uncomfortable. When in reality she wanted him to wrap his arm around her because she was cold and because he smelled good. The tequila hadn’t had much of an affect on him anymore so any confidence he had with her was diminished.

“Dude it’s your turn,” Topper nudged him trying to get his attention.

Rafe turned to him trying to act as if he’d been watching him try to get the ball in the pocket. He rolled his eyes, “Eager to lose Top.” Topped chuckled shaking his head not wanting to call out his best friend on his staring problem.

He set his beer down and slightly leaned over the pool table as he aligned the stick with the ball. He still had a clear view of y/n, of course he was still looking up at her every second as he adjusted his position. He pulled the stick back as before pushing it forward between his fingers he looked up and his heart rate picked up.

The guy that has been bothering her had put his hand on his girl. He had put his hand on the small of her back, his body pressing against her side as she uncomfortably shifted away from him. It was clear she didn’t want him near her and he wasn’t getting the hint. What made if even clearer was when y/n’s eyes met his from across the room, a desperate look in her eyes.

Rafe could hear his heartbeat in his ears as he grew more angry. He dropped the stick onto the table not bothering to say anything to Topper or anyone else. He took long strides over to them not wanting her to be in that situation any longer. He bumped into a few people on the way but he didn’t care enough to apologize, his eyes zeroed in on her.

Once he was standing behind her Rafe shoved himself between her and the creep. At first y/n was worried it was another creepy guy but as soon as she smelt the familiar dior cologne she knew it was Rafe. The whole time this guy James was talking to her she had been hoping Rafe could read her mind of her pleading him to help her. She had seen him watching them and for a second she felt a sense of pride as she saw a hint of jealousy in his eyes. She hoped she wasn’t wrong about that.

Then the guy noticed that she wasn’t too into whatever he was talking about and decided to touch her to get her attention. Y/n had been leaning on the bar watching the bartender make her drink not full turned to him to hint that she wasn’t interested. When she felt the hand on her lower back she tried leaning away, him thinking that means he should get closer. Panic filled her eyes as she felt helpless, usually ignoring them or politely turning them down would turn guys away but not this one.

Before he could get even closer is when she smelt that amazing dior cologne. Rafe gave the guy a shove, not too hard to where he’d draw attention. He didn’t want to make y/n more uncomfortable by getting the whole bar’s attention by starting a fight.

“Hands off my girlfriend,” Rafe said his voice laced with venom. She stepped to the side but still behind Rafe to look at the scene in front of her. Her eyes widened at his words, cheeks beginning to feel hot like she just took another shot of tequila.

James scoffed putting his hands up in defense, “Dude she was the one coming on to me.” Y/n scoffed glaring at him in disgust.

She was opening her mouth to say something when Rafe laughed mockingly, “Yeah I doubt she’d give you the time of day even if she was single. Go the fuck away now.”

Rafe turned around to her, barely any space between them. His brows furrowed in concern as he took in her glassy eyes and pink cheeks, “Are you okay?”

He looked even more handsome when he was worried about her. She wasn’t even thinking about the situation she was just in all she could think about was Rafe. Maybe her plan had worked.

She cleared her throat trying to find her voice, “uh yeah. yes. Can we actually go outside?” The room had started to feel too hot and stuffy, or maybe her body was just over heating from their closeness.

He nodded, “Come on, follow me.” He grabbed her hand and led her through the crowd. His much taller and wider frame creating a path for her.

Once outside she felt like she could breathe again until Rafe turned to her again and her eyes met his. He was so beautiful it hurt her to think about how maybe he just said what he said to help her. Maybe it didn’t mean anything. She wished he would just talk to her like he talked to everyone else and flirt with her like he did with every girl or like he did a couple hours ago in her kitchen.

“Y/n are you okay,” He asked her again letting go of her hand not wanting to make her uncomfortable. He immediately regretted it and wanted to reach for her again. Rafe wanted to move her hair out of her face and stroke her cheek.

She gave him her best smile even though he could see a sadness behind her eyes, “I’m fine Rafe, I could have taken that guy. It was just hot in there.” She tried to play off.

“You’re lying,” He said softly, “why do you seem sad? I can go back in there and punch the guy.”

She couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, “I’m not sad about that.”

“Then what is it? I can help.”

She huffed not really wanting to tell him but knowing she had to rip the bandaid off at some point, “Rafe why don’t you like me? Well I think you like me now. But before why was it only me you never talked to or even any ounce of attention to? But then you like step in and save me from a weirdo and act all concerned so I’m just confused.” She felt like a weight lifted off of her shoulders finally getting what’s been bothering her off her chest.

Rafe stood dumbfounded and feeling the world’s biggest dick. He didn’t think that she had noticed how weird he was around her and now he’s finding out she thinks he hates her. He should be punching himself. It takes him a few seconds to find the right words to say.

“Y/n you’ve always had all of my attention. I-I am always looking at you, in the least creepy way possible,” He sighed finally confessing, “Whenever I’m around you I-I can’t be that Rafe everyone expects of me because you make me nervous. You’re perfect. You’re so nice, funny, beautiful, the smartest person I know, and gorgeous. I was afraid I’d do something stupid or mess up and you’d think I was just some dumb jock.”

She stepped closer to him leaving no distance between them. She put her hands on his chest and looked up at him, “Rafe I’ve liked you since I met you. I-I have been dying for you to do something for so long now, please don’t keep me waiting any longer.”

How could Rafe say no? Her big eyes staring up at him with her warm palms on his chest that were now sliding up his shoulders to wrap around his neck. He grabbed her waist firmly bringing her impossibly closer. That nerve racked Rafe was gone as soon as he heard her say she liked him. He felt like himself now, moving with confidence as he walked backwards pressing her against the side of the bar.

At the same time that her back hit the wall he leaned down and connected his lips with her soft plump ones. She let out and soft moan at the feeling she had been craving since she saw him for the first time. Y/n didn’t even care that her back and hair were pressed agains the dirty wall because one of Rafe Cameron’s hands were sliding up her body and wrapping around her throat gently.

He kissed her with fervor trying to make up for lost time. And oh boy was Rafe already planning on just how he was going go make up for it. After a few minutes they pulled away breaths mixing together as they stayed close to each other.

“Wow,” She whispered before a giggle slipped past her lips. She had finally kissed him.

He laughed with her feeling the same giddiness she did. He reached up brushing some strands of her eyes, “I’m sorry I’ve been an idiot. Let me take you home and make it up to you.”

She nodded shyly. Suddenly not knowing how to act around the Rafe she had been praying to see, “Yes please.”

He smirked leaning forward and pressing a kiss below her ear. He nudged his nose against her ear before softly saying, “Please? Well aren’t you a good girl.”

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lilywastaken · 1 year

Text

⇝ SICK DAY SCENARIOS !

CC!DreamWasTaken, CC!Sapnap, CC!GeorgeNotFound, CC!Quackity, CC!Karl Jacobs x GN!Reader.

SUMMARY: taking care of CCs when they're sick :( <3.

WARNINGS: SFW, a few spicy moments here and there, illness, a tiny drop of angst in Karl's part!

A/N: I'm alive!! The brainrot is real for these guys so I just had to write something, even if it's a bit crap LMAO. It's my first time writing for Karl/Quack, so they might be a bit weird/stiff, apologies! Once again, requests are open!! Please don't forget to reblog/comment if you enjoy the post, it helps a lot!! Thank you for reading! <333 If you see any mistakes, do not hesitate to let me know, please!!! I wrote this quite late so there might be a few!

MASTERLIST.

DREAM:

"Feeling a bit better?"

You whisper softly as you open the door to your boyfriend's bedroom, noticing that he had made his way off his bed and onto his chair, legs up and pressed to his chest with his knees tucked under his chin, the bright screens of his monitors reflecting onto his sad face.

"Mm…"

His broken whimper makes you sigh, walking over to him carefully and placing the bowl of chicken soup next to his keyboard, leaning down to press a kiss to his sweaty forehead.

"You should be resting."

You're about to lean back until Dream grabs your arm, his pointer finger coming up to tap his lips, hopeful eyes staring up at you.

"Clay. You're ill."

"Which means you're refusing to kiss your poor, suffering boyfriend?" He sighs dramatically, his voice deep yet nasally due to his stuffy nose, leaning into your touch as your hand comes up to cup his cheek.

"Are you ready to take care of me when I inevitably get sick, sweetheart?" You coo back, watching his expression morph from one of self-pity to one of dread.

"O-of course." He mumbles, hoping you don't remember how stressed he was when George had gotten sick a few weeks ago, running around the house looking for medicine in hopes that his friend wouldn't die. "Still… What if the cure to my sickness is a kiss from my beautiful partner?"

"Oh?" You play along with a smile, your hand coming up to play with his hair and run your fingers through his dirty blond curls, watching him flutter his eyes closed to enjoy your touch with a smile, half expecting him to start purring. "Well…" You sigh dramatically in defeat, leaning down so that the tips of both your noses are bumping. "I guess if it helps."

Dream makes a soft noise of excitement before you press your lips to his, his soft hand holding your head to his to slot your lips together easily.

"Now get to bed." You snap as soon as you pull back, causing him to huff and pause whatever video he had been watching.

"Fine." He grumbles like a child, lifting himself up and taking a few moments to make sure he isn't about to collapse before turning to you, letting you lead him to his mattress, onto which he immediately collapses on with a loud groan.

He situates himself under the covers and outstretches his arms to you expectantly, yet instead of your warm body he finds himself holding the bowl of soup you had brought.

You press a kiss to his forehead as he begrudgingly starts to sip on the soup, his gaze softening as he realises you're not about to leave his side.

Needless to say, the next day you were as ill as he was.

SAPNAP:

A loud groan resounds across the house.

You try your best to ignore it, going back to scrolling through your phone and scratching behind Patches' ears.

Another groan, louder this time, finally brings your attention away from social media and back to reality, frowning at the unending dramatic groans that come from your boyfriend.

You sigh, carefully pushing Patches off and starting your trek upstairs, listening to the borderline fake sounds coming from inside the room.

"You sound like you're dying."

You comment as soon as you push open the door to his bedroom, rolling your eyes with a smile as you meet your boyfriend's gaze, his lower lip curled into a pout as he makes grabby hands at you, his bed covered in what you assume to be snotty tissues.

"I am dying, darlin'. Feels like I'm being ripped apart."

You laugh, making your way towards him and sitting on the edge of the bed, and placing your hand onto his forehead, frowning instantly at how hot he feels.

"Wait, are you actually sick?"

"Yes!" Sapnap whines, throwing his head back and slamming it accidentally onto the wooden headboard, whining at the additional pain. "You thought I was fakin'!?"

"I wouldn't put it past you." You grumbled, wiping some of the sweat on his face with your sleeve, watching him try to adjust in his bed just to be closer with you. "What hurts?"

"Everything." He sighs out, closing his eyes in pain as his head throbs.

"Everything?" You repeat, unamused, already getting up to retrieve an ice pack from downstairs, hoping to cool down the fever he seems to have caught.

"Yes, every-" his eyes snap open as soon as he feels the bed shift, whining. "No, don't leave!"

"Nick, I need to get you something for your fever!"

You struggle against Sapnap's grip as he pulls you into his lap, arms wrapped around your waist and stubble scratching against your cheek.

"No… all I need is you, darl'." He grumbles against your skin, peppering sloppy kisses onto your neck.

"You're delirious." You sigh, melting into his warmth as he pulls you under the covers, sniffling and whining with every move he makes. "You'll take some medicine later, right?"

"Mhm … yeah." He says drowsily as he starts to fall asleep right there, listening to your breathing as a means to calm himself down. "Anything for you, sweetheart."

GEORGE:

How can George still be asleep?

You think to yourself as you stare mindlessly into the TV, the plate of food you had been eating abandoned on the coffee table as you take note of how long it had been since you had seen your boyfriend after last night.

You know he's prone to sleeping in for long, but not this long. Especially now in Florida, where the sun rises earlier and helps him wake up at the same time as you and your roommates.

Once you give your half eaten plate to Dream, you carefully push open the door to your boyfriend's room, stopping for a few moments so your eyes get used to the darkness his room was covered in.

"George? Are you awake?"

Treading carefully so you don't trip on any loose cables or stuff that he might have tossed onto the ground, you finally reach his bed, kneeling next to him and placing your hands on the body beneath the covers and shaking softly.

"Georgie?"

"Hmng."

You feel him turn around, meeting his gaze despite the darkness around you, watching as his pained expression turns into one of relief.

"Hi…" He mumbles, voice coarse as if he had just finished screaming for over an hour, reminding you of that one time he had lost his voice after a particularly long stream. "Time…?"

"Almost 4." Your hand comes up to push back his bangs, a shiver racking through his body as your cool touch makes contact with his atypically hot skin. "What th- do you have a fever?"

"I think." You feel his arms creep around your waist, pulling you closer with abnormal strength and placing his head onto your lap, snuggling himself into your thighs, letting out a shaky sigh at the warmth. "Tried getting up this morning and I think I passed out."

That would explain the crash Sapnap had claimed to have heard early in the morning.

"You passed out? Why didn't you call me?" You whisper back, running your fingers through his hair and massaging the back of his neck, a spot you know always gets him weak. "We could've brought you downstairs so you weren't cooped up like this."

George laughed as the image of Dream and Sapnap dragging him downstairs came to mind, but the sudden stabbing pain that attacked his lungs caused him to start coughing with a whine.

"I'd rather just stay up here with you." He started to manhandle you to lie under the covers, his hands warm on your hips as he quite basically shoved his face into your chest, trying to calm his raging headache. "We can order something later… I just want to be with you for now."

You chewed on your lower lip before your hands came up subconsciously to bury themselves in his soft locks, a whine leaving his lips as your nails started scratching at his scalp. "Fine. Just for a bit, okay? You still have to eat, we got to get you medicine, and you probably stin-"

You squeaked as he nipped on your skin in an attempt to get you to shut up, rolling your eyes at the smirk on his pretty lips before he fluttered his eyes back closed, a silent way of telling you that he was going back to sleep.

QUACKITY:

"You're an idiot."

Your boyfriend sputters out a confused sound as he walks into the kitchen, not having expected to be instantly insulted first thing in the morning.

"Huh?"

"Why are you half-naked!? You're sick!" You point at his feet and then his shorts with your spoon, making him groan and roll his eyes.

"It's hot!" He throws his arms up in the air as he sits down at the kitchen island, ignoring the way you frown at him. "And I'm not sick. I'm fine. It's just a cold."

"That still counts as being sick." You mumble under your breath, pushing a plate of food in his direction before pulling off your hoodie (which casually happened to be his) and handing it to him. "Put it on. I don't want you getting worse."

"...fine." He mumbles, starting to eat once it's on. "Thank you, mi vida."

Your face heats up at the casual nickname, nodding as you start on your own breakfast, too busy scrolling on your phone to notice the way your boyfriend starts squirming in his seat, sweat dripping down his forehead as he tries to focus on his food.

"You alright?" You finally realise how sick he looks despite having looked fine mere moments before, face flushed and skin sickly pale as he wipes the sweat away with his hoodies sleeves.

"Mhm. Okay." Your hand reaches over to cup his cheek, almost flinching back at how hot his skin feels. "Jesus! You're so fucking hot!"

You instantly regret what comes out of your mouth at his cocky expression, watching him m lean into your hand and sigh dreamily, eyelashes fluttering open and closed as he speaks.

"You think I'm that hot, babe?" He purrs out, despite the absolute pain that's racking through his body at the minute. "Damn, didn't expect you to be bold."

"Shut up." You pinch his cheek, forcing a high pitched cry to leave his mouth as you turn around to look through the medicine cabinet. "I meant you're literally hot, Alex."

"So you think I'm not figuratively hot?" You refrain from the urge to groan at his teasing, pulling off the cap to some medicine and dropping a pill into a glass of water.

"If you keep acting like this, you'll be less than hot to me." You snap, handing him the drink and waiting for him to down it like he usually does when it comes to ill-tasting medicine. "Go lie down, I'll make you some soup."

Before you can leave, he grabs your arm, pulling you into the space between his open legs and wrapping his arms around your waist.

"With me?" He mumbles into your hair, causing you to roll your eyes at how clingy he's become. "Come on, cielo. We can just order soup."

"But will it be as good as my soup?" You brush some of his longer strands of hair away from his eyes and trace the invisible lines between the beauty marks on his face.

"No… but I'd take cold soup any day of the week if it means having you in my arms."

KARL:

"Your nose is running."

You comment as you watch your boyfriend sluggishly make his way towards the fridge, eyes barely open and sweatpants almost falling down his waist.

"Mhm."

He doesn't even acknowledge your words, digging through the countless cans in the fridge to pull out some orange juice, instantly downing it without a second thought.

"Sorry. You want some?" He slurs, extending his arm and offering you the carton.

"Just finish it, Karl. I'd rather not get sick."

You notice that instead of his normal sleeping shirt he has a button up on, the buttons all messed up from probably trying to do it on his own in the bathroom mirror.

"You going somewhere, baby?" You comment on his appearance, frowning as he instantly nods, throwing the carton into the bin before looking for some snacks.

"Filming with Jimmy." He casually says, as if he hadn't been battling with a fever for almost a week. "I volunteered yesterd-"

You slap your hand over his mouth, stopping him from talking and meeting his shocked gaze, feeling his hands immediately find place on your waist out of instinct at how close you are.

"You're not going anywhere, Karl. I don't want you to get worse." You comment with a frown, having half expected him to lick at your hand when you had covered his mouth, but the sad look in his eyes feels worse than how that would've. "Please. You've been in pain for almost a week, I just want you to get better."

You let go of his face, moving your hand to cup his cheek and watch him press into your touch, nodding solemnly.

"Just don't like being useless. I wanna do stuff, I want to help!" He whines, closing his eyes as if afraid of your reaction to his complaint.

"You're not useless, though. You're sick. I'm taking care of you because I love you and I want you to get better. Jimmy's your friend, he'll probably won't want you working while you're sick, either." You lean up to press a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a comforting hug, his cool hands roaming your skin under your shirt. "So get back into your pyjamas and get to bed and I'll bring you some food, okay? Then we can watch a movie, whichever one you want."

He nods enthusiastically, taking his turn to cup your cheeks in his hands and pepper kisses all over, brushing your lips with his before pulling away, aware of how sick you'd get if he gave you what he had. "I love you!" He says before rushing back upstairs giddily, not even waiting for you to say it back, aware that even without saying it, you do.

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mari-the-bimbo · 8 months

Note

Taking care of sick Dorm mate Getou is absolutely adorable but what about being taken care of by dorm mate Getou?👀

Dorm mate Geto: sick days

A/N: thanks for this idea hun, I’d do anything to be babied by this man 😩

“Can you pass me the salt y/n?”

The smell of sauce mixing with paprika traveled through the air. Geto and you were making cheese toast with spicy soup. Sure, he could’ve just had some store bought soup, but why do that when he could convince you to cook with him. Any excuse to have you alone.

“Sure, here” you said with a smile handing him the salt.

“Ahhh it smells so good” you praised, waving the smoke closer to your nose, eager to eat it already. Geto smiles at your excitement at he stirs the soup.

“Of course it smells good, I made it with the best assistant chef” he teases.

“Hey! Why am I assista- ACHOO!-“ your protest is interrupted by a sneeze.

“Oh?” he says.

You sneeze again. “Oh?” he says again but with amusement this time.

“You caught a cold doll?” He coos.

You would’ve replied to Geto but the throb of your nose didn’t make it easy. Geto even turns the stove off and leans back to watch you as you incoherently try to reply. You’re his favourite entertainment.

“Mhm that’s what you get for partying in barely any clothes on cold nights” Geto teases, referring to your night out yesterday. And although he said it teasingly, you could hear the snarky jealousy behind his voice, but you choose to ignore that too.

He smiles to himself as he covers the warm pan with a lid. “Don’t worry doll, we’re done now anyway, why don’t you get some rest hm?” He says so sweetly.

You nod in agreement. Walking away as slow as a snail. He chuckles as he watches your retreating figure.

But once you were out of sight, he immediately grabbed a bowl for the freshly made soup and grilled cheese. As well as grabbing your favourite mug to prepare a hot cocoa for you.

Once you made it to your bed, you didn’t rest for long until Geto invited himself into your room.

“Geto?” You look up to see your handsome dormmate skill fully manoeuvring the tray of food and cup in his hands. He places it on your bedside table before sitting on the edge of your bed. You stare at him in wonder, how could someone be so hot yet mature and kind?

“Well? You gonna eat or is it because you want me to feed you?” He teases. Right, his maturity was questionable, never missing a chance to pass a flirty comment so casually.

“Shut uppppp” you groan, hoping the blush on your cheeks just looks like a temperature.

He chuckles before moving closer to your face, your breath hitches but you release a sigh once you realise he was simply trying to grab the bowl of soup.

“C’mon doll, open wide” he says, your ears only burn more but you move forward to be fed.

You don’t stop him when he grabs your chin to tilt your head up higher as he fed you some soup. You can’t help but hum at the creamy tomatoey taste. “Taste good hun?”, you nod happily.

“But what about the cheese toastie Geto?” You ask, eager to be fed the toast too. He chuckles at you, before he replies “you’re a spoilt brat you know that?”

“Am not” you retaliate, contradicting your own point as you open your mouth to be fed the toast. “I spoil you too much” he explains, but this time, you don’t protest against it.

As much as Geto can be a meanie and watch Gojo brutally tease you or join in, there was no denying he spent rest of the time being affectionate with you and spoiling you.

“C’mon finish your hot cocoa now, so you can have you medicine, or do you want to be fed this too?” He teases, holding up the cup of hot choc, “shush” you reply playfully as you hit his broad muscular chest in retaliation.

But your reactions only rile him up further, “you like me taking care of you don’t you?” He says with an evil smile, grabbing your hand of his chest to pull you closer, “nooo” you manage to say between your own laughs.

But you inevitably end up being engulfed in his big strong arms as he cuddled you, “s’okay doll, I like taking care of you too”

You bury your face into his broad chest to hide the growing smile of your face. Nah, it’s just a temperature right? ;)

Meanwhile Gojo, who is still at the party from last night:

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veryinnovative · 2 months

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@jegulus-microfic | march 1, prompt: rugby | word count: 1.080 featuring motion-sick regulus. this is mostly comical / partly crack. tw he does throw up but there's no graphic detail.

Exploiting what Regulus assumes to be the surviving remnants of a bewitched bloodline, James had, at long last, managed to magically convince the notorious ‘Young Sir Black’, as Horace would have it, to join him on a three-hour-long drive to the ancestral Potter manor to informally meet his parents.

Informally indeed because the first time he met Mr. and Mrs. Potter was during a fundraiser event held in Somerset House organized by the Black family to launder money under the guise of charitable benevolence. Regulus had been sixteen then. Sixteen and trying to mask the lingering scent of weed because somehow Barty had convinced him to ‘smoke a quick one’ before being subjected to the horror that was the annually rehearsed speech of one of his phony relatives. Not that Regulus remembered much of it, not when he had been too laser-focused on James Potter’s brilliant smile and his rugby-appropriate wide shoulders and height.

And it’s not that Regulus isn’t excited to meet James’ parents, not at all. Euphemia often demands Regulus show his face when James takes the time to video call her and Fleamont is very invested in the growing rare enamel pin collection he has going on.

The reason for his uneasiness is simply—

“Hey, Reg, you okay?” James asks, gently nudging him in his side. Emphasis on gently.

“Mhm,” Regulus hums, his gaze glued to the window instead of its usual hyperfixation: his boyfriend’s face. He had read, long ago, that finding a fixed point would help. The writer of the article fucking lied.

The problem is that Regulus gets motion sick very fucking easily and avoids cars, busses, and a majority of moving vehicles like the bubonic plague.

“Fifty years I have driven the Fleamont junior’s family. For fifty years!” Horace had proudly announced when Regulus clambered into the backseat with begrudging acquiescence. “You worry not, Young Sir Black. Mrs. Potter was as squeamish as you, but my driving simply cured her motion sickness!”

Regulus didn’t have the heart to tell him that he barely survived a bus ride of thirty minutes on a good day.

“Yeah,” Regulus rasps when James pokes him again, worry creasing the skin between his eyebrows. “No, I’m fine.” The lane switches got him good, but that would be an insult to Horace’s otherwise seamless driving skills. Curse Regulus for being so sensitive to it all.

“We got like another hour and a half left,” James tells him, to which Regulus tries not to groan like a toddler on the verge of a tantrum. “You need a break?”

Regulus definitely needs a break, but they have already stopped at a gas station three times and he is out of excuses that won’t inevitably upset Horace. First, James had to go to the bathroom. Then, Regulus needed to use the loo. The third time, he had lied through his teeth he’d fancy a snack, and no, not the ones that Horace had stockpiled in the little mini-fridge nestled between seats.

The overpriced pack of mini Party Rings rests unopened in his hands. Unopened because he will die if he so much as gets a whiff of food.

This discomfort, of course, doesn’t elude Horace.

“It’s—It’s the sun!” He exclaims. “The sun is hanging quite low today, making the asphalt expand so inconveniently like this. Terribly sorry, Young Sir Black, you know how it goes with this country’s tax money and road improvements…”

Regulus hums in response and lets his head fall back against the headrest. “Sorry, James. You were saying?”

“Just about the evening’s plans but never mind that. Are you okay?”

“Young Sir Black is mighty fine,” Horace replies in his stead. “No such thing as motion sickness exists when it is I who drives, sir Junior.”

Horace remains faithful to his promise for a whole whopping three minutes until a twist in the road intervenes, and Regulus's stomach lurches, betraying his efforts to quell the rising nausea after a record time of suppression.

“James,” Regulus groans.

James looks thoroughly alarmed and starts shifting in place looking for the bag he had been entrusted with. “Oh, shit. Bag? Fuck, do you—”

Unfortunately, he jostles Regulus in the process. Regulus, who has been fighting for his life.

“James,” he wheezes out, weakly flailing his arm. “The bag—I—”

“I’m looking for it! Fuck, which pocket did I put it in—”

“Is everything alright back there?!” Horace asks, his eyes wide in the rearview mirror. “Oh, oh no…”

Ignoring the loud lamenting of his driver, James almost flings the plastic bag in Regulus’ face. “I found it!”

“That is it then,” Horace whispers. “I take this as my sign to officially resign upon dropping you and Young Sir Black off, sir Fleamont junior. It has been my greatest honor to serve you and the Potter family for fifty years.”

“Horace, please.”

“It is the age, is it not? This vocation, it’s knighthood, sir Fleamont junior. One does not retire so easily—”

All else is drowned out by Regulus painfully emptying his stomach with a retch. Had this not happened before, shame would have flooded him in the multitudes. He still wonders how James had convinced both himself and Regulus to admit to a long car ride. Something something about the pastures being a healing balm…

“Horace,” James pleads again as he rubs circles on Regulus’ back. “I can only really comfort one of you. Baby, you okay? That— okay, no you’re not. Please stop kicking me in the shin, I will apologize profusely when you can breathe.”

There are tears welling up in Horace’s eyes. “Oh, now I’ve done it, made Young Sir Black sick. I am a failure, I do not deserve the title and honor of driving you or your parents. I must hand over the keys the very instant I arrive. Do allow me the opportunity to part from her, sir Fleamont junior.”

Regulus thinks he’s going to lose his mind. James might be on the verge of losing his too. “Horace, please, I need your eyes on the road.”

“I could drive this car blind, sir! For fifty years—”

“Please do not drive the car blind.” James sounds utterly exasperated now.

It takes him a solid couple of minutes but Regulus eventually manages to come up for a fresh breath of air and the damp press of a scented baby wipe against his jaw. He lets James coddle him, for now.

“Fuck… You.”

“I deserve that one.”

#jegulus #james potter #regulus black #jegulus fanfiction #marauders #marauders au #jegulus microfic #starchaser #sunseeker #marauders fanfiction #ino microfic tag!#this is SO fucking stupid

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floweroflaurelin · 6 months

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Gearing up for Huevember! I rearranged this year’s colour wheel to prioritize Red at the end of the month to accommodate Secret Life, since we’ll likely have some Red shenanigans by then :3c And of course I had to make my colour wheel a sunflower ✨🌻

Since I want my inevitable Secret Life fanart to be a part of this year’s huevember, I don’t know what I’m going to paint until I paint it! To compare, last year I had a list of what each colour’s painting was going to be before November even properly started. “Okay, when I get to this shade of purple I’ll paint the Rift, when I get to this shade of green I’ll paint Bdubs’ mossy cloak.” I always knew the subject of the next day’s painting in advance.

Not this time! This year I’m improvising day by day because something epic and cinematic could happen in Secret Life (or Critical Role!) at any time! The lack of preparation is intimidating but also really exciting because it’s just gonna be that much more challenging. Last year I did huevember in order to give me something to do while I was sick as hell from Covid. But now I’m recovered… taking the ankle weights off… I’m so hype to get started! 🧡💛💚💙💜🩷❤️

#huevember #huevember 2023 #huevember2023 #this year will also be multifandom!#last year I kept it to just mcyt but this year I’m opening it to Critical Role #and also The Locked Tomb if i can swing it #the hardest part is narrowing down all my ideas to just One painting per colour #it’s not ‘oh I have to do 30 paintings’ it’s ‘you mean I can ONLY do 30 paintings??’#i want to do more brainstorming but I actually have to build a Halloween costume today…

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sweetnsour1 · 2 years

Text

5:56

Fluff, Bakugou x g/n reader

You puffed your cheeks out, doing your best to frown at the same time.

“Fix your face.”

You released the air in a huff.

“You fix it.” You crossed your arms and glared up at the blonde that was leaning against the kitchen counter.

He didn’t hesitate. His lips were on yours. Your mouth opened with a sigh until you remembered you were supposed to be annoyed. You bit his lip and pulled away with a pout.

“Brat, I thought I told you to fix your face.”

“Not until you answer me, Bakugou.”

“Fuck, straight to the last name huh?”

“That’s fucking right. You’re in trouble.” He chuckled and rolled his eyes.

“I promise it’s so fuckin’ stupid and if I tell you…you’ll be an even bigger brat about it.”

“So there IS a reason you don’t look at me in the eyes when we’re at work? People always think we’ve had a fucking fight!”

You were starting to get sick of the Will-Dynamight-Be-Single-Soon articles that inevitably released every other week. You knew it was just press bullshit, but they weren’t completely wrong. He always seemed to be avoiding your gaze when you two were out in the field or at events. His sigh snapped you back to the conversation.

“You’re distracting…” he mumbled.

“Excuse me? How is me doing my job distracting?”

He groaned before trying again.

“Fuck… I don’t look at you in the eyes when we’re workin’ ‘cause I still find you just as fuckin’ distractingly gorgeous as when we were at that fuckin’ school together and I can’t get distracted like that when I’m fuckin’ working because-“

You didn’t hesitate. Your lips were on his. His mouth opened with a sigh. You didn’t give him time to be embarrassed. Your hands were twisted in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to you. He groaned and ran a hand over your hair until he had gripped enough at the base of your neck to pull you closer to him. You broke away from the kiss with a laugh.

“You were right, you know?”

“Hmm?” He seemed dazed and tried to pull you close to him again.

“I’m going to be the biggest brat about this.”

“Of course you fuckin’ are.”

“Who knew my number one hero had such a weakness? Should I start wearing a blindfold to make it easier for you? I am scheduled for a gear upgrade next month. Should I put in a request?”

He laughed and covered your eyes with his hand. It was warm against your cool skin. You felt his breath on your neck. Your smile melted. You forgot what was supposed to be funny. You whimpered when he hummed near your ear.

“Wouldn’t work. I think I’d still have plenty to be distracted by…”

Masterlist

#bakugou #bakugou fluff #bakugou fic #katsuki x y/n #mha fluff #bakugou drabble #mha bakugou #katsukibakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki smut #bakugou x reader

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avelera · 9 days

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I definitely don't need more WIPs right not for Dreamling, but sometimes it is fun to brainstorm a total nonsense fanfic-y premise played totally straight, which is why I'm fondly remembering the Cinderella Dreamling AU I brainstormed on one of the servers.

(Canon Divergence AU, because that's how I roll)

2022 rolls around and Hob and Dream are friends. Just... friends. Hob would love there to be more. He sometimes suspects, more like wishes really hard, that Dream would like more but, as usual, the guy isn't talking if he does. And Hob is too chicken to ruin the friendship they finally achieved to do something so uncouth as proposition his oldest friend.

He comes to the sad and perhaps inevitable conclusion that Dream has had all the chances in the world to say something so the only conclusion is that Hob's just not that interesting to him in that way. Stands to reason. The more Hob learns about the Dreaming and Dream's fantastical realm and all his adventures, the more Hob's almost single-minded dedication to living a normal life despite his immortality seems a bit... dull.

Enter Desire. Or Death. Or both. This is fanfic-y nonsense, after all, the point is there is a device and the device is our fairy god-person who is also sick to death of watching Dream pine from afar but is also a huge fan of chaos.

They (let's go with Desire for now, even if the trope is a bit overplayed, because it seems like their sort of thing) offer Hob a proposal. The chance to go into the Dreaming each night to woo Dream. Best of all, it will be with Desire's protection of his identity and a small amount of magic to create a persona for wooing Dream that won't be immediately obvious.

Oh, also, Dream is throwing a big fuck-off bash for Faerie or some other Dreaming ally so there's gonna be a party for weeks up there. Perfect place to slip in a new stranger. (Hob is a little charmed by the idea that he gets to be the stranger for once.)

Enter: the Knight of Roses.

Basically, Hob creates a persona into which he pours all of charm, wit, and courtier's polish from 600s years of life. If nothing else, he's having the time of his life at what is essentially a fancy magical masquerade ball where he gets to try his damndest to sweep Dream off his feet.

And it seems to be working. Hard to tell with Dream. But each night, Dream seems excited to see the Knight of Roses again.

(It is working. It's working very very well. The Dreaming is awash in flowers. Dream spends every waking moment he's not at the ball pacing his quarters, interrogating his subjects as to how in the world he can't get to the bottom of who this is, and every person who could nominally be considered his friend including his siblings and subjects are tearing their hair out with how sick they are of hearing about the Knight of Roses.

Hob doesn't hear about it though in the waking because Dream is in love with him and doesn't want to ruin any chance they might have together someday by agonizing over a mysterious guest who is probably some trick sent by Desire or Lucifer or someone to mess with Dream. He has no idea how right he is and how wrong he is not to bring it up to Hob.)

Secret Identity shenanigans ensue, of course, until we hit a breaking point with drama, tears, etc etc the usual for the trope because of course (gasp!) Hob is the Knight of Roses and there never was any need to create a separate persona because Dream was also agonizing over whether Hob was interested and Hob was so chill around him he assumed he was misreading all the signs. (Hob was working so, so hard to appear that chill around Dream.) Identities are unmasked and everyone lives happily ever after.

(But Hob is keeping the outfit once they're officially together, because Dream really, really liked the romance of the whole Knight of Roses identity but he likes it even more now that he knows it's Hob and not an evil trap laid by one of his enemies.)

#dreamling #the sandman #fic ideas #plot bunnies #that I will probably never write #mostly because it's too formulaic and it would be SUPER LONG to give it justice #free to a good home I suppose?

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coltermorning · 4 months

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A Christmas to Remember (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: You and Arthur have agreed to meet on the night of Christmas Eve. The evening and the following day turn out to be more than either of you expected.

Author’s Notes: Just some good ole fluff for the holidays! Set a year or so down the road from the events of RDR2, and in this instance Arthur never got sick and rides alone now.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, implied sex, fluff

AO3 Link

A Christmas to Remember

Word count: 5994

The firelight flickered, throwing shadows across the wooden walls, shimmers of gold rising and collapsing in the night. The room was warm, comfortable for all the drafty air threatening to cut through it. It never quite managed to get in, like the flames stood guard in their grate, pushing against the inevitable winter.

The room had been decorated for the season with a tree and garland and ribbon and light. This place had likely never seen such decoration until the end of the year, the woody smell seeping into the very walls it was so thick. The source of it, a small pine, was standing crooked in the corner. It was a promise of what was to come. Inviting and, had the room not already held its heat, warm. Perfect for the occasion.

On the night before Christmas, you were perched by the window, ignoring the beauty of the room surrounding you in favor of the company you awaited. Mr. Morgan, a promise to meet you here not having left your thoughts since the moment it parted from his lips. You had your gift, your best clothes, expectation wrapped around you like a bow. And yet, all there was to do was wait. To feel the anticipation for his arrival and let all else fall away.

The minutes passed, and soon there was a horse coming up the path with its familiar white spots flashing in the night. That white would normally stand out more but for the snow, falling thick and slow in the December air. It made Valentine prettier. It made the mud seem less untidy somehow, more familiar.

You felt a smile curve your lips when you saw just the man you waited for approach, his hat slung low, his blue coat fastened tight around him. You watched him encourage his horse onward until he rounded the building out of sight. You wondered if he would stable the animal or not, caring as always or too taken by his haste at seeing you. How that eagerness of his for you made you giddy. To be known and to be wanted anyway.

You left your place by the window and took in the room with a sweeping glance. The lights, the smell, the warmth. It was homey in the same way he was. A welcome respite to come back to, a place to look forward to when things got hard.

You stood closer to the fire, knowing sitting was useless when all you wanted was to embrace him the moment he walked through the door. It had been too long. So you remained standing if a little impatient, feeling the nerves that quickened your heartbeat course through you. You would be parting with more than just a gift tonight, and the very thought made you restless. But you owed it to him. He deserved it.

You fiddled with a piece of ribbon tied on the garland that framed the fireplace when you heard bootsteps in the hall, heavy and determined. They made you smile. But for all his bravado, he knocked softly on the door when he reached it, as if you would whisk away into nothingness the moment he did. Like a dream and nothing more.

“Come in,” you answered, and your gentle words were all it took for him to regain that sense of pride. The door swung open, and nothing could have suited you better than the smile he wore, the light in his eyes when they landed on you.

“Y/N.” It was a happy sound. Not a greeting so much as a satisfied release of breath. Your feet were moving before you could respond.

You hugged the man you had been missing for weeks, wishing like always that the pair of you could make this permanent enough to keep you together for longer than an evening.

“I missed you,” you whispered, sinking into the feeling of him holding you. His coat was cold but his warmth outweighed it, swallowing you in the scent of tobacco smoke and outside air. You had missed that smell so much your chest ached with it.

“I missed you too, sweetheart,” he said. Always so intentional. Always saying just what he thought. You adored that about him.

You pulled back to look at him but remained in his arms. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Morgan.”

“Christmas Eve,” he corrected. “We still have a few hours yet.” Then his eyes were filling with meaning like they always did before he kissed you. The look that said nothing in the world mattered more than this. You tilted your chin up, happy to greet it with all the love you held for him. He leaned in with that enamored look, and his lips met yours with the soft release of anticipation for all the days spent waiting. All the days apart that would be dreadful if not for the knowledge that you would have this again. You kissed him back just as slow and soft, like this was what it took to remember.

The pair of you got a bit lost in each other until you could hear his breathing grow heavy. It always did that, and it never failed to make your heart race in kind.

You pulled away and looked into those ocean water eyes. “I got you something.”

He quirked an eyebrow, running his lips together subtilely like he could still taste your kiss. “Did you now?”

“Yes.” He had told you not to. This was your first Christmas spent with him, the first chance you had to give him a gift. But, just like his birthday that had come and gone without your knowledge, he didn’t want a gift. Just your company. You had already gotten onto him plenty for letting his birthday squeak by. You wouldn’t let it happen again.

You stepped to the side and motioned to the bed, to the small parcel laying atop it. You had done your best with wrapping it, a small bit of twine done up around the paper with a bow.

“It’s two, actually. I’ve been working on one for a while.” When you turned back to him, the small flash of concern on his face didn’t go unnoticed. “Don’t worry,” you assured him. “I didn’t expect anything in return.”

His eyes snapped to you then. “Well, that’s too bad,” he said lowly, and before you could ask why, he was reaching inside his coat and pulling something out. A present, a little battered from his travel, the paper wrinkled and the tie around it crushed. You only loved it more for it. It was endearing in the same way he was.

“Arthur,” you chided with a smile. “You were just going to let me show up without a present when you had one for me?”

“‘Course.” He smiled with his teeth, that toothy grin that reminded you of the boy he had once been.

You gave him an incredulous look, and he laughed, the sound spiraling upward and into your bones like liquid gold.

“Fine then. You open mine first,” you said, unable to shake the high that was being with him.

He raised his hands in mock surrender before repocketing his gift and making for the parcel. You felt nerves flash through you, hoping against hope he would like it. One you knew he would, but the other was…a bit different.

“You didn’t have to spend your money,” he said, picking up the package and pulling the string so the bow slipped apart.

“I wanted to,” you told him. “It didn’t cost much anyway. More time than anything.”

He eyed you, the remnants of that grin still on his face, then the paper crinkled as he undid it. It finally gave way to fabric—his favorite color. He smiled.

“Darlin’,” he said endearingly as he pulled out a new shirt. Nothing special, nothing fancy, just something for him to ride in, the softest blue you could find. You always teased him that everything he owned would be blue if he had his say in the matter. “I love it,” he said with a smile bright enough to make you return it. “Thank you.”

He made to hug you but you stopped him. “Unfold it.”

He hesitantly did so, dropping the wrapping to the floor. He held the shirt up, and the moment he did, a loud thunk sounded—his second gift hitting the floor.

“Shit, sorry,” he said, reaching for it.

You could only laugh. “It’s not breakable.”

He picked it up, and the low light in the room was enough for him to see the wood. To see what you had carved into it.

He flipped it over, examined it from every angle. “You did this?” He met your eyes with such an open admiration in his that you felt your face heat.

You nodded. “It’s for your shotgun. The stock. I made sure it was the right kind to fit your gun if you wanted to…swap them out.” You suddenly felt that was a little presumptuous of you.

He stared at it so long your nerves got the better of you.

“You don’t have to, of course-”

“No,” he said, meeting your eye with sincerity in his own. “I love it. I mean it. Thank you. I’ll get it put on there first thing tomorrow.”

You were beaming. “Really? It’s not too…I don’t know. Effeminate?”

He gave you a chiding look so you kept on. “You’re just…you, and I want you to like it, but you don’t have to use it if you-”

He stopped you with a kiss, sudden and sure enough to melt away your doubt. Then there was nothing but him. No worry about some gift that he ended up liking after all.

Arthur pulled away from you slowly, reluctantly. “Open yours.”

He pulled the parcel out of his coat and handed it to you as he sat on the bed, urging you to sit beside him. You joined him, admiring him as you took it. There was no nervousness about him like there had been in you. His mind didn’t even seem to be on the gift. He was thinking of you and little else. So you smiled when you opened it, knowing you would love it before you even knew what it was.

Sure enough, he knew you well. “A journal?”

He nodded as your smile stretched wider. You thumbed through the empty pages, yours to fill. The two of you had that in common—a need to record in drawing as well as words. He was heavier on the words, journal entries lining the pages of what little he had let you see of his leather-bound book. But you preferred drawing. Mimicking art. It was why you had carved the woodland scene into a gunstock for the better part of a month, knowing upon seeing its inspiration how special it was and that it needed to be remembered. So maybe now, that proud deer on the foreground of a valley would forever be cradled in his appreciative hand just as this journal would be cradled in yours.

“Thank you, Arthur.” You met his eye to show that you meant it then melted all over again at the way he was looking at you. You debated speaking the feeling that bloomed within you but didn’t, not when he picked up the stock again and brushed a thumb over your handiwork.

“This is fine work.”

The words made a blush tinge your face. You couldn’t help it. He always bragged on you in a way that would make any woman blush, much less the woman who somehow found herself on the doting end of this rugged, outlawed man. He was a blunt instrument, violent and determined, yet all he trained on you was softness. Kindness you didn’t know how you had come to deserve.

“I told you you was better than me.” This meaning your artwork.

You snorted a laugh. “Yeah, right. And I told you, maybe I’d be a better judge of that if you let me get my hands on that journal of yours.”

He chuckled, the sound soft and warm as the room surrounding you. But to your surprise, for the first time since you’d found out he carried a journal, he didn’t protest.

“Actually,” he said, reaching around to his satchel. “I got you two gifts too.” And, to your shock, he was turning back to you with said journal in hand, holding it out like a bough of hard-earned trust.

“What?” It came out as a whisper, all you could manage in your surprise.

“Take it,” he said, holding it out farther. “I used up all the pages anyway. It’s nigh time I offload it, and I’d feel better about it being in your hands than lord knows who else’s.”

“You mean…” You looked from it to him. “You’re letting me have it? Read it all?”

He nodded his head to the side, a self-conscious gesture. What it must take for him to trust you this much. What he must feel for you.

You took it from him and ran your hands over the worn leather face. All Arthur. Your heart leapt in fondness for him.

You set the journal down atop the new one he had gifted you and turned to face him fully. You felt so deeply for this man. You had for a while. And you wanted him to know it. The journal was just proof he felt the same.

Before you could utter a word, Arthur swept in close and kissed you on the cheek, then stood. He offered you his hand. You took it, and he pulled you up and against him in one fluid motion, his fingers tangling with yours, his other hand finding your back. Then he was moving back and forth. Dancing. Arthur Morgan, outlaw of the state, dancing.

You laughed aloud. “What’s this?”

He ignored whatever gruffness he would normally have over something so carefree and led you in a soundless dance around the room, the only music the warmth, the lights, the way you felt for each other.

“You know how to dance, don’t you?” he said.

“Vaguely,” you replied. “Do you?”

That really got him going. He gave you a roguish grin and spun you, making you twirl with his fingers alone before pulling you back in. And when he did, he crushed you to him. Then his lips were on yours, and there wasn’t anymore air in the room apart from the love he granted you, how it filled your lungs.

Now. Now, in this perfect moment. It was time. You pulled away.

“Arthur?”

His eyes were closed, his hands cradling your face as he rested his forehead against yours as best he could with his hat. And still he swayed, a subtle back and forth even though it couldn’t quite be considered dancing anymore.

“Hm?”

You didn’t care that his eyes were shut. Didn’t care that he didn’t know what you were about to say or how long you had mulled over saying it. Because you felt it. And it was never more real than it was when you were with him.

“I love you.”

He stopped swaying.

You watched his blue eyes open slowly, like he didn’t quite believe what he had heard. Then his gaze met yours, soft and searching under those eyelashes, complicated as he was.

He didn’t answer. Just held you, watched you. In disbelief, you realized. Or maybe wanting to hold onto this moment like you were, committing it to memory. Too bad he no longer had a journal to draw it in. The thought made you smile. Then words were spilling from you like a flood.

“I’ve loved you since the day I saw what kind of man you really were. I’ve loved you since I saw that page in your journal with the deer drawn on it. I’ve loved you for so long it’s like I was just waiting on you to get here. Like you were made for me.”

His eyebrows drew together in emotion. Still, he did not speak.

“I love you so much it hurts when you’re away,” you muttered, finding his coat in your hands and clutching it, pulling him closer. When you met his eyes again, he was so close you could see every fleck of color in the firelight, the blue and gold that crashed together into green. You kissed him, and this time he was reluctant. Unsure. So you moved back just enough to give him room to breathe, time to think enough to speak.

His eyes never left you as he said, “I don’t know what I did to deserve that.”

It was quiet and vulnerable. So true of him, that he didn’t think he deserved to be loved.

“You’re you,” you said. “And that’s enough for me. Enough and then some.”

He was pulling you to him in less than a heartbeat. Crashing his lips to yours with all the passion of a man born again.

He broke from it for a breath, whispering, “I love you too,” before kissing the words into your mouth.

Nothing would ever be better than this. Nothing. It didn’t matter that the feeling was temporary. That Christmas would be over, and he would be gone, and you would ache at the loss of him again. There was no losing this. This memory would hold on forever as the happiest you’d ever had.

Arthur pulled back, and you were both breathing heavy. Far beyond any arousal or want. This was deeper.

He held your face like he held his life in his hands as he said, “I love you too, sweetheart.” Just because he could. The privilege of getting to say it addictive.

You looked at him and couldn’t keep the smile on your face at bay. He met your gaze and kissed you softly, a press of his lips against yours. A guarantee.

Wordlessly, he led you back to the bed. Your heart started to pound with thoughts less innocent until he picked up his journal, flipped toward the back, and held it out to you again.

“I may not have admitted it until now but…well. See for yourself.”

You took the book and turned it toward you, sitting back on the bed. The page you were met with had a drawing of you on it. Patiently drawn, thought out enough that it truly resembled you. You had wondered that—if he had ever drawn you. And now you had your answer. There were no words inscribed beside it like usual, like he just wanted the memory of you down on the page. Absentminded fondness. It burned you up inside.

“Keep turning.”

You looked to him. He wouldn’t meet your eye, embarrassment keeping his gaze glued to his journal, but it was endearing on him all the same.

You did as he asked and saw drawing after drawing after drawing, a few entries here and there. A few animals, a few towns, and nearly every other page, you.

It amazed you. You had thought you’d fallen first, and hard, but seeing this proved otherwise. Based on the entries, these drawings were done mere weeks after you met him.

“I could never seem to get your likeness just right,” he admitted quietly.

“Arthur, these are…” You wanted to reassure him. That this warmed your heart to him more than anything. You looked at him. “Thank you. I never thought…” You had stopped on a page that drew your gaze like none other. Because it captured a look in your eye you had only ever given to him. It was your admiration for him sketched out on the page, all subtle shades of black and gray. And the entry beside it nearly made you tear up.

I get to see her again.

He had drawn a heart beside it. You sobbed a laugh, a sound so happy it was all you could speak.

“I’ve been pretty damn fond of you from the beginning,” he admitted.

You set the journal aside and rose to meet him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I love you.” You said it on a smile. Because that’s all there was for it.

“Well if it ain’t obvious now…” he started. And he didn’t have to finish. Because you knew he loved you back.

You kissed him slowly then hugged him tight. He was yours.

You had a sudden idea and broke away from him, sitting back on the bed, reaching for the unused journal. “Here.”

“You don’t want it?”

Even the thought crushed you. “No, I want it. But I want you to christen the first page.”

“It’s yours,” he said. Like that would change your mind.

“I know it is. And every time I open it, I want to be reminded of the night I got it.”

He just stared, so you spoke. “Draw me.” Not from memory. Not without your knowledge this time.

“What, now?”

It was true, the pair of you didn’t have long together. But this was more intimate than anything somehow.

“Yes.” You smiled at him. And the look you gave him must have made up his mind, because he took the journal from your hand, the motion subtle and soft in the firelight. He went to the corner and pulled the lone chair over, setting it before you and sitting in it. He reached in his satchel and pulled out a drawing pencil. Then he sat back and looked at you. Really looked at you. He smiled. And he opened the journal, set pencil to paper, and began.

Every time he studied you, you admired him. The way his eyes focused, the way his pencil shaded gently. Such a light hand, easy in the same manner he was to you. A vast difference from when he was holding a gun, just as he treated everyone else so differently. This was the real Arthur. Only yours to see.

Minutes passed, and you shifted as you watched him, the big, tough man hyper-focused on the small journal in his hand.

“Hold still.”

When he met your eye, his were glinting with playfulness. You knew he was only kidding. You had seen him capture birds in flight, fish mid-leap out of the water, animals of all sorts on the run. He didn’t need you to be still. And just being here with him, letting him draw and joke and tease, filled you with such happiness as to make you want to plant this in your memory forever—a warm room and a man who loved you.

When he finished the drawing, he closed the journal and stowed his pencil, standing.

“Let me see.”

He shook his head with a lazy smile as he bound the journal back up. “Later.”

“Why later?”

Then he was stepping closer, the air in the room going thin as his eyes fixed on you.

“Open it when I ain’t here,” he said, eyes full with want. He tossed the journal on the bed and boxed you in with arms on either side of you, leaning in and kissing you slow and lazy. You soared. In this room full of merry light and special occasion, you soared. You hadn’t known what to expect when you first met this man, certainly not the gentle, easy love you had fallen into with him, but as he laid you back and began kissing you like you were the very air he breathed, you were more thankful than you ever had been. He was yours, and you were his, and nothing else in this inconsequential little life mattered. Maybe one day, it would even be enough to make him stay. Or better yet, for you to gain the courage to go with him. Whatever he asked of you, you would do it. For him, you would.

“I love you,” you whispered into his mouth again, eager to be able to say it. And then he was losing all semblance of patience and control, borne on the back of the desire that was having you all to himself for the night, those full words repeating and repeating.

“I love you,” he said, low and true. You smiled.

The following morning, Christmas morning, the two of you hesitantly stepped down the stairs of the hotel together, neither wanting to leave the other.

Sure enough, Arthur’s horse stood just beside yours, hitched to the post outside the hotel. He, like you, had been too full of anticipation over seeing you and had refrained from taking the time to stable his horse. No matter. The two animals had always seemed to get on well. Like they knew their owners had something special and got along like old friends, like siblings, because of it.

Arthur stepped up to his horse, giving it a treat and a loving pat. Not saying a word, not wanting the moment to end.

“Want to go get that stock put on your gun?” you suggested, knowing whatever else there was could wait.

He eyed you. Then turned, stepped closer, took your hand.

“Come with me.” He looked down at your hand as he spoke. Like the mere act of holding it was precious.

“Of course,” you said, a smile already forming.

The pair of you led your horses together down the main thoroughfare, the slight worry of someone recognizing Arthur lingering in the back of your mind. It had been a long time since that gang of his stirred up so much trouble here, but not long enough.

You got to the gunsmith without a fuss and offered to hitch Arthur’s horse while he went inside. He just rolled his eyes at you before taking your mount, leading them over himself. Ever the gentleman.

When he returned to your side with his shotgun strapped over his shoulder, he led you up the steps with a hand at your back. He used to be so nervous about touching you. It only made you fonder for him over time, and especially now that he had gotten over it.

He held the door open for you, and you stepped inside, looking over the racks of guns, the counter display, the gunsmith. He eyed Arthur a little when he came in behind you but didn’t say a word about it if he recognized him. He only gave a Christmas greeting and an offer to help.

“Need to change the stock out on my shotgun,” Arthur said, laying the weapon down on the countertop.

“Sure. We have a fine selection of-”

“No need,” Arthur said, holding a hand up and using the other to pull the gift you had carved him out of his coat.

“This is a fine piece,” the smith said upon seeing it laid down.

“She carved it,” Arthur said with pride as he turned to look at you, eyes alight.

“You?” the man said, drawing your attention away from Arthur’s loving gaze. “Well, if you’re looking for work, I could use someone with this kind of talent.”

“Thank you but no,” you said respectfully. “I don’t live around these parts.” Just a passerby, choosing this spot to spend one perfect evening because you knew how the hotel room would be decorated, how homey and worn the town was. Just like Arthur.

The smith nodded his head and got to work, taking Arthur’s gun. When he was halfway finished and Arthur said, “That piece goes on first,” realization hit you like a slap. Arthur never said he needed to go to the gunsmith to get the new stock affixed to the gun, just that he would get it put on. He would. He knew how, likely knew more about guns than most gunsmiths. Including how to take one apart and put it back together. So why had he agreed to come here, pay what little penance the labor would cost?

When Arthur’s gaze shifted from his gun to you, the answer dawned on you. He wanted to spend what little time he could with you. Your whole being melted at the very idea. He was such a sap.

You held his eyes then let the moment pass when the smith announced he was finished. Arthur checked over his gun and smiled when he brushed his hand over the carved wood. “Perfect,” he said. You felt your face heat again, just glad that he liked it. Even more glad he was willing to carry it around like a badge of honor.

He turned to the smith. “What do I owe you?”

“You let me keep this stock and we call it even,” he said, holding up the old one. It was worth more than that, but Arthur let it slide, seemingly favoring his new one too much to care.

“You got a deal,” Arthur said, tipping his hat. “I appreciate it. And uh, merry Christmas.” He shouldered his gun and placed his hand at your back once more, leading you out.

“To you as well,” the gunsmith replied. Then you were out the door and away from any remaining worry that Arthur would be recognized.

The two of you ambled back over to the horses, wordless. Not wanting this to end so soon. Arthur stowed his gun. You stood and watched him. Then he turned and sighed as his breath plumed in the cold air, like he had to remember how to breathe when leaving was inevitable. Maybe one day it wouldn’t be.

He pulled you in for a hug, resting his head atop yours. You nuzzled into his warmth.

“When will I see you again?” The words had more sorrow in them than you intended. He must have noticed, as he moved back enough to place a finger under your chin and lift your head to look at him. The smile under his eyes was sad too, but filled with hope.

“Soon. Real soon if I played my cards right.”

“What does that mean?”

He just shook his head and smiled, that boyish grin. “Just write me when you feel like putting up with me again.”

That was odd. Normally he gave you a time frame. “That’s always, Arthur,” you said. “You may as well stay if that’s the case.”

He laughed. You’d been over this before. He only refrained from asking you to join him in fear of his past catching up with him. You used to want to keep a healthy distance from that past, but now you weren’t so sure. Things were different when love was involved.

“Well, if you’ll have me, I’ll be back then. How’s that?”

That still raised more questions than it answered, but you didn’t ask them. His smile was distracting you. He was normally more solemn than this when he left.

“Why are you acting so funny?”

He leaned in and kissed you, a quick peck on the lips. Then he held your eye, the look on his face smug. For the life of you, you couldn’t decipher why.

Finally, he gave some. “Just take a look in that new journal of yours for me. When I’m gone.”

Your eyebrow raised high. Or even higher. “Why not now?”

“Just…” He let out another long breath. “Trust me. Can you do that?”

The dashing, bashful smile he leveled on you would have had you agreeing to murder.

“Yeah. Of course. You know I do.”

“All right then.” He pulled you in for another hug. This one tighter. This one more like a goodbye. It was a strange place to end things, almost unlike an ending at all. It had you wanting to rip open that journal right now and figure what on earth he was on about.

He pulled away and, with a calmness in his eyes, said, “I love you.” He held it like a breath. “And merry Christmas. I’ll see you…real soon. I hope.”

As suspicious as you were, you let him be. If he wasn’t telling you what was up now, he had to have a reason. So you held onto the hope that the promise of soon was a surety, that you would see the love he had for you made just as palpable as it was right now, stretching across his face in the morning light.

You loosed a breath and gave in to that love. “I love you too. More.” He grinned, color reaching his face. “Merry Christmas, Arthur.”

“Indeed,” he said. Then he was kissing you again and letting you go. Heading for his horse all too soon.

He mounted and turned to look at you. “Remember, don’t open that journal ‘til I’m gone. Long gone.”

“Why? What’d you put in there, a stick of dynamite?”

He let out a happy laugh. “Oh, it’ll blow something up, that’s for sure.” That left you stumped. “Just relax. You can read it as soon as I’m down the way, how’s that?”

You shook your head at him but couldn’t help the smile that turned your lips. “You’re something else.”

“You love me,” he taunted. And he was right.

“Go then,” you said, shooing him. “Go on. I have journals to read.”

“Good day to you too, miss.”

You laughed, and he kicked up his horse, rounding you. He got close enough to duck down and lift his hat, planting one last, brazen kiss on your lips. It had you blushing like a kid.

He straightened and donned his hat, his face the same red as yours likely was, though neither could be contributed to the cold.

“Bye. See you soon.”

“Goodbye, Arthur. It’d better be soon, or you owe me an explanation.”

“It will be. I hope.” There he went again. You just waved him off, and he passed you smiling wide, his horse stepping out into the muddy, snow-logged street. You watched him go with awe. That handsome, proud man. How you had ever won him over, you couldn’t be sure. But you had. And you were pulling out your new journal to find out why before he had even gotten halfway down the street.

You unwrapped its binding in haste, feeling the new pages crack and reluctantly give in your hands. You flipped and flipped and reached the first page and were…struck dumb. Utterly.

On the left was a drawing of you. Subtle and suggestive with its shading, perfect, the way all of Arthur’s drawings were. But on the right, in big, bolded letters: The future Mrs. Morgan. And underneath, May she forgive me for not having procured a ring yet. I’ll make it up to her in kind as soon as she’ll let me.

You could have cried. You couldn’t believe it. The decision to stay apart all this time had been both his and yours, and knowing now that he had changed his mind…

You looked up and found him to be nowhere in sight. You wished he still were. If he were, you would drag him back here and tell him a ring didn’t matter. Of course you would marry him. It didn’t require any thought. The decision was already made the minute he whispered that he loved you back.

The future Mrs. Morgan. Having that down in his writing, on the very first page no less…you could die happy.

You took one last look and shut the journal, stuffing it back inside your coat. And, riddled with giddiness, you faced the street and the daylight, soaking it into your bones. For all the chill the wind held, it couldn’t cut you. For all the months spent away from Arthur, you couldn’t feel sorry that you had needed to be so patient. Because this was real, and true, and unlike anything in the world.

On Christmas Day and for the first time in years, you faced your future with surety. And what a beautiful, merry sight it was.

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