#also look at us both getting our drivers license together !!

[samw1se]

I was born blind in my left eye. It never got fixed. Many of these points are true in my experience, except I still have an eyeball. Here are some additional fun facts from my realm of experience:

-my elementary school knew I was blind in one eye but did not tell my parents. I started to get a little farsighted in the 4th grade so I went to get readers and the eye doctor told me, a nine year old girl, that my life was forever fucked and I’d never be fully independent, never drive, never go to college, because I was disabled and it was too late to fix it. We got a second opinion. And then a third.

- (you can try to fix my kind of blindness up until about the age of five because the brain is still really elastic and capable of fixing the broken shit. They fix it by putting a patch over your good eye to force your bad eye to see. They tried it when I was nine but it was too late, so I essentially spent a year having my life ruined by being suddenly completely blind all the time and it sucked ass.)

- you make a great marksman and baseball batter once you figure out how your lack of depth perception works. Not a great outfielder though.

- things sometimes just kind of vanish on you. I got a massive concussion as a kid from running into a pole head on. The pole had been there as long as I could remember. I interacted with the pole every day. But one day I was running and the last thing I remember is thinking, hey, where did the pole go? Like the equipment holding it up was still there but the pole just seemed gone. This also happened several times to me when trying to catch pop flies or headbutt soccer balls. They’d just go away.

- people will indeed forget all the time and throw shit at you from the blind side and hit you in the head, or hug you and scare the shit out of you. A boy asked me out once after he hit me with a frisbee on my blind side.

- and then some people will always think of you when they encounter one eyed things. When I was an RA in college, some of my residents were so very pleased to bring me a one-eyed goldfish they’d found in the feeder tank at the pet store 😩 we named him one eyed Willy and he lived for like five years and survived two cross country trips in a car (in a Nalgene bottle both ways)

- I don’t have a traditional lazy eye (my eyeball can see but there is no connection between it and my brain so the message goes unrecieved) so I don’t really have much of a wandering eye, unlike other folks with amblyopia. I can also only cross my good eye, I cannot wink with my good eye without moving my entire face (and I had to learn how to do this by pushing my cheek and forehead muscles together with my hands until I could do it on my own so I look very stupid) and my good eye also tends to have trouble when looking at blue light for too long since it gets all the strain.

-additionally, the only times my eye seems to look lazy is in the occasional picture. I call it my googly eye.

- re writing advice: I took a writing class in college where we spent a lot of time journaling about our own bodies and then writing stories with what we had learned… my wonderful teacher guessed that I was blind in my left eye because of how I described things. I never used left or right when talking about objects being around characters’ bodies, only front and back. She fucked me up with that one.

- I get a lot of bruises on my left arm because I struggle with depth perception when walking around corners/doors on that side

- they gave me glasses as a kid to try to fix it after patching didn’t work (leading to the discovery that I don’t have a traditional lazy eye) and the left side was the biggest and thickest fucking lens you’ve ever seen and the right side was just normal glass no rx. It made the glasses sit crooked on my face so I stopped wearing them.

- they test you for amblyopia during your drivers license test and I cheated both times I’ve had to go take it 🙃 they put a ball on one lens and a box on the other and they ask if the ball is inside or outside the box and I didn’t see no goddamn ball but the man next to me said it was inside so I did too.

- if I hadn’t cheated, I could still get a license, just with a special note on it, which i didn’t know both times I cheated.

- and yes, cannot agree more with being a safe ass driver. People get frustrated because I follow so far behind other cars and give people so much room all the time but I have a clean ass driving record.

- following that, I have a hard time sitting in the front seat when someone else is driving, especially if they are tailgaters because I feel like I am always about to crash. My husband, a notorious tailgater, says I have an invisible break I hit whenever he’s too close to someone.

- my parents made me go to a chiropractor as a kid to see if the reasoning for my blindness was a pinched nerve. It did not work.

- a redditor once told me he would end himself if he were ‘as cursed as’ me because the idea of being blind in one eye was so insanely distasteful to him. I tried explaining to him that it’s literally the only life I’ve ever known and he kept trying to tell me it was disgusting and unnatural and I lived a hideous life. I was like, dude. Go to therapy.

- if you are blind in one eye but still have an eyeball, you have one fun fact for Two Truths and a Lie always directly on hand and no one will ever guess that’s a truth.

- I am especially clumsy, and sometimes when I get up to do something and start knocking shit down, my husband plays the Godzilla theme song in his phone and it always makes me die laughing.

- when my parents found out, they demanded to know why I didn’t tell them, and I had to explain to them that it was literally all I’ve ever known, how did I know it was wrong? I thought everyone could only see one side of their nose.

Sorry this got long. I can’t sleep lol.

writing advice for characters with a missing eye: dear God does losing an eyes function fuck up your neck. Ever since mine crapped out I've been slowly and unconsciously shifting towards holding my head at an angle to put the good eye closer to the center. and human necks. are not meant to accommodate that sorta thing.

[laithraihan]

Would you be comfortable sharing any personal info (age, profession, relationship status, etc...)? Completely understand if you're not but it's always really interesting learning about the lives of ppl I admire. Again, if that's not something you wanna do it's totally understandable! I love your art!!

Ah thank you so much 🫶 and sure I dont mind sharing some stuff but to be very honest Im not an interesting person, so I'm sorry in advance for disappointing you.

So I'm a woman (or something like that) even though I use a male pen name for art, Im 22 years old, 151cm (4'11"), the eldest daughter who has two teenage siblings who are both taller than me and make fun of me for being short. I do not have a profession and I do not go to school due to a disability I will not disclose. Im a lesbian engaged to a butch, we've been together for almost 4 years (our anniversary is in August)

My favorite season is winter because all the bugs are dead and I despise summer because the bugs are alive. Im also really scared of butterflies for some reason. Im scared of winged bugs in general. Ive never seen a cockroach in my life but I'd probably kill myself if I saw one. I really hate bugs. The winters are harsh here but I like walking outside when theres light snow falling at night. Im also a bit obsessed with Christmas lights but I dont celebrate Christmas, I dont follow any religion in general but my family is Muslim so Ive been raised with that. If I could just put Christmas lights in my room all year then I would do that. They look really pretty.

About my ethnicity I think everyone knows Im Algerian already, well Ive only been to Algeria once when I was like 8 years old so I dont really remember anything. All I know is that my uncle would keep telling my dad that I convinced him to stop smoking and that he's eternally grateful for that but I literally cannot remember what I did or said back then so I just pretended I knew what he was talking about. Anyway. Id like to go there again one day. I most likely will go soon in the future so it makes me happy to think about it.

My first language is French and Im somewhat fluent in English but it needs more work. Whenever I speak English I have to think harder about the words that come out of my mouth and I start saying things that dont make sense. But my pronunciation is good so other people just assume Im fluent. Also I understand Derja (Algerian Arabic) when people talk to me out loud but I cant form sentences and respond back so I just answer people in French. I know how to read Arabic script and I understand basic words but again I cant form sentences. As for Japanese I can only read Hiragana and Katakana and a bit of Kanji, and my understanding of the language is worse than Arabic, so I practice by translating Japanese song lyrics, reading news articles and talking with Japanese users online

Honestly I dunno what else to say, I dont really have any special skills or anything like that. Unless you count memorizing all the metro stations in Montreal but thats only because I had to use public transport all the time when I was a kid because my parents never felt like driving me to my appointments. At that point I probably visited every single station because I had to go to many random places. I dont have a drivers license but I prefer walking to places in general even though there are no stores near my neighborhood, but I think it's better for me because I get to walk more. I think I really like the idea of travelling in general but I dont have friends for that, my parents also wouldnt allow me to hang out with friends so it's a bit unfortunate

Oh and lately Ive been enjoying making eggs for some reason, I think Im good at doing that. But I only cook whenever Im hungry and I rarely feel hungry so I dont cook many eggs. I also dont like cleaning dishes so I avoid making huge meals in general. I dont really eat much in the first place but I still like food. I really like going to restaurants too. I just like going outside in general. I like listening to music and talking with people, normal stuff like that. Im running out of things to say so I'll probably just stop there.

[inairbinad]

maybe together we can get somewhere

Written for my lovely, talented, and frequent brainworm-sharing friend @stobinesque! Happy birthday, I hope you have the best day!! 🥳💙 This one is also affectionately known as stobin: codependent delivery drivers. Featuring the soulmates soulmating, some Rockie fluff, and just a dash of Steddie. rated: T | wc: 4k | cw: none [read on ao3]

Robin slaps the classified section in front of Steve as he’s making their morning coffee. It’s been another long night of tossing and turning, of holding each other through anxious dreams thanks to the latest round of shit they’ve been through. It’s exhausting, but they’re figuring it out together. Again. Because if all they can do is stay attached at the hip, share a bed, and tell each other everything’s okay as long as they have each other? Well, Robin’s more than willing to do that for Steve. And after two times around this ride already, Robin knows Steve’s more than willing to do that for her too.

So she uses the time not sleeping to scour the paper for job leads. It’s not like she’s dying to work again, but if she and Steve ever want to realize their plans of getting the hell out of Hawkins and moving to the city, they’re gonna need something. If they can’t sleep without each other, they certainly can’t be expected to work without each other. 

Luckily Robin thinks she’s finally stumbled upon something that could be great for both of them.

“I think I found our next excursion through the perils of capitalism,” she grins and takes her mug from Steve, who always knows just how to make her coffee. She’s actually pretty sure they could do each other’s morning routines in their sleep, by now. 

“Yippee,” Steve says with all the enthusiasm of someone on death row. He knows as well as Robin does that they need to find another job after the Family Video quite literally crumbled to dust, but neither of them is exactly eager to dive back into the hells of minimum wage labor. Not to mention that Robin’s more than a little worried that they’re cursed, and the total destruction of both of their previous workplaces might precede them.

“Come on, as long as we do it together it won’t be that bad,” Robin tries to persuade him before telling him what the actual job is.

“You said that about the last one!” Steve points out, looking so scandalized that Robin’s a little annoyed.

“Are you saying you don’t want to work together anymore?”

“No,” Steve course-corrects so quickly that Robin can’t help but laugh at him. “I whine about work about five-hundred percent more if you aren’t there with me, Robbie. You know that.”

“I’m familiar,” she chuckles, thinking back to every single time Keith scheduled Steve to work without her at the video store. And every time they’d come back to work together at Scoops after a few days apart, Steve would have countless tales of people-watching and bizarre customers to share, even before they considered each other certified soulmates.

“So what is it?” Steve asks.

“How would you like to be one of the newest faces of Surfer Boy Pizza?”

“I thought you couldn’t drive,” Keith narrows his eyes at Robin before going back to inspect her newly acquired driver’s license. She figured it was time to get one after the shit hit the fan for the second time in less than a year, so that’s exactly what she did…after a few tries, anyway.

Steve would argue that she still can’t drive, actually looks like the words are poised on the tip of his tongue before he thinks better of it.

Robin can’t exactly blame him, not after all he went through trying to teach her. She has to hold back a wince as she relives the time she popped one of his tires like a balloon just from rolling over a curb. But by some miracle—arguably her impeccable parallel parking skills, which might be the only thing she’s actually good at, go figure—Robin finally did manage to get her license.

So the way Keith is looking at it like it has to be a fake is a little bit insulting.

“It’s newly minted, I’ll admit,” Robin sighs and leans across the counter to try and level with him. How he managed to snag up a manager’s spot here so quickly baffles her, quite honestly, since they just opened. (The rumor is that the owners saw Argyle driving around in his van so frequently that they were inspired to open a franchise. Robin isn’t sure what that says about her potential new employers, but she’s trying not to think about it too hard.)

At least she knows how to talk Keith into things he doesn’t necessarily want to do by now.

“But I’m super careful and am an excellent parallel parker,” she continues. “You won’t find any scratches on your shiny new delivery vans when I’m working, or get calls from customers saying I left a dent in their bumper like the infamous kid that used to drive for that other pizza joint in town.”

“We don’t mention that place in here,” Keith grumbles, knowing full well that he is that infamous kid. It’s another reason Robin is shocked that someone hired him to work at a pizza place again, even if he isn’t driving this time around. Keith passes her license back over before glancing at Steve, who knows to stay quiet and let Robin handle things. He merely shrugs and gives Keith a look that imparts so much confidence in Robin that it makes her heart swell. “Fine, you’re both hired. Again. But—”

Robin cuts him off with a soft whoop, surprised at how excited she is to be able to make a mixtape and drive around town without a manager breathing down her neck for her entire shift. She doesn’t really care much about the handing pizzas off to people part, more so the independence. And then to come back to the store and gab with Steve about it while they wait for their next call.

It maybe doesn’t promise quite as much togetherness at work as they’re accustomed to, but Robin has a feeling they’ll find a way to work around that.

“But—” Keith says again with his supposedly stern face on and points at Robin specifically. “You’ll deliver by bike until I trust you with a van.”

Robin feels the way her shoulders slump like she’s sinking into quicksand. “It’s about to be summer, Keith—”

Steve kicks her ankle and clears his throat loudly before he sells her out like a Judas. “Deal.”

Robin stares daggers at the side of his head like the good old days when he was just the douchebag who left bagel crumbs everywhere he went. He doesn’t look at her, though, just shakes hands with Keith and seals her to her sweaty fate.

Robin doesn’t speak to Steve again until they pull up in front of her house. “I can’t believe you threw me under the proverbial bike like that, dingus.”

“Do you want to hear my plan, or do you want to go back and quit before you even get your little yellow visor?” he asks as he shuts off the Beemer.

“I’ll hear your plan,” Robin sighs, glad he seems to have one at all. “But I reserve the right to reject it out of hand. Visor be damned.”

Steve smiles and twists around in his seat to face her, like whatever he’s come up with excites him.

“Okay, so every time Keith sends you out on your bike, you ride around the corner and wait, then I’ll pick you up in the van. That way we can do all our deliveries together until Keith trusts you to drive on your own.” Steve crosses his arms and grins at her like he’s some kind of evil, work-avoidant genius.

Robin thinks he just might be.

“I guarantee we’ll still cover just as much ground if I push the speed limit, Hawkins is so small,” he continues. “Then we’ll both basically be getting paid to do one job, and Keith never has to know.”

“You’re a genius Steve, you know that?” she figures it can’t hurt to tell him. It breaks her heart a little to watch the shadow of disbelief that crosses his face to hear it.

“I don’t know about that…”

Robin claps a hand over his mouth before he can say anything self-deprecating. “Nope. Take the compliment. I only have one question.”

“Shoot, Bobbie,” Steve says. He’s probably trotting out one of Robin’s favorite nicknames to counteract the fact that his lips are moving against her palm as he talks, which he knows creeps her out. How she understands what he’s saying anyway is beyond her, but she does.

“What do we do on nights that I’m scheduled to work, but you’re not?” Robin asks as she drops her hand.

Steve shrugs and gives her such an easy smile, Robin thinks his knack for scheming is one of her favorite things about him.

“Help cover the gas, and I’ll drive you around anyway,” he says. “But you’re pretty good at convincing Keith to schedule us together already.”

Robin wonders if maybe this job will actually be kind of fun.

Robin’s pretty sure Keith catches on to their little routine after about a week of doing it. But she’s already plotted a route around Hawkins that maximizes the ground they can cover, and Steve’s had all the best places to speed memorized for years, so every customer ends up singing their praises to the point where Keith can’t really bring himself to do anything about it.

She thinks she might never have to drive a delivery van herself as long as they keep this up. That’s fine by Robin, because even if the pay is shit, it’s probably the most fun she’s ever had at work.

It beats slinging ice cream in a sailor outfit, anyway.

People actually seem happy to see Robin when she’s the one who rings the bell, delivering their dinner with a smile and a little bit of a clumsy lilt to her gait. It always gives her an extra dose of confidence when the particularly hot moms of Hawkins are thrilled to see her—whether it’s for closeted sapphic reasons or just gender solidarity, Robin can’t help but enjoy the attention and praises heaped upon her.

“Robin, you look almost as adorable in that uniform as you did in the sailor outfit. Yellow really is a good color on you,” Mrs. Wheeler says to her one night, and Robin nearly faints from it.  

Eventually she starts flirting a little—not with Nancy’s mom, but maybe with some of the others who didn’t birth her friends—just subtly enough to make getting out of the car to talk to the babes on their route worth it. Steve grumbles about letting Robin talk to all the pretty girls at first, but it’s good natured and really Robin can tell that he’s proud of her for being a little charmer.

He doesn’t mind flirting with the dudes instead, anyway. Especially not when Eddie starts ordering pizza way more frequently than is strictly necessary, even for someone still recovering from his first stint in the underworld.

“Why don’t you just ask him out?” Robin asks when Steve climbs back in the van with a goofy smile on his face for the fourth time in one week. Between the kids hanging out at Max’s and Eddie calling so often, they spend more time delivering to their new, unearthquaked end of the trailer park than anywhere else.

“Why don’t you just ask Vickie out?” Steve counters, just like he always does. Robin tries to flick some of her Coke at him (that she may or may not have snagged from the work fridge behind Keith’s back), but she fumbles the execution and ends up spilling the whole can on Steve’s shirt. Then Steve’s laughing, but also glaring at her as he whines about his work shirt being sticky now.

Robin tries to stifle her own laughter with apologies, chooses not to point out that Eddie’s laughing from his door, too. She strips her own Surfer Boy tee off, leaving just the white tank top she’s wearing underneath, and hands it to Steve to change into. They share clothes like it’s their lot in life anyway. Robin’s actually kind of convinced that one might’ve been Steve’s shirt to begin with.

“Thanks,” he grumbles and changes hastily. He finally notices Eddie’s still watching once he’s trying to fix his hair in the rearview mirror.

Robin revels in the way his neck flushes, just a teeny bit. Steve waves shyly, Eddie waves back, and she wonders how long they’ll continue to be dumbasses as Steve finally pulls away.

“Where to next?” he asks, and Robin checks her list.

Her groan tells Steve everything he needs to know.

“Vickie’s it is!” He sounds entirely too cheerful about it.

The drive from Eddie’s to Vickie’s is vanishingly short, especially with Steve and Robin’s System of Fast and Efficient Pizza Delivery, patent pending.

“Gimme my shirt back,” Robin implores as Steve pulls up to Vickie’s, feeling exposed all of a sudden in just her tank top. She anxiously looks towards the front door as she waits. The porch light’s on for them, because Vickie is always one of the more courteous customers they’ve got—and one of the best tippers.

“Oh so I’m supposed to sit here shirtless because you don’t want to show off your arms to a pretty girl?” Steve asks, and Robin whips her head around to realize he’s not planning on giving her shirt back at all.

“It’s company policy not to approach a door without your uniform!” Robin shrieks, not because she cares much about company policy, but because Steve should have her back on principle. “Plus, you enjoy being shirtless, you flirt!”

“I don’t think Vickie’s going to mistake you for a missionary,” Steve says blandly, ignoring the mild-slut shaming completely. “Plus, you’ve still got your visor on.”

“Steve,” Robin tries, but he just grins at her without moving a muscle.

“You look great. Go get ‘em, Tiger.”

“Oh god. You did not just say that,” Robin sighs, delaying further just to make fun of him a little. She thinks it’s deserved.

“I did, and I meant it,” Steve raises an eyebrow at her. “Unless you want me to drop this one?”

“No,” Robin tells him with all the annoyance she can muster. She might be awkward, flailing, and hopelessly pining over Vickie already, but she’s not gonna let any of that stop her from going up to that door. “Gimme the damn pizza.”

Steve reaches to get it out of the back and hands it over to Robin with a shit-eating grin. She really regrets not giving him more hell over Eddie back there, but she takes the box and squares her shoulders before making her way up Vickie’s front stairs.

Robin rings the bell and does her best not to fidget the entire time she’s waiting. Which isn’t very long at all. Vickie opens the door with a wide smile in greeting, looking almost angelic in the way the light behind her frames her fiery hair, her eyes bright and excited just because Robin’s there. 

Or maybe she’s just really hungry, a more cynical part of Robin’s brain corrects.

“Veggie pizza?” Robin asks, and Vickie nods.

“Thanks,” Vickie says, already moving to exchange pizza for money. “That was really fast.”

“Oh, well. Steve and I have a system. I kind of buried myself in maps for a night while I worked out the quickest routes around town, then we spent the next couple of days figuring out how to drive them quickly without hitting any pedestrians or breaking too many traffic laws,” Robin says without thinking. No matter how many times they talk, Robin doesn’t seem to be able to stop blurting things out around Vickie.

Vickie just laughs though, leaning a little around Robin so she can wave to Steve who is very obviously watching them from the car.

“That’s a whole lot of dedication to the job,” Vickie comments, and Robin can feel her ears turn pink.

“Sometimes I just plan stuff out when I can’t sleep, even if I never actually end up doing it,” Robin admits.

“Me too,” Vickie says with such soft knowing in her voice that Robin wants to wrap herself up in it like a blanket. For the first time she wonders if maybe Steve isn’t the only person who can calm her nerves enough to help her sleep. She doesn’t have much time to get caught up in the thought, though, because Vickie keeps talking.

“Is that your normal uniform?” she asks, and Robin hopes she’s not imagining the way Vickie’s gaze lingers over her bare shoulders, her chest, her neck. She feels exposed, still, her skin alight with any attention Vickie is willing to give, but it feels nice. So nice, actually, that Robin doesn’t remember how to respond for a moment. “Or did you just want to show off your tan?”

Vickie bites her lip and flushes ever so slightly, like maybe she hadn’t quite meant to say that part out loud. Robin can’t think of anything but how desperate she is to kiss her.

“I really don’t tan,” Robin admits. “Freckle, mostly. Sometimes burn if I’m not careful. Which I guess isn’t surprising, given the history of skin cancer in my family—” Robin hears herself and wants to die. She snaps her mouth shut before she can say anything else horrifying.

“Oh, I burn too! Even with all the sunscreen in the world, sometimes–” Vickie cuts herself off with a nervous laugh. “Well, the freckles look very good, anyway.”

“Thanks,” Robin murmurs, and she thinks maybe she’s blushing enough to look sunburnt now.

“Robin?” Vickie asks, still holding the pizza between them like she’s afraid if she moves the moment might break.

Or maybe that’s just what Robin’s scared of.

“Yeah?”

“Can you help me with something real quick, or are you super busy tonight?” Vickie asks. The hopeful way she tilts her head is so precious Robin might implode right there on the spot.

Robin doesn’t care how busy they are, there’s no way she’s not following Vickie inside. “I can help. What’s up?”

“It’s just that my VCR is jammed,” Vickie says, already leading Robin inside and talking over her shoulder. She puts the pizza down on the coffee table and nods toward the TV. Robin ambles over, not sure there’s anything she can do to fix it, but she’s willing to try.

“You worked at Family Video for a while, right?” Vickie asks. Robin nods and tries not to relive every time Vickie came in to rent something and Robin acted like a fool. “Thought maybe you’d have the magic touch with it.”

Robin doesn’t think she’s imagining the flirtatious way that Vickie says magic touch, so she pours all of her focus into the malfunctioning machine in front of her before she malfunctions and melts into a puddle on Vickie’s floor.

She feels Vickie’s eyes watching her as she works and thinks she might melt anyway.

It doesn’t take long to figure out the problem. After some fumbling, Robin manages to untangle some loose tape from inside the deck. She can’t help but think it looks haphazardly shoved in there. “Were you babysitting, or something?”

“No?” Vickie says, voice inexplicably laced with questionable guilt.

“Just seems like it got stuffed in there,” Robin says as she turns around with the tangle on display. “Like maybe a kid was playing with it.”

“Oh. Well. Weird.” Vickie’s biting her lip and looking at her feet all of a sudden. Robin can see the sheen of freshly applied gloss on Vickie’s lips. She wonders what it tastes like.

She also wonders if maybe Vickie put it on just for her.

“Vickie?” Robin’s voice is whisper quiet.

“Yeah?”

“Did you really need my help with the VCR?”

Vickie’s eyes snap to Robin’s face, worried, like she’s been caught out. But then Robin smiles at her, so gently she feels like it might break her own heart just to feel it on her face, and Vickie relaxes her shoulders.

“No,” she admits.

Robin doesn’t know where the courage comes from, what comes over her or how, but one minute she’s standing in Vickie’s living room thinking she might pass out from nerves, and the next she’s cupping Vickie’s cheek with all the casual smoothness Robin’s ever mustered in her life. Then Robin leans in to kiss her.

It’s heady, the power Robin feels just from being the one to move first. It’s like her body was made for this, for gently holding Vickie’s face and tasting the strawberry flavor of her lip gloss, feeling the soft pout of her lips slotting between Robin’s own like puzzle pieces fitting together.

But mostly Robin is soaring because Vickie is kissing her back, fiercely, like maybe this was actually what Vickie was hungry for instead of pizza in the first place.

Robin isn’t entirely sure what being a good kisser entails, at least not when you actually want the person you’re lip to lip with so badly you’re seeing stars. There’s no universe in which Robin thinks this can’t be good, though, because her whole body is tingling from the way Vickie presses up against it, the way she gently slips her hand into Robin’s hair and tilts Robin’s head just so.

Robin feels her visor come tumbling off her head, but she can hardly care when Vickie lets out a delicate moan that leaves her absolutely weak in the knees.

“Vickie,” Robin breathes out when they separate, already wanting to dive in for more. Vickie smiles against Robin’s mouth, kisses the corner of her lips again like she’s worried she missed a spot.

“Yes, Robin?” Vickie asks, suddenly sounding much more confident than she’d looked just a moment before—almost teasing.

“That was really good,” Robin says plainly.

“I agree,” Vickie hums. She pecks Robin on the lips one more time, gentle and quick about it. “And as much as I want to do it again, I think Steve’s waiting for you.”

It’s only then that Robin even hears the distinct sound of the van’s horn honking—two quick beeps to remind her that there’s still two more deliveries they need to make.

“Damn him,” Robin mutters, and Vickie just laughs. Her breath against Robin’s face is minty fresh, and Robin can’t really be expected to function when she knows Vickie planned this whole thing, can she?

“Call me later?” Vickie asks.

Robin nods, but not before kissing her again, deliveries be damned.

“Your lips are swollen,” Steve says first thing when she gets back in the car, dazed and floaty like she’s just taken the best drugs of her life. (This is something Robin actually has a point of reference for now, and she’s easily putting ‘Kisses From Vickie’ at the top of the list.)

“I kissed her,” Robin says, staring straight ahead. Steve squeals like a little girl and bounces in his seat.

“Finally!” he cheers, giving Robin’s shoulders an excited shake. “Are you comatose over there?”

“A little,” Robin admits, but she feels the smile break out on her face like an explosion of fireworks. She sucks in a deep breath and finally looks at Steve. He looks so happy for her she thinks her heart might burst all over again. “I kissed a girl.”

“Was it everything you imagined?” Steve asks, not bothering to hide the hopeless romantic that lives in his chest and pulls all of his heartstrings.

“And then some,” Robin says, hearing how dreamy she sounds and just rolling with it. Steve starts the van up again just as Vickie waves at them both from her front window. She blows Robin a kiss, and Robin thinks she’s died and gone to a heaven she’s not sure she believed in until now.

“Seems this job was worth it after all,” Steve admits.

Robin really can’t disagree.

[kylejsugarman]

one of my favorite things about the current brba fandom is how we all have our own alaska jesse ocs and plotlines that we rotate in our minds and write about... anyways i love love love your demi and baby! do you have any ideas for how jesse and demi's wedding would look like, or do you think that they would prefer to elope? also how would the proposal go? :)

there is nothing more crucial to survival than making up a little world for alaska jesse filled with people who are so nice to him. its literally imperative. im really glad u like demi and baby :') i always feel like i talk about them way too much, so its nice to hear that people actually enjoy them. and jesse and demi do just elope!! ive talked about this before, but they just have a courthouse wedding (kim and jimmy who??) with no real ceremony and go to a bed and breakfast in haines for a night as their "honeymoon". the concept of marriage is a little abstract for both of them because once they start hanging out, they basically just. spend all their time together. (<- lonely ass guys response). plus jesse is wary of any kind of procedure or activity that involves using any of his fake documentation and identity (he has nightmares for literal weeks leading up to renewing his drivers license), so when he thinks of "marriage", it freaks him out a little. but after a few years of being Together and getting some (polite) questions about it, they decide to go ahead and just do the paperwork to clean up some logistic stuff and make things "official". plus, it's kinda nice!! :) jesse and demi have finally managed to grow past their constant fear that the other is going to leave them for Being Broken, and getting married feels like a nice promise that this is Real and Permanent. once they decide to get married and skip out on the traditional wedding stuff, jesse realizes that he wants to do at least One romantic gesture and decides to propose. he gets an amethyst ring, not a traditional wedding ring (amethyst = purple, february birthstone!!) for her!! i elaborate on it a little more in this post. the most important thing?? they are in love :)

[revserrayyu]

2.2 Penacony thoughts [part 1]

**Mild spoiler warning** in place as I didn’t reach that far into the new update as of yet. Stopped right after seeing Sunday being a holy man listening to the troubles of others, so if that scene doesn’t ring any bells, then please refrain from reading further. As always, don’t spoil anything that happens afterwards, not only for myself, but for anyone else who hasn’t finished the new story yet.

First things first, I’m so pleased that we start off with Boothill. It feels like it’s been forever since he was first drip-marketed and when we heard that phone call of his with Black Swan, so finally seeing him in game is pretty nice. Still love that design in his eye too.

I’m also happy that the jade abacus was brought up again. Once we saw DHIL & Jing Yuan team up in the 2.2 livestream trailer I figured that Dan Heng was gonna call upon our beloved general with this item. At present, I don’t know if it’s actually used or if we head to the Xianzhou instead and request for help. Either way, I’m a bit surprised the general lends a hand. Of course he’s an ally and promised to help us with any troubles, but.. last time we saw him, he had just encountered Luocha and Jingliu, right? Could Jing Yuan really have left that confrontation behind so easily? Are we ever going to learn about what happened during that conversation? Who knows, but I hope we find out one day if this story doesn’t mention the matter further.

Anyways, who do you think the Elation Emanator that Boothill is? Naturally, I first thought of Sparkle solely because of her “I AM Elation!” declaration during her character trailer and her being a Masked Fool, but seeing how Boothill is having issues accessing Penacony in the first place, I doubt the two have officially met. They could’ve met elsewhere, sure, but I still doubt it’s Sparkle. Still haven’t a clue on who else it could be though but whomever it is certainly can’t hold their liquor.

Then we cut to Acheron being cornered by a bunch of npcs who are apparently all part of the “Dreammaster,” but let me just say that I love how literal Acheron can be, like correcting how many slashes she actually used. It’s also a bit scary for her to mention, as I don’t even remember a second blade either.

She’s just.. ironically funny to me. Acting all threatening but being completely serious with her grammar.

It was humorous when we switched to Robin for the first time. I didn’t manage to get a screenshot of it but how the screen even questioned it like “switching to Robin’s POV?” was hilarious. And rightfully so because this certainly isn’t our beloved idol. Sparkle, please, stop handing out bombs to everyone!

It was a short switch, but we finally jump back to where we personally left off. I know the journey Firefly is referring to might be our time hanging out together in Penacony, but somewhere deep down I imagine it could also be about our possible time with the Stellaron Hunters before the entire story even happened. I’m sure we have some sort of past with them but who knows if and when we’ll touch upon that.

Firefly goes into detail about her actions, about how she informed Silver Wolf to contact us and the plan she wanted to share with us before “Death” acted out. I guess it makes the lies and secrets a bit more bearable? All according to the script and at least she originally intended to tell us everything before the monster lashed out.

Then we get scene with her and Blade and oh my god, they both look so good?? Learning that Blade actually owns a driver’s license is comical too. Who would’ve thought our edgy man could be so reliable.

I’m so thankful for this scene as it gives us a taste about how Firefly acts around the other Stellaron Hunters. Since the rumors about her being Sam started, I couldn’t imagine how this sweet girl could’ve been one of them, but it seems she gets along just fine, even teasing Blade a bit.

Now correct me if I’m wrong but this is actually a flashback that happens right before Kafka destroys the Jepella Brotherhood during that one Myriad Celestia trailer, yeah? That’s pretty cool. Confirms that Firefly has been here the entire time and Bladie is even wearing the same suit.

I never thought of a decent acronym for what Sam could really mean, but we finally got our answer: Strategic Assault Mech. Makes me wonder if Firefly is even her true name, since that also seems to be part of the suit’s name.

Rejoice, someone other than ourselves can actually see Misha and Clockie. Would’ve never guessed that person to be Welt though. I guess he really is a child at heart. I know he gets excited whenever mechs are involved, such as the Engine of Creation, but this also reminds me of how his E6 depicts him as a child.

It’s unsettling that Misha calls “Death” something so innocent as “Sleepie.” Also claims that the monster isn’t aggressive and sometimes fetches the wrong guests to bring here.. uh huh, right. Sure. But of course Gallagher controls it! I know we learn more about him during this patch but I still don’t trust him.

So it’s clear that Misha is still a giant mystery. It’s good that us and Welt can see him, but the kid still isn’t perceived by everyone here. That one pepeshi we found alongside March thought we were talking to someone invisible and it appears Micah and Himeko can’t see Misha either.

During that flashback with the siblings as kids, I sorta feel like Sunday is also talking about Robin here. I know we’re chatting about the injured bird they found, but all the caged bird metaphors that Robin has, from her splash art and trailers, is hard to ignore.

Then we learn Gallagher is a History Fictionologist that’s in charge of this new place, which is all fine and well I suppose? Great to know who he really is but chalk it up as yet another person who lied to us. Of course I don’t believe much of anything any non-Express family says but whatever. He’s using fancy words that went over my head.

And now it’s all started to make sense in my head. Inviting different parties that have experience handling stellarons or at least have capable means of preventing a disaster. The Express and the Stellaron Hunters themselves are an obvious and reliable choices when it comes to stellarons, the IPC certainly has impressive power if Aventurine is anything to go off of, and I don’t doubt the real Galaxy Rangers are strong fighters too. I’m sire Black Swan and Sparkle have some tricks up their sleeves too, as would Ever-Flame Mansion.. if they’re alive. Also, the fact that the meme is named “Dormancy”.. Ratio stated in his note to Aventurine that “Dormancy” was the impossible in the dreamscape instead of “Death,” but I figured he just meant it as the word’s true meaning, not referring to the monster itself. That’s clever.

Sir, don’t give me hope like this by saying you’ll fight with us. Do you know how many people are wishing for you to actually be playable?? I’d love it if he was, I’d even take him as a four-star at this point (even though he clearly has five-star energy) but something tells me he isn’t. He gives me Cocolia vibes a little, like he’s certainly an important figure but I would not be shocked if he turns on us somehow and ends up as a boss of some sort either.

Aventurine’s status is truly a mystery that I definitely need to know! Is our beloved gambler okay?? Preferably alive somehow?? It hasn’t been long but I miss seeing/hearing him in the story already! But I do love that the chip he gave is when we first entered our hotel room turned out to be a transmitter. I’m not sure if it’ll reach his place in that momochromatic world he’s in, but perhaps we can use it to call upon Topaz and the rest of the IPC chilling in the hotel lobby? After Topaz noticed one of the broken Aventurine stone pieces lost its shine, I can imagine that our gambler had several spare transmitter chips to hand out to those he can depend on.

Stuff happens in a quick cutscene and we climb up many stairs to encounter another Nameless who has certainly seen better days. He sorta looks like that one white-haired dude on that new light cone that they showed briefly during the 2.2 livestream. And since it isn’t much of a spoiler anymore considering the official HSR yt channel already put out a video on it.. yeah, harmony hat.

Pfftt there’s something so funny to me about hearing Himeko call that fierce monster who has already “killed” several people a mere pet. Show no fear mother!

I absolutely LOVE that this man canonically can’t swear! They can switch all the words they want but I know exactly what Boothill wishes to say and it is hilarious. This quirk alone makes me want to pull for him.

My memory isn’t the greatest, but this shot made it so clear for me to remember that the Forgotten Hall mirror is a sort of Garden of Recollection thing, so having Black Swan appear from it was simply perfect.

The girlies working together once again, oh my~

After the things you personally witnessed sweetie, I’m glad you think so. Gotta love strong women!

Whose?? The only relics that come to mind are the Ashblazing Grand Duke set which I’m fairly certain isn’t what Acheron is referring to. I only thought of it due to the memes about how she killed him and turned him into said relics.

There’s another cutscenes with Acheron and that old dude we heard last patch, but I don’t remember much aside from him reminiscing about his companions once being Galaxy Rangers and more chatter about Nihility. This scene however, with Sunday looking all handsome and holy.. OH BOY. He’s gorgeous with the light shinning on him like that. I feel blessed to have witnessed such beauty.

I never thought of him to actually listen to people’s sins, but it suits him rather well. Doesn’t seem like most people recognize him doing so either? Aside from this one pepeshi of course.. either that, or everyone clearly respects Sunday too much while this person could care less on how to act around him. I was gonna make fun of the merchant for having such trivial sins, but if you’re living a life where that’s all you have to worry about, then sign me up.

The confession isn’t all fun and games though as some disbelief about the Family is brought up. Yet another reason for me not to completely trust this holy hot handsome man yet. Looking forward to continuing more later tonight.

[beyourselfchulanmaria]

女兒考上駕照並拿到國際駕照，半年前她很幸運的取得紐西蘭給她的一年簽證，下週六即將前往紐西蘭開始她的再一次隻身到異國工作和旅行。或許是我從小就給她的教育，也或許她天生就機敏地懂得如何在不同國度求生和學習新知，而且我已經完全不會擔憂她的任何決定，大概我早已經習慣她獨立自主的性格，一旦小鳥學會飛翔，母鳥根本不需要跟著她飛。lol (說實話我也有我自己的天空，她飛她的鳥，我追我的雲，我跟我的兒子和女兒，分別忙得不可開交，彼此尊重各自的生活，也彼此祝福!) 我希望有一天我們都能擁有屬於自己的��家』。

我今天在餐廳為女兒和她的男友買午餐，然後我的吹風機壞了，女兒說她要付錢買給我，我當然說好，並衷心感謝她願意以此方式表達她對我的愛!在我的工作室女兒在她的男友陪伴下他們一同閱讀了我的雙親當年戀愛時的"情書"，我望著年輕人談戀愛的畫面，真是美! 他們觸動了我內心深處的某種思念的情緒… 我一會兒哭泣，又一起和他們笑開懷，因為我的女兒像我年輕時一樣調皮和淘氣，她很懂得掌控氣氛所以不可能讓我一直掉淚。

閱讀書信也是一種生活教育，自然而然的讓兩個有情意的人學會什麼叫做:"珍惜"!

《My daughter got a driver's license and got an international driver's license. She was lucky enough to get a one-year visa from New Zealand gov. six months ago. Next Saturday, she will go to New Zealand to start her work and travel alone in a foreign country again. Maybe it's the education I gave her since she was a child, or maybe she is born with a keen understanding of how to survive and learn new knowledge in different countries, and I don't worry about any of her decisions at all. Maybe I'm used to her independent personality. The baby bird learned to fly, and the mother bird doesn't need to follow her at all. lol (To be honest I have my own sky too, she flies her bird, I chase my cloud, me and my son and daughter, respectively, are too busy, respect each other's life, and bless each other too!) and I hope to have one day we can all have our own "home".

I was at the restaurant today to buy lunch for my daughter and her boyfriend and my hair dryer broke and my daughter said she would pay for it for me, of course I said yes and sincerely appreciate her willingness to show her love for me in this way! In my studio, my daughter, accompanied by her boyfriend, read the "love letters" of my parents when they were in love. I looked at the pictures of both young people in love. that's so beautiful! They touched something deep in my heart at the moment~ The missing emotions… I cried for a while, and laughed with them together, because my daughter is as naughty and mischievous as I was young. She knows how to control the atmosphere so it's impossible to make me cry all the time.

Reading letters is also a kind of life education, which naturally allows two affectionate people to learn what is called: "cherish"!》

Lan~*

[canonicallyobserving911]

Seven Several Sentences Sunday

Fanonwriter2023 on AO3

Where CANON and FANON collide!

FANON speculation for season 7

Buddie Multi-Chapter Fanfic - Hiatus Reading: “I’m still in love with you but... I needed to learn how to love myself too!” 

Chapter 10 will be posted soon.

I’m excited to finish writing Chapter 10 because a lot is happening and there's still more to come. At the end of Chapter 9, Buck and Eddie were trying to cope with everything that happened during and after Jonah's criminal trial. At the end of day two, Buck had a major panic attack, he asked Eddie to get him out of the courthouse and Eddie drove them home instead of taking Buck back to the loft. Then Buck scheduled an emergency therapy appointment with Dr. Copeland and later that night, after Chris and Buck were already asleep, Eddie spent time trying to decide if he should make an emergency appointment with Frank instead of scheduling one with his new therapist, Dr. Theresa because Frank's a trauma therapist and she's not. He was strongly considering it since both him and Buck were faced yet again with additional ramifications from the shooting.

___________

As a continuation of my WIP Wednesday, here’s a little more of Buck’s conversation with Rhett and Eddie’s conversation with Bertie.

___________

Buck

“Now… if you swipe to the left, I think… well it’s either left or right who knows with all this new fandangle technology… you’ll see a picture of me and my husband.”

Buck swipes left in the photos app and he sees Rhett in a photo with a very handsome man.  If he didn’t know any better, he’d think it was a picture of him and Eddie because the man in the picture standing next to Rhett has dark hair, brown eyes and olive skin just like Eddie.

“You have a beautiful family.”  Buck says as he hands Rhett’s phone back to him.

“Yeah, we did.  Me and Ray…”  Rhett chuckles then continues.  “His real name was Raymundo but after he left his parents’ house, he wouldn’t let anyone call him that anymore.  We didn’t get married until nine years ago but by that time… we’d already been together for more than forty years.  Even though we didn’t need a piece of paper to tell us how much we loved each other, we wanted it… so we had a small wedding in our backyard with our son and his family.  Getting married also allowed me to change my last name from Quinn to Dominquez… it’s on our marriage license and it’s still hanging up in our home today.  I looked at it before I left to come here.”

Buck’s hit with another realization because he knows he’s been wanting to marry Eddie for years but he’s still not sure Eddie wants him so he tucks the little hope he has back into the corner of his heart.

“You didn’t want to keep your last name?”

“No, I didn’t because the last name Quinn didn’t hold anything but hurt and pain for me.  I grew up in an ok family but my parents weren’t ready to be a mom and a dad and I suppose, it affected how emotionally detached they were.  I don’t blame them for it anymore but finally being able to take my husband’s last name after 40 years of us being together was the best because me, him and our son all had the same last name.”

Buck nods his head because the last name Buckley certainly doesn’t mean shit to him anymore.  That’s Phillip’s last name not his and he’s been trying to figure out what he should change it to.  Diaz has a nice ring to it but he’d have to marry Eddie first for that to happen and since he hasn’t told him how he feels, he doesn’t think it ever will.

Where is Buck?  Also, who is Rhett and why is he telling Buck about his life?

_____

Eddie

After they leave the hospital and they get back inside of the ambulance, it only takes Bertie a few seconds to mention something about Loni.

She closes the driver’s side door, looks at Eddie then says, “She lives on the outskirts of Los Angeles and if anything ever happens to the solitary road that leads to her house, no one will be able to get to her”.

He shrugs his shoulders then says, “Well… she said she likes living out there and she likes the peace and quiet”.

“Yeah, she did say that and she also said the reason why she did it was because she figured she wouldn’t find love again.  So, maybe her decision to live all the way out in an area of Los Angeles that resembles ‘Death Valley’ wasn’t completely about her desire to live in peace and quiet.”

She turns her head to crank the ambulance, then she looks over at Eddie again.  “Some people choose to be alone while others feel like it’s their only option.  Neither choice is wrong but if someone doesn’t want to die alone, they don’t have to”.

Almost immediately after the words leave Bertie’s lips, Eddie feels like someone is screaming at him even though he’ll never admit it’s the universe.  Over the last few days, several people have told him things that remind him of that Geoffrey Chaucer quote, “Time and tide wait for no man” and he realizes he might be running out of time to have a conversation with Buck.

Who is Bertie?  Why is Eddie partnered with her and will he listen to the things she's saying?

___________

Fic Summary: Months after Buck and Eddie were hit by the same lightning strike; they’re still struggling with the aftermath of it.  But before they make their love confessions, they’ll spend time getting to know themselves as individuals first. Eddie learns to enjoy the simple things in life as he participates in activities on his own and with new friends while Buck learns the rest of the 31-year-old deep dark family secret about his conception and birth. Their journey to forever is still a work in progress but once they finally admit they’re in love with each other, everything that follows their love confessions will be cataclysmic.

__________

Chapter Summaries

Chapter 1 -Eddie makes a new friend while Buck receives devastating news regarding the sperm donation he made for Connor and Kameron.

Chapter 2 - Buck does a lot of research to learn more about the abnormalities found in his red blood cells and Eddie starts a new therapy journey that’s all about him and not the traumas he’s experienced.

Chapter 3 -After more than a month, Buck and Eddie finally spend time together outside of work but it doesn’t end well and they part with a lot of uncertainty regarding their places in each other’s lives.

Chapter 4 - Eddie has a few realizations about his life which causes him to consider moving back to El Paso, TX while Buck continues to be reminded of his past which causes him to take an impromptu road trip across America.

Chapter 5 - Both Buck and Eddie have difficult conversations with their parents and Buck finally learns the truth behind the reason why his mother despised him while Eddie finally tells his mother about the way she tries to control him.

Chapter 6 - More than two weeks after Buck pushed Eddie away after suggesting they needed a break; Eddie decides to try again. Eddie’s there for Buck when he’s at his worst just like Buck was there for him when he was at his worst and he won’t let Buck give up.

Chapter 7 - After Buck’s mental breakdown, Eddie has his back the same way Buck had his when he had his own breakdown more than a year ago.  They share several vulnerable and emotionally intimate moments with one another and they begin to realize their small, sweet and caring gestures matter just as much if not more than any grand gesture ever could because these are part of the foundation when a couple builds a long-lasting love relationship.

Chapter 8 - Buck, Eddie and Chris all have their own therapists and during their sessions, they reflect on their pasts while they’re in the present so they can prepare for their future together as a family.

Chapter 9 - Buck and Eddie are there for each other when Buck has to testify as a witness during the trial.  But by the end of it, they’ll both realize their individual and shared traumas are going to keep resurfacing until they talk about them, deal with the fact that they’re in love with one another and face the fact that they can’t live without each other.

Chapter 10 - Will be posted soon.

__________

I’m enjoying writing this fic because it’s giving me the chance to unravel the mess that was the 6x18 ending for Buck, Eddie and Chris.  Also, it’s taking them places the show refuses to go including Buck finally having a mental breakdown and Eddie being there for him the same way he was there for Eddie in season 5.

Buddie Multi-Chapter Fanfic - Hiatus Reading

Read chapters 1 - 9 are already available on AO3.

[jiinjiinjarra]

BTS // Magazines // Haru Hana // Vol. 27 // Three Answers Talk // 2015 // Pt.2

Scan Cr. EHEHug_ // Translation Cr. kimmytrans // Source : 1 & 2

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Q: Food that will make you happy:

🐹:

Chicken.

Lobster.

Yakiniku/ grilled meat. No more words are needed, right!

🐰:

Melon, apple mango. My favorite fruits.

Ice cream. It’s the best out of all the snacks.

Green tea. Whether it’s ice tea, latte or smoothie, it’s my favorite flavor.

Q: Up till now, what kind of things were you captivated by, please tell us which film/drama, music, book/manga:

🐹:

The Korean drama “Plus Nine Boys”. It has an innocent feeling to it.

“Wolf Children”, it’s my favorite animation.

“Parasyte”, it’s interesting. I recommend it!

🐰:

The film “Love 911”. The way they loved each other was so wonderful.

40 (Forty)’s ‘Sing the spring’. If I have a girl that I like, I want to sing this song (to her).

Anohana: The Flower We Saw That Day. It was a touching animation.

Q: Ideal type:

🐹:

A girl with a puppy-look. For some reason, recently I’m attracted to girls that looks like puppies.

I have always liked cute girls.

A kind girl. There’s no need to state the reason. I like kind people.

🐰:

Someone who has a lot of knowledge, who is intelligent.

A healthy person.

Someone that has long hair and with fair-skin.

Q: In ‘Danger’, there is a “blackout” part in the lyrics. Recently, were there any “blackout” incidents?

🐹: When we had our comeback for ‘Danger’ on Inkigayo and we pre-recorded it. We danced to such a hard song for 20 times (more than I’ve expected). Everything went black in front of me and I thought that I was going to collapse.

🐰: When we were preparing the album. We were filming abroad, had photo shoots and also had to record (songs). I was dead tired at the time and we also had dance practices. I slept an hour a day. Seriously it was tough.

Q: On what matters do you want to say “I’m puzzled/ confused” to the members?

🐹: Everyone, when they say they’re going to sleep, they don’t go to bed but instead they would be doing something else. If you say you’re going to sleep, I hope you turn off the lights and go to sleep (laughs).

🐰: Whenever we order something to eat, no one would say “let’s eat this!” We can never decide on the menu.

Q: In films, is there a romance scene that makes you think “I want to experience it!”

🐹: I want to look at the scenery on top of a tall building, sitting together and with her leaning on me. It’s not something that I’ve seen (in the films), I just want to try it out.

🐰: In the film “Love 911”, there was a kiss scene where the guy lifted up the woman with both hands. I want to try that (once) before I die.

Q: If you had to show your dark and wild side?

🐹: When I’m absentminded, the people around me would often say: “what’s wrong? You look gloomy.” When I’m really tired, I seem to look very gloomy. ‘Wild’, maybe when I’m using my strength?

🐰: I’m a little bit moody so when I’m in a bad mood I become very ‘dark’. When I’m in a good mood, I’m really pumped up/ excited. I’m ‘wild’ when I’m dancing and catching bugs. Maybe liking horror films could count as being ‘wild’ too.

Q: I’ve heard that your aim or wish is to own a building under your own name, why’s that?

🐹: When I was young, my family was not wealthy. My father worked really hard for our current living state. I also want to become successful and decided the aim of my life. For Koreans, a person who owns a building is a symbol of success.

Q: It there something that you want to do before you turn 20?

🐰: I want to travel abroad and not for work. Especially, I want to go to Japan and Sweden, because we’ve been there before but we didn’t have much time to play/ have fun. I hope that time passes quickly so I’ll turn into an adult and I can do a lot of things as I want. I want to own a mobile phone under my own name and I also want to get a driver’s license.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

[chikucabllp]

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[ryansbedroom]

My 2023 in retrospect...

Well, that year is almost over. Here's my story of 2023.

This year marked the 30th Anniversary of my time at the Surrey Downs Child Care Centre which I didn't like a little at first as I felt like a prisoner but I soon got the hang of it later. Also, my first video game, 'Super Mario All-Stars' for the SNES hit store shelves 30 years ago too but didn't get it until Christmas a year later at that time.

In January, I went to the St Kilda Mangrove Boardwalk for the first time in many years. It looked a bit different compared with last time I looked.

In February, I got a Lightburn Zeta coffee mug and saw a show at the Garden Of Unearthly Delights all by myself for the first time in my life! Then later, I saw Luke Million perform music from his first album 'Gina The Synth Cat' on his handy keytar! Then at the end, I got lucky and managed to grab one of his drumsticks! From a shop in Chinatown, I bought a Pikachu-design bathroom spout extension which slides onto most horizontal spouts!

In March, I got my Knight Rider Historians tee-shirt showing the GMC Prime Mover & Trailer which is now currently being restored. Went to the new TK-Maxx store at Churchill Centre in Kilburn and tried both 'Bard' & 'Barbarian' burgers from Carl's Jr who have teamed up with the board game based film, Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Theives. After a remarkable 25 Years, Ash Ketchum's quest to become a true Pokemon Master came to an epic conclusion with the callback mini-series, 'Aim To Be A Master'. He and Pikachu came a long, long way together through the low times and the high. We still saluted him, celebrated him and praised him like we should.

In April, I went to a LEGO exhibit at the Museum Of Adelaide, then to a car show at Echunga Oval and then to an Easter carnival on Ridley Reserve. Bought the LEGO Icons 'Land Rover Defender 110' which is considered to be my best one for 2023 with working suspension, steering and the ability to tow! I even built a trailer to go with it!

In May, I took a time-lapse video of a Wisdom 'Sizzler' ride being setup for the first time in my life! Built a LEGO model of the gas heater we used to have in the lounge room until 2007. Went on a few tram rides at the St Kilda Tramway Museum.

In June, went to the Model Railway Exhibition in Angle Park. Then went on a few buses during a 'Farewell Tour' of the MAN NL202 fleet.

In July, I put 'Richard Stevens Hire' decals on my blue LEGO trailer as a nod to the days before Kennards came to South Australia! The old streetlights on our street were upgraded to LED. Saw the 'Barbie' movie at Hoyts. Brixpo was way better than ever, so was AVCon!

In August, The St Kilda Tramway Museum had a showcase of old buses. Then I went to the Gawler Show.

In September, Went to the Royal Adelaide Show and saw a small ex-John Martins semi trailer which was owned by one of the amusement companies. The supposed Masters Home Improvement store in Noarlunga is now being converted to Bunnings after sitting unused for quite some time. My grandmother Ann Smith turned 90 and we celebrated her birthday at the main hall in her aged care village. Took a hike in Cobbler Creek Recreation Park and I was exceptionally lucky to avoid getting bitten by a snake which could've cut my life short. Then I finally advanced onto my full driver's license and had a beer at the Old Spot Hotel in commemoration of the 15th Anniversary of my first 'legal drink'.

In October, The former house of 'The Owens' (i.e. my mother's parents) was put up for sale. Had a discussion with an NDIS employee at the Disabilty, Ageing & Lifestyle Expo at the showgrounds. Then for the first time in almost 13 years, looked around in the Roseworthy Agricultural Museum and went on some rides at the Roseworthy Miniature Railway Club! Went to the Tonsley Hotel in Clovelly Park to have a meal before it closed its doors to be redeveloped for the T2D Infrastructure Project. The former Red Rooster building at Harbor Town in West Beach was finally demolished after TEN YEARS! Then I went to the National Motor Museum for the 'Bay To Birdwood' car showcase!

In November, Went to the first ever Tiny Homes Expo at the Adelaide Showgrounds. Ingle Farm Shopping Centre changed its name to Ingle Farm Plaza and the old 'wind pump' signboards had to be removed and replaced with generic rectangular ones. Went to the Skye Lookout for a lovely view of the city and its surroundings. Bought the new Jazwares 'Train & Play Deluxe Pikachu' from Toyworld! I just couldn't resist it.

In December, I went to the new entertainment complex in the former Harris Scarfe floors of Rundle Place. Received my 1/43 Scale Knight Rider FLAG Rig from a seller in Portugal but was in a few pieces so I had to gorilla-glue them back on. Also did a repair to a LEGO Fabuland plane set as the left-side exhaust pipe was in two pieces when I bought it from a shop in Cowell. Went on Adelaide's first ever BEB (Battery-Electric Bus) on Route 99C for the first time in my life! For Christmas, I got the new LEGO Chevrolet Corvette!

[blogadobe]

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[latetaektalk]

Hi, I don’t want to bother you about this because it is just personal stuff but I wanted some advice. I’m a junior in high school so I’m reaching that age where I will be getting my drivers license soon. (I will be taking my test around December/ January) I still have lots of time for practice and everything but me and my mom have started discussing the topic of what my car will be. Originally due to family issues my uncle gave my mom his car and we had agreed that it would become my car even though it’s wasn’t my choice. But my mom ended up giving my uncle back the car because he was in a rough situation. But now that my mom is car less she is using my dads car (he has two but one is his personal car and the other is a company car given to him from his job) and she wants her own car asap. She had told me that because she was going to give my uncle the car back (and it was supposed to be mine) she would buy me my dream car instead (a vw beetle) and she would have to figure out what she would end up driving but she told me not to worry about it. But now she made the decision to buy my aunts car (because my aunt wants a new car) and since she’s going to buy it, the car would be passed to me when I get my license (which she didn’t tell me until tonight). In my head she would buy my aunts car for herself because she loves my aunts car and I would get my beetle like she originally said. But since she told me that wasn’t the case and my aunts car would be mine I was upset but I wasn’t going to act entitled. After doing some thinking I told her I would get the beetle myself. Since I won’t be getting my license till the end of the year I still have time to save up money to get a car. I will be getting a job in October (after my birthday) and I told her that I would pay for the car myself and she wouldn’t need to worry about it but that upset her for some reason. I feel that she doesn’t believe I can handle it myself because my parents have financial issues and she thinks I’ll be the same way. So then comes my need for advice, how do I get my mom to understand that I want to be able to do this for myself and I wholeheartedly believe that I can make the payments for a car on my own? Another aspect is even though she claims she loves my aunts car she also doesn’t want to get stuck with it because she also doesn’t want that car for the long run. She’s only going to buy it because its cheaper and because she’s currently car less. (She isn’t relying on my dads cars) I want her to know that I understand the financial issues and that’s why she is making these decisions but I also want to be included in these decisions that impact me. I’m sorry this is a lot and I understand if you don’t want to deal with this.

hi bub 💓 first of all, i wanna say that you dont have to apologise at all! im always happy to help and give some advice to the best of my abilities!! now, im gonna be putting my answer under the cut because this is a bit longer

i wanna start out by telling you that your feelings are completely valid. youre almost an adult now and obviously want to be included in decisions that affect you, especially such a big one as buying a car. its unfortunate that your mother didnt discuss these matters with you prior!

aside from that, i do think that you should talk to your mother about her wanting to buy a car that, in the end, she will just pass on to you! now, i understand that it must be very difficult to have no car right now, especially if there are also finanical issues, but it doesnt seem very fair to me that you have to be the one to be stuck with the car later either. maybe tell your mother how she wouldnt want to be stuck with the car, why would you want it then? point out that this isnt fair, but also acknowledge what a privilege it is to be getting a car in the first place! stress that you dont want to sound entilted in any way or ignore the financial issues your parents are having, but that you simply want to be able to make decisions of your own! maybe you could talk to your mother about how she could use one of your dad's cars if she really needs one so desperately? or maybe even public transport? how about getting a bike and using that for a while? you could also offer her that youll help her get around when you have your car! maybe then she will be even willing to help you pay for it, or at least see how it is beneficial for you to get your own car.

from your ask ive gathered that youve already talked to your mother about it, right? now im not sure how you approached the subject, but maybe this time when you bring it up again, you could prepare something beforehand that shows her just how serious you are about this! maybe you could come up with a plan, or a powerpoint presentation in which you lay out all of the issues and how you plan on solving them—how will you be getting the money? how much do you have saved up already? how are you going to cover car insurance? how is buying your own car going to be beneficial? etc. i also think you should touch on how you understand that there are financial issues but like youve said, you would like to be included in these types of decisions because they do impact you. not to mention, youre almost an adult too! you should therefore be treated like someone capable of making their own decisions! you should also bring up how much you love the car and present getting it as an investment, something youll be using for years to come, something that will help you later on after graduation to get to uni or your workplace etc.

if youre thorough with your plan/presentation (or whatever else you end up coming up with), your mother will hopefully see that you are completely serious about this!

i hope i could somehow help you bub, and that your mother will see that you are completely serious about this!! wishing you good luck 💕 please know that im cheering on for you here! also i hope your driving lessons go well ✨

[miekasa]

NICE.

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

+ genres: rich kid au, college au, friends to lovers au, fluff, light-ish angst, smut/nsfw content (everybody gets a piece)!

+ warnings: mentions of depression/anxiety, mentions and use of drugs and alcohol, some of the smut happens under the influence so be cautious if that’s something you don’t like, i swear this is all more idiots in love than angst tho i just wanna disclose everything fairly

+ notes: this is alternatively titled super rich kids and you can probably figure out why. some of this is based off of real life, some of it is straight out of gossip girl and i challenge you to separate the facts from the fiction :’) anyways, i hope we all remember the lyrics to in my feelings

+ more notes: one quick reference for ages in this fic—all the vets are older but not by that much, think various stages of grad school. armin, connie, sasha, annie, and bertholdt are all college sophomores. eren, the reader, and pretty much everybody else are college seniors, so they’re about a year or two older. also here is a playlist for your reading pleasures, shoutout to ryn for letting me mooch of their spotify account :’)

+ word count: 19k. i’m sorry.

+ summary: fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool, fuck you.; or the story of notorious rich kid and self-proclaimed bad boy eren yeager, and his not so goody two-shoes best friend.

“So you’re saying that you don’t love me? That you’re not riding? That you’ll actually leave from beside me?”

“I’m saying that it’s ass o’clock in the morning and I’m not driving in the rain to Brooklyn to pick your sorry ass up.”

“But… but I want you, and I need you, and I’m down for you.”

You check the time on your phone screen and groan. 3:57am. Far too early to be dealing with the likes of Eren Jaeger. “Just get an Uber or something. I don’t know what you and your idiot friends were up to this time, but I don’t want any part of it.”

“First, they’re our idiot friends. Second, I don’t think they let you take Ubers from jail, and even if they did, it’s, like, four in the morning, so I don’t think there are any Ubers driving around, so could you pretty please come pick me up? I promise I’ll make it up to—”

“From where?” you cut him off, slowly sitting upright in your bed. You hold your phone closer to your ear, ready to listen again; because, certainly, you must have misheard him the first time. You wait, but the line is silent, save for Eren’s awkward chuckling. “Eren Asher Jaeger, tell me that that was another stupid lyric from that stupid song, and that you are not in prison right now.”

Eren makes a sad attempt at laughing. “Technically, it’s a holding cell, not really prison… and I would leave, but they suspended my license for a month, and Min can’t drive yet, so we kind of need you,” he explains, “Uh, no pun intended.”

“Min?” you pull your eyebrows together at the mention of the younger’s name, “Is Armin with you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

With a frown and a heavy sigh, you push yourself out of bed, wedging your phone between your shoulder and your ear as you grab the nearest pair of sweatpants.

“Why did you get him caught up in whatever stupid shit you were doing tonight?” you complain, scanning your dark bedroom for a shirt to wear, “Erwin’s going to castrate you when he finds out.”

You curse as you stub your toe against the edge of your bed on your way out of the room. Given the time, weather, and the fact that you have several exams to start studying for, hanging up and leaving Eren in the middle of god knows where Brooklyn doesn’t seem like such a bad idea, but you couldn’t go back to sleep knowing that Armin would have to suffer with him.

“Relax,” Eren breathes in a tone all too nonchalant for the situation at hand, “He didn’t get charged with anything, and nothing’s going on his record.”

“You don’t know that,” you retort, sliding your raincoat over your free arm, as you paddle down the stairs of your apartment, “The NYPD suck.”

“True,” he hums, “But I paid off the cop, so it’ll be fine.”

You pause in your steps, but really, you shouldn’t be surprised. “Of course you did,” you mumble, moving again and grabbing your car keys off of the kitchen island.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he questions. His tone is actually genuine and it tempts you to roll your eyes.

“What it always means, Eren,” you sigh, stepping into the elevator, “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“Thank you, baby. I love you.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Get off my line.”

He doesn’t have time to throw in another pitiful “I love you” before the line goes dead and he’s met with static silence. He hangs up the station telephone with a silent chuckle, turning around to face Armin and Officer Hannes.

“Someone’s coming to pick us up,” he says, trying to focus on Armin’s sigh of relief and not the warmth creeping up his neck and into his cheeks, “I’ll, uh, call a tow for the car in the morning.”

The cop, too tired to care, only shrugs, and pays them no further attention. He hands Eren a plastic bag with his car keys and newly suspended license, escorts him back into the cell, and returns to his desk. Eren gives Hannes the finger while his back is turned.

Beside him, Armin is still quivering; bouncing his leg up and down, fiddling with his fingers, gnawing on his bottom lip. Eren frowns, a heavy wave of guilt washing over him as he takes in the younger’s anxiety ridden state. It wasn’t fair that Armin could have potentially suffered legal consequences because of his stupidity.

Eren’s lucky that Hannes was sleazy enough to accept his bribe and let him off with minimal punishment. With that they were doing, things could have ended up far worse for the both of them tonight.

“I’m sorry, man,” he apologizes, hands stuffed in his front pockets, “About tonight, I mean. We—I shouldn’t have done that, not with you there.”

Armin looks up at him with sparkling, doe eyes and Eren wants to punch himself in the gut for making him go through all of this, even if it didn’t amount to an actual arrest. “You couldn’t have known this was going to happen.”

“I could have prevented it,” he says. Because it’s what you would have said, too.

“It’s not your fault, I wanted to come, remember?” Armin tells him, redirecting his gaze to the grey floor of the precinct cell. He takes a deep breath, almost calming down completely when a sudden thought reignites his nervous ticks, “You… they’re not gonna tell my parents, right?”

“No, no—of course not.”

Armin was legally an adult; he, nor Eren, nor the police had to tell his parents anything. Sure, Hannes could rat them out, but honestly that sounded like way more work than he was cut out for; not to mention he’d be bound to reveal that he let them off easy for a couple thousand bucks.

Armin nods, “And… that wasn’t Erwin on the phone, right?”

“Are you kidding me? He’d murder me on the spot,” Eren says. He pauses before tacking on, “I, uh… I called (_____).”

“Oh,” the younger gapes, “She’ll kill you, too.”

“Yeah,” Eren sighs, scratching the back of his neck in nervous anticipation, “Trust me, I know.”

“You have your access card on you, right, Armin?” you ask. He nods sheepishly, hand on the car door handle.

“Thanks again for coming to get us,” he says meekly, “I’m sorry about waking you up and everything.”

You offer him a warm smile through the rear view mirror, “Don’t worry about it, I’m just glad you’re safe. Text me when you get up tomorrow, okay? We can get brunch, my treat.”

His face lights up at the prospect of free food, and he nods once more, enthusiastically, but his expression falls again when he speaks, “Okay, and I’ll, um, pay you back for the tickets and stuff as soon as I can—”

“It’s fine, really, don’t worry about it,” you repeat.

“It was almost three thou—”

“You forget who you’re friends with,” you cut him off with a smile, “Don’t worry about it, okay? It wasn’t your fault.”

Armin’s eyes dart to Eren quickly, before clearing his throat, a light pink tint to his cheeks. You know that the prospect of money can be a sensitive subject for Armin, one easily triggered by his very environment, but this wasn’t negotiable on your end. You know that Armin doesn’t like the feeling of owing anyone anything, but he knows he won’t get you to budge; so, he quietly nods, appreciative of your generosity, before bidding you and Eren a final goodnight and sprinting towards the dorm. Once you see that he’s safely inside, you wave one last time, and wait for the door to shut behind him.

Slowly, Eren turns to the driver’s seat to look at you. You were eerily calm when you came to pick him and Armin up from the station. You didn’t yell, cuss, or punch him in the face like he expected. You politely talked to the officer, thanked him for his service, paid their fees, and up until now, you’ve shown no signs of being angry with him at all.

The two of you drive back to your shared apartment in complete silence, Eren too confused, and borderline scared, of initiating a conversation. He wonders if you’re too tired, or if you really don’t give a damn anymore, but when you pull into the underground lot of your building and put the car in park, he finds out the silence was simply the calm before the storm.

You take your hand off of the gear shift and turn towards him. It’s a quiet stare down for nearly a full minute before you break the mime act with a slap to his thigh.

“Drag racing? Are you out of your fucking mind? Of all the stupid shit you’ve done—and you’ve done a lot of stupid shit—this has got to take the cake. Just what the actual fuck were you thinking?”

“Ouch!” he inhales sharply, rubbing over where you’d hit him, “We were just having fun! Then these other guys showed up and started talking shit so—”

“Having fun?” you echo, “You couldn’t think of anything fun to do that’s not illegal in every borough of New York City?”

Eren feels his cheek flush, but he only huffs with the illusion of disinterest, “I don’t know why you’re freaking out so bad. I’m a good driver, it was those other squids that got us into shit, I’m telling you. They showed up looking for a fight, then ran like a bunch of pussies when the cops came.”

You exhale slowly, shaking your head in disbelief. You seem to have no other words to say to him, choosing to step out of the car and slam the door behind you. Eren quickly follows, slamming his door equally as hard, and hot on your trail as you march towards the elevator.

“(_____), come on, enough with the silent treatment,” he whines when you stick yourself in a corner of the elevator after pushing the button to the penthouse, “I told you I didn’t start shit, Armin and I got ratted on.”

“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about whether or not they started it, Eren. You’re still the problem here.”

“Me? How am I the problem?” he pulls back, eyebrows drawn together in genuine confusion, “I just told you I didn’t do shit.”

You scoff, crossing your arms and shifting your left leg, “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“Doing what with me?” he presses, tone growing icy.

“This, Eren!” you reiterate, “I’m too tired to hear your bullshit right now.”

The elevator dings and opens into your apartment. You push past him, continuing your deliberate strides through the living area, and to the stairs, but Eren catches you with a hand on your wrist before you can go any further.

“Will you fucking stop that,” he growls, “If you’ve got something to say, then stop running away from me, and just say it.”

“Funny,” you sneer, pulling your wrist away from him and settling both your feet on the bottom step, “You’re one to talk about running away from things.”

He takes a step back, standing just a notch below you, perfectly frozen in place. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means your little drag racing episode was not only dangerous and immature, it was you running away from your problems like a spoiled child, yet again.”

Eren’s features narrow at your accusations; eyes fading into hooded slits, lips curving downwards, and voice bobbing low, “I’m not running away from anything.”

“Oh, please, Eren,” you roll your eyes, arms retreating to their crossed position in front of your chest, “Cut the bullshit.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” But he bets that even in the dim lighting of the apartment, you can see the tips of his ears growing red, just like they always do when he’s lying.

“Oh, really?” you ask, eyes widening in mock surprise, “You don’t think I don’t know this whole thing has something to do with the fact that your mom came home on Friday?”

Another pause. “Who told you that?” He asks, but it comes out more like a statement.

“Nobody had to,” you snap, “Jean said he caught you with a sack of coke over the weekend, and I knew something was up.”

“It wasn’t mine, I was—”

“I said cut the shit, Eren. If I went up into your room right now I bet your ass I’d find more than enough of it in a shoebox somewhere.”

He retreats, almost bashful, but unapologetic all the same. “Fine, whatever, I did a few lines. Big deal.”

“The big deal is that you think this is fucking normal, and now you’ve upgraded from coke to getting yourself arrested! It’d be one thing if you were acting like a misfit on your own, but to drag Armin into it because you—”

“Drag him into it?” he echoes with the snare of sarcasm dripping from each syllable, “You talk about Armin like he’s six. I don’t know why you think he’s some helpless little baby, but you have no goddamn responsibility over him. He’s not your fucking charity case.”

“I never fucking said he’s my charity case—don’t you ever fucking say that,” you say, “Having some basic respect and concern for my friends isn’t charity.”

“Wake the fuck up! You baby Armin when he’s a grown ass man. I didn’t force him into the fucking car to get sympathy points from you.”

“Grown? Armin is barely nineteen, disowned by his parents, is on a full fucking ride to an insanely expensive university, and you got him arrested tonight! Do you know what could happen if NYU found out? They could fucking kick him out, take his scholarship away—and then what, huh? Or were you just gonna buy off the headmaster, too?”

“You’re acting like I fucking planned for it!”

He’s screaming now, voice bellowing throughout the apartment, face red—and he doesn’t mean to, he doesn’t mean it at all; but it’s late, and he’s tired, and those shouldn’t be excuses, but he’s too prideful to back down.

“Of course you didn’t! You didn’t plan for anything, you were just being a reckless, irresponsible asshole like always,” you tell him, too blind-sighted by anger and the need to chide him that you miss the teary undertones in his words.

“And what’s it matter to you?”

“It fucking matters to me when you call at some godforsaken hour asking me to pick you up from prison!”

He takes a step forward, right leg elevated by the same step that both your feet rest on. “Well, what else am I supposed to fucking do!” He shouts even though he’s mere inches from your face, “Tell me just what the fuck I’m supposed to do instead!”

“You’re supposed to act like an adult and fucking talk to someone!”

“Who the hell am I supposed to talk to, huh?” he presses, taking a step forward and forcing you to retreat backwards, and up a step, “My mother who’s never home or her bastard boyfriend?”—another step forward for him, another step backwards for you—“The step-brother I can’t get in contact with?”—one step forward; one step backwards—“Or maybe the dad I never had, right?”

“Me, Eren!” you yell back with equal vigor, throwing your hands up at your sides, and planting your feet firmly. “Armin, Mikasa, Jean—anyone! You have people who fucking care about you! Stop treating us like correction officers, we’re your fucking friends!”

There’s silence for a while, just you and Eren staring at each other, heavy breathing, waiting for the other to make the next move. He opens his mouth, but when he tries to speak, his resolve washes away, his throat tightens and the words get sucked back in.

It would be easy to keep yelling, screaming, blaming you for blowing up on him. He used to think the scolding he got from you after pulling some stupid stunt was the worst part; but now, he thinks it might be his favorite part. He hates to hear you scream, and it hurts to see you cry, but if you’re yelling, you’re angry that he hurt himself; you care that he’s okay.

“I—” he stutters, words quiet and broken, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to get like this tonight, it was an accident I—”

“You never mean for any of it to happen, yet it always does,” you interrupt, voice soft yet strained, “I know you have your own shit to deal with, but so does everybody else.”

“(_____), please, you’re right, okay? I should have said something before,” he admits, mouth small as he voices his confessions, “I should have talked to you or one of the boys, but I—I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

He’s groveling now. Mouth in pout, eyes wide, voice small, and honestly, he thinks he might cry. At this point he doesn’t care if he does.

“I want you to mean it,” you finally say, and when he looks up, he hates the look he sees in your eyes. It’s something between sad and hurt and empty and it’s awful. Someone like you shouldn’t feel that way. He shouldn’t make you feel that way.

“I—”

“When you’re ready to tell me exactly what’s going on with you—what’s happening that made you think going to jail would be better than facing your issues—I’ll be here to talk,” you continue, eyes watering, “But until then, goodnight, Eren.”

Eren winces when you turn around and ascend up the remaining stairs. He flirts with the idea of following you, going to your room to finish talking, but you’re probably angry enough to have it locked. His room is up there, too, but he opts for part of the sectional, laying down with the palms of his hands kneading against his closed eyelids.

For as long as he can remember, you’ve been there for him. Your friendship, at times, was like a game of tag—Eren always on the run with you loyally chasing after him; he’d always run amuck, and you’d always be there to catch him in the act. Now, it’s five in the morning, there’s no more yelling, no more chasing, no more racing, but he’s still running.

The following morning, you take Armin out to brunch, as promised. Jean tags along too, something about hanging out with the two of you being infinitely more entertaining than his genetics lecture. It doesn’t seem like Jean knows anything about Armin and Eren’s late night antics, so you don’t bring it up yourself.

Oblivious, Jean chats your ears off as if nothing is awry. Whether he knows it or not, he does a great job of distracting Armin from his own thoughts. They both eat to their heart’s content when you remind them you’ll foot the bill; and you don’t bat an eye when Jean convinces Armin to order his third round of pancakes. He deserves it.

Afterwards, Jean convinces the three of you to go window shopping with him in SoHo, claiming that he needed inspiration for his latest fashion assignment (you don’t question why he’s taking a fashion class as a biology major, but you suspect it has something to do with Mikasa). Window shopping soon turns into actual shopping, so almost completely unprompted, and with little effort on his part, Armin gets a few pieces of clothing on your behalf, while you try to ignore Eren’s words itching at the back of your mind.

Armin’s not a baby, but he certainly is a kid with a rough past and rough relationship with his parents at a time in his life where he arguably needs them the most. A little extra support from his friends wouldn’t harm him.

It’s nearing six when the three of you are wedged in a small booth inside a café, indulging in overpriced hot chocolate. Three sips into his second cup, Jean excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving you sitting across from Armin.

“You know, you don’t have to keep buying me stuff to make up for Eren,” Armin says, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I’m not trying to make up for him,” you sputter, careful not to spill your drink over your lap, “You had a rough night. Just accept my gifts, don’t be a brat.”

“I do accept them. Erwin’s been eyeing that Off White sweater for, like, three weeks now. He’s gonna have a hissy fit when he sees me wearing it.” You chuckle, and he continues, “But you know, as much I love spending time with you, you can’t use me to avoid Eren forever.”

“I’m not avoiding him,” you frown.

“You said you were going to take us to brunch, and then spent the whole day with us.”

“Funny, I recall you saying something about how much you love my company about thirty seconds ago.”

“He’s called you at least ten times today.”

“I was spending the day with my favorite NYU student… and Jean,” you bat your lashes, “I see you maybe once a week. I live with Eren, I have to see him every day.”

Armin calls your name with a pout, “He’s sorry, you know.”

“Not sorry enough,” you mumble. Armin opens his mouth to say something again, but then Jean’s sliding back into the booth, chatting about how he’s finally come up with the perfect anniversary date for Mikasa.

Armin doesn’t notice your sigh of relief, but he does take note of the way you wipe away your notifications when a text rings through. If Eren could spend his days running away from his problems, then you could, too.

Despite being arguably the greediest of you all, Jean loves company, so he doesn’t hesitate to say yes when you ask to crash at his place after your shopping escapades. You expect to be welcomed with sounds of screaming, laughter, and loud music, but to your surprise his apartment is completely silent upon your entering.

“Bertholdt has class and Marco has a meeting,” he prompts, as if he could read your thoughts. He shimmies his coat off his shoulders and tosses it over the bar in the foyer.

Their apartment has the same amount of rooms as yours and Eren’s, but is all stretched along a single floor. It’s more of a maze, really, with intricate turns, and hallways, that all more or less open up into the expanse of the foyer and bar. Their living room is your favorite part. A dark, brown leather sectional wraps around the back three walls and an oversized flatscreen encased in an ebony frame takes center stage. A collection of vinyl records litters the walls above the couch; each of the boys contributing their favorite discs as décor.

“If he has class, shouldn’t you have class?” you question, fingers dragging over the ridges of the closest record.

“I’ve had class all day, but that doesn’t mean I go,” Jean shrugs, walking up behind you and taking your jacket off your shoulders and your bag from your hand, “Besides, Bertholdt will probably cut half-way to go see Reiner, if he can even stay awake that long. Going with him is just as productive as staying home.”

“You’re all a mess,” you scoff, turning around as a cheesy grin grows on Jean’s lips. His smile is infectious, and soon you catch yourself grinning just because.

“You want something to drink?” he offers, throwing your coat over his elbow and tilting his head in the direction of the bar.

“You’re bad at mixing drinks,” you remind him, but follow him anyway.  

Jean laughs, not bothering to deny the jab. He doesn’t try his hand at anything mixed or complicated this time; simply offering you a glass of your favorite red, and pouring himself a smaller amount.

He puts the album you were gawking at earlier on the record player, the two of you sinking into the couch as lovely melodies radiate throughout the apartment.

He spends the first hour bitching about how Marco’s supposed to become a CEO in less than a year, yet has the attention span of a squirrel; but the playful lilt in the brunette’s voice, and the begrudging smile on his face lets you know that it’s all love. He gushes about Mikasa for a good half hour, cramming you with stories about his girlfriend’s talent for sewing and fashion. You also learn that Bertholdt’s been busier than usual these days, and Jean suspects it has something to do with a secret lover.

You pinch your eyebrows at his hunch. Bertholdt’s never been one for dating. He’s had many friends with benefits in the past, but they weren’t relationships, nor were they secrets. In fact, you don’t think that he could keep a secret to save his life.

“Why would he be hiding it if he were seeing someone?” you question, swirling your newly refilled glass.

“Dunno,” Jean shrugs, “But it’s sus, I’m telling you. He’s been oddly busy for someone with a 2.3 GPA. Either way, I’ll pry it out of him eventually.”

“You’re so fucking nosey,” you chuckle, watching the mischievous, satisfied grin settle onto his features.

“I kinda think it’s Armin,” Jean says after a while, downing the remaining wine in his cup, while you choke on your own drink.

“Why on Earth do you think if Bertholdt had a secret lover that it’d be Armin?”

“Because he was in love with him for, like, two years in high school,” Jean says, as if the information should be painfully obvious.

“Yeah, and Bert also hooked up with a million different people in high school.”

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t still in love with Armin.”

“I don’t think Armin’s kissed another human, let alone is in a secret relationship with one.”

“Hm, true. I forget he’s still a virgin.”

“Hey—there’s nothing wrong with Armin being a virgin, leave him be.”

“I know there’s nothing wrong with it,” Jean whines, “But it’s so—he doesn’t have to be. Armin’s cute! And very attractive—dare I even say sexy. He could go outside and get laid right now if he just tried.”

“Stay humble, Jean boy. If I remember correctly, you only started breaking hearts a year ago,” you tut. Jean’s nose goes pink as he shoves you away when you continue, “But, if you’re so concerned with Armin’s virginity, why don’t you go help him out with it.”

“Actually, if I remember correctly, I think that’s more your gig,” he shoots back, a smug smile tugging on his lips. “Not to mention, I’m not trying to get beat up by Annie. Though, I wonder how much longer it’ll take before she finally snaps. Hey, maybe the both of you can tag team him, I’m sure Annie wouldn’t mind, and it might even make Armin less nervous to have you—”

It’s your turn to shove him now, throwing in an extra punch when his head bobs back with laughter. You’re very certain Annie would mind; you would mind if someone inserted themself in your kind of, sort of, not really relationship, and ruined your four years of pining.

“Speaking of lovers,” Jean prompts, once his laughter dies down, bending his knee and turning closer to you. “Why are you and lover boy fighting? Trouble in paradise?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hum, sipping your drink in between words. Jean’s eyes pinch together. “Marco and I would never fight.”

“My god, will you let your Marco fantasies go already? You’ve already caused him one sexuality crisis,” Jean groans, “You know I mean Eren.”

You sigh, lowering your glass and reaching forward to pinch his cheek. “It’s nothing you have to worry your pretty little head over.”

“Please,” he scoffs, flicking your offending hand back, “He’s been texting us nonstop since this morning at, like, nine. I didn’t even know he was capable of waking up before noon.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, but Jean continues, “Why he would ask us for advice on you is beyond me. He knows you better than all of us combined.”

“And why you’re saying all of this is beyond me.”

“Oh, come on, what’d he do,” Jean pushes, borderline whines, as he puts his empty glass down in a cup holder embedded in the couch. He’s always been the most prone to gossip, but you forget that wine makes him even more of a nosey prick. “Must have been pretty bad. Or stupid.”

“Try both,” you mumble, “Well—I don’t know, it wasn’t… the worst thing anyone could do, but it was really fucking reckless—and why he did it, I couldn’t even tell you. I don’t know what goes through his mind half the time, but I swear he must have been on crack last night.”

“He probably was. On crack, I mean. I told you, I took an ounce from him over the weekend, but that was after Eren and Ymir did, like, five lines.”

“Do they really do that regularly?” you nearly cry, a hand massaging your temple, “Fucking Christ, if he really was high while driving, I’ll kill him myself.”

“Well, I don’t know if regular is the right word,” Jean ponders, “Maybe for Ymir, but god knows what she’s on half the time, anyways. Besides, coke isn’t the worst thing they could do.”

“You sound like you speak from personal experience.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, pausing when you shoot him a disapproving look, “Oh, come on! You’re no angel, either—if memory serves, you were high as shit at Moblit’s birthday party, and kept singing the star spangled banner all night.”

“Yeah, on weed! One time! It was on a rooftop and the stars were out and it has the same rhythm as the happy birthday song, cut me some slack!”

He finds laughing at your expense to be much more fun, however, as he continues to chuckle while you throw a fit. He’s also not one to let a topic of gossip go undiscussed, and has no problem bringing the conversation back to Eren.

“It’s because you two don’t talk, you know,” Jean tuts, “That’s why you fight like this.”

For the second time, the younger’s words have your eyebrows growing close together. “I mean, I guess—but it’s more than that. Eren and I live together, we obviously talk, but—”

“I know, I know, but just hear me out, okay? You and Eren talk about a lot of things, yeah, but you also… don’t. And sometimes you don’t have to, because you guys, like… get each other.”

“Wow. What a way with words you have, Jean Kirstein. You should write a self-help book.”

“What I mean,” he sneers, unhappy with the sarcasm being thrown his way, “Is that you guys understand each other in weird ways. It’s actually kind of cute—sometimes a little freaky, in all honesty. It’s why you don’t always have to talk about serious things. But you take it for granted and let shit bottle up, and then get in denial about it until you blow up in each other’s faces.”

“Please, you barely passed one philosophy class and now you think you’re Plato.”

“You’re doing the in denial thing right now!” he taunts, “Come one, when you two fight like this, what’s it usually about?”

You sigh, sinking back into the plush leather of the couch, and wrapping your hands around a fluffy throw pillow. Thinking about arguing with Eren isn’t particularly something you like to do, and truthfully, you don’t really get pissed at each other that often. Not to the point of ignoring each other, at least.

“I don’t know,” you drawl, “Drugs, me forgetting things, him doing stupid shit, him thinking Mikasa could do better than you, school, drinking, the fact that he leaves his big ass shoes at the top of the stairs for me to trip over and fall to my death every morning, when—”

“His parents?” Jean cuts you off.

“I—we don’t really… it’s not so much fighting over his parents, it’s all the stuff he does to deal with his parents. He never gives his mom’s boyfriends a chance, and he never really talks about why, either. I know he’s secretly just angry and insecure about his dad, but… I don’t know. That doesn’t really make it better.”

“True,” he nods, “See—he doesn’t talk about it.”

“I know, and I told him that last night, too, but… it’s a sensitive subject for him—his dad, I mean,” you sigh, “And you’re right, he shouldn’t bottle his feelings up, but, on the other hand he’s watched his mom get married five times. I don’t always blame him for not wanting to talk about it.”

“Yeah, but just because it’s hard to talk about doesn’t mean he shouldn’t,” Jean lolls, “Wouldn’t you have rather he said something than have done whatever stupid shit he did to make you want to sleep here tonight?”

“Okay, Socrates, I get it,” you lighten up, “I’ll talk to him—or get him to talk to me. Are you happy?”

“Quite,” he says, annoyingly chipper as he rises from the couch. “I hate seeing my favorite power couple fighting.”

Jean knows his words would elicit a slap to his arm, so he takes off just before you can reach him, prompting you to chase him out of the living room and down the hall. The brunette cackles ridiculously loudly as you scream his name with profanities sprinkled in-between. You catch a hold of the bottom of his shirt and pull him back, finally flicking him on the forehead.

He accepts his punishment with pride, offering you a signature smile in return while you both catch your breaths. It’s a sweet moment, the two of you looking at each other with stupid smiles on your face, exhalations tickling your cheeks.

Jean’s eyes break the gaze first, as he looks down the remainder of your face, and back up to your eyes again. His words could get caught in his throat, but he doesn’t let them—he shakes his head, and swiftly turns around, beckoning for you to follow him.

“Come on, we can steal Marco’s clothes for your pajamas this time.”

Jean spends all of three minutes pulling apart Marco’s dresser before swiping a t-shirt and Christmas themed pajama bottoms from his room. He tosses them in your direction before leading you back down the hall and to the left, opening the door to the guest bedroom for you, before leaving you to change.

They have more than one guest bedroom, but this one is unofficially yours. Little pieces of you can be found littered throughout the room, from spare jewelry to mismatched makeup. You spot a single, gold, teardrop shaped earring on the vanity and sigh as you run your fingers over it.

You swear you’d lost it a few months ago. Trust Jean to put it away for safekeeping without telling you he’d found it. The boy in question returns moments later, knocking while walking through the door with your purse in hand.

“How’d you know I was about to ask you to get that?” you question, a smile on your face as you retrieve the small bag from his hands.

Jean offers you a cocky grin, “Cause I’m the best.”

“Don’t go getting a big head, now,” you tease, “Or, well, an even bigger head.”

Jean ignores your insult, as you take a seat at the edge of the bed, fishing through your bag for your phone to plug it in for the night. He’s about to turn around and bid you goodnight, when the flash of something orange peeping out of your purse prompts his next thought.

“Hey, you picked up your refill, right?” he asks innocently, “It should have been ready last Thursday.”

You sigh, head falling slightly when you close your bag and place it on the vanity. “Uh… no.”

Jean’s mouth is already open, ready with equally friendly and scolding words, but you cut him off before he can talk. “I was going to on Thursday, but I had class late, and then I forgot on Friday and I haven’t really had time since then. But I have a few left-overs from the last two months, so I’ve been taking those!”

Jean’s mouth closes, but his eyes narrow as he begins to walk towards you. You know he’s putting two and two together, so you speak ahead of him again.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t have any left over, but it’s only five, I promise! I’ve been really good, lately.”

Jean’s eyes remain in concentrated slits, but his resolve is waning when he reads over your expression. His facade fades as he takes the final steps towards you to stand directly in front of your body.

“Okay,” he says, voice soft through his smile, “I’ll go with you to pick them up tomorrow before I drop you home, yeah?”

It elates him more than it should to see the smile you flash his way. Unfortunately, it’s short-lived, as his next question leaves your face twisted with guilt.

“Have you… told Eren yet?”

You consider lying and saying yes, but something tells you Jean won’t buy it. Your silence seems to speak loud enough, as his shoulders drop with a quiet sigh.

“I want to, I just… well I’m mad at him right now, and even when I’m not… I don’t know why it’s so hard,” you confess.

“He’d wanna know, you know,” Jean says, and it’s not the first time he’s said it to you, either. “You know he wouldn’t judge you or anything.”

“I know that. But, truthfully, if I had things my way, not even you would know, Jean.”

It was an accident that Jean found out that you’d been taking anxiety medication.

It was at somebody’s house party where the majority of your friends and their guests had gotten piss drunk. Reiner’s date had suggested mixing their alcohol with molly she’d supposedly had in her bag. In her drunken stupor, she’d mistaken your purse for her own, but luckily, a not so drunk Jean had noticed the label didn’t match her name, and snagged the bottle before the worst could happen.

They ended up not finding her molly, anyway, but it’s a moot point. Jean had cornered you about the bottle later in the week with honest intentions; he’d been concerned that might be another kind of drug disguised by a prescription veil. However, you’d assured him that it was indeed your prescribed Lexapro, and not a shady mixture of black market substances.

And, he’d been more than understanding in the aftermath. Quite frankly, he had somewhat made it his business to ensure that you got and took your medication on time and felt comfortable getting to and from your therapy appointments.

It’s endearing in a way that made you pause and count your blessings sometimes. Jean had been nothing but unequivocally supportive in his understanding about anxiety and had gone the extra mile to comfort you where need be. It made you wonder why you hesitated to tell Eren on several occasions.

It was probably the very nature of anxiety itself that had you doubting your trust in Eren. You wanted to tell him—of course you did—but, you couldn’t. You know that Eren would do everything in his power to make it better, even if that was just being. You know that he’d want to know and he’d kill to understand. But you couldn’t possibly burden him with your problems, not when he has a million of his own.

The one person in the world you wanted to tell, you were terrified of talking to. And you know it’s irrational to be afraid of him, but you can’t seem to control those thoughts. It’s a tiring, consuming, endless cycle.

Jean watches the way your gaze lowers to the floor. He knows exactly what you’re thinking, and, god, he swears if he could take that train of thought away from you, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

With a heavy heart and tired eyes, he takes a final step forward and wraps his arms around your body. He counts three, four seconds before you hug him back. He raises a hand to the back to your head, cradling your face into his shoulder and squeezing you tightly.

“Hey, I’m proud of you, you know that,” he speaks, just a notch above a whisper, “I know you’ll tell him when you’re ready.”

“I will,” you murmur into the fabric of his shirt. You hug him back a little tighter and close your eyes, “Thank you, Jean.”

And Jean holds on, and hopes you know that he wouldn’t let you go, “You’re welcome, (_____).”

You come home to find your entire apartment littered with flowers; in the hallway, on the sectional, atop the counter, up the stairs.

There are several boxes of your favorite macarons stacked in a small pyramid on the kitchen island, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you checked the labels to find that they were shipped straight from the south of France this morning. There’s too many bottles of Ace on the coffee table, sparkling next to a basket of what looks like your regular skincare products. A pretty, gold bow rests atop an even prettier pair of red-bottomed heels, and if you’re not mistaken, that’s a limited edition, vintage YSL clutch on the sectional, resting against your favorite throw pillow.

You sigh, making your way to the couch to pick up the orange envelope sticking out of the handbag. Just as you’re about to open it, you hear footsteps, and a voice that follows.

“You’re back,” Eren chirps from mid-way on the staircase, “I, uh, there’s catering coming from Butter coming soon. I know it’s your favorite,” he continues as he descends the stairs.

He has his hand on the back of his neck and there’s a faint, pink tint to his cheeks as he slowly makes his way towards you. You cross your arms, looking him up and down when he stands in front of you.

He’s wearing dark jeans and a tweed sweater with patches at the elbow. His hair is split down the middle, longer than usual, so the ends of sweep over his eyelashes; and there are telltale signs that he’d been toying with it.

“Eren, what is all of this?” you finally ask, shifting your weight to your right leg.

“Part one of my apology and explanation,” he replies, a hopeful timbre to his voice. You roll your eyes, but he continues anyway, “Actually, part two is in that envelope.”

Skeptical, you unfold your arms and open the envelope. You don’t know what you were expecting—a card, maybe tickets to a musical or something; but what you definitely weren’t expecting were two tickets to Paris.

“France?” you look up, tickets in hand, “You don’t get it do you? You can’t just buy all of this shit, jet us off to Europe and expect everything to be okay.”

“No, no it’s not like that—I swear!” he interjects, hands moving sporadically, “It’s just, well… Can we sit? Then I can explain everything.”

Eren looks at you with those big green eyes and that sad pout to his lips, and you find yourself sighing and taking a seat on the couch against your better judgement. There’s a small smile to his lips when you do—a little victory—and he sits next to you, your knees resting against each other as you face him.

He’s shaking, and your resolve to punish him with whatever solid exterior and half-assed silent treatment dissolves as you take his left hand in your right, and recall your conversation with Jean. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s me, Eren. You can talk to me.”

When he feels your smaller hand envelop his, the shaking stops, and for a moment, it feels like he can do this, like everything is okay. He smiles, and takes a deep breath.

“The other night, you were right, about my mom and her boyfriend coming home,” he starts, words slow and heavy, “I didn’t even know she was coming—I knew she was visiting this month, but she didn’t tell me when, and I thought it was going to be just her, you know? But then she showed up with him, and, well, I don’t know. I was upset. She’s been home for a week now, and we haven’t even gone to dinner or anything.”

He pauses, and you squeeze his hand for reassurance, “We were supposed to get lunch on Thursday, but she cancelled. Had some meeting or something, I don’t know, I don’t care. Friday comes and she says she wants to have dinner, right?”

You nod, he continues. “I thought it was just going to be us, but he was there. That’s when she told me that… that they’re…” he squeezes his eyes shut, “They’re engaged.”

Your mouth falls into a small o-shape. Everything made perfect sense now.

It’s not that Eren didn’t love his mother, quite the opposite actually. He’s a mama’s boy through and through; she’s his role model, his everything, he adores her. Her career as a designer often takes her on long business trips, most frequently as prolonged stays in Paris, so much so that she relocated her primary office there shortly after Eren graduated high school.

Now, she only visits home for one or two weeks at a time, sometimes only for the weekend. Upon her decision to permanently relocate, she planned to leave Eren under the unofficial supervision of Mikasa. Instead, Eren bought Mikasa her own three-bedroom apartment in Midtown (according to his logic, it was better for her to have her own place than to move in with Jean), and a shared two-story penthouse for the both of you that overlooks Central Park.

Eren misses her more than he cares to admit, but he puts on the same facade every time she comes home because he hates the company she brings.

Paris is where she met her newest boyfriend, Mitchell, and Eren swears he hates that man with every fiber of his being. It’s not saying much, though, not when Eren’s hated every single one of his mother’s past romantic partners, right down to his own father.

“Is… is that why you—”

“Rented a brand new Corvette and went drag racing at one in the morning?” he chuckles, “Yeah. It was stupid, I know, but I was just angry, I guess. I dunno what I was feeling, but it wasn’t good.”

You nod, wrapping both of your hands around his now and offering him a warm smile. He smiles back, just for a moment. “That’s what the tickets are for, actually. The wedding.”

“They’re getting married in France?” you question, to which he nods, “On the first? Isn’t that a little short notice to plan a wedding?”

“I think you’re underestimating the power of Carla Jaeger,” he chuckles, “Apparently, it’s been in the works for a few months now. He proposed with fireworks or some shit. Said she wanted to tell me in person, though.”

“This ticket is for next week,” you say, rereading the dates on the papers. “The wedding is three weeks from now.”

“Well, I kind of figured we could take a little vacation before then,” he grins, “I texted most of the boys earlier, and they can probably come to the wedding, but I want to spend some time with you before it gets hectic, you know? Consider it an end of the semester present.”

Your eyes flicker down to your hand, still wrapped around Eren’s, when he starts to trace circles into your skin, “I thought I just told you, you can’t jet us off to Europe to fix things.”

“You did,” he hums, “And I know I can’t—I’m not trying to, I just… Truthfully, I reserved the plane and the hotel a few weeks back and it really was just going to be a surprise for us—well, more like a gift for you because I know you’ve been busting your ass in chem—but then… everything else happened, and I think a break sounds perfect before I watch my mom get married for the sixth time.”

You watch him continue to toy with your hands for a while, processing your conversation. It was typical of Eren to surprise you like this, so you can’t figure out why this particular present leaves you feeling warmer than usual.

“You sure you don’t need a break from me?”

Eren beams and takes the opportunity to lace your fingers together. “Nah, you’re annoying, but not Jean level annoying.”

You scoff, “I’m telling him you said that.”

“It’ll sound better coming from you, anyway,” he shrugs, “Besides, I might just murder Mitchell if you’re not there with me.”

You chuckle, on the verge of accepting his proposal, but the mention of Jean prompts another thought to cross through your mind. “I’d love to, but I… I don’t know. I don’t want Armin to spend the first few weeks of winter break here all alone.”

This Christmas would mark one year since Armin had seen, or even talked to, any of his immediate family members, with the exception of Erwin.

Last year, you all tried to salvage the damage by sticking around so, at the very least, he didn’t have to feel alone. You and your friends decided that Armin ought to be celebrated, not ostracized for any aspect of himself, so you all chipped in for a cute, impromptu trip to the Catskills so that everyone could be together and close to home.

This year, however, there seemed to be quite a few conflicts of interest. Even if Armin was one of the boys who was planning on attending the wedding, you doubt he had plans leading up to it. You know that Marco, Bertholdt, Mikasa, and Jean had invited him to go to Aspen with them, but Armin declined the offer. Similarly, Connie, Sasha, Annie, Reiner, and Ymir would be off to Dubai as soon as classes ended; an invitation Armin had also turned down.

You weren’t sure what Erwin’s plans were, though you’re certain they involved his own friends in some way or another. At the very least, it was unlikely that he would leave his younger brother completely stranded over the break; but you didn’t want to make plans without knowing Armin wouldn’t be alone.

“He won’t, actually he’ll be closer than you think,” Eren reassures you, “Hange and Moblit wanted to go skiing anyways, so Erwin is taking all of them to the Alps instead of Aspen. Armin doesn’t know yet, but he’s going with them.”

“Shouldn’t Erwin spend his break campaigning, and not skiing? Last I checked, he wasn’t too popular in Queens”

“Ah, you know Erwin,” Eren shrugs, “He has a way of making people devote themselves to him. He’ll win the election with or without campaigning, trust me—the point is, that little baby Armin will be safe and sound under Erwin’s protection, and you don’t have to worry about him.”

“How come you get to call him a baby?”

“Because I’m a hypocritical asshole who doesn’t deserve you, but is hoping you’ll come with me anyway.”

Eren smirks, but there’s a genuine undertone to his words as he moves his fingers to toy with the ring around your pointer finger. The same one he gave to you two Christmases ago. Well, kind of.

The ring he originally gifted you was a Harry Winston piece, with an encrusted band that wrapped into two sunflowers, both made of classic, white diamonds with emeralds sparkling in the center. After seeing the design, and the price tag, you demanded that he take it back, or at the very least, get it sized to fit on your index finger or thumb so that people didn’t get the wrong idea.

Instead, he came back with a simple, silver chain for the original ring to hang from, and the current ring on your finger; a rose gold band with tiny diamonds studded around it. Likely equally as expensive, but more appropriate according to you.

“Fine. But you have to be on your best behavior,” you agree, paying no mind to Eren’s thumb twirling your jewelry, “Do you promise me no drag racing or antics of any sort while we’re there?”

Eren shakes his head at the memory, eyeing the first ring that sits against your chest.

He smiles. “I do.”

The afternoon after your last exam, you bid the remainder of your friends goodbye, grab your bags, and hop on a plane with Eren. It arrives in Paris, but you’re rerouted off to Nice before you can so much as blink at the Eiffel tower; you’d be staying there for the two and half weeks leading up to the wedding, in a small villa.

You had to hand it to him, Eren really outdid himself. It’s dark and nearing three in the morning when you arrive, but even in your sleepy stupor you can admire your accommodations. The villa is secluded, the perfect distance from the water, and decorated lavishly almost to your exact liking. You wouldn’t be surprised if Eren sprung it on you that he’d bought the place, and wasn’t merely renting it for this vacation.

Every day after that, Eren proves he was honest in his intentions of this being a getaway gift to you. He’s planned every activity under the sun—from hot air balloon rides, to helicopter tours, to jet-skiing. The days are certainly fun and filled with beautiful memories, but there’s something special about Nice at sunset; something about the sound of gentle waves brushing up against the beach, and the spotlights carved from sun-cast shadows on the buildings.

It’s just after dinner time, bordering on your eighth night here, when you and Eren are walking along the cobblestone streets that border the beach, the length of your sundress flowing every which way with the breeze, and the tail of Eren’s blazer flailing like a cape behind him.

He looks nice tonight, but, truthfully, he always does. He claimed he hadn’t put on the casual green suit because of your outfit, but you swear he was wearing khakis before he saw your dress. The tips of his ears go red when you tease him about it at dinner, but it doesn’t really matter to you; he would have looked good, regardless. Those suits are made for him, after all; tailored to fit perfectly, and designed by his own mother.

The streets tend to settle down after six, locals and tourists retreating indoors or heading to the beach to relax and draw in the evening. Tonight, however, there’s much more commotion than usual on your route.

“Maybe we should take the long way,” you suggest. On the tips of your toes, you realize that there’s some kind of special event happening in the square, filled with lights and music that grows louder with every step you take.

But the crowd and the lights and the smell of food only piques Eren’s interest. “No way—let’s check it out!”

You don’t have the time to refute before his long legs surpass your own stride, headfirst into the sea of people. You can only follow with a smile and a shake of your head. The soft green of his suit jacket serves as your guide as he navigates through the crowd, but the closer you get to the center, the more people there are.

You can feel palms of your hands growing uncomfortably warm as you become hyperaware of just how many people there are. You clutch the end of your dress in your hand, for both practicality and as a sort of comfort mechanism, as you try your best to calm the anxious wave threatening to crash against you.

With a deep breath, you begin to walk again, unaware of Eren’s actions until you physically walk into his hand, long fingers poking at your belly. You hadn’t realized he stopped walking, or that you’d caught up with him, and your eyebrows crinkle when you look down to see Eren’s left hand extended behind him and towards you, palm facing upwards.

He doesn’t say anything, or look back at you at all. Only wraps his larger fingers around yours when he feels the weight of your hand in his, and continues to guide you through the crowd, his pace slower, and hand firm around yours.

The mass of people becomes more spread out when you approach what appears to be the center of the event; and it looks like a party, maybe a wedding of some sort. There’s food and champagne galore, and more than enough happy guests dancing along to upbeat music in the streets.

Eren’s eyes light up as he takes in the scene, “You wanna dance?”

“What—Eren, no!” you refuse, “We cannot crash these people’s party!”

“Why not?” he counters, without a care in the world, “Seems like an open invitation to me! Come on!”

And for the second time that evening, you find yourself being pulled into his schemes; this time in the direction of the open space dubbed dance floor.

You’re both terrible and ostentatious and people start to watch, but it doesn’t matter because you’re smiling too wide and laughing too hard to care. Eren has a way of moving both with and against the music, forcing your body to follow his lead.

He shouts something over the noise, but you don’t have time to register his words before he laces your right hand with his left, and places his right hand on your waist. There’s a blink of confusion for a moment before you’re being swept off your feet and into a dramatic dip. You don’t have time to secure yourself against his shoulders, but Eren does a fine job of supporting you with a single arm against your back.

From what you can tell the song is far from over and the dramatic pose is completely unwarranted, but you and the crowd alike are victim to his charm. You indulge yourself, looking up at him with eyes too fond to memorize every feature of his face in this moment; the way he’s laughing with that big, dumb, wide smile of his that makes his nose crinkle and his eyes light up.

You’re too busy looking at him to hear Eren’s voice calling out to you, or even realize that he’s moved you from your pose to standing back upright. He’s equal parts amused and concerned at the glazed over look in your eyes.

“Hello? Anybody home up there?” he teases, elongating the vowels and squeezing your waist to alert you.

The reminder of his hands on your hips pulls you back to reality, your eyes fluttering down to his arms, then back to his face. It feels stuffy suddenly, too close to function.

“Yea—yeah! Do you wanna get a drink? Yeah, let’s get a drink!” you exclaim, haphazardly pointing and walking towards the food.

You don’t see it, but Eren looks on with glittering eyes, his verbal agreement heard only by himself as you veer towards the buffet. He can still feel your body in his grip, still see the specks of gold in your pupils as he lingers on the back of your silhouette lovingly. And before you can realize, he snaps himself out of it—an out of body experience similar to yours a few moments ago—before catching up with you.

You end up socializing for much longer than intended. Eren makes friends with everyone, to no surprise, and, uncharacteristically, you feel influenced by his actions, and converse with a few people yourself. You let him take the lead, though. Partially because he’s better at it, and partially because you just like listening to him speak French.

“Hey, we should probably get out of here,” he whispers into your ear after waving goodbye to a lovely couple you’d just met, “Before the host of this party realizes we’re miles better than his actual guests.”

You nod with a smile, more than happy to play by his rules for the evening. He offers you his hand again, that same, dopey smile on his face when you take it.

He leads you out of the crowd and back on to the path to your villa, the smell of warm food and sounds of vibrant music growing dull as you venture further from the celebration. It’s much darker than it was when you began your trek back from the restaurant, but beautiful all the same.

Your sandals pad against the wooden dock that leads up the villa, and Eren unlocks the door silently, ushering you inside before entering behind you.

“I know I said I wanted to leave, but I’m not really tired yet,” Eren confesses, pulling his blazer off of his shoulders.

“Me neither,” you say, placing your small wristlet on the table with a shrug, “What do you wanna do though, I’m not—”

“Great!” he cuts you off, smile too big. You narrow your own in suspicion. That tone of voice with that look on his face usually meant something mischievous, at best. “Remember when you said the first time you’d smoke would be with me, and then pranced away and took a bowl from Hange and got high as shit at Moblit’s party?”

“Why does everyone remember Moblit’s party but me!”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles, waving the topic away, “Anyway… Do you wanna smoke now?”

You blink. “I… did you… smuggle weed all the way to France?”

“No, of course not!” he refutes, “…I got it here.”

You scoff, but don’t have the time to question him further before Eren’s tugging on your wrist and pulling you into the bedroom. You take to sitting on your bed while he rummages through his suitcase to retrieve a small, clear jar with several rolled joints inside and a lighter to match.

He shuffles next to you in the bed, mindlessly handing you the lighter while he unscrews the top off the jar. He takes out two of the joints, places one next to the jar on the nightstand, and tucks the other between his teeth. He asks you to hand him the lighter, and you do so wordlessly, distracted by the sight of Eren’s gaze and the blunt poking out his mouth.

“This’ll be fun, yeah?” He reassures you, “Technically, you let Hange take your weed virginity, but I’ll be better.”

“Can you not phrase it like that,” you roll your eyes, “You already took my virginity virginity, don’t be bitter.”

An all too smug grin settles on his features as he recounts the fact. “Besides,” you tack on, “I’ve never done it like this before. So, it’s still a first, kind of.”

Eren cups one hand around the joint, sparking the lighter with the other until it catches fire. He inhales, slow and deliberate, as if he were putting on a show, or a lesson, of sorts, taking the smoke into his lungs and out through his mouth.

You’d gravely miscalculated how attractive Eren would look doing this. Sure, he’s hot, you knew that, but the pronunciation of his jawline when he exhales, and the confidence with which he drags on the blunt is a stark reminder to you. He takes a few more hits, just as slow and sensual as the first, and the room begins to feel warmer.

“Come closer,” be beckons, smoke rolling off of his tongue with every syllable.

You snap yourself out of the haze of your imagination and scoot closer to him. He silently hands you the joint, and it feels heavy between your fingers. At the distance, you take in the smell—pungent and off-putting, but too familiar.

Eventually, you bring it to your lips, careful not to let your tongue press against the tip, and inhale slowly, like you’d seen Eren do before. You do your best to hold the smoke in your lungs for a bit, but seeing as the last time you did this you were amped up on adrenaline and drunk off your ass, the task proves to be much more difficult. It tickles before becoming uncomfortable and you exhale ungracefully, puffs of smoke punctuating your coughs.

Eren watches with a grin, amused at the sight of you fanning the excess smoke away with your nose scrunched in distaste. “You should have warned me you were gonna cough like a bitch.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you whine, trying to hide the hint of a smile creeping onto your face. You hand the blunt back to him, “You’re supposed to teach me, not tease me, asshole.”

Eren pauses his laughter, unsure of what to make of your tone; rushed, a bit embarrassed, but testy. It’s quiet while he stares at you, trying not to let the implication of your words run wild in his mind; but it’s futile when you’re pouting like that, the room is growing foggier, and he’s been semi-hard since you accepted his offer.

“Fine. Watch and learn,” he breathes, words coming out more jagged than he’d intended.

This time, he completely exaggerates every motion; he inhales at a tantalizing pace and flutters his eyes closed while he lets the smoke swish in his mouth, down his throat, and expand into his lungs. He cranes his neck upwards, and purses his lips to let the clouds exit in the streamline that follows the slope of his jaw.

Maybe it’s the drugs getting to you, but your mind is filled with nothing but sheer clouds that aren’t thick enough to block out thoughts of Eren. The weed is unattractive, potent in smell, and all kinds of wrong; yet, everything about him is soft, sultry, and pulls you in.

“Wanna try again, or do you need another lesson?”

You faintly mutter a profanity under your breath. His words end with giggles, a sign the drugs have already begun to take their effect on him, his expression is still smug. You forget Eren knows just how attractive he is. Motherfucker.

“Actually,” he cuts your train of thought, “I have a better idea, come ‘ere.”

Eren beckons you forward again, closing the gap between your legs so that your knees graze each other under the fabric of your clothing while you’re sat next to each other. He leans over, far too close into your personal space, as if to test something; he freezes when his nose is mere inches from your face, a dissatisfied scrunch taking over his features.

He reinstates his hold on your wrist, motioning your body backwards until your back is against the frame of the bed. He hums in approval, positioning himself next to you again, equally as close, but far more comfortable for what he has planned next.

“I’m—I’m gonna try somethin’, okay?” he stutters, the first word mistakenly coming out in broken German, “Just, don’t freak out on me. It’ll be good, promise.”

You nod, unsure of what you’ve just signed off on, but you don’t have time to ask questions. Eren takes another hit, then passes the blunt to his non-dominant hand. He turns to face you, leans forward, and places his free hand on the back of your neck to pull you closer; the expanse of his palm leaving room for his thumb to venture over the bottom half of your cheek.

Eren pulls you in until your lips are millimeters apart, and he can see the pattern of your eyes in beautiful detail. He shifts his hand now so that the majority of it covers your face, the pad of his thumb running across your bottom lip. He applies the perfect amount of pressure to pry your willing mouth open, and then, finally, exhales.

This time, you can taste it. It’s woodsy, and bitter, but the sweet undertones dance on your tongue. This time, there’s more to think about than just the smoke in your lungs; like the burn of Eren’s hand on your neck; the pressure of his thumb against your bottom lip; the proximity of his lips to yours; the look in his eyes.

“Feel good?” he doesn’t bother to pull away before asking, and the words ghost over your lips with the remaining smoke. You nod; he smiles. “Wanna try again?”

You let out a breathy note of affirmation, and then he’s inhaling and exhaling into you, and you welcome him with pried lips and a heavy thumping in your chest. The confidence with which he maneuvers his body and the drugs is nerve-wracking, yet comforting at the same time; he has an expertise and power that intimidates, but compels you to follow.

Together, you finish the first blunt, and Eren lights the second without missing a beat. His hands are more demanding this around; they guide you into submission, and he’s pleased to find that you’re willing to listen.

After the third exhale, you stop focusing on his hands, and more on his lips. After the fourth, you think you might be high—not to the stars as you infamously were during Moblit’s party—but with a comfortable, dull buzz in your head. Everything feels a little fuzzy, out of touch, but you host a burning want for something more, something tangible.

You don’t know it, but Eren feels the same.

After the fifth exhale, Eren pulls away, the blunt a simple stub as he flicks it away onto the night stand, and you miss him being too close. You miss his hands, you miss his warmth, you crave his touch.

“Eren,” you call, unable to think of or see anything but him in the haze. He answers with a strained, “Yeah?” keening towards the sound of your voice, wide eyes flitting all over your face.

It’s too much, too close, too hot. That’s when you cup his jaw, pull him forward, and meld your lips together.

Kissing Eren is painfully familiar, and unnervingly satisfying. It’s certainly not your first kiss with him; and, yet he has a way of making you feel like it is while reminding you of your history. His lips are soft, and they taste like smoke and the chapstick you swear by because he refuses to buy or test out his own.

You pull away too soon, gauging his reaction with blown-out eyes, before dipping forward to have him against you again. Then again, and again, and again, until Eren is tired of your leaving, and his hands are back on your neck.

This kiss is deeper, Eren searching to satisfy the hunger aching inside of him, and you’re happy to comply when his thumb is pressing at your lower lip again. You open your mouth for him and he doesn’t waste a moment, brushing his tongue against yours experimentally, and then flush into your mouth.

He groans when you rake your fingers into his hair, and pulls back with a hissing noise when you scratch at his nape. Large hands move to grip at your waist, and he pulls you into his lap with a concentrated gaze—a brief second for him to admire the sight of you on top of him, before he resumes kissing you. He sucks on your tongue, rolls his past your teeth, and bites on your bottom lip.

You know he relishes in the sounds he elicits from you, and under any normal circumstance, you’re willing to put up a fight with him, but not now. Now, you let him unzip the back of your dress and snake his hands beneath the fabric. The rubbing motions of his hands turn into gripping, gripping into grinding, and eventually, an unfiltered moan slips past your lips when you feel Eren’s erection roll against you.

“Fuck,” he pulls back with a suck of your swollen lip, “You’re so hot.”

Eren quickly switches your positions so that he’s hovering over you. You chuckle lightly underneath him, taking the opportunity to run both your hands through his hair and cradle his head in your hold, “Haven’t done anything yet.”

“I know,” Eren murmurs, dipping his head down to press kisses into your neck, “Still so sexy. So pretty, always.”

Eren bites a hickey into your collar bone, and everywhere he can touch; your neck, your ears, your cheeks, your lips. Your moaning serves as the spark to keep him going, but he’s barely coherent himself the way you keep pulling at his hair and grinding yourself against him. Even through his clothes, you can feel how painfully hard he is.

He barely catches your tongue between his lips when you moan again, sucking harshly before bruising his lips over yours again. His hands are grabby again, finally pulling your dress completely off of your body, leaving it to form a puddle on the ground. They’re back on your as soon as possible, massaging over your tits, and running his index finger over your nipples.

“Eren... Eren, please,” you whimper, chest heaving as you look down at him. He rolls his index finger over your right nipple, with his left hand teasing the other with his thumb. You can’t tell if the look in his eyes is a product of the weed, or just his glassy, borderline predatory stare, but it makes you shiver with pleasure when he wraps his mouth around your nipple and sucks.

“I want you.”

“Want you, too,” Eren hums, pulling back with a thin trail of spit from your breast, before moving to give your left nipple the same treatment, “More than you know.”

You keen to him when he teases his teeth against you, finally having had enough you force him off of you with a tug of his hair. “Then take off your clothes.”

Eren blinks, wide-eyed but glazed all the same. He chuckles lightly, a blush spreading over his cheeks as he nods. He sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head, forgoing undoing the buttons, and pauses briefly with his hands over the zipper of his pants.

“Please tell me you’re not that gone that you forgot how to undo your zipper,” you tease him, chest still heaving from his previous ministrations. Eren smiles, doe-eyed and hazy, and shakes his head.

“No,” he reassures you, finally undoing his zipper and shimmying his pants off his legs, “Was trying to remember what underwear I was wearing. Didn't want it to be embarrassing.”

His honesty makes you laugh, and Eren pauses for a moment to soak it in. Even like this, even with him stumbling over the steps to undress himself, and you almost completely naked in front of him, he can make you smile. There’s something equally sexy and endearing about your giggles; a juxtaposition that makes him want to hug you or kiss you or something in between. And you—you like the look in his eyes even through your giggling; the way he smiles back and blushes and tells you exactly what he’s thinking.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “Don’t think mine are particularly sexy either.”

Eren hums, shuffling back on to the bed so that he’s between your legs, and leans forward to kiss you again. He still can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, his fingers immediately flying to your underwear and peeling them off your legs, pulling you closer despite the lack of space between your bodies.

“Yeah, doesn’t matter,” Eren echos, tossing the offending item to the side, before cupping your face in his hands, “I’d still wanna fuck you in your granny panties.”

“You wanna fuck me?” you question, eyes sparkling and hopeful.

“Yeah, I do,” Eren can’t help but to smile again, happy and high and drunk on you, too, “Will you let me?”

Your feverish nodding is all it takes for Eren’s mind to go hazy again; clouded with you, you, you. You pull him into a kiss, arching your body into his, and running your hands down the sides of his back. He moans at the feeling, punishing you by nipping at your lower lip and pressing your stomach back to the mattress with his palm.

Your eyes meet his as Eren lines himself up with your cunt, teasing your folds with the head; but it doesn’t take long before he finally pushes in, sheathing himself inside you completely without movement. He waits a minute, whether it’s to make you comfortable, or to gather his own bearings, you’re not sure; but when he’s ready, he flashes you a smile and waits for one in return, before he starts thrusting.

You know Eren’s not gentle; rough whether or not he intends to be by virtue of his size in comparison to you, but you seem to have forgotten just how capable he is of making you lose your senses. He has you gasping, grasping at him at him unintelligibly, feeling full with his cock inside of you.

Eren groans, borderline growls, when he feels you clench around him, when he sees you shaking beneath him. He could do this all; could watch you all day.

“So pretty, the prettiest. Prettiest girl, my favorite girl,” Eren praises, eyes raking up and down your thrashing body, “My favorite fucking girl.”

“You—you, too.”

“Yeah? I’m your favorite, too?” Eren coos, reaching out to guide your arms over your head, the force of his body pinning your hands down; you can hardly gasp before he lacess your fingers together, and gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“Promised you, didn’t I? That I’d be good to you, be on my best behavior,” Eren reminds you, leaning forward.

He eyes your necklace—eyes glued to ring around it—bouncing with your body. He bends his head down to kiss it, bites at the skin near it; a possessive streak overcoming him as the diamonds shine against you. “I said I’d treat you good, always. Meant it.”

He stutters, when you squeeze him back; fingers tightening around his hold, your pussy clenching around his cock. Your whining is insistent, and mixes with Eren’s low moans and guttural noises. Eren doesn’t let up his pace, fucking you fast and deep, and it’s only a matter of time before you feel a knot twisting in your belly.

You attempt to move your arms, searching for a release of the feeling building up inside of you but Eren is strong; stronger than you, and he keeps you in your place. Keeps your arms pinned above you, keeps his palms pressed into yours, keeps his lips hovering above yours, just out of reach.

“Eren,” you call his name through shaky moans.

“Yeah? What, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

And so he does, his lips needy and hungry over yours. Eren fucks you and kisses you through your orgasm, tasting your moans on his tongue in timing with him cumming inside of you. You don’t let up; kissing him lewdly while you both come down from your highs.

“So good,” Eren croons against your lips, down your jaw, into your skin, “So good for me.”

You both moan in chorus when he finally pulls out, Eren’s head laying on your collar, nose nuzzling into your neck. He lets your hands free, and immediately you wrap them around his back, holding him close as you both attempt to catch your breaths.

You don’t know how long you lay there like that, with Eren on top of you, and your thumb rubbing circles into his cheek while he sleeps soundly. Maybe an hour, maybe more, maybe less; but the euphoria of your sex doesn’t quiet seem to fade.

It might last all night, maybe even for the rest of your trip but you don’t mind. You think back to earlier in the evening, when you’d caught his gaze after your dance. The feeling isn’t all that different; warm, and fuzzy, and too much and not enough all at once. It feels good, it feels like Eren.

You hum softly to yourself, careful not to wake up the sleeping boy on your chest, when you realize exactly what these two moments have in common: a rare event in which Eren is still in front of you, steady and stagnant, no running or chasing; and you don’t want to let him go.

Sometimes Eren thinks you act oblivious on purpose just to fuck with him, because there’s absolutely no way you—or any human with a functioning nervous system and social cues—can’t tell that he’s completely, stupidly, and embarrassingly in love with you.

Long gone are his days of trying to deny it or get over it. He realized that sophomore year of high school—almost eight years ago—that no matter where he went, what kind of drug he inhaled, or how hard he tried, you’d be permanently etched into his heart. That doesn’t make it any less exhausting, and, in fact, only makes it more astounding that you haven’t caught on yet. Honestly, Eren’s considered hiring a private psychiatrist just to make nothing’s wrong with you.

Amazingly, the remainder of your vacation continues just like the former half. The only exception being that now you’re in Paris. And that he’s shamelessly coerced you into letting him fuck your brains out on several occasions. But besides that, everything’s chill.

Just two best friends traveling through France together and stopping to fuck in any semi-private location they can find. Just two peas in a pod walking along the Champs Elysées at damn near midnight. Just two best buds with linked arms tasting (see: feeding each other) every macaron flavor they come across while violinists play stupidly romantic, classical music in the background.

He knows he should probably talk to you about it, but for some reason he can’t. Like telling you would make it all too real, and give it a meaning that could so easily be taken away from him; give you a reason to want to leave him. Right now, it’s just a fantasy, and he’s free to keep dreaming, believing that he’s special and worth enough for the affection you’ve shown him.

He doesn’t want to be one in a list of your boyfriends, or fiances, or husbands; he wants to be your only one, and if he can’t be, then he’d rather be stuck to your side as your best friend. At least that way, in someway, he could remain special to you; not a forgotten, ordinary ex of your past.

Though, a best friend who he’s sleeping with regularly and he’s in love with and will always be in love with is starting to sound a lot like a husband to him. At least, the kind of husband he would like to be to you.

You call his name, asking him if he wants to try another sweet. Eren rolls his eyes. What he wants is to fuck you, and marry you, and have you bless his stupid little existence with two runts for kids that look like him but act like you so his life savings don’t run out by the time they’re twelve. But sure, he’ll settle for having you feed him another macaron in the meantime.

“This one tastes just like the coconut one,” he mumbles, chewing his way through the pastry you’d stuffed into his mouth whole.

It’s the seventh bakery you’ve stopped at tonight, and even though Eren’s growing pretty sick of the sugary treats, he’ll walk with you to every damn bakery in Paris tonight if that’s what you want.

He blinks at the thought. He’s so lovesick it’s disgusting. And he wouldn’t do a damn thing to change it.

“That’s probably because it’s almond and coconut flavored,” you say, wiping the stickiness from your fingers onto a napkin.

“I didn’t taste any almonds.”

“I don’t even think you could spell almond, much less tell me what they taste like.”

Eren simply pouts in refute, leaving you giggling at his expression. He doesn’t know if it’s possible, but you seem even prettier in Paris than in Nice. But, that’s probably his rose-colored glasses speaking.

“You think there’ll be macarons at the reception?” you question, biting into yet another pistachio flavored treat, “And if not, would it be rude to bring my own?”

He chuckles. “Yes, babe, I’m sure there will be macarons there.”

He’s always loved Paris, even when his mom moved away here and left him in New York, and he’d always loved it more when you’re with him. He feared that having to attend another, what he considered to be wasteful, wedding in arguably one of his favorite places in the world would leave a bitter taste in his mouth; but, thankfully, he’s only fallen deeper in love since being here.

“You sure you won’t be sick of them by tomorrow?” he asks, watching you debate between taste testing another variation of vanilla bean or rosé.

“How could I get sick of them?” you answer offhandedly, not sparing him a glance away as you choose the pink snack. How could he get sick of you.

“By the time we get back to New York you’ll have forgotten all about them,” he scoffs.

“Don’t worry I’ll quit it soon. I’ll have to eat something solid if I wanna take my meds and go to bed,” you spew with a smile, unaware of what you’ve actually just said, “But they are delicious and I have no regrets.”

Eren pauses. Then so do you, mouth stuffed with sickly sweet.

“I mean—”

“I know, you know,” he cuts you off, “About the meds and stuff.”

You look like you could pass out, or scream, or cry, or everything in between. Eren figures saying more is better than saying less, so he continues.

“I saw a bottle in the bathroom a few months ago,” he admits shyly, but careful about his tone, “Didn’t understand half the words on the label, but it had your name on it so I just, uh… Googled it.”

Of course he knows. Eren’s always kind of known, just never had the words to express it. He imagines that’s what you’re feeling right now.

“Oh,” you finally gape, “Why didn’t you, um… you know, like, say… anything?”

“It seemed like your secret to tell,” Eren shrugs, features softening out, “Besides, I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to.”

Eren’s always been better at showing than saying, anyway. He hopes that his actions, small as they may seem, might have provided you with any sort of comfort in the past few months. Maybe even before that, too.

“Oh,” you repeat, continually blinking at him, “That’s… that’s it? You’re cool with it?”

Now it’s Eren’s turn to blink. “What do you mean am I cool with it? They’re your meds.”

“Yeah, but like… you’re not mad I didn’t tell—”

“Of course I’m not mad,” he cuts you off with a soft smile, “It’s not really my business. I mean, like, you’re my business because I care about you, but you have your own private stuff, too, which is cool. Besides, when I was, uh, researching it, I learned that it can be hard to tell people stuff like that even if—”

Eren shuts up when he feels your weight against him and your arms wrapped around him. Shell shocked, he takes a moment to hug you back, and slowly comes to rest his chin atop your head after leaving a flurry of kisses.

“You didn’t have to look it up or do any kind of research, you know,” you mumble softly into his jacket. Eren borderline chortles, but only hugs you more tightly.

“Of course I did. If not for you, then for myself, because I meant it when I said I’d never seen half the words on the prescription before in my life,” he replies, heart glowing at the sound of your small chuckles.

He’s expecting an equally witty response, but you surprise him when you pull back just enough to face him, a hazy smile on your face. “You’re amazing, Eren.”

Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush—fucking idiot.

“Yeah, I’m pretty great,” he boasts, leaning back into the coolest pose he could muster up while ignoring the growing heat creeping up his neck. It’s all in vain as you reach over to playfully tug at one of his ears.

He thinks you’re pretty like this. All the time, but most notably when he has you in his arms. So pretty, that he has to lean forward to kiss you; you don’t seem to mind, if the way you smile into the kiss is any indication of your feelings. Eren finds himself mirroring your grin; moving his arms from around your waist to the sides of your face.

The workers in this poor little café probably hate the two of you, but he doesn’t fucking care. He’s got his favorite girl in his arms right now, and you taste like almonds and coconuts and like the love of his life.

And he should tell you. Eren wants to tell you, and he finds himself wondering if those same intrusive, fearful thoughts were part of the driving force behind your own reason to keep your secrets from him.

You pull away from him, hands lightly draped around his neck, and you smile like you’re shy—like he hasn’t known you your whole life. Still, Eren finds himself smiling back; and thinks that if you were brave enough to tell him how you were feeling, then he should do the same.

“(_____), I… I gotta tell you something,” he starts, voice soft as his fingers curl around your waist a little more tightly, “Though, I’m kind of hoping you already know.”

You blink at him, almost innocently. Eren bites the inside of his jaw; you’re going to have to stop doing that before he jumps you again.

Better now than never, he supposes. He tries to shake his nerves when he takes your hands in his, completely covering them with his palms, and closes his eyes. Despite that, you try to offer him comfort, squeezing his fingers as best you can; and Eren takes that moment to thank his lucky stars for whoever decided to put you in his life. Because he knows that no matter what, even if he royally fucks this up, you’ll find some way to be there for him.

He slowly blinks his eyes open again, gaze resting on the ring around your neck. A faded chuckle escapes his lips when looks at it. The only one who got the wrong idea about his gift was you. But, he supposes that’s his fault; he never did explain it, after all.

“It’s nothing… It’s just that, I’m in—”

But Eren’s startled by a voice that makes him freeze. He almost wants to believe he misheard it, but he can hear the telltale clacking of vintage heels on the floor of the bakery and he knows that he didn’t mishear a thing.

Eren turns his head, and sure enough, there is his mother, in all her five foot glory, adorned in designer clothing from her beret to her shoes. With a fucking street urchin on her arm.

“Well, well, well, what a lovely surprise,” Carla beams, red lipstick perfectly in place even after a long day of wear.

Eren’s eyebrows draw together, as he takes in his mother and her fiancé standing in front of him. He can just barely register you calling out towards her, carefully maneuvering yourself off of his lap, and into the neighboring chair; but still keeping your right hand wrapped around his left. He can feel you squeeze it—whether to give him comfort, or warning, he’s not sure yet; probably both.

“It’s so good to see you!” you beam, excitedly offering her and Mitchell a seat across from the two of you at the table. Eren opens his mouth to refute, but you squeeze his hand again; a warning.

Carla leans forward to encase you in a hug, exchanging cheek kisses, and leaving Eren to stare at the street rat across from him. Mitchell seems to know better than to make eye contact with him, irises scattering from Carla’s back to the décor of the bakery while the two girls catch up.

“We missed you at the rehearsal dinner on Sunday,” Carla recounts, eyes fluttering to Eren’s briefly. One look into her son’s eyes, and she understands why; one look into his mother’s eyes, and Eren knows she has him all figured out. “I was worried you might not show at all.”

Eren strategically averts your gaze when you turn your head towards him, choosing to look at his mother instead.

“I didn’t even know there was a rehearsal dinner,” you tell her, tone polite, but Eren can hear the clear jab directed towards him, “I’m sorry, I—we would have gone, otherwise.”

“No need to apologize, darling,” Carla smiles, “I’m sure you two were very busy.”

“We were,” Eren cuts in, words definite. He sees a hint of surprise flash in his mother’s eyes briefly, expertly covered up with her sweet demeanor. She only nods in understanding, sitting back a bit to wrap her arm around Mitchell’s.

“What are you even doing here, Ma?” Eren questions, even as you do the same with his hands under the table, “Isn’t it bad luck to see the groom before the wedding.”

“After the third or fourth wedding, you grow tired of pleasantries and superstitions, my love,” she replies, “This place makes Mitchell’s favorite macarons, we thought we’d share a few before the big day. Maybe get some tea as a pre-celebration.”

The topic of sweets has you speaking up once again, engaging both his mother and Mitchell in a discussion about them, and your other findings from bakery hopping earlier. If Eren didn’t love you to pieces, he would have left the table a long time ago.

It carries on much longer than he can bear to endure; almost an hour of you, and his mother, and Mitchell making pleasant conversation while he tries his best not to brood beside you, but it’s futile. He feels like a little kid again. Stuck at the dinner table with his mother and a man he was being forced to get to know, only for him to become a stranger to him in a matter of months.

Eren grinds his teeth into each other when you laugh at something Mitchell says. He’s not going to sit through his any longer; or ever again.

“Well, this has been fun,” Eren says, voice blatantly monotonous as his cuts through the conversation, “But we should all probably head back go to bed. Big day tomorrow.”

“Eren, we should—” but, he stands up quickly, hand wrapping around yours to force you upwards too.

He doesn’t care to look at you, knowing the dissatisfied expression he’ll be met with. He fishes for his wallet and pulls out too many Euros, neatly tucking them under an unused knife to pay for the meal.

Eren’s steps out from between his chair and the table. “We’ll see you guys tomorr—” But is stopped before he can take three steps away.

His mother’s hand wrapped around his wrist. She stands, significantly shorter than Eren’s full height. “Actually, Eren, could I borrow you for a bit?”

And he doesn’t want to, because he knows exactly the conversation waiting for him. But he looks down at her, lets his eyes flicker to you, and back to her, and he knows he doesn’t have the heart to walk away. Not even if he tried.

He sighs with a shallow nod. He can feel your hand on his shoulder, the proud smile on your lips when you tell him that you’ll meet him back at your hotel. Mitchell ensures him and Carla that he’ll make sure you get back safely, and Eren still can’t stand the guy, but he’s grateful that he can at least be of use for something.

Eren kisses you on the forehead briefly, a promise to you and himself that he’ll finish his confession later. After all, he probably should come to terms with the woman who taught him what love is before he vowed to love you for the rest of his life.

The walk to his mother’s hotel is silent, Eren choosing to keep to himself, hands stuffed in his pockets to prevent his mom from holding them. He’s probably acting like a child, but isn’t that what he is to her; isn’t that she treats him as.

“Look, Ma, you don’t need my approval to marry him,” Eren grumbles, when they finally exit the elevator into the hotel room, “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Of course I don’t,” Carla offers him a small grin, even if he won’t look at her directly, “But it matters to me.”

“Why does it matter now? It didn’t matter with Keith, or Henry, or Henri with an I, or any of the others,” Eren mumbles, reluctantly taking a seat on the stool opposite the vanity.

His mother tracks his movements with soft eyes and an amused grin as Eren absentmindedly bends a knee and begins to fiddle with the hem of his pants. Just like he used to when he was upset as a child.

“It mattered then, too, Eren,” she tells him, sitting on the stool and facing him.

He’s surprised by her words, his wide eyes giving him away even if he attempts to act unfazed. “It didn’t seem like it.”

Carla opens her mouth to speak, but closes it, words stuck in her throat. She watches Eren’s hunched figure, her tall son not even bothering to look her in the eyes. She exhales slowly; if he were five feet smaller, he’d have tucked himself under her arm, still refusing to look at her, but he’d have snuggled his head into her side while he pouted anyway.

“I suppose it didn’t,” she admits, “In the end, the love wasn’t enough to make it last, then.”

Eren is quiet for a bit at that, pulling at his pants leg. “And… and you love him enough, now?”

“It’s more than love, Eren. It’s... happiness—for yourself and another person—it’s being okay with somebody knowing you now, and forever. Whichever version of you that is.”

“Then why did you marry them before?” Eren asks, “If you knew it wasn’t enough, if you knew it was just going to end up as another big mistake.”

“Maybe the marriages were a mistake, and some of what came with them, but I don’t think the feelings were,” Carla muses, “Love is never wasted.”

“How can you say that?” Eren questions, disbelief and exasperation painted on his face, “Of course it is—you wasted your time, and your money, and your—your everything on those people who couldn’t care less about you now!”

“Eren—”

“You let them into our house,” Eren speaks over her, “You let them into your life, and they left. They always left—”

“Eren—”

“—And you even let some of them come back! Everyone, you let everyone have another chance, another anniversary, another wedding,” He’s ranting, crying, hot, irrational tears streaming down his face; hiccups interrupting his speech, “So—so, so if it’s not wasted and everyone gets another chance and another chance and another chance—why didn’t he come back, huh? For his?”

Eren’s standing now, arms flailing every which way during his breakdown, but his mother doesn’t try to stop him. She lets him continue, hears him out.

“If it’s love—if it’s not wasted, and it’s real—then why didn’t he come back? Why didn’t he want to? Why—why didn’t he want me? Why did I end up the bastard?”

Eren looks his mother in the eyes for the first time in the duration of their conversation with that final question; with his vision blurry, and chest heaving, and cheeks wet. Carla has no words to say; can only carefully open her arms, and wait for her son to come crashing into them. And he does; and it rains and pours, and Eren holds onto his mother for dear life, and onto the pieces of her breaking heart.

“Am I not good enough to have that kind of love?” Eren asks through tears, “Am I not special enough to want to know?”

“Eren,” she finally speaks, moving to cradle his head in her hands, “You don’t have to be special or good, to be known or loved. It’s enough that you were born. That’s enough to make you deserving of love.”

She doesn’t mind the tears against her palms or the hiccups of Eren’s breathing, “And you already have it.”

And Eren looks at her with eyes wide and wild like a child, staring at the first person to have ever loved someone as messed up, and plain, and ordinary as him; and he can feel more tears bubbling at his eyes.

“Ma, I’m—I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, wrapping his arms around her even tighter, chin resting on her shoulder while his shake through his tears, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Carla hugs her son as close as she can, like he’s five years old and the apple of her eye and she can take all his pain away. “You don’t have to be. You’re my son, and I’ll love you always.”

It feels like they have all the time in the world like that, to hug and cry and apologize; but Carla hopes Eren knows that he was always forgiven; that he never had anything to apologize for in the first place.

“She loves you, too, baby,” she coos, holding Eren as tight as possible, “But you have to let her know that. That you accept it.”

“Do you think she knows?” Eren asks, words muffled into the fabric of her clothing, “That I love her, too?”

“I do,” Carla confirms, pulling away to look at Eren in the eyes; his beautiful, shining, green eyes, “But I don’t think that either of you really realized it. I mean, you did give her an engagement ring, darling.”

Eren huffs at the memory, “She thought it was a gift.”

“Because you gave it to her as a gift.”

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“Love has a way of making people blind,” Carla muses, “Especially two lovesick semi-adults with too much money on their hands.”

Eren’s cheeks grow pink at the accusation, “It’s your money!”

“Yes, and I’m very happy to have it,” Carla chuckles, motioning for Eren to stand up. He does, and she looks up at him with glimmering, proud eyes. “Now, go, shoo. You have a girl to propose to, don’t you? There might be two Jaeger weddings this weekend.”

Eren nods, certain of himself for the first time in a while. He turns on his heel with a vigor igniting his footsteps, but pauses when he reaches the elevator. He makes a sharp turn, running back to his mom one last time, and squeezing her suddenly, and tightly against him.

“I love you, mom,” he says; the words too foreign on his tongue, and he vows to not let them be a stranger to his vocabulary from here on out.

“I love, you, too, Eren,” Carla calmly wraps her arms around her son one last time, “And I always will.”

You half-expected your walk back to your hotel with Mitchell to be painfully awkward, but he proves to be a pleasant conversationalist, even in Carla’s absence.

You know that Eren isn’t fond of him, but you wish that he would at least give him a chance. There’s no way to know if a marriage—if any relationship—will last forever, but, sometimes, you think it’s not about knowing about forever; but, rather about wanting it to make it there; about willing to go the distance with that person.

You can see that want, that willingness that works alongside love in Mitchell and Carla’s relationship, that stands out from her past marriages. You get the feeling they’re going to last; and that, most importantly, they both want it to, too.

It’s quiet out as you both walk the streets of Paris, Mitchell taking the time to point out small notes in architecture that interest you. You readjust your jacket as a gust of wind washes over you, careful to make sure your necklace doesn’t snag against your clothing.

“That’s a beautiful ring,” he calls to you gently.

“Thank you,” Surprised, you quickly let out an embarrassed cough, looking down to your left hand resting atop the uppermost button on your coat. “It was a gift.”

“I meant that one,” Mitchell corrects, carefully gesturing to his own neck to indicate that he was talking about the ring on your necklace, and not the one on your finger.

“Oh, thank you,” you repeat, “That one was actually a gift, too.”

The older man hums, continuing your walk to your hotel. “Must have been one hell of a gift. I don’t know many people who give out engagement rings as presents.”

“Oh, no, no, no, it wasn’t—it’s not an engagement ring,” you tell him, feeling a warmth creep up your cheeks even in the chilly atmosphere of the night, “Eren gave it to me, actually, a few years ago—it was a Christmas gift.”

“Eren, huh?” Mitchell smiles fondly, “That makes sense. Carla tells me how much he cares about you.”

“You—she does?” you stutter. Mitchell nods. “I—I mean, I care about him, too.”

“Enough to accept an engagement ring from him, it seems,” Mitchell taunts, “I’m no specialist, but I know a Harry Winston piece when I see it. They’re not cheap.”

“Trust me, I know,” you scoff, “I almost killed him when I saw how much he spent on it.”

“And you took it, anyway?”

“Well, he—he was supposed to return it,” you defend yourself, “Because I didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea! But he just, well, he gave me the other one instead, so I wear that one on my hand.”

Mitchell pauses, just as you both stand to the entrance of your hotel. “And what was the wrong idea you didn’t want people getting.”

“That... that...,” you pause, thinking back to that Christmas day.

Even though Eren is known for spending ludacris amounts of money, the ring came as a genuine surprise to you. A couple thousand on shoes, sure—you’re victim to that yourself; a couple hundred thousand on a lavish vacation wasn’t out of the ordinary, either; but a million, maybe even more, on a ring that you could have only ever asked of him in your dreams was another thing completely.

And, sure, even a few million didn’t mean much to you or Eren at the end of the day, but it wasn’t just the price; it was the object of the money, too. To accept a house, or a car, or a jet for that amount is something you could rationalize; but a ring seemed foreign, and far out of your league.

Then there was the display and value it held beyond money. It’s beautiful, gorgeous, but more than that, it’s tailored to your exact liking. The synthesis of your aesthetic and everything you could ask for, garnished with the memory of Eren in the very design; the diamonds you love, the flowers that remind him of you, and the way they stems wrap around each other and the petals meet in the middle.

A small gasp leaves your lips and instinctively, you reach to clutch the ring in your hold. There was no way this was an engagement ring... Eren hadn’t proposed to you when he gave it to you—in fact, he was so casual about it, that it had you stunned that he hadn’t thought to consider that other people might think it meant something more than what he intended it to be.

But, looking back, it seems like you’re the only one who didn’t understand what was going on. Because Eren told you, even then, that he’d wanted you forever; you didn’t know how to hear him. It was all right there—not just in the ring, but in all his gifts, in the entirety of your friendship.

Eren loves you, more than you could ever know.

“It’s an engagement ring,” you say aloud, but more to yourself than to Mitchell, “Oh my god, it’s an engagement ring.”

Mitchell can’t do anything but smile at your revelation. You’re practically bouncing off the walls, connecting the puzzle pieces of your relationship in the middle of the street at damn near midnight, but you don’t care; because it finally feels right, and it finally, finally all makes sense.

“He, but he never pro—oh my fucking god, I’m going to kill him.”

You feel elated and confused and happy and murderous all at once. Eren wanted to marry you; Eren loved you. He wants you for the rest of his life, and you’ve been too blind to see it this entire time.

Still, you think that maybe a verbal proposal might have helped to open your eyes a bit.

“Mitchell, I have to—”

You’re cut off by the echo of your name coming from the opposite end of the street, and you can just barely make out of Eren’s figure in the faded lights of the street lamps. His name falls from your lips like a whisper, and you hardly register Mitchell’s amused, soft laughter from beside you.

“I think that’s my cue,” he says, patting you on the shoulder, “I better get back to Carla. Something tells me you two have a bit to talk about.”

You can barely nod at him, eye still wide and stunned, but a smile on your face even in your fearful anticipation. You don’t have time to thank him before he turns away, bidding you goodnight; and then you have something else to focus on, as Eren’s footsteps grow louder, and his silhouette grows sharper the closer he gets to you.

He practically crashes into you, chest heaving, hair wind-swept and wild from his running. He puts his hands on your shoulders, to steady himself physically and mentally, labored breaths ghosting over the top of your head.

“Hi,” he finally squeaks; and that stupid, big, dopey grin is on his face.

It’s ridiculous, so utterly ridiculous that you can’t help but greet him back. The two of you stand there, smiling like fools for god knows how long, before the realization strikes you for a second time.

Eren opens his mouth to finally speak, but a pained squeal leaves his lips instead as he feels the back of your hand slap his chest. “Ouch—hey, what was that for!”

“What the hell do you think you were doing proposing to me without telling me?” you screech, packing another punch to his chest for good measure, but it’s a poor barrier and does nothing to stop your tears from falling, “You’re an idiot, I should kill you for this, you know that, Eren Jaeger?”

Eren laughs softly, only to be heard by you in close proximity. He takes your offending hand in his, and reaches for your other, pulling both of them between your bodies. He can feel tears welling in his own eyes, as he looks down at the necklace, glimmering perfectly under the moonlight.  

“In my defense, the first thing you told me to do when I gave it to you was to return it.”

“I might not have said that if you told me what it meant,” you can hardly choke out a laugh through your tears; and Eren can’t stop his from falling either, “It’s insane, you know. This whole thing—to ask me to marry you at 19. For me to not realize until we’re 21.”

“I know,” Eren agrees, inching closer even though there’s barely any room between you, “I know. But I know I love you, every version of you. I always have, I always will.”

You close your eyes as Eren’s hands move to your face, gingerly sweeping your tears away from your cheeks. He feels too close, it feels like too much; but you don’t want him to move.

“You know... if you had asked me, then,” you start, blinking your eyes open with a sniffle; you’re met with Eren’s emerald greens one with far too much hope and love glimmering in them, “I—I don’t even know what I would have said.”

“And if I asked you now?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, slowly raising your hands to wrap around Eren’s wrist, and lower them to your neck, before looking at him again, “Ask me.”

Eren blinks, carefully trailing his hands up and around your neck, nimble fingers undoing the clasp of your necklace. He hardly lets the chain pool into his hand before it’s tossed aside, and the ring is still between his thumbs and index fingers as he lowers himself on to one knee.

“You are the love of my life, and there’s not a single version of life—a single version of you, or me—where I don’t want to be with you forever,” Eren says, “And you know how shit I am with my words, but I fucking mean it. I swear to you, that I’ll do my best every day to show you how much you mean to me; marry me, and I’ll prove it to you, I swear, I will.”  

Your lips are wobbling at Eren’s confession below you, and you can just barely beckon him upwards in your state. He’s hardly back on two feet before you’re pulling him against you, ghosting the word “yes” on his lips before you kiss him.

You both melt into the kiss, Eren’s hands skillfully cupping your cheeks, while he keeps the ring in his hold and bruises your lips together.

“You don’t have to prove it to me, Eren,” you assure him, hand shaking when you pull apart and let him slip the ring onto your finger—where it belongs, “You already have.”

For his first birthday as a married man, Eren requested something intimate. He wanted just a small celebration with all of your mutual friends, some good food, alcohol, and lots of fun.

Supposedly simple and intimate for him entailed renting out the top floor of the Whitney, which was currently encasing an exhibit portraying some kind of abstract modern art that allowed for a very drunk Eren and Armin have to entertain themselves by trying their best to recreate the paintings using very flawed couples aerial yoga.

The art, paired with the dimmed lighting, Jean’s choice selection of overtly sexual music, and Eren’s pick of overpriced champagne also meant that Marco, Bertholdt, Connie, and Sasha found everything ten times funnier than they were—which meant they were a million times louder than usual.

Jean stands next to you by the bar, watching as Eren attempts to hold Armin above his head by holding on to just his waist. They’re unsuccessful, of course, resulting in both boys toppling onto the ground as the majority of their older friends laugh along.

“Lucky me, I get to take him home at the end of the night,” you drawl, turning to the bartender to order another drink.

She smiles, easily preparing your martini and sliding it you with an inquiry. “That’s your boyfriend? The tall one with the brown hair?”

“No,” you sigh, eyes closed for a moment before taking the glass between your fingers. “That’s my husband, unfortunately.”

× even more notes: this fic. is my baby. it’s been a draft of mine for over two years at this point. it’s gone through various fandoms but i’ve never quite been able to complete and post it, so i’m very happy that it’s finally here! i hope you all enjoyed, and i just wanted to say that i’m glad to finally have been able to share this with you all!

[letarasstuff]

Unbreakable Bond

(A/N): This is based on this post and this tiktok

Summary: A big age gap between Aaron's children doesn't have to mean that they are unable to form a strong bond

Warnings: Mentions of Haley's death and failed relationships

Wordcount: 1.8k

✨Masterlist✨

_________________________________

His life took turns Aaron never expected. It’s not the “Oh, mh, well that was unexpected”-type of turns, I talk about the “God played Cards Against Humanity with angels and decided to make it happen for someone”-type. But looking back he would not want to change a thing.

After Haley and Beth he was convinced that God, the Universe, something out there shared the opinion that romantic love isn’t the right thing for him and Aaron accepted that fact. Even more when he and Jack went into witness protection. I mean, when you are worried about the life of your family being in danger because of a stalker, you don’t think about the beautiful neighbor, who lives next door, right? Right?

Well, without going into too much detail, Hotch did think about her and she about him and vice versa. Everything went good until Aaron received the message that the team found the stalker and that it was safe to come back. He decided to come clean to his girlfriend. They talked about the possibility of moving back to Quantico.

In the end they decided in favor of the move, the final argument was the surprising announcement of her being pregnant. Hotch wants to raise their youngest where his and Jack’s roots are located. But he decides against taking a position at the BAU, instead taking a desk job in order to be more at home. He also has the opportunity to work from home after little (Y/N) was born and continues to do so until she is old enough to go to Kindergarten. Even then he takes two days the week where he stays home. Aaron learned from his decisions and mistakes he made in the past and wants to live up to them and be a better father and husband than before.

And Hotch keeps it to this day, six years later. It’s (Y/N)’s first day of school, while Jack just graduated high school and goes off to college in a few weeks. Even though they have an age gap from twelve and a half years, their parents are sure there are no other siblings with such a strong bond.

Ever since his baby sister’s birth Jack is her biggest supporter, protector and friend. Her first word was his name, though it was more of a “ACK!”, but that’s the best nickname he ever got. As soon as (Y/N) was old enough to comprehend the concept of movies, he introduced her to Star Wars. Since then lightsaber wars out of cardboard pipes are not uncommon. Last Halloween they even dressed up as Chewbakka and Han Solo. You get three guesses on who was who.

“JACK!” (Y/N) runs into her big brother’s room with an excited expression on her face. “Daddy promised to buy me a real lightsaber after I read ten books! With lights and sounds and all! Isn’t that cool?” Jack smiles. Aaron did a similar thing with him. For a certain amount of books he got a reward they discussed beforehand. This way he felt motivated to read and improved writing and reading skills.

“This is awesome. I think that means we have to go book shopping together, what do you think?” (Y/N) is not only the cool kid that has an older brother, she is also the cool kid, whose older brother has a drivers license, a car and a part time job. She nods with big eyes, speechless, because the offer sounds like heaven to her. Getting books and one on one time with Jack after he was really busy with school for weeks? This has to be heaven.

“Ok, then you put your outside clothes on and I’ll tell Dad about our plan.” At that the little girl rushes to her room, not wanting to waste any more time. Jack makes his way down to the kitchen, where Aaron wipes the table from lunch down.

“Dad, I take (Y/N) to this bookstore in DC and we’ll probably go eat ice cream after that. Is that alright?” Hotch looks up at his son. It still feels like yesterday as he told Haley that Gideon is a big no as a baby name. Now he is all grown up and just a few weeks away from the next big chapter in his life.

“Of course, just let me get my wall-” Jack cuts him off. “No need, I want to use this as a kind of goodbye thing. At least until Thanksgiving.” Aaron knows what he means. It’s his last day before he goes off to college and just a couple more until the first classes begin. The family still hasn’t told their youngest exactly what’s going on. Else she would refuse to go to school and go on with her day, insisting on using all the time they have until Jack drives off.

Two hours later the siblings leave the bookstore, both of them having a bag in their hands. Of course Jack's heavier, but both he and the cashier assured (Y/N) that they lift the same amount of weight.

“Uncle Spence will be excited when I tell him that I read Harry Potter, he told me so many good things about it”, the girl gushes. Jack nods, indicating that he is listening. Of course they also picked books that are not that advanced. Still, no sister of his shall grow up without knowing the beauty of the wizarding world. Also, secretly he is hoping for her to turn out as nerdy as he is so they get more things to talk about. His next step is superheroes, especially the Marvel ones.

They converse until they get to an ice cream parlor and order both their usuals. “Do you think you are ready for me to tell you something important?” The older one asks after they sit down at a table. (Y/N) nods, confusion taking over her face.

“Uhm, you know how I graduated from high school? I’m done with school, but I want to get a degree, but for that I have to go to college. It’s pretty far away so I can’t come home for a few months. But I’m back home when Thanksgiving is and also for Christmas.” It doesn’t matter what Jack says, a sad frown has formed on the little one’s face. “Oh. And after Christmas, will you leave again?” He nods and explains when he is off from college and when not.

“We can always skype and write letters. How does that sound? And when you get your first phone, we can even text.” That (Y/N) lights up a bit. For her first year of school she got a stationary set and is eager to use it to this day.

“I’m going to miss you so much”, she says hugging her big brother. Jack pats her back. “I’ll miss you, too.”

The goodbye the next day is a heartfelt matter. Everybody cries, especially (Y/N). She can’t fathom a scenario where her brother isn’t there for her all the time.

The following weeks are also hard for the family. The youngest refuses to sleep alone for the first three days after Jack’s leave. She is more closed off and mainly just does her school work or reads the books he bought for her. By the time Thanksgiving is only away for another two weeks, (Y/N) has read through all of them at least two times.

Her father already ordered the lightsaber he promised her. Unfortunately shipping takes several months, so the little girl still has to wait patiently for her reward to arrive. In the meantime she works on getting the next and she is already pretty close to the comic book collection she wants.

“Sweetheart, can you set the table, please? Your Mom will be here soon from grocery shopping and she will need help getting them from the car into the house”, Hotch calls for his daughter while stirring in a pot.

The little girl nods, putting her stationary set and pens aside to do as her father asked. She is in the middle of answering her brother’s last letter, telling him that she is now the one that usually has to read aloud for the class because of her advanced skill for a first grader.

Just as she sets the last piece of silverware down the doorbell rings. “Sweetie, can you please open it? This should be your mother.” Happily (Y/N) runs up and turns the door knob. Over the last few months she hit a small growing spurt and is finally tall enough to reach it without standing on her tippy toes.

“Mo-” She nearly chokes on her own saliva. The one at the door is definitely not her mother. “JACK!” (Y/N) runs up to him and jumps onto his leg. “Hey Princess. I thought now that you read your books, we need to hold the most amazing lightsaber fight in history.” With a mischievous smile he pulls two from his back, giving one to his baby sister.

It is the most epic fight in history between an elementary schooler and a college boy. They can only be stopped by their parents announcing that it is a tie between both of them and that they have to sit down, else the food gets cold.

The following weeks mostly consist of (Y/N)’s joyous laughs and cuddling with her big brother. She even insists on him sleeping with her in her much smaller bed. On his last night before going back to college, the little girl turns to him in the middle of watching her favorite movie in the living room.

“Do you promise not to forget me when you are away? Because I alway think about you and tell my friends so much about you. I told them you are a hero, my hero, just like Daddy. They wanna meet you because of that.” Jack has to hold back tears at her statement.

“I also think of you so much. All of my friends at college are pretty jealous of me having such a sweet baby sister. Maybe one time you can visit me and I can introduce you to them.” The thought of that makes (Y/N) smile and is a little consolation to the thought of her brother leaving again.

Aaron watches the interaction going down, happy to see the strong bond between his children, despite their age gap. This is nothing like he and Sean were and that is a relief for him and the worries he had in the beginning. It is a sign that he did do some things right as a father.

Taglist:

All works:

@dindjarinsspouse @big-galaxy-chaos @jswessie187

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl @herecomesthewriterwitch @ash19871962 @ellyhotchner

[heyyyharry]

Happier

(inspired by happier by Olivia Rodrigo)

Word count: 2.4k

I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

Part 1: Drivers License

Part 2: Deja Vu

A/N: I edited the original lyrics to match the POV :)

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.

.

Harry had come up with a thousand scenarios of how this day would play out. Actually, he’d been thinking of this day since the moment he’d received the news. He didn’t dare to hope that she’d say yes to coming back for a sequel. He’d been sure that they would write her character off, give a lame excuse for how his love interest could not make a return and make his character forget about her completely to move on with a new girl in town. It would have been great if it was that easy in real life. Once someone was written off the script, they were gone for good. Real-life relationships were not that simple. Goodbye didn’t mean ‘never see you again’. You would still share the same friend circle and social bubbles, and it was worse when you two worked in the same industry. Harry didn’t know how he’d lasted a year without running into her, not since the Grammys.

“Didn’t you two date?”

“No.” Harry shook his head, but his eyes stayed glued on Y/N from across the room. She wasn’t looking his way, too busy saying hello to everyone else. “No,” he repeated, more to himself than to his co-star. “We didn’t.”

“But she wrote an entire album about you,” said the other twin. What was her name again? Lulu?

“Luna!” cried her sister, Lex. “You can’t ask him that!”

“No, it’s okay,” Harry said with a tight smile, slightly annoyed by the blonde twins, but he didn’t want to seem like an ass on the first day of filming. “And I don’t know if it was for me. You should ask Y/N.”

“Ask me what?”

Harry flinched when he looked up and saw Y/N padding towards them. She hugged the twins, who seemed way too excited. Harry guessed they were Y/N’s fans. They gave off crazy fangirl vibes, probably just pretending not to know the drama to interrogate him. He couldn’t blame them for assuming he was the villain and definitely could not blame Y/N for portraying him as one. It was more important that he knew who he was and how much he had changed since his last relationship. Maybe they could finally be friends.

“Were they bothering you?” Y/N asked him once the twins had left.

Harry nodded. “They’re your friends?”

“Oh, I met them last year on tour. I’m surprised you don’t know them. They were on Disney.”

“I don’t watch Disney,” Harry admitted with a smile. “Well, not today’s Disney.”

“Understandable.” Y/N nodded and bit her lip. She seemed guarded with her straight back and hands hidden behind her. She eyed him up and down, quite subtle yet noticeable. “How have you been?”

“Pretty good,” he said, nodding slowly. “You?”

“Yeah, but mostly tired because of tour.”

“You’re done?”

“Yup, last night was the last show.”

“Nice.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Nice?”

Harry blinked. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” Y/N giggled. “You still sound very...you.”

“Well, shouldn’t I?”

“Yeah, you should. But it’s been a year so…I mean, you haven’t changed much.”

“Right,” he said lowly, his eyes falling to his feet. Harry supposed he should say something else, perhaps bringing up another random topic to discuss, but all he could think about was what had happened between them. Things had been messy, hadn’t they? How could they go back to before that? Before her first song about him. Before he’d chosen someone else over her.

Or he could talk about her new relationship. She’d been in a happy relationship for almost six months, right? No wait, hadn’t they broke up two weeks ago? He wasn’t sure because he hadn’t been catching up. If they’d broken up, he’d sound like an ass to even mention her ex’s name. He should just stay quiet.

“I’ll see you later?” she said, gesturing at her stylist who was waiting by the door.

Harry could ask her right now -- the reason she’d agreed to film the sequel to their first movie together. He’d heard from a very reliable source that she’d specifically asked her agent to decline any project that he was in. So did this mean they were good? That she didn’t hate him anymore? He could have gathered his courage and got the answer right then…

“Yeah, see you.”

...but he didn’t.

And so she gave him a smile and a little wave, then happily returned to her stylist.

.

.

.

“See you tomorrow, Y/N!”

“See you, Annie!” Y/N said as she put the rest of her things into her tote bag. Her new driver had got her schedule mixed up, and so she had to wait here for another half an hour. She was in no rush. It had been a light first day, and she’d had a fun time getting to know the new cast members and catching up with old friends.

She sat on the sofa in the lobby, legs crossed, texting her best friend about her day. She’d purposely left out the short off-screen conversation with Harry, and her best friend didn’t even bother to ask. In their world, he didn’t exist, and his name was censored in every conversation like a curse word that was even worse than ‘cunt’. Nevertheless, she didn’t hate him anymore. She was doing just fine on her own, being busy with her career, and she’d been in a happy relationship after her fall out with him.

She and the guy, a model, had broken up two weeks ago due to long distance and some differences that they could not change. They had ended on good terms and decided to stay friends. They said you could only stay friends with your ex when you still had feelings for each other, or you had never loved each other that much in the first place. For her, it was probably the latter. Her previous relationship had been more platonic than romantic, apparently. So she had nothing but the best to say about him.

As she was going through her camera roll, just reminiscing about the past, she heard footsteps approaching and looked up to find Harry. He offered a smile and gestured to the spot beside her on the sofa. “May I sit here? My ride is late.”

“Yeah, sure.” She hurriedly scooted over.

“Good job today,” he said. “You were great.”

“Thanks, so were you.” She smiled, and they both looked away at the same time. This was so awkward. She hated small talk. She’d never had to have small talk with Harry. Conversations with him used to be so easy and natural and silly. Whatever this was, it wasn’t them.

“Can we just be normal?”

At first, Y/N thought she’d been the one who’d said it, so when she realised it’d been Harry, she was speechless.

He swallowed and sat a bit straighter, still not looking at her. “I don’t want us to be weird and awkward.”

“Okay,” she said.

He cleared his throat. “Wanna try again?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, not to sound like an ass but when Joey kept forgetting his lines, I was so pissed off, I could throw a chair at the wall.”

“Right?!” exclaimed Y/N, feeling free to have finally broken out of her shell. “Like, he doesn’t even have many lines. I know he’s new but damn...you can’t get far if you don’t learn your goddamn lines.”

Harry shook with laughter. “Oh God, we sound like dicks, don’t we?”

“Maybe.” Y/N laughed, covering her mouth. “But you know what? We can’t be nice in this industry. It’s impossible.”

“Shhh, if someone heard this, we would be into big trouble.”

“Oh please, I’ve had worse articles written about me than ‘Y/N speaks facts about her lazy co-star’.”

Harry tossed his head back and cackled. “The worst one I’ve got this week was ‘Harry Styles hates therapists.’”

“What?!” Y/N gasped. “No way! That’s so stupid!”

“Right?” Harry rolled his eyes. “I could get all my therapists to speak up for me but I’m kinda immune to bullshit now.”

“Therapists? Like plural?”

“Yeah, one in every city.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

Y/N rubbed her hands onto her legs. “Rough year?”

Harry’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as he leaned back. “You have no idea.” Then he swept his hair out of his eyes, sucked in a breath, and finally looked at her. “I wish I could have talked to you, though.”

She bit her tongue, knowing what she was about to say next would disappoint her best friend so much, but she had to. “So do I.”

Harry looked taken aback before his lips curled into a smile. “It’s silly, isn’t it? I haven’t talked to you in a year, and I feel like I know everything that’s happened to you except that I don’t.”

What he’d just said might make no sense for most people, but Y/N knew exactly what he meant. She nodded and wetted her lip. “You only know as much as everyone else does.”

“Yeah, I got updates on you from the news and our friends.”

“Same.” Y/N smiled back. “I hate how they write articles about your new haircut but not mine.”

“I like your new hair colour.”

“Thanks. I like your new car.”

Then they both burst out laughing. It was fun and also a little bit strange that Y/N didn’t feel the same anxiety talking to him as she used to. It must be because they had grown and were now meeting again as better people.

“Damn, my ride's here,” Y/N said as she read the text from her driver. “I gotta go now.”

“Oh, okay.” Harry stood up and followed Y/N to the entrance. “Hey, just wondering--”

“Yeah?”

“Am I...am I still blocked?” He looked a bit flustered as she tilted her head and squinted her eyes. “On your phone. Because I remember you having my number blocked--”

“I unblocked you on your birthday.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.” Y/N shrugged. “I should’ve sent you a happy birthday text but...I didn’t want your girlfriend to get the wrong ideas.”

“My ex.”

“Yeah, I know.”

They smiled at each other one last time before saying goodbye. Y/N knew it was silly, but she was hoping he would go after her.

Ding.

A notification popped up when she was in the car. She was almost home, and it was from Harry’s number. He’d sent her a link with a message that said, “Hope you like it :)”.

Curious, she tapped on it and was directed to an audio file titled ‘Track 5’. The upload date was last year. About two weeks after their short conversation at the Grammys.

Hurriedly, she fumbled inside her bag for her iPods and put it on before she pressed play.

“Hey, Jeff, I couldn’t sleep so I wrote this song. Listen and let me know if it should go on the album.”

Then came the piano intro. It sounded good, so Y/N wondered how it hadn’t ended up on his last album.

But when he started to sing...

We ended a while ago Your friends are mine, you know, I know You've moved on, found someone new One more guy who brings out the better in you

And I thought my heart was detached From all the sunlight of our past But he’s so nice, he’s so funny Does he mean you forgot about me?

Oh, I hope you're happy But not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

And does he tell you you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen? An eternal love bullshit he might not even mean Remember when you were with me I meant it when you heard it first from me

And now I'm pickin' him apart Like cuttin' him down will make you miss my wretched heart But he’s charming, he looks kind He probably gives you butterflies

I hope you're happy But not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better

I hope you're happy I wish you all the best, really Say you love him, baby Just not like you loved me And think of me fondly when your hands are on him I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

The song was for her. He’d written it when her new relationship had gone public. Y/N sat there, staring blankly ahead until the honking of a car tore open her inner peace, and reality came crashing back in. The driver dropped her off at her house. Instead of going inside, she stood on her front steps and replayed the song one more time. When it ended, she decided to text him: Why didn’t this make it to the album?

She didn’t know where he was now, but it showed ‘typing’ in less than a second, as if he’d been waiting in their chat since he’d sent that link.

You would’ve hated me, Y/N.

True, she replied. Still, I would’ve loved the song lowkey. And added, I love it btw.

He took so long to type that it was driving her crazy. She flopped down on the concrete stair with her phone clutched in her hands, her heart thundering against her ribcage. Anxiety popped like a balloon when his message appeared: Were you happier?

She reread it again and again.

No.

I wasn’t either, he responded. I kept getting deja vu.

Ha, nice reference.

That song is my guilty pleasure. Love listening to you roasting me on loop.

That last message made Y/N bury her face into her palm and giggle like a fool. She thought for a second and wrote: I could come roast you in person now if that’s what you prefer. I think we’ve never had a proper roasting.

Can we meet, Y/N? Or are you busy now?

No, not busy.

Great, I’ll pick you up.

Just tell me where, she responded with a smile on her face. I got my drivers license now :)

[lonelyl00n]

Je T'aime | Yandere! Joy

Summary: When your childhood bully won't let go of you.

Warning: manipulation, abuse of power, controlling relationship, jealousy, mention of killing

wc: 1.5K

This is was inspired by my favorite song Je T'aime by Hey. When I found out that Joy did a cover of that song, I got the creativity to create this. I wanted to get all of this out of my head, so it may feel a bit rushed in some areas.

You were in the library when you felt someone put their hands over your eyes. “Guess Who?”

“Hmmm.” You joked as you tapped your finger on your chin. “Is it…Namjoon?”

Your eyes were uncovered the second you said that. You laughed at Joy’s angry expression. “I told you not to mention him.”

“Sorry, sorry. What brings you here.”

“What do you mean what brings me here? It’s our night out.” Joy gasps.

“I’m sorry Joy, I don’t think I can do it tonight. Namjoon was supposed to be tutoring me, but I’ve been waiting for like thirty minutes.”

“I’m one of the smartest kids in the school. I’m in the Top 10 you know. Why didn’t you ask me?” Joy pouted.

You laughed at her outburst. “First of all, your parents would sue the school if you weren’t in Top 10, so that doesn’t really mean much.”

Joy's father was the CEO of a famous luxury brand, while her mom is a retired actress who was popular in the late 80's and 90's. Her parents had more money than you and your family could ever dream of. Growing up bouncing around from different relative’s basements made a lot of the kids at school growing up, make fun of you.

Especially Joy.

In 4th grade, is when she would begin to make your life a living hell. She would steal your lunch money and give you foods that she knew you were allergic to. She would constantly call you fat and make rude comments about you to her friends.

It got worse in 10th grade, when she made an announcement over the PA system that whoever talked, touched, or even looked at you would get beat up. She bought you and her matching rings at cost more than $1000, and would make you wear it all the time. She bought you clothes, gave you money, and even managed to convince her parents to buy your family an apartment with three bedrooms and a balcony.

 She basically owned you. You weren’t allowed to go out on the weekends because of her security guards guarding your apartment door. When you did try to leave the apartment, which you never succeeded, you would be taken by the guards to the Park Mansion and have to sit on Joy’s lap as you two watched a movie, as punishment.

You hated the power she had, you always did, she even forced you to go to the same college that she was going to, by threatening to hurt your Aunt Irene.

You reluctantly agreed to her ‘idea’, not wanting to hurt your family members that helped your family so much.

So now you followed Joy around the campus like a little puppy, while everyone else thought that you guys were just close friends who liked being near each other.

“And second of all.” you continued. “We are supposed to be working on a project together.”

Joy furrowed her eyebrows while thinking. A project? With a boy?! She thought she had already told all of your professors to not give you any partners at all. Especially a boy.

“I know what your thinking.” Y/N claimed, seeing the looked on Joy’s face. “But we went to London for a whole month, and this was a month-long project. I can’t do it alone.”

“Fine, then I’ll help you.” Joy suggested.

“But Namjoon has to get this grade too.”

“Why do you worry about other people so much, come on let’s just start this.”

You and Joy spent all night, researching, printing, and decorating your poster board. By the time you guys were finished it was 2 a.m.

“Well, that was quicker than I expected. I guess I’ll have to make a new reservation for tomorrow.” Joy sighed. “Let’s go home.” She said as she intertwined your hands and walke out the library.

As part of the deal, Joy had you move into a luxury 2-bedroom apartment that was about an hour away from campus. Joy demanded insisted that you shouldn’t use public transportation anymore because now, with the help of her money, you were worth a lot. Throughout your high school experience, Joy never let you get a driver’s license, so she has the pleasure of driving you to and from campus, always knowing your whereabouts.

You looked out the car window without having anything to do. As punishment for talking to a boy, Joy had taken your phone claiming that the only person you needed to talk to was always right beside you. “What do you want to eat.” She asked you.

“McDonald’s.” You say robotically. McDonald’s was the only fast food place that Joy allowed you to eat. It was the place she found your family at in 10th grade.

It was on a rainy day that your Aunt Irene had kicked you, your parents, and your little brother out of her basement for being a burden, which you didn’t understand because just a week ago your Aunt had said you all staying there was the best thing to happen for her since her illness was starting to worsen.

So, with no where to go and barely any money, your parents took you all to McDonald’s to split one box of 20 piece chicken nuggets, and 4 small drinks for each member of the family.

As you were told by Joy, her family's trailer had broken down on the way back home from the airport, so Joy offered to walk to the nearest building while her parents berated the driver. The nearest place just so happened to be the McDonald’s you and your family were at.

You instantly recognized Joy when she walked through the door, just like how Joy instantly recognized you. She sat a table across from the booth your family was at, and pulled out her phone. Gosh, were you so amazed. You had never had a phone before. Your parents only had one that they shared, and you didn’t have friends (because of Joy’s rules) to let you use theirs. Joy smiled at you awe-filled eyes and continued talking on the phone.

You didn’t even realize that you were staring at her until your mom slapped your wrist and told you to stop. When the phone call ended, Joy stood up and walked towards your table. You looked at the ground, afraid that she too would scold you. “Hello L/N’s. I’m Park Sooyoung.” She started. You heard a gasp in front of you and looked at your parents, who were looking at the entrance doors. A tall man wearing a suit, and a woman carrying a Chanel bag. Walked through the door.

Joy looked back and laughed. “Oh, those are my parents.” They came up to your booth, both shoke hands your parents and stood behind Joy. ”We wanted to give your family a place to stay, would you let us.” You mother, being the biggest fan of Joy’s mother growing up instantly nodded, while your father thought about it for a few seconds before evening his Wife’s beautiful smile. A smile he hadn’t seen since their wedding day. He agreed as well.

That night was significant to you because not only did your family get a place to reside, but it was also the first time that Joy was nice to you. Since that day she started treated you better, still not letting you talk to anyone else, but she was nice.

Although Joy would never tell you this, it was that night that she fell in love with you, completely.

After eating. You and Joy got into the bed that you two shared. Yes there were two bedrooms in your apartment, but you couldn’t sleep in a room by yourself.

You had slept in a room with somebody your whole life, it felt uncomfortable. So on the first week of living here, you asked Joy if you could sleep with her, even okay with sleeping on the ground. Joy let you into her bed, and sang you to sleep.

That became your routine every night after that. However tonight was different, you feel asleep the minute you got into bed. Joy snuck out of the bed and turned you alarm off. You didn’t need to go to school tomorrow, you wouldn’t have time anyways. Her makeup crew that were going to come today were rescheduled to come tomorrow. The day she had been waiting for since that night was going to happen.

 All of you and her family members were going to be at that restaurant and would watch as she would get down on one knee, just like in the romance movies, and propose to you. Just thinking about tomorrow made her heart flutter. Yes, she was furious about the change of plans today, but she would never take it out on you. Instead, she took it out on that Namjoon guy behind the library. Ugh! Just thinking about him getting close to you was sickening. She had her men take care of his body for her.

She kissed your cheek and whispers in your ear, “I love you.”

Everything was set in her plan. She loved you, and you…would have no choice but to love her. You were hers after all. Hers to love.