#because I got a fucking. challenge that's gonna take me probably two years starting at the beginning of january

[plutonious]

she's actually so swag. I also found out I'm a BIG fan of her color pallet. irida ily

[bo0tleg]

GEMS MY FRIEND SAID WATCHING 'TOP GUN: MAVERICK' FOR THE FIRST TIME:

"The jacket! The famous jacket that pulls women, pulls men, pulls the world!"

"Oh look how hot~ he looks on that motorcicle. He's even pracing his ass!"

(Maverick, on screen: "Well... He's not here yet.") The mans madness has begun."

"MAVERICK DON'T DIE YOU STILL NEED TO HAVE YOUR GAY ROMANCE!"

"He lasted two months at Top Gun? HA. He probably was a bigger piece of work than the students."

"From what I can tell, Maverick tamed Iceman. In the first one he was the little annoying bitch and Maverick saw a challenge."

"I mean, at least these two (Penny and Mav) have chemistry. They hooked up in a plane, after all."

"Iceman solves his problems, Iceman keeps his job, what a simp. That's dog behavior."

"Maverick doesn't look likes he's flirting with her, he's just confused. His confused face looks like his flirting face, and people assume. I know this because people do it to me."

"Yeah, he's kinda like that one Olívia Rodrigo song that she gets confused when she sees her ex... What was it again?" ('bad Idea right?' by Olivia Rodrigo)

"I like him (Bob)! He's pathetic like me!"

"Oooohhh they're (Phoenix and Bob) gonna be besties! I can feel it."

(When Phoenix racks Rooster with the cue) "OHOHOHOOOO I LIKE HER ALREADY."

(Didn't notice Hangman taking Bob's cue, I relayed the information) "Aaaahhh don't steal Bob's cue. Bob's cool, Bob's nice."

(After rewinding the scene) "NO, NO, NO! WHO IS THAT? NOBODY CAN STEAL BOB'S CUE! I don't like him (Hangman)."

(Hangman, on screen: Bradshaw! As I live and breathe!) *Slowly turns towards me with dead eyes*

"That's not enemies to lovers, that's just enemies."

"With just this scene, I can tell this guy (Hangman) comes and goes. 'Sometimes I flirt with you, sometimes I hate you.' He's like a tsudere."

"Oh, got it. Phoenix is adopted into the man's group. She's a bro."

"I wouldn't say that they're his support system, but those two are the people that know him the best. Hangman is paying attention because he wants to be the best and needs to defeat Rooster. Phoenix is demonstrating a more sibling like worry."

"Hondo is like Mavericks babysitter."

"Oh. Oh, now Mav's flirting with her."

(Following the 'Baby on Board' comment) "Don't talk shit about Bob! I don't like Hangman."

"Maverick is like a step father to Rooster. Not in the 'HAHA I FUCKED YOUR MOM' kind of way, but in the way that he helped raise him."

"Where is Iceman? I'm here for the two of them, I don't give a fuck about Aeronautics."

"I think Ice and Maverick had a long relationship, but they're not together anymore. They maintained a friendship, but their lives probably went in different directions. I'd say they were together for 10, maybe 20 years."

('I ain't worried' by OneRepublic starts playing) "This song is from 2022? OH MY GOD THE SCENE"

"DON'T PLAY AROUND WITH GRANDPA!"

*Started chanting "BOB! BOB! BOB!" When he got picked up*

*Eeriely quiet during the bird strike, until Maverick starts talking to Rooster* "OH THEY'RE NOT DEAD. THEY COULDN'T HAVE KILLED BOB! IF THEY KILLED BOB I WOULD STOP AND NEVER WATCH TOP GUN EVER AGAIN!"

"Definitely 20 years. Ice is probably the only person Mav actually loved. Like, not a fling?" "Yeah, probably." "He's been with lots of women, and men, but Iceman is the only person he was ever in love with– maybe still is."

"I think his (Ice's) wife knows. That's probably why she recognizes Mav and is kind of friends with him." "That's probably why she just let him go up to see Ice." "YEAH GO AHEAD, FUCK MY HUSBAND!"

"It's pretty easy to notice that Snowman– No, ICEman."

"That is the face of a man who just lost the love of his life."

"Damn, the mans a beast. If It was me I'd already have cried, alone, in a room absolutely destroyed, never to come out again."

"He's got nobody, dude! I just want his step child to come back, because If he doesn't that man's gonna kill himself!"

"Why does it always have to have a romantic ending. Just leave him with his adoptive son. Go away."

"They (Penny and Mav) aren't going to end up together."

"I have a theory! Fanboy is obsessed with women! Cus he's 'Fanboy'." "But wouldn't he be called Simp, then?" "Ah, then he's obsessed with men." "... simp can be for men too."

"There's gonna be a Top Gun Three? Who's it gonna be about? It ain't gonna be Maverick, that man has a foot in the grave already."

"Bob is my favorite in the second movie. I have no favorites in the first one because everybody is very macho and very gay, and that's boring."

[damiansgoodgirll]

Rhea defending reader when a man makes her uncomfortable pls pls

rhea ripley x reader

tw : harassment

protector

you were currently fixing some lights for the upcoming raw event when you heard some of your colleagues making uncomfortable comments in your direction.

you worked as a sound and lights technician for wwe and you’ve been working there for over a year so, being the only female in that department was such a challenge some days.

some of your colleagues were nice. they made you feel welcomed and you knew you could rely on them but some other colleagues were acting like animals most of the times. you never complained with human resources because you thought you couldn’t stand a chance, they had been doing this job for more than ten years and you were new so you knew they would come first. but as days went by you grew tired of their comments and even if you told them to stop it felt like they wouldn’t even listen to you.

you were fixing some things on your computer, adjusting the lights and helping setting the sound on when two of your colleagues came next to you.

“how you doing pretty?” the older man asked you.

“busy…” you said not even looking at them. you were all backstage and you knew wrestlers just started to feel the arena and the changing rooms so you didn’t want to cause a scene.

while passing by your eyes met dominik one’s. you didn’t even speak but your look told him everything he needed to know. you grew close to him mostly because you were only two years younger than him so you had a lot in commons, he always told you that you reminded him of his sister and that made you feel proud.

he gave you and understanding look and in a flash he turned around the corner. you hoped he was asking for help.

“oh don’t be like that sweetheart, we just want to know more about you…” the other one said while laying his hand on your lower back. that was enough to make you jump back a little.

“i’d rather you won’t touch me” you tried to stay serious but you were panicking. you were used to their comments and their flirty ways but they never laid a hand on you so you had no idea of what to do.

“why not? we could have so much fun…” the older one said with a smirk in his face.

“i said no…”

“come on! don’t be like this beautiful…” and you felt one of them touching your ass.

before you could reply you heard that familiar voice that always made you feel safe.

“she said no” rhea said with a very serious tone “if i were you i would go pack because this is gonna be your last day of work here” she grew closer to you and the men froze.

everyone who worked backstage knew how important was to respect wrestlers, it was hard getting to know them, imagine being friend with them. you got lucky because of dominik. he was the one who introduced you to rhea and the whole judgment day so the two knew rhea wasn’t joking.

they left without saying anything, probably fearing for their careers.

“are you okay y/n?” she asked you softly.

you couldn’t find the way to talk so you simply nodded, even if you were shaking a little.

“let me take you somewhere else…follow me” she smiled at you and guided you into her changing room “here drink some water, it’ll help you” she handed you a cold glass of water and you thanked her.

she sat next to you making sure you drank all of the water.

“they shouldn’t have touched you…if you say no it’s no, why can’t some people understand that?” she said.

“doesn’t matter…i’m glad you were here” you smiled.

rhea always had a soft spot for you. you thought it was because you had a lot in common but in reality rhea had a massive crush on you and she had no idea on how to tell you that.

“you should thank dominik for that” she laughed.

“oh i will…” you said back.

“i’m gonna have them fired. that was fucking harassment and i don’t even wanna think what would have happened if i wasn’t here” she sounded mad.

“but i don’t want to get them in trouble just because of me…”

“y/n, they did something horrible and from what i can tell it wasn’t the first time it happened…i’m gonna report them and dominik too…if you’ll come with us we might have a better chance to have them fired. don’t think about them, think about you…i know you don’t wanna put anyone in trouble but it’s for your safety…” she said holding your hands.

you looked straight into her eyes and you could tell she was deadass serious.

“okay…i’ll do it” you smiled.

so the day after the match, you stood between rhea and dominik who were telling everything that happened to you and you told them your version.

in less than a day they got fired and you were able to work with your “normal” colleagues once again and you couldn’t be more grateful for it.

rhea saved your life and she had no idea about it so you were thinking about asking her to join you for one dinner just so you could show her gratitude.

of course she agreed. any excuse for spend time with you.

but when you were with her, you started feeling something that was more than friendship, and you have no idea how to tell her. luckily she got the memo. she saw how your behaviour changed in the last few weeks, and now it was her time to confess her love for you.

[taysanimaladventures]

Just gonna. Bitch a bit lol. I'm sorry I don't have anything positive to share on here anymore. But I think prospective keepers need to know the shit that happens in this field.

Trigger warnings for animal neglect and death.

I was let go from a job. When I was working part time at my local zoo they underpaid me severely. I needed to take part time because my grandma was dying. I lived with my husband but the pay was so bad and hours were limited to 16 a week so I was forced to get a second job.

I quit the zoo last year which is a whole story in itself, but we are keeping it simple here. I think once I am a but cozy I will share that story and all the other stories at some point. Anyways I stuck with this second job for the past year while processing my grandmother's illness and eventual death to at least earn some income. However after my grandma passed I decided for certain I wanted to leave the industry. I learned the hard way that changing careers is not easy so I was sticking with them only for cash during this frustrating job search.

This second job was taking care of ambassador animals for an educational program. Nothing fancy, just a collection of small mammals, reptiles, amphibians, inverts, and an owl. My boss acted like she worshipped the ground I walked on because I busted my ass trying to help them rebuild their animal collection after their old one was lost to a wildfire.

I did a lot for them. A lot. I found reliable breeders to purchase from, set up the entire animal care work room, wrote care sheets for every single animal, created schedules, deep cleaned, did research and gave advice, and more. All of this while juggling a nasty sleep issue, depression and anxiety from my grandma's situation, and mental health issues up the wazoo from changing around medication.

Now while I bust my balls for my animals, over the years and years of exposure to terrible situations I have not been the most..... palatable person. I had a breakdown when my boss brought in a new bearded dragon and made little effort to quarantine it. I was irritated after the 4th time I come back from the weekend to empty water dishes and dirtier-than-normal cages. I got huffy with the people who take animals for making stupid mistakes, such as leaving a lamp on the edge of a snake enclosure causing it to melt. I had repeatedly requested my boss re-train staff so mistakes were minimal. She always said she would but I never saw a change. She even admitted to me she noticed staff were in deep conversation while handling animals which is probably why the mistakes were happening. And she wonders why I got pissed off at them??

My patience eventually ran dry after like 4 months of this shit and my boss -appeared- to be understanding that I have extensive trauma and I act the way I do because of it. It's not like I ever called anyone a mean name or bullied them, like I was the victim of way too many times when I first started out. I was outwardly unhappy, did not want to converse with anyone, and had a tone and was short sometimes. People still walked on eggshells around me. And you know what? I didn't give a shit and I still don't. I was a lone wolf in my duties and I wasn't required to converse with anyone except my boss. Plus no one here matters except for the animals. When you are careless with my animals, I am going to be pissed off.

But apparently my (now former) boss showed what really matters to her. She gave the keeper who forgot to refill water bowls a million chances to do better and never let her go. That keeper was the reason I even wrote those care sheets. But me? I'm grumpy and I challenge the status quo. Got to go. After blowing smoke up my ass for two years, saying I'm amazing and valuable and I can share anything with her and giving me a stupid piece of tape with stars on it for handling a sick animal.

I snapped from the stress.You should take a break. Ok, I'll take a fucking break! And then, a few days after my grandma's funeral which she knew about, I get an email: Oh so you can't come back this isn't working out anymore.

Sorry, what?

So I am here to shame the other shit this job did. Of course I spoke up, but it did not change anything.

-Two male rats kept in this cage. They were separated because they were fighting. They now live in two of these cages. I asked for a bigger cage. Blown off. I asked if the DIY guy could fuse the cages. "There's no point if we are getting a bigger cage." A year later, still the same cages. Btw they have diarrhea often.

-Rescued bearded dragon was brought in underweight. Boss said feed her insects every day (she was at least a year old, young but not a baby). Beardie starts getting chunkier and chunkier. I say hey we need to cut back in the notes. Ignored for a few weeks. She is morbidly obese. Only then the boss says cut back. She is also dead now and I only know this since I checked records while on "break." Wanna bet that was the morbid obesity?

-Another bearded dragon not feeling well. Eyes closed, black bearding. I'm hollering for him to be seen. "Oh it may just be because it's cooling down." Eventually sees the vet, the fucking quack says he's trying to brumate. I've never owned beardies but I called bs. Nothing was done except blasting more heat on him. Nothing changes. A week later, he vomits blood and dies. It was kidney failure.

-Leopard gecko not eating and slowly losing weight. In the notes several times over the course of a few months, "he is not eating and losing weight." I guess it was my bad for putting it in the notes I assumed were getting read instead of verbally telling my boss. Got ignored until I verbally told her. Gecko needed to be put down.

-Rabbit taken to programs way too often. He comes back and looks worn the fuck out. I bring this concern up to boss. "Yeah, we need to get a third rabbit." But otherwise nothing changes.

-Accepts a hermann's tortoise in a glass enclosure that nonstop runs into the glass, promises a tortoise table but here we are again a year later.

-Says yes to a frilled lizard from the quack of a vet as an apology for what happened with the beardie. Takes the vets word that his enclosure (a horizontal, not vertical enclosure with newspaper only and a red lamp and heat pad) is correct and it's "just like caring for a bearded dragon." The poor thing stops eating and the skin of her frills is dead from being unable to shed. Their solution is force feeding her. Fed up with leadership, I research the species and learned that everything we did was wrong. I set up proper lighting and substrate for her (can't do much about a vertical enclosure). She bounces back.

-"This animal doesn't look good, it shouldn't be taken to programs." "Okay" -2 days later they are back at programs- "Sorry we needed it."

I get that I was not necessarily a great person in this story, but I truly feel justified because this was such bullshit to deal with and now I am truly free of this hellish industry. I am unemployed and it's uncomfortable but it's better than dealing with this bullshit.

To my husband, friends, and family helping me get through this: thank you.

To Stephanie: fuck you.

[yagamisdiary]

Hey girlie!!! Happy new years!! Do you have any advice on relationships and communication???

happy new years!

so this is something i definitely struggled with for a LONGGGG time i was the “im upset but im not gonna tell u why” person for yearsssssss (ew btw that shit is NOT cute)

it’s definitely a challenge communicating especially if u feel like ur partner isn’t going to hear u out or take u serious bc it makes u want to open up even less

so with that being said, i definitely think it’s important to find someone who is also going to communicate with u because there’s truly no point in saying how u feel to someone who dgaf

next, put ur pride aside !!!!!!!! this was a big problem for me because i tend to be very prideful at times. i have a lot of feelings and emotions but it takes forever for me to admit someone hurt them even though i make it extremely obvious

ever since i started communicating efficiently in my relationship, things have gotten so much healthier and smoother! once u get over the whole pride thing, it’s so easy

normally what i do is i allow myself some time to be dramatic aka go somewhere private and cry or rant etc ( DO NOT RANT TO FAMILY OR FRIENDS TRUST ME YOU WILL REGRET IT)

once u get all the gooey emotions out, that’s when u communicate with ur partner. i say this because if ur like me, you’re going to say things u don’t mean out of anger and because ur emotions are heightened, it’s better to speak when ur levelheaded

i usually start by just pulling them aside or shooting them a text and saying “hey something happened that bothered me and to avoid being passive aggressive and weird, i wanna talk about it”

HOPEFULLY* ur partner is ready to sit and listen to what happened and it’s important u try to say it all as clearly as possible! don’t try to speak rudely (it’s hard i know) because if u upset the person, they’re more likely to walk away from the conversation and it was pretty much useless

u can say things like “i know u probably didn’t mean it that way but when u said/did this, it made me feel this way.”

if the person immediately gets defensive or angry, you should take that as red flag because they’re probably guilty of whatever it is u caught them doing

an unguilty person will tell u the truth and say “i’m sorry you feel that way but that’s not how it happened” and then they’ll go on to their side of the story

sometimes… their side of the story WILL PISS U OFF especially if it’s contradicting your story but again u just respond calmly and say “i get that but im just telling u how it made ME feel”

if they keep giving u push back, just end the conversation and say let’s just talk later

normally, when the person has some time to think and put themselves in your shoes, they’ll come back later and say “ok i get where you’re coming from now and i would feel the same way; i’m sorry for making u feel that way”

it seems hard to believe because ppl aren’t necessarily built for communicating that easily… SPOILER ALERT!!!! it’s not supposed to be easy! it’s supposed to be hard that’s the whole point!

no one likes to admit they’re wrong, no one likes to admit they got their feelings hurt but in order to grow and get past it, u gotta just rip the bandaid and get it over with

and TRUSTTTTT ME it feels so fucking good afterwards and the two of u will gain so much respect and admiration for eachother and ur relationship will get so much stronger everytime because each time u two get upset, you’ll be able to communicate it much easier since u got it over with

[hypnotisedfireflies]

So if Joel doesn't find out that Ellie's gay until she's like 18 years old, I assume that means he wouldn't find out until she starts dating Cat or Dina…and that got me thinking.

We know Joel is a certified girldad and he would absolutely make himself president of the Jackson chapter of PFLAG within a week of finding out Ellie was a lesbian. But for all his dad energy, Joel doesn't actually have any experience parenting an older teen/young adult. Not only that, but it probably hasn't occurred to Joel yet just how different dealing with 17 and 18-year-olds are compared to 13 and 14-year-olds. We already saw that in Shots Fired when he thought a 17-year-old Ellie would react to drinking alcohol (and the rules he gave her about it) the same way a 14-year-old Ellie would. So how do you think Joel would handle the other challenges of parenting an older teen like Ellie dating, getting her tattoo, etc.?

Tess Miller has entered the chat.

“If you force rules down her throat she’s just going to break them.”

Joel pointed the hammer at Tess.  “You’re actually not qualified.”

He started climbing the ladder.  Tess held it steady, one foot on the lowest rung.  The board right up the top right side of Ellie’s studio had rotted and needed replacing:  water was getting in with every rain.  At least he thought that was where the water was getting through.  It would be a process of elimination but these seemed a sensible place to start.

“What, because I don’t have kids?”

“No, because you grew up without any damn rules, so you don’t know why they’re important.”

Tess straight up laughed at him.  “I had rules!  I just flouted them.”

“And there were zero consequences for that.”

“I turned out okay.”

“You were lucky.”  Joel started pulling out the old nails with the hammer claw. “Some of the shit you’ve told me, Tess.  That you got away with half of that or even fucking survived…”

“Okay,” she conceded, “I was reckless but I was smart, and so’s Ellie.  She’s not stupid, Joel.  She’s not gonna do stupid things.”

“Nothing seems stupid when you’re that age.  It’s only when you get older you realise how stupid it all is.”

“Okay, so let her do the stupid things!”

“Let her do stupid things?”

“Yes!”

“Just stand by and let her fuck shit up?”

“Yes!”  Tess laughed again. 

She thought she was so damn clever.  Joel coaxed out a stubborn nail and started on the next, wiggling the claw back and forth.

“Joel, she lives in a gated community in the middle of fucking Wyoming at the end of the world.  How much trouble do you think she can really get herself in?”

“Don’t know.  Don’t want to find out.”

“Well, it’s not much,” Tess said, flexing her fingers on the ladder. “I suppose you can’t help yourself.”

“Hey, be nice.”

“You were just born in dad mode.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?  Hey, take these.”  Joel bent down and passed her two rusted, bent nails.  “Careful.”

“Six years on Tommy, right?  It’s six?”

“Yeah.  You got them?”

“Yes, got them.  You basically raised Tommy.  Then you had all that shit with Emma.  Had Sarah so young.  Raised Sarah.  Outbreak happens.  You look after Tommy, you look after me, you look after Ellie.  Your whole life has been looking after someone else.  I can’t blame you for not…”

“Not what?”  Joel looked down.

“Knowing when to stop.”  Tess squinted up at him, moving one hand to shade her eyes.  “… but we love you for it?”

Joel scoffed and gave up trying to work out the last two nails, which were deeply embedded in the soft wood.  He started breaking it up with the hammer instead. 

“Watch your head.”

“I’m not saying no rules,” Tess continued.  “I’m saying be smart about it.  You make the rules in a framework that seems fair to her but at the end of the day, operates the way you want.  She’s a teenage girl, Joel.  Throw everything you think you know out the window.”

[spookyheaad]

New KenUno AU!

@p-riama @girlwiththepapatattoo

Ok, my fellow Kenpachi lovers, I need you to read this because I’m about to pass on (context: I’ve convinced my parents to watch The Mandalorian with me & I got them hooked):

Then read the caption here:

I lost my fucking mind.

I became very enamored with Mandalorian culture after finally getting towards watching season 2 of Mando, and I’m actually kinda shocked as to how much it is reminiscent of the whole Kenpachi lineage in Bleach (Much less severe tho).

So yeah, KenUno Mandalorian!AU

Mandalorians aren’t a species, they’re a creed, so anyone can be a Mandalorian. Their lifestyle revolves around combat, I just got more info abt this stuff the other day and I’m actively looking more stuff up. Admittedly as I grew up watching the clone wars animated series, I wasn’t too interested in the arcs that dealt with Mandalorians (mainly Pre Vizsla & Death Watch. Thought they were cool & all but I was still in grade school and wanted to see cool lightsaber fights).

But now that I’m older and much more interested in the lore of SW, I’m fascinated by them; I’m also going to rewatch all Mandalorian centric episodes because there was a lot that was put into both clone wars & rebels (for research, and because I still need to watch Rebels, this might give me my reason).

I’m still thinking on solid designs for Unohana and little Yachiru, I have an idea of Kenny’s armor and what he looks like.

My whole idea is that both Kenpachi & Unohana have been longtime Mandalorians, have followed the creed for years; found one another through the creed. They follow a branch of Mandalorian belief that allows them to remove their helmets (compared to Din Djarin, who was raised in The Children of the Watch, who refuse to remove their helmets to any other living being unless necessary). Bo Katan even Tells Din that The Watch is an old Mandalorian belief system, bordering on cultists. Zaraki & Unohana adhere to a more lenient form of Mandalorian lifestyle in that sense.

Of course, Unohana found Zaraki (not as a child, though, he’s an adult when they meet.) and she offered to show him the ways of the Mandalorian creed; he accepted. They grow an incredibly strong bond both on and off the battlefield, wandering the galaxy together. Eventually they fall in love, and declare themselves a clan of two (Mandalorians refer to family units as “clans”).

Then, they find a lost little girl, that being Yachiru. Knowing what this entails, they both accept that the child is their responsibility, and must take it to more of her own kind or raise her until she may choose her path. So then, they become a clan of three.

I’m still trying to determine what faction they both belonged to & some other AU related things but, uh yeah, I could cry rn at how perfectly this fits.

I’m probably going to stick to the short hair for him because it just makes it easier. With Unohana I plan to give her a typical pulled back braid; she doesn’t really have a need to wear it in the front, and also it would restrict her head movement if she wore her front braid and her helmet. Much more convenient.

More head studies for Kenny

Started planning his helmet design. I gotta give his helmet horns, that’s just a given. Not sure if I want to add any sort of designs, and I’m also unsure of what color both of their armor sets should be, I have to look up if the colors have any connotation.

Final head study. I plan to do more variations in expression digitally.

Very basic head study with helmet on

Mando Kenny defending his foundling, Yachiru!

I’m also gonna change what Yachiru is wearing, I just wanted to do something full body for Zaraki & I gave Yachiru the typical robe since it’s easy and drawing kids is a bit of a challenge for me (they just end up looking like small adults lmaoo).

[expensivemistake]

🗣️❌💗!!

Wooooh thank you!!!

🗣️ - Talk about your favourite WIP

OOOOH favourite is really hard. Partly because I have so many things going right now it's hard to pick ONE, y'know? But I think my favourite is maybe the one-off Klaus AU one, just because it's for a version of Klaus I've really developed, but nobody on tumblr/ao3 would be familiar with, and it'd be a lot of fun to share it and branch out, because the ideas are, I hope, really quite intriguing for a lot of snippet-style things.

I think what excites me is that, if/when I do share it, I'll get to share it as a series rather than one continuous thing, which would be so cool. I really dig non-linear storytelling and would LOVE especially to have a whole other universe (which does still speak to Umbrella Academy canon) to sort of play with.

❌ - What WIP do you find the most challenging? Why?

GOD to be honest... This Wedding Chapter 5. It counts because I say it does.

I think the reason why it's difficult is because I haven't been talking/thinking about it over these last few months, largely because of my degree. Maybe I need to wean myself back into it again. I need to expand the playlist/listen to the playlist and work on the pinterest board, but also, y'know... write it, talk about it.

I fucking love that fic and still have so many things to write for it (real ones know one of the Klaine plans) but I've just not been there for ages probably because of my degree. I did start to reread chapter 5 so far at work the other day though and added a little bit, so it's defo not out.

Also not gonna lie it's sometimes logistically hard to write. Got to keep everything fitting with some of the constant events.

💗 - Is there a scene you can’t wait to write for a WIP?

BAAAH speaking of This Wedding, I can't wait to write when Klaine (redacted). But that one's top secret even though I think some people know what I might be refering to.

In terms of things I don't mind talking about though, for the seven part Umbrella Academy one, it's basically focusing on a Klaus scene with each sibling prior to when the show takes place. I've already written Luther and I'm halfway through Diego and Allison's scenes, but the one I'm most excited for is Viktor, which will be the last one I publish so probably last written?

As the fic is taking a two year plot structure (chapter 1 is 2007, 2 is 2009, 3 is 2011...) this one's going to be in 2017, the closest to when the show takes place (other than um... Five's chapter). I think I know it's going to be some small, fleeting exchange. They're not close but seemingly live in close proximity. And they've got a weird stalemate within the Hargreeves dynamics of just... nothing. Which will be FASCINATING to explore.

So yeah!!! Very excited to write that. The whole fic is all very interesting to me.

Thank you so much for these!!! It's defo helping me feel a bit more inspired, actually! xx

[taylorkellyreporting]

i hope no one minds if i liveblog this bitch: clickbait

tried watching this when it came out and lost interest within the first two minutes lmao let’s hope this time goes better

oh damn she’s an addict

i wonder if he’s doing the video for attention or if it’s actually real and he’s in danger 🤨

why do they keep focusing on that one teammate…

the student taking a video pls 😭

oh shit??? the detective is the guy pia matched with the night before

and of course it’s in his handwriting

oh my God he called her but she was so fucked up she dropped her phone and didn’t get it til now 🤦‍♀️ i just know she’s blaming herself

they’re in a whole ass crises and her mom is still taking shots at her that’s so…

not vince trying to kiss her lmfaooo

oh fuck it hit 5 mil

how convenient that they got a lead right as it hit 5 million views

it’s gonna be empty

- 1x02

*pretends to be shocked*

why does he wanna be in homicide so bad?

“we were just having some fun” a guy is literally missing lmfao

that was the worst statement i’ve ever heard

LMFAOOO HIS OFFICE

“are you married, detective?” “yes” tf?

what the hell is sophie hiding

that’s so fucked up

vince was part of that??? wow

i can’t wait to find out if this is just some elaborate hoax nick decided to pull

ooh what if matt has something to do with it? there’s something about him that i just don’t trust

oh shit he has a son

aw i kinda feel bad for the guy

OH MY GOD

and that’s why you don’t make promises you can’t keep

i fully expected him to be alive by the end i’m ngl

oh wow he made homicide

oh shit that’s the guy who kicked nicks ass at the bar

i knew sophie was being weird

- 1x03

his poor kids ☹️

her mom knows???

well that couldn’t have gone worse

i’m so glad she was followed tbh both because she’s a liar and because curtis probably would’ve hurt her

“if you were happy in your marriage mrs, brewer, why were you having an affair?” GET HER ASS!

oh shit did he rape her?

i’m trying sooo hard not to be biased towards either of them since we don’t know the full story but it’s a challenge

ohhh my God ethan heard

“you never judged me. all this time you knew and you didn’t judge” “not to your face” real 😭

i wonder if nicks affair started before or after sophie came clean about hers

oooh that girl that they focused on a bit in the first ep was def about to talk to sophie about something

i really don’t trust matt

judging by the looks on some of the girls faces i really think nick was hurting him and matt was in on it

oh shit sophie’s putting the pieces together

the fucking whiplash i got from hearing the weeknd right after that memorial scene 😭😭

not him using the pics he took while sophie was with him skdjgjgkfjs what an asshole 😭😭

why the hell was he so upset about her affair if he’d been on that app for two years??

“i forgive you” the audacity.

- 1x04

emma’s a real one for helping out that man and his wife i can’t lie

did he hurt her too?

he clearly never mentioned emma to matt

SHE KNEW HE WAS MARRIED???? i wonder what else she knew

i wonder what nicks mom would say if she knew that he was cheating first

what the fuck

at first i thought matt killed nick but then he stopped that student from talking to sophie so i figured he was hurting them too bc why else would he not want it to get out? but if he found out what nick was doing and killed him for it, he wouldn’t want to be caught so maybe that’s why he did it?

shit are they gonna kill emma?!

okaaaay emma’s saying she got spooked and ran her car off the road but she was clearly sideswiped so either she’s lying or her head injury is preventing her from remembering 🤨

i wonder if all the women he was dating decided to kill him?

i really have no idea how this is gonna end

[suuho]

How has the vocal training been going?? <3

hey!!! initially i wanted to wait with answering this until after my vocal lesson on tuesday but eh, what the hell. i am just gonna... very tentatively say that i am slowly regaining my footing. which, it feels like it happened so quickly i think but the truth is that i have been struggling for well over a year now (in april it will have been a year since i had covid, so that pretty much checks out. that was like the final nail in my coffin, lol), and i probably struggled even longer than that. if i am brutally honest, which. uh. once again, lol. that is why i honestly find it very encouraging when singers i look up to confess that they also struggle and question themselves and their skill; it is normal and human, and it isn't the end of the world either or makes me a terrible singer.

anyways. the thing is, i really truly and well feel like i am fifteen again just with a different skillset. i have started from scratch, mostly. i sing a bunch of the same stuff i sang ten years ago, a lot of rock and pop-punk stuff that taught me how to sing to begin with, like fall out boy and paramore. because those are songs i could already sing, so they are familiar but i have to force myself to sing it properly, stop singing so much from my throat (which i most definitely got rid of before and now i am annoyed that it happens basically unconsciously. it sucks.) i think i need to get an ab workout in again, lmao, because i NEED the support to come easier for me. yoseob, i understand you and your crazy abs wholeheartedly. 😭

my last two vocal lessons went pretty well, though! i am pretty happy with my mix these days, i think i managed to push it a little higher while maintaining the volume, and i am working so hard to not go thin when i sing high anymore, which is another annoying thing that has happened to me after covid. never happened before, now i am like wtf is this???? so i try to consciously adjust that too. the song i picked for my lesson right now is a straight musical theater piece with lots of high belting and it sits right where my voice breaks these days (also smth i worked out before that is now back, lol) and i am not letting up on working through it because i need to figure out how to sing this fucking song properly. technique and all. i need to go through every section and adjust my voice, like i am really treating this like i did when i was fifteen and sang way less challenging songs. so, at least i know i made SOME progress in ten years. lmao.

i sing a lot at work now, so i have gotten rid of most of my anxiety surrounding singing in public. that used to cripple me to death until, like, three years ago or something? i couldn't even sing in front of my teacher, it always fucked me up. but it's nice because now people come up to me and tell me i either have a great voice or they like my music!! lmao.

ok, so!!! uh, i think i am hopefully getting over the hurdle now is what i am saying. and i hope that the progress is not just temporary and that it keeps going like that. i wanna feel comfortable and confident singing again, because i know i can do it. and i know what i am capable of.

yoseob posted videos on his stories of him warming up and singing these past days and that was so encouraging, man. idk. it just made me feel so happy. i admire him so much, i think he is one of the best singers ever and his technique is soooo good. it's so cool how dedicated he is to keep himself in shape, and he also still takes vocal lessons!! he really is such an inspiration to me. i remember when jongdae and jinho would post bits from their vocal warm ups or lessons, that inspires me so much as well. it's just that normal stuff that keeps me going. i guess.

but!!! thank you so much for asking!! this made me so happy. i hope you have a wonderful day!!! 💘💖💓💞💗

[supertoga]

Just want to get some thoughts out somewhere.

So I've been having consistent dizzy spells since I got COVID last December. The sparkly vision upon standing up. The fluttery headaches with no apparent cause. Slowly losing my ability to stand for long periods. Feeling like I'm in a room of carbon dioxide. Like air goes in but it's like I'm at 14k feet or something.

I've pretty much gaslit myself into thinking it's just garden variety deconditioning, burnout, and a tough living situation. I was quite fit two years ago, but due to life, I can't dedicate the same kind of time to exercise anymore. Rest has been more important. I'm just starting to pick up a routine again, and even 30 minutes of light weights or mat Pilates will wipe me out for the rest of the day. I did a Fitness Marshall class and had to take the rest of the week off for recovery. Insanely simple shit that never would have challenged me before!

I finally dragged myself to the Dr for this. (Thankfully??) I was having quite a bad symptom day. I gremlined in the chair terrified they'd charge me hundreds of dollars to tell me I'm just fat and deconditioned. Imagine my surprise when the doc listened to my heart and heard A FULL 4 SECONDS where it just **STOPPED BEATING**. I was completely unaware my heart was quiet quitting, but I did notice a little fluttery dizzy sensation during his listen. They strapped me to an echo, but of course it was normal. (They took it laying down. Sitting and standing causes the flutter that most) They took BP in supine, sitting, and standing positions. Turns out my BP decreases considerably as I become more vertical.

I was shocked that my doc mentioned POTS before I did. I came prepared with medical literature about it because I know how unaware so many providers are. I've never fainted. I didn't really think it was POTS? I thought more like perimenopause or blood sugar or something.. ? But brought POTS lit just in case they dismissed those other ideas?? I dunno..

Since then, whenever I notice the fluttery feeling, I cram two fingers against my jugular and pay attention. Every. Single. Time. Heartbeat is faint or absent. Other than the vague flutter in my head, no other symptoms.

Doc gave me a referral to a cardiologist. Who can't see me until fucking November ghgffgiktt!!! If I haven't died so far, it's probably fine to wait. Right?

Right??

I'm fearful of having to convince a whole nother doctor that I'm not just fat and deconditioned. Gonna do handstands and burpees in the parking lot, I swear.

Fucking COVID...

[keefwho]

October 17 - 2023 Tuesday

9:49pm

Journaling early today because I just want to get out the things troubling me and try to enjoy my night alone.

This morning was spam, ramen, and green beans for breakfast. I got to stream on time but I had to rush a little. Stream went okay, we couldn't watch shows because my internet wasn't allowing it. Daisy was also having a pretty bad day at work and that had me worried. I struggled to push through to the end but I did it. I started lunch an hour early since Rice a Roni takes over an hour for me to cook it and in the meantime I re-organized my pantry to try and get all the food off the space heater since my dad is going to buy a new one to put in. This is a little bit of a problem because I have pretty limited space to store my food now but maybe we can get a shelf or two put up. Ideally some counter space in the corner. Lunch turned out pretty good and I did today's request while waiting in Egg's server to see if she'd show up to hang out. She hasn't responded to my last message about our schedules lining up which is weird because she's the one that initially said she was so thankful that we met and couldn't wait to hang out more but I've not been able to make contact. I'm gonna make this little drawing for her that I promised and after that I'm going to tone my effort down because I'm so very tired of putting energy into people that won't or can't give it back. Sucks to have to abandon so many potential good friends. She also admitted she has no friends and needs to socialize more so I thought that being in a similar position would help us become friends pretty quick.

As I started that doodle for her, I joined TDS and Plaz wanted to see the Spookality world. It is then I learned there was a massive flaw that I created while pushing the very last fix so a lot of people probably got a ruined experience. I fixed it as best I could but it took about an hour and a half. I was fixing to be proud of myself for getting everything done in time but this set me back and I was very late to drawing at this point. I gave myself a rest and left the call. As soon as I worked up the will to start drawing again and even got deep into the groove, Daisy messaged me concerned about things I've posted in the past and sort of made my heart drop. I tried not to get too upset because I know this is a case of miscommunication or differing beliefs, not an attack on my character. I couldn't help but feel a little hurt though. I try so hard to show that I'm someone trustworthy. And I'm not the same person I was a year ago much less 5 years ago or whenever I posted edgy things. But today it felt like it doesn't matter how much I've changed, I've already fucked up and now I'm a bad person forever. It was all done out of ignorance as well, I never condoned anything or was pushing my beliefs or some kind of agenda. I just did it for attention, or for money, because I didn't care at the time. I tried to calm down with some Zelda which worked for a little bit but I was in my own head thinking Daisy was probably too uncomfortable with me to want to chill or call tonight. Then I got a random submission to my pony blog that was a close up of someone cutting themselves and that was the final straw. Today sucked, tonight will suck, and tomorrow there will probably be more challenges to deal with. I had my brief time of what you could call "happiness", now it's time to struggle again.

11:09pm

I already knew this but my self worth corelates with my interest in degrading smut. I felt pretty shitty tonight so I got off imagining myself in the position of characters getting abused. It feels good in the sense that it's sort of a way to let myself feel bad about myself. It's an outlet in that sense. I still wonder if it's a healthy one though. I'm not sure if I'm reinforcing my self beliefs by doing this or not. It feels okay, kinda like having a stiff drink after an especially hard day. If only done every now and then or in a way that doesn't impact how I live my life, that's an okay thing to do. Thats where I feel like I'm at with this. It might also be a way to gauge how I feel about myself because I'd say my need to do this has gone down lately. Maybe that means on some level I really am feeling better about myself more often.

[handsomeamoeba]

Alright, two of these polls timed out, it's go time. Stories and the correct answer under the cut

potentially psychically attacked my best friend during a fire drill TRUE

Okay bear with me here.

It was freshman year of college and I was living in the dorms. As those who have lived in a dorm are probably familiar with, the fire alarm went off at like 3 AM (I think someone burned a bag of popcorn or something). I was very disoriented so I just kind of stumbled out in my bathrobe with no shoes.

The problem with this was that it was January, and about 5 degrees outside.

I looked around for my bestie so I could complain about my self-inflicted state, but i couldn't locate her. That's about when I realized that she was probably at her then-boyfriend's house snug and warm in bed.

We were outside for about an hour, waiting for the fire department to sweep the whole building, before they thought "hey maybe we should send these guys to the other dorm building to warm up." I staggered down the freezing pavement wearing my other friend's gloves on my feet. When we got to the other dorm I grabbed my bestie's roommate and said, "I know where she is, and when I see her, I'm gonna kill her."

AT THIS VERY MOMENT, my bestie snaps wide awake from a deep sleep for reasons unknown to her. She figures as long as she's awake she might as well go use the bathroom. When she returns from the restroom, she is shaking uncontrollably. After climbing into bed, her trembling wakes her boyfriend, who rolls over and touches her and asks her "what the fuck, did you go outside?" because she is so cold to the touch.

The next day we exchanged notes and put two and two together.

---

came out as trans because of the McElroys TRUE

Look I just realized I liked referring to myself as "boy" at a certain point. And then an episode of Travis & Theresa McElroy's "Shmanners" where they talked about gender-neutral honorifics sealed the deal.

---

teacher challenged us to climb up a greased up poll for money TRUE

Okay. Okay. So when we used to do Field Days in school (for those who aren't familiar, a Field Day is a day when your school or other organization just goes out and does outdoor recreational activities for a day) there was a game we'd play where our teacher would slick the tetherball poll in vaseline and challenge us kids to try to climb it to get a $10 bill stuck to the top. It never worked but boy we'd try.

I brought this up to several people recently and apparently nobody else ever fucking did this?

I went to an unlicensed Montessori school if that makes a difference.

---

sold a classmate into slavery TRUE

Uh. So this one. Is even weirder than it sounds. And it involves a game of Monopoly.

When I was in high school I took an elective course in sociology for a semester, taught by a teacher we'll call Mr. N. He was a strange and charismatic man. Once he challenged us to spend 24 hours in isolation and write a paper about it. But by far the most memorable thing he ever did was have us play Monopoly.

The game lasted... I wanna say about a week, week and a half of in-class time. At the start of the game he laid a few ground rules:

At any time, the teams can merge following a vote.

At any time, the teams can split following a vote.

For a nominal monopoly money fee, Mr. N would pass private correspondence between teams for us.

For a starting bonus, we could pick a "company" name and bring in our own playing piece.

The winning team would receive a pizza party. The rest would not receive anything.

Our team was named Fantastic Cactus, and we had a small live cactus as our playing piece.

It did not take long for the game to go completely off the rails. We would conspire and plan outside of class time. Our opponents became enemies. Mr. N egged us on, starting to offer deals. He would offer to buy possessions off us-- little things at first, like pencils and erasers-- for more Monopoly money for our team. He would then auction them off to our classmates for real money (which went towards the scholarship fund he ran).

At one point one of our teammates suggested we were becoming too ruthless. We voted her out of the team, forcing her to become an independent company that we then immediately drove into bankruptcy.

I sold the shoes off my feet to Mr. N.

Eventually one smaller team approached us for a merger, and we voted to agree to buy them out and have them join our team.

Which is when we decided to sell one of them into slavery to Mr. N.

We almost didn't do it! Not because we had ethical qualms about it though, but because one of the stipulations was that he had to be on time to class every day, and we didn't trust him to do it.

Another classmate became so stressed about the game that it exacerbated her ulcers, and she was excused from the game and allowed pizza on the condition that she act as Mr. N's assistant.

Anyway, Fantastic Cactus won.

And as we're enjoying our pizza party and gloating at the end of the game, Mr. N stands up in front of the class and says this:

"You know, at the beginning of this game, I told you at any time, teams could merge. If at the beginning of the game you had told me, 'Mr. N, we all want to merge so we can all have pizza,' you could have done that. But you didn't, because that would be communism, and you have been trained by a capitalist society to compete."

Anyway, I'm a borderline communist now.

---

incited a flag burning as a child TRUE

So, my elementary school (you know, the one with the greased poll) used to do these parties before every Thanksgiving break where we'd make a Thanksgiving lunch from scratch in the way people from a chosen historical period would have done it. I'm talking down to churning butter and everything. There's a whole separate story about just that process, but that's not what we're here to talk about.

One year the theme was American Revolution. After lunch, as a fun little activity, our teacher (the one who greased up the poll) had us stage a mock Boston Tea Party. A few of us were sent out in a tiny boat onto the pond behind the school to throw boxes of shredded leaves into the water while all 20-something of us chanted "NO TAXATION WITHOUT REPRESENTATION."

This managed to whip this group of 6-12 year olds into an insane patriotic frenzy. It got to the point where, in the revolutionary spirit of the afternoon, I quickly drew a union jack and brought it out and we, completely unsupervised, threw the flag onto the campfire and cheered and screamed. (It was the 90s, nobody cared about kids being unsupervised around fire I guess).

One of our teachers, who was an English emigrant, had to go home early.

Another had to sit us down and give us a talking-to about flag burnings.

It was not, incidentally, the teacher who had got us all stirred up in the first place.

---

spent a period of my life deeply threatened by the number 5 FALSE

It was the number 7, actually. I don't know what to tell you, I have psychotic depression and was convinced I was seeing omens.

Do you know how fucking often a number shows up when you're scared of it? It's a lot.

---

was interrogated for writing a satirical article about my high school TRUE

For shits and giggles as a teen, during a study period, I wrote a list "100 Ways You Know You Go to [School]". I'm not entirely proud of some of the items that were on that list, there was some kind of ableist shit in there but I was like 16 and an asshole, I had a lot of learning ahead of me in life. But other list items included such incendiary claims as accusing two of our teachers of having an affair, another that one of our chemistry teachers smoked crack in the closet between classes, yet another that a teacher had so many botox treatments she no longer experienced emotions, and that dogs were openly mating in the parking lot. A lot of these things were common memes and inside jokes among the students.

I shared the list with a few friends and classmates who unbeknownst to me made photocopies. And then they made photocopies. And suddenly the list was everywhere.

Eventually I am pulled out of Photography and brought to a private room by the dean of students and asked if I know anything about The List. Apparently I am a suspect because the list is "well written," and I am told that nobody is going to be "in trouble," they just "want to know."

On the one hand I am flattered because it was just a listicle and I didn't think it was that good. On the other, I am fucking offended because how stupid do they think I am? "Nobody's going to get in trouble?" Then why are you pulling me out of class to interrogate me alone?

So I put on my best Innocent Model Student face and tell her, "I have no idea, Mrs. K! You know I'm always out of the loop on these things. I mean, I've seen it. But I couldn't say who wrote it." We'd had a good relationship up until that point, so she believed me and sent me on my merry.

I never trusted her again. Then again, I should've stopped trusting her when I took her health class and she told us the Orange Juice LSD Urban Legend like it was something that had happened to one of her students personally.

---

hurt Rob Thomas' feelings by not believing in him enough TRUE

So in high school when other kids were listening to... what the fuck did kids listen to in 2004? Usher? Anyway, I was having a Matchbox Twenty phase.

I was active on their official forums. On the forums, you needed to register an account to post and nobody could register one of the band members' names for their account so no one could impersonate them. They would make an occasional post. Actually, former rhythm guitarist Adam Gaynor would post rather frequently and we called him "Uncle Adam" which in retrospect is fucking weird. But also besides the point.

There was also an official live chatroom, but you didn't need an account to use the live chat, you could just choose a name and start chatting. I didn't use it often, I preferred the forums, but sometimes the chat was chaotic and fun. At any rate, one day a guy shows up claiming to be Rob Thomas and says he'll do a Q&A. Obviously we do not believe him. We know how the Internet works. He tries to get us to do a Q&A with him for about a half hour until we bully this troll out of the room.

Which is when actual fucking Rob Thomas himself posts on the forum with his official account to say how hurt and offended he was that nobody would listen to him in the live chatroom. And then we had to explain to this fucking Gen Xer that people tell lies online.

---

dad pulled my baby teeth w/ a paper towel hand puppet named after a Nazi scientist TRUE

Okay this is admittedly in somewhat poor taste.

I had issues getting my loose teeth out as a child, so I often recruited the assistance of my dad to dislodge them for the purposes of extorting the tooth fairy for cash.

This help came in the form of a paper towel hand puppet who was a cackling mad scientist threatening to experiment on my teeth. The goal was to get me to laugh and distract me from how scared I was that losing my teeth was gonna hurt.

Except the hand puppet's name was. Dr. Mengele.

Imagine my fucking surprise when we were watching the History Channel one day and I learned who Dr. Mengele was.

The bit persisted though until all my baby teeth were gone.

Some years later, my mother, who has never known the appropriate moment to tell a story to save her life, told the story of the Dr. Mengele puppet to my orthodontist.

Dr. Schwartz.

And do you know what, he didn't find it funny?

---

buried a toad alive because it was ugly TRUE

Oh god okay christ.

I was 8. I think.

In my childhood I held a lot of funerals for wild animals. It was the way of kids who grew up in the woods. There was a little graveyard beside the school where we buried a variety of frogs and snakes and squirrels and bugs and even a mole at one point.

Well one day me and my bestie found a toad in the pond, and this bad boy was so super warty. He had lumps and bumps everywhere. Just a lumpy, bumpy guy.

We were convinced he had cancer. And was actively dying.

Well, what was there to be done?

Obviously we had to bury the poor thing.

So we committed him to the animal graveyard, going so far as to bury him under stones and everything.

I'd like to imagine he dug his way out eventually. But probably not.

I'm gonna do 3 of these polls because I thought of a LOT of things, check my blog for the others. Each poll contains one item that is ALMOST but NOT QUITE true. Which one is it?

I can elaborate when the polls are done if people are interested.

[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!

[mercy-burning]

Affection

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Spencer and Y/N decidedly hate each other. But when a near-death experience puts one of them in a coma, their mutual hatred might have to take a backseat— Or will it? Category: Angst / Happy Ending! + Humor and a lil bit of Fluff Content: Strong language, Reader is in a coma, mentions of injury, kissing Word Count: 2.6k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: This one’s for Pom’s ( @imagining-in-the-margins ) September Writing Challenge, Enemies To Lovers! I have another one coming up as well, but this idea wouldn’t get out of my head ever since I watched The Abyss with my dad and I had to get it out 😅 I hope you like it!!

———

I swear to fucking God, if this motherfucker really thinks he—

That was the last thing Y/N thought before she was knocked out cold.

With her line of work, it was natural to assume that she was thinking about the unsub, but unfortunately the criminal she and her team were tracking down was the farthest thing on her mind. Spencer would have chastised her for it— letting something else cloud her thoughts while she was in a dark alley, alone, and with a serial killer on the loose.

"You should be smarter than that!" she could hear him say in that high pitch he always carried when he was upset— especially with her. "If you don't get yourself killed one of these days, then it'll be the rest of us!"

Thinking about it made her blood boil.

"It's your fault," she wanted to tell him. "I had to blow off some steam because you were pissing me off!"

The only thing was... She couldn't tell him.

Well... She could.

He just couldn't hear her, because no one could.

It was like some stupid, cliché movie, where you found yourself standing over your dying body and having to choose whether to live or not. It seemed like the obvious choice, to fucking live, but... Y/N found herself wandering around her hospital room, yelling into the void and attempting to jump back into her own body.

Nothing was working.

And when Spencer showed up, his face red and his hair and clothes all messed up, she wanted to scream at him.

"Hey!"

Nothing. He was practically lifeless as he drifted to the chair next to her bed and sat down. It was nearly impossible to read from his expression and body language how he was feeling, and that alone was enough to make her angry again. (Not that the anger had really gone away since waking up next to her comatose body, of course.)

"Hey! Dumbass!"

Still nothing.

As Spencer just blankly stared down at Y/N's bed, she decided she'd had enough.

"SPENCER FUCKING REID, IF YOU DON'T HELP ME RIGHT NOW I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL HAUNT YOUR ASS UNTIL THE END OF ETERNITY, AND I'M GONNA LAY FAT, STINKIN' GHOST SHITS IN YOUR SHOES, DO YOU HEAR ME? AND—"

"I hate you."

It was a bold enough statement to stop Y/N in her tracks, no matter how quietly he'd mumbled it. She knew for sure that he didn't like her, after years of constant bickering and dirty glares and whatever else, but... The word 'hate' was like a knife that sliced through her joking rage and stopped the whole world around her.

If she wasn't already out of her own body, she just knew she would have felt her soul leave.

Spencer didn't hate anyone. Not that she was aware of, anyway. He found nearly everyone delightful, and vice versa... But for some reason, he hated Y/N.

She scoffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, well... Feeling's mutual, I guess..."

"You're stupid, and reckless, and you don't think. And you're a goddamn nightmare to work with... You know what— You're a stone-cold bitch."

His words made her physically step backwards, and it felt like if she were a cartoon, there might have been steam coming out of her ears.

"Yeah, well jokes on you, you make it easy," she seethed. "Fuck you!"

"How... How dare you..." he continued, anger reddening his face.

Y/N watched as he balled his fists and leaned in a little closer to her body, his voice tight and strained. "How dare you walk into my life and boss me around and make it impossible to breathe... From the moment I met you, you've brought out this... this fire in me that I can't put out no matter how hard I try, and it's insufferable—You're insufferable, and I hate you, how dare—"

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off by a shortness of breath. Spencer breathed in, loud and choked, and the next breath he let out was nothing short of a sob. His eyes squeezed shut, tears rolling down them and his hands clutched the bedsheets with a vigor and rage that Y/N had never seen from him, even in all the years she'd spent visibly getting on his last nerves.

"N—No," she choked out, feeling her throat tighten. "Don't... Don't turn into a sappy mess on me now, do you hear me, Reid? You hate me, don't... Don't..."

"I don't hate you," he whispered, wiping his eyes and reaching out to grab her lifeless hand. "I hate that you make me feel this way, but... I could never hate you..."

She wanted nothing more than to be able to squeeze his hand back, to tell him, not even necessarily with words but with a simple gesture, that she was right there and wasn't going to go anywhere.

She just... had to figure out how to make that true.

Still, Spencer kept going, a small laugh bubbling up through tears and phlegm. "But I will hate you if you die, because I just know you're gonna come back and haunt me for eternity... Probably... shit in my shoes or something."

Y/N barked a laugh that was true and pure... Happy, even.

The genius may have acted like he hated her, but it turns out he knew her pretty well, perhaps even fondly in one way or another.

To think— All those years she spent seeing him sneer at her, feeling his glare burn into her soul, the amount of times she caught him making faces or inappropriate gestures behind her back, all of it... And the whole time, he was probably doing it with a little flicker of fondness deep within the confines of his heart, which he swore to fill with nothing but hatred for her.

The thought made the little flicker in her own heart burn brighter.

As she wandered closer to her bed, beside Spencer and in front of her own body, she reached her hand out to see if she could touch his face, to give him something...

Even though she had no luck, something shifted when he spoke.

"Just... Come back to me, please? I know I'm not good at apologizing, but if it means I get you back... I swear that I will make up every horrible thing I've ever done or said to you. Just... Please don't leave me."

He laid his head down in his hands and tried not to cry again, every said horrible thing replaying on a loop in his brain like some kind of taunt. He wished more than anything for a chance to make it up to Y/N, and now he might not ever be able to.

"You think I'd leave this mortal earth without getting the chance to kick your ass?"

Everything was so fuzzy and light and brimming with these high emotions that Y/N almost didn't realize she was saying these words and Spencer was hearing them. She almost didn't feel the warmth of her bloodstream beneath layers of skin, the beat of her heart slowly coming back to life at the sounds and smells of the hospital room.

She almost didn't realize that Spencer was grabbing her now, his warm hands covering her cold ones and bringing them back to life as well.

"Screw you," he breathed with absolutely no malice to be detected in his voice.

They shared a smile so bright, no one would have been able to guess that they never got along.

TWO WEEKS LATER

Not only was she stuck at home doing nothing while on suspension (Yes, it turns out that storming off into an alley and not paying attention while on the job, just because a co-worker pissed you off, can get you suspended by Chief Strauss), but Y/N was also being visited by a daily rotation of her co-workers and friends and family, and her house was nearly covered in flower bouquets and baked goods.

It was a nightmare.

The sentiment was nice, sure, but if she had to move one more vase, she was going to start throwing them.

God, maybe Spencer was right, I am a stone-cold bitch...

Thinking of him also put a little damper on her mood.

He hadn't been to visit her once... And she figured that after their nice little moment at the hospital, he'd at least stop by with flowers or an "I'm glad you're not dead!" call, but there was nothing on his end. Not even a text message or a letter.

But for all she knew, their small moment of kindness could have been a figment of her concussed imagination.

Please, she thought, if I brought it up to him he'd probably just laugh in my face.

Rather than a laugh, Y/N heard the bright sound of her doorbell, which normally would have meant a fun unexpected visit or a date she was getting ready for, but by now it only meant another vase of flowers or a pie from a neighbor she still didn't remember the last name to.

Either way, she answered the door with as polite a smile as she could muster, and instead of finding a vaguely familiar neighbor or acquaintance, she found Spencer.

Though, to be fair, he was holding a bouquet of flowers.

"Well, this is a surprise," Y/N drawled, crossing her arms. "I don't even think you've ever been to my house."

She was surprised to see him nervous around her, rather than irritated. And she would have found it endearing had they not been practically mortal enemies from the moment they met... She was suspicious.

"O—Oh, yeah... I know, I just thought... I wanted to come see how you were doing... These are for you."

He held out the flowers, which were truthfully the pretties set she'd received, and it irked her. Because of course he of all people would be the one to tell which kinds of flowers she'd prefer.

"Thanks," she said, taking them from him and allowing him the space to come inside. "Watch out, it's a maze in here..."

While she looked for somewhere to put the flowers on display, she could feel Spencer looking around her space, probably profiling what he could behind a sea of flowers.

"Hm."

Y/N sighed. "What?"

"Nothing. I'm just... I'm surprised this many people actually like you."

Despite the nature of his observation, she found it comforting. That level of playful contempt was what she was used to, and it brought a sparkle to her eye as she turned to face him. "Ha... I'm not a complete bitch, you know."

"Sure."

Between the growing grin on his face and the smirk forming on her own, Spencer and Y/N found themselves falling back into a familiar rhythm. And yet, something about it was still... different.

So much so that Y/N felt honest-to-God butterflies in her stomach when he approached, hands retreating from his pockets and head tilting off to the side. His expression held that look he got when he was trying to figure someone out, usually an unsub. She hated to admit it to herself, but a little part of her always found that side of him extremely attractive.

And now that it was right in front of her?

She didn't know what to make of it.

"What?" she snapped, looking for an excuse to hide any and all attraction she was feeling.

Spencer stepped back a little, breaking away from whatever trance he'd just been in. "God, why do you always have to do that?"

"Do what?"

"You push away every single show of affection! Any time I'm trying to be nice, you just act like it's some big inconvenience to you!"

Y/N laughed. "Ha! That's what that was? Just now? When you insulted me, and then started stalking towards me with that look you get when you're interrogating an unsub? That's what you call affection?"

"That's not... That's not what that was!"

"Oh really? Then what was it?"

"It was part of the routine! Banter! Y—You know, that's our thing! We insult each other, and we act like we hate each other but we... We don't, really..."

The longer he went on, the faster her heart raced. This was the moment in the movie where he inevitably blurted out that he loved her, and in turn she would either kiss him or slap him, or slap him and then kiss him...

But Y/N was still feeling rather playful despite the swarm of butterflies in her stomach begging for some relief.

"Oh?" she prompted, taking a slow step closer to him. "We don't?"

Spencer seemed to get red immediately, and he avoided her eyes. "U—Uh... Well I... I thought... Maybe I read it all wrong, a—and I'm sorry if I did..."

She'd been getting closer meanwhile, and now they were practically toe-to-toe. He did his best to ignore her, taking a few steps back until she cornered him against the front door. And with the way he wasn't doing anything to get out of his predicament, she took that as his acceptance and took another leap.

"What..." she cooed, crawling her fingers up the front of his chest like a spider. "You like me? Hmm?"

When he finally looked down at her, she allowed herself to smile, albeit slowly and with calculation.

In a flash Spencer went from nervous to fed-up, weight seeming to visibly lift from his chest as he sank against the door. "You're messing with me..."

"It's so fun."

"You know what, screw you."

"Is that a promise?"

"Maybe it is. What are you gonna do ab—"

She didn't let him finish.

In an instant, Y/N lunged forward and pulled him down for a kiss.

Even though she thought he might have tried to take control of the situation, he ended up surprising her with a wanton moan as his hands clutched at her sides, holding on for dear life. Their bodies and tongues collided in a mess of years worth of pent-up tension, chaotic and wild and fiercely beautiful in a way that put even the greatest first kisses to shame.

And of course, Spencer had to go and ruin it.

He pushed her away and looked almost panicked. "W—Wait, are you even cleared to do this?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, reaching out for him again. "I'm fine."

"Y/N, you were in the hospital! I thought... I thought you were..."

She appreciated the sentiment, but with her entire body on fire from his touch, she decided she needed more of it. "Yeah, but I'm not... I'm very much alive, and you know what?"

He blinked back at her, watching carefully as she leaned in close to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"It's because of you. You make me feel... more alive than I've ever been."

"And... You're not messing with me this time?"

With a laugh,  Y/N shook her head and leaned up to brush her nose with his. "Nuh-uh... But if you'd like to, I'd love to mess with you in a more fun way. And maybe I'll even let you do it back..."

Spencer hummed, feeling himself gravitate towards her more with every passing second. "Deal."

He barely got the word out all the way before she was dragging him through the maze of flora and contained food and into her bedroom, where piece by piece, their hatred and fondness for one another combined to create the most exquisite of nights.

———

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[brendaonao3]

Clueless is one of my all time favourite Steve/Thor fics, it's such a fun read and I love the final realisation as it dawns on Steve just how dense he's been all this time, he and Thor make such a great pair in this universe!

Thank you SO SO much!!! I adore Clueless - I had the best time writing it <3

And, because I'll probably never get around to fleshing it out & finishing it, here's the (very very) rough draft/ideas I had for the sequel that's been sitting in my Docs folder for forever - enjoy!

Steve woke up with a large, familiar hand on his dick and Thor's erection pressed against the cleft of his ass – which was pretty much his idea of heaven. He shifted his hips, rubbing against Thor's cock, precome working as a makeshift lube, as Thor started to rock against him, jerking Steve off nice and slow as a counterpoint.  

(slow, sleepy morning sex - Thor's told Steve he had a gig that's supposed to take him to Baltimore for a few days, so this is to 'tide them over' - as if that's even possible) 

When Thor rolled Steve to his back, Steve grimaced. "Really?" he griped. "In the wet spot?"

Thor grinned, wolfish and wide. "In ten seconds, you won't care."

"Beg to disagr – oh fuck!"

Thor smirked around Steve's cock, then got right back to work. Steve grabbed two handfuls of Thor's hair and hung on for dear life.

(Thor then blows Steve when he's all fucked-out and blissful)

"You know, for someone who'd never been with a guy before me, you've taken to cock-sucking like you're getting a degree in it."

Thor grinned, and nipped at Steve's hip.  "What's this degree in, I wonder? Pleasuring Steve Rogers?"

"Maybe?"

"And would you be teaching this class?"

"I could be persuaded."

"In that case, I may have to go for my Master's degree.  And then my Doctorate."

"No objections here..." Steve groaned, head thumping back on the pillow as Thor's lips closed over one of his balls.

Nope, he had no objections to Thor's academic pursuits in the slightest.

***

(Bucky dragging him out for a drink)

"To keep you from sulking," Bucky said.

"I do not sulk," Steve replied, totally sulking.

"Sorry, pining like a lovestruck boyfriend who sleeps on the sofa when Thor is gone because the bed is, how'd you put it, too fucking big without him in it, is that better?"

"Remind me why I put up with you."

"Platonic lifemate," Bucky replied.  "And the BFF code never lies."

"Pretty sure it made a mistake in our case."

"Keep it up and I'm rescinding the offer of you being my kid's godfather."

"You don't have any –" Steve abruptly dropped his mug to the table with a dull thunk.  "Oh my fucking God, Buck, you and Maria are <i>not</i>."

"Fuck yeah we are." Bucky's grin was so dazzling it could probably be seen from space.  "Just coasted through the first trimester, you're the first person we've told outside my mom and hers."

"And your mom kept it a secret from me?" Steve asked.  "I'm insulted."

"Well, we only just told her two hours ago, if that makes you feel better."

"It does. Holy shit, Buck," Steve said, and reeled Bucky in for a hard, back-thumping hug.  "Holy <i>shit</i>! I'm gonna be an uncle! You're gonna be a <i>dad</i>!"

"I know, right?! Fucking crazy." Bucky still looked dazed, but also so lit up from within that it was like he was his own power source. "I mean, who would have ever thought I'd be husband material, let alone parent material."

"You're gonna be amazing," Steve replied, dropping his hand over Bucky's to squeeze his fist.  "You kept me out of trouble for almost 30 years, so I'd say you've got a ton of practice."

"Good point," Bucky conceded. "I swear, you gave me more white hairs than all three of my sisters combined."

"Don't say that anywhere near Becca, she'd take it as a personal challenge."

They both shuddered in unison. "Good point," Bucky said, and rapped on the wooden table for extra luck. Where Becca was concerned, it was needed.

Bucky making some excuse to say he's got to stop by his mom's for something - and Thor's there, with his mom and Steve's mom and all of Bucky's family and Maria and Darcy and Sam and Nat and Clint and Rhodey and Stark and Pepper and -

"What the hell is going on?" Steve asked, looking around the backyard.  "Is it someone's birthday?" He racked his brain, trying to remember if there was a party he'd forgotten, but came up blank. "Is your mom throwing a baby shower already..."

He trailed off as Thor came out of the house, wearing a very nice, form-fitting suit.  

and Steve's very confused - and horny, bc Thor in a suit - and then Thor drops to a knee and

"What the..." Steve managed, even though he had a really good idea about what was happening and <i>wow</i>, holy shit, holy...

"Steven Grant Rogers, I would very much like to spend the rest of my life waking up with you just like we have every morning for the last two years we've been dating. Will you do me the highest honor of marrying me?"

"Really?  You really want to get married?" Steve asked, aware his voice was shaking. "To me?"

"Right now, if you'll have me. You've always said you wanted a small wedding and a big party after."

Right now? All of a sudden, the gathering made so much more sense. The fact that Thor had been paying attention to Steve's ramblings, and had asked everyone here... 

"Yes," he breathed, his heart so full it was bursting. Behind Thor, Bucky pumped his fist and mock-whispered <i>Finally</i>, but Steve could barely hear it over the roaring in his ears.

"Yes?" Thor repeated, like he couldn't quite believe it.

"Yes," Steve said, surer this time.  "A lifetime waking up next to you sounds just about perfect."

(Bucky became an ordained minister just to officiate)

(Thor and Steve slow-dance after)

"See, I told you all of those dance lessons would come in handy."

"One dance lesson," Steve corrected.  "You gave me one lesson."

"Clearly you only needed one," Thor replied, leading Steve into a turn as easy as breathing.