#dreamy floral notes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

merakiui · 1 year ago

Text

never-ending noctuary; love forevermore.

yandere!malleus draconia x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, somnophilia, non-con, overblot!malleus, obsession, breeding, baby-trapping, malleus is written to have two dicks, spoilers for part two of book seven note - and sitting powerful on his throne of thorns, omniscience at his fingertips, the lord of malevolence takes a bride.

An eerie, all-consuming quiet has fallen over Sage’s Island.

It is frigid and unfriendly like winter. Harsh and oppressive like silence. Painful and abrasive like brambles. Time has come to a swift halt here, and with it the people fall into never-ending euneirophrenia. Delights so dreamy shall inhabit the minds of all who sleep, the grandest gift granted to those unwilling. Like fate itself, wound around every living soul, it is inescapable. Inevitable like death—unfair and unforgettable.

But then it is also peaceful and secure. Quaint and warm like a blanket. Fluffy and floral like spring’s first kiss. Solace is far sweeter when spent in oneiric solitude, and so it will seem for one-thousand years. Forevermore, stretched taut into the future, the dream persists.

Is that not the best blessing? To those who wish to savor a fleeting moment just a second more, is this not a wish granted generously tenfold? Rather than immortalizing the past with photographs, it shall never come to pass. There is no need for bittersweet recollections or tearful farewells. The present will persevere, lived out in endless dreams.

Surely this is the correct course. Not just for Malleus, for he is a gentle, kind creature who recognizes the mutual desire for interminable merriment, but for the entirety of the island. Although in hoping for love forevermore, he has shackled himself to selfish, Epicurean pleasures. The type which normally lasts as long as a vision spent on cloud nine.

Currently, sitting proud and alone on a cold throne, Malleus knows of no greater joy.

The party may have fallen still as the grave, bodies slumbering in stiff propinquity, but it hasn’t finished. The food may have congealed, inedible and decaying, but it is there. A testament to spirits kept aloft, if only to ensure no one ever knows the desolation of endings.

Paradise is what you make of it. Thus, should you hope for it, you can walk on the clouds in your mind and never know of Icarus’s plights. You can shed insecurities and anxieties and taste delectable metamorphosis. You can be anyone and anything. You can be strong and wealthy. You can be fearless and heroic. You can be an impossible ideal.

You can be loved.

Malleus watches your seemingly lifeless form splayed on the sofa, limbs draped over that of Ace and Deuce. It’s a tranquil sight, a marionette freed from the strings of somber, suffocating life.

Under a roof of thorns, you are reborn.

Paradise is wondrous for Malleus, albeit a touch silent. He wonders what you might say if you were to stand at his side and observe this eternal slumber party. Would it fill you with awe? With appreciation? With abject terror?

Perhaps there is no use in theorizing. He doesn’t need to know, for you will love him even in sleep.

He rises, taking each step at a time. Thorny branches and roots part to make way for him, a groom traversing the aisle in search of his bride. You lie still, secrets sealed behind pretty, plush lips, and if he was not the cause for your current state he might assume you were late.

But there is no death here. It cannot reach. It will never reach because Paradise knows not of death or suffering.

Paradise is the garden before the infestation. Paradise is the body before bacterial devastation. Paradise is love before departed lamentation.

Malleus gazes at your restful face, leaning down to trace a clawed, blot-tainted finger along your cheek. There are no tears; you are a doll incapable of such sorrow, sculpted to portray perfect neutrality. He is most pleased with this development, his chest rumbling with a triumphant chuckle. Now you shall never know an ending ever again. Now you shall remain here, safe and stagnant in his arms, far from the mirror that may allow you to return home.

Gathering your body in his arms, he lifts you from the cushions. You crumble in his grasp, head lolling and arms noodling at your sides. Sagging dead weight, but he places his ear to your chest to listen to the melodic thrum of your heart. You’re alive, frailty shielded from the horrors of the world. Here, in thorny idyll, you will live forevermore.

Historically, all rulers must have someone to call their own. Whether it be by way of arrangement or convenience, strung together for the sake of conjoined power or out of obligation, this is an irrefutable fact. Historically, all rulers must bear an heir—someone to carry on the glory of an ever-present lineage.

Malleus refuses to bring a child into the world unless they are given the blessing of the one thing he was deprived of since birth.

A mother.

You fit in his embrace, a puppet tugged into a one-sided waltz. He steps over fallen bodies as he holds you against his chest, following the routine even though you aren’t awake to reciprocate.

Historically, a married pair must share the first dance. Or that’s what he’s read in fairy tales.

There are no rings here; promises are left unspoken. He won’t entertain rejection because there is no room for it in Paradise. Every unsavory, horrid thing—pestilence and pain, death and destruction, and sadness and sin—is packed away in Pandora’s box and shelved. Malleus won’t risk opening it to release the tiny shred of hope desperately clawing for escape. It’s not worth it.

He will foster his own hope if he must, and she exists in his arms—beautifully motionless.

The steps are executed with care, up the stairs and towards a lonesome chair. He attempts a twirl, lowering you into a dip. Your arms hang limply, eyes shut in permanence. Brimming with fondness, Malleus tugs you back up to press his lips to your forehead.

“Dearest one,” he mumbles, “may you know many fruitful fantasies in the arms of Morpheus.”

He reclaims his seat and situates you to face him while perched on his lap. You slump against him, near-boneless. He smiles at you, imagining the ruckus that would certainly come about from such a daring gesture. Sebek would squawk at you to have more respect and dignity. Silver would tut and shake his head. Lilia would look on in amusement.

These are small pleasantries, little wishes he hopes to witness someday.

Historically, a married pair must consummate their bond.

Malleus’s fingertips flit across your figure, feeling fabric beneath his palms. He tries to exercise restraint and take it slow—everything in moderation, Lilia would remind him—but he can’t contain his nympholepsy. Your clothes are discarded at once, shredded to scraps in his haste. He moves clumsily, following the searchlight of intrinsic ardor. You’re softer when bare, he observes, peeling your bra from your skin. A pallid hand presses down onto your breast, the pudge of which caves beneath his fingers. He withdraws and it bounces back to its shape.

Fascinating, he marvels with wide, enchanted eyes.

Claws tweak at your hardened nipples next. He’s careful because you’re notably weaker. Even in sleep, he must mind his hedonism. Too much and you will break. Too little and he’ll be left unsatisfied. Malleus watches your expression. It was mostly neutral, but now your eyebrows are twitching in response to his touch.

In sleep, you are the most vulnerable.

He knows this because he’s peered in from afar, admiring you through a glass barrier while you slept unaware in Ramshackle. He would never do anything without invitation. Though it may not be in writing, your body is oh-so-inviting. And he indulges because he’s only known this fervor in the deepest, darkest dreams.

Curiously, in his pursuit of passion, Malleus happens upon the special space between your legs. Delicate like a flower, it’s the prettiest part of your anatomy. If he wishes to connect with you, to tie himself to you in unholy communion, he must acquaint himself with this sliver of seventh heaven. He’s never seen one up close; the sight is foreign but very welcome. He drinks it in, burning your form into his retinas. Two fingers trace your labia, stroking along flowery folds in V-shaped strokes. You twitch in his arms, an unconscious, knee-jerk reaction.

At some point, in the middle of his experimental exploration, Malleus begins to hum. It’s a soft, genial lilt. Low and soothing, the lullaby fills the silent halls of Diasomnia’s common room like poison gas.

He contemplates whether this is enough. Can you feel these sensations even when you’re so deep in your dreams? Perhaps so, for when he brushes back the hood protecting your clit to rub at it you soak his fingers. Lubricious, your wetness shimmers on his fingertips when he pulls them away to admire the very essence of you. Without hesitation, he places his fingers on the pad of his tongue to clean both. It’s a divine taste, proof of pleasure.

You cannot speak, so instead your body does so for you. A most bewitching behavior.

Malleus’s hand slithers back towards home, his fingers sliding in with surprising ease. Gummy walls cling to slender digits, embracing the intrusion as if it’s meant to be. With each pump of his fingers, your body warms. The sinful squelch of scissoring fingers joins his humming in a salacious song. Every now and then, you spasm in his arms, your lips parting ever so slightly to release a sigh or a breathy moan. It’s musical, a whimsy he’s only just discovered.

“My beautiful bride,” Malleus croons, “you will know love in my arms. Love forevermore, here in this sanctuary. Fear not, for I have done away with all that may terrify and traumatize.”

Pressure is straining beneath the belt, an itch that must be promptly dealt with. Removing his fingers, he shifts you on his lap so that he may free his cocks from confinement. Twin monstrosities curve towards his stomach; perhaps you’d have been frightened if you were awake to behold them. His hand settles on the small of your back, steadying you as he lines one of them up with your body. The tip just reaches past your navel. For a moment, Malleus ponders whether he might break you.

Careful now, he can hear Lilia’s chiding. Impatience will lead to injury.

He heeds the unspoken warning, lifting you with both hands until the head of his cock is kissing your pussy. And then, slowly, he lowers you down onto him. Your pussy stretches around him, a snug squeeze that only grows tighter with every inch swallowed. Malleus pulls you flush against his chest when he’s halfway slotted, his breathing staggered. Your body quivers, walls fluttering around him, while his other unsheathed cock presses against your navel. Pre-cum smears on your stomach.

He’s determined to cherish you, thrusting all the way to the hilt after a few determined tries. It’s a firm fit, but it’s still bliss. Hissing through his teeth, brows knitted in concentration, Malleus wraps his arms around you and fucks. Mindless, mostly, but with the intent to reach the only acceptable end here: orgasmic ecstasy. He makes up for the lack of motion on your part by moving his hips to meet yours as he rocks you up and down. Whimpers slip past your lips; he shushes you with song, humming through groans and grunts.

This is love.

Malleus thinks so when he positions your hands over his other untouched cock. The illusion doesn’t last long because your hands are quick to fall away. Instead, he grasps your hand, guides it back to his shaft, and pumps himself using your precious palm for friction.

You’re bounced up and down in a parody of consensual copulation. Malleus dwells in imagination, picturing you in a wedding gown. He considers what you might say, the vows you would undoubtedly swear, and the sweet nothings you’d exchange late into the evening. He’d twirl you across an elegant ballroom while everyone looks on with tender adoration and reverence. He’d show you the stars hanging just within reach, and when you’re swept up in riveting romance the sky is tangible and dreams are spun from sugar.

He’d place you on his bed, stripping you of your dress, hands trailing up to tug the frilly garter from your thigh, and you’d smile at him, open your arms and welcome him with mutual affection. You’d bloom for him like a moonflower, your heart beating in sync with his, as he fulfills the final promise—one so bodily imperative. An oath to disturb desolate halls with noise. To hear the pitter-patter of tiny footfalls upon stone floors—he can’t imagine anything more harmonious.

You would soften throughout the months, bright with that foretold pregnancy glow. He would press his hands to your rounded belly and feel squirming within, restless kicks and nudges. You’d discuss potential names over breakfast, and he would hover even though he knows you’re plenty capable. But he worries because you’re so fragile and fleeting. So pretty. So round with child. He wouldn’t leave you alone for a moment; you’re far too enchanting. Perhaps, in some distant future, he’ll lower to the height of your stomach and sing to the baby.

A smile would tug at your lips and you’d reach down to pat his head, running your fingers over his horns. And then—

Malleus cracks his eyes open, his breath hot against your face. His chest heaves as he comes down from the high of domestic daydreams to find your stomach spattered with cum. Swallowing thickly, he peers between your bodies at your pussy stretched around his other cock.

Oh, he came inside.

Unexpectedly. Or perhaps not, for this was his intention. But once is not nearly enough, and he must fill you until you’re fit to burst—until it’s biologically certain you’re pregnant.

An emotion flickers on your face. Malleus mistakes it for jubilation, the type which calls forth a sunshower on your cheeks. He kisses the tears trailing down your face, ending at your lips for a chaste peck.

This is not the finale. It is simply the beginning.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere malleus draconia #yandere malleus draconia x reader #yandere malleus x reader #yandere malleus #n/sfw #tw: noncon #tw: breeding #tw: baby trapping #tw: somnophilia

3K notes · View notes

astrum-medeis · 9 months ago

Text

Your perfume notes based on your Venus sign/2nd house (remaster)

Aries/1H

Masculine, heavy, sexy scents. Notes: tobacco, gasoline, leather, whiskey, pepper, cumin, smoke, vanilla, tonka bean

My recommendation: Replica Under the Stars (for the brave), Carolina Herrera Midnight or CH Very Good Girl

Taurus/2H

Feminine, natural and seductive scents. Scent notes: cocoa, shea butter, vanilla, caramel, musk, tonka bean, sugar

My recommendation: Eilish Billie Eilish or Sol de Janeiro 71 mist

Gemini/3H

Both masculine and feminine scents. Scents: sweets, florals, fruits

My recommendation: Ariana Grande Cloud, Mugler Angel Nova

Cancer/4H

Feminine scents. Scent notes: aquatic florals, ginger, cookies, cinnamon, sea breeze, sea salt, coconut, vanilla

My recommendation: Sol de Janeiro 71/39/62 mist or Sol de Janeiro perfume

Leo/5H

Masculine, luxurious and seductive scents. Scent notes: vanilla, champaca, cherry, rose, honey, saffron, cashmere

My recommendation: Valentino Born in Roma Intense or Carolina Herrera Very Good Girl Glam

Virgo/6H

Feminine, floral, sweet and fresh scents. Notes: linen, cotton, peony, rose, jasmin (basically your favourite flower scent), fruits

My recommendation: Miss Dior Rose N’Roses or Sol de Janeiro 68 mist

Libra/7H

Masculine but more like dark feminine femme fatale scents. Notes: jasmin, rose, vanilla, cashmere, coffee, dark chocolate

My recommendation: Carolina Herrera Good Girl

Scorpio/8H

Feminine but seductive and mysterious scents. Scent notes: coffee, dark chocolate, smoke, blood, black licorice, blackberry, witch hazel

My recommendation: Carolina Herrera Good Girl Velvet Fatale, Replica Coffee Break

Sagittarius/9H

Masculine, oriental and exotic scents. Notes: amber, wine, fig, orange blossom, incense, any wood

My recommendation: Replica On a date

Capricorn/10H

Masculine, expensive, strong, earthy scents. Scent notes: peppermint, citrus, eucalyptus, wet earth, leather, cash

My recommendation: Replica Under Lemon Tress

Aquarius/11H

Masculine, unique and strange scent combinations, nonobvious combinations of scent notes. Scent notes: any fresh scent like peppermint, citrus, aquatic and green notes, chlorine

My recommendation: Mugler Angel suits Aquarius SOOO well. It’s kinda like an alien scent. Very pretty but confusing.

Pisces/12H

Feminine, dreamy and sweet scents. Scent notes: honey, bubble gum, cotton candy, sweets, fruits

My recommendation: Ariana Grande Pink Cloud, Sol de Janeiro 68 mist

What is your venus sign and what scent do YOU like? Let me know!

#astro observations #astrology #astro notes #astro community #astroblr #astrology community #astrology observations #astrology notes #venus #venus signs

1K notes · View notes

mingyuonlyfans · 2 months ago

Text

Between The Heavens and The Earth

You remind yourself. You're just a measly baker, an apprentice, and he's the crown prince, the successor to the throne that you'll serve for most of your life. Yet you take his hand anyway, and let him pull you into his luxurious chambers as he playfully blows out your candle.

featuring: Prince!Mingyu x Baker's Apprentice!Reader

genre: smut, angst

note: if this looks familiar to you, send me an ask 😝

You shouldn't be here. It's half past midnight and you should be in bed, resting well in preparation for a long, hard day tomorrow, not out and about wandering the halls of the castle with a candlestick in hand. And you most definitely should not be making your way to the crown prince's quarters.

Well, when you think about it, you're not really all to blame for this. As the royal baker's apprentice, it is technically your duty to serve the prince, make whatever sweet and flaky pastry or cake the young royal craves.

You were only doing your job when you hand-fed Prince Mingyu the strawberry tarts he'd commissioned, you were only doing your job when you wiped the fluffy whipped cream from the corner of his lips, and you were definitely only doing your job when you let him suckle on your thumb to clean it of the thick cream.

It doesn't matter that you felt yourself heat up and slicken in various parts of your body, doesn't matter that you had to suppress a weak moan when his tongue swirled around the digit, it doesn't fucking matter that in less than a second the prince was kneeling before you and eating out your cunt like it tasted better than the strawberry tarts while you looked around to make sure nobody was near the kitchens to catch you before succumbing to the bliss of having his mouth on you.

And now... well now you're ready to succumb to your forbidden pleasure once again.

This isn't the second time, nor will it be the last. The prince and yourself know it's wrong, it is so fucking wrong but it's so hard to keep your hands off each other. All those longing glances and searing but fleeting touches in the dining hall, it's not enough. Even your nearly nightly rendezvous aren't enough. It's almost sickening how much you miss him during the day and even after he'd just made you cry and drool into his silk sheets. Surely, the king and queen would have your head if they knew what went on in their castle, especially in their precious son’s room.

Speaking of the prince's room– you sigh as you take your final steps towards its heavy oak door. Just as you’re about to meekly knock on the door, it swings open to reveal the prince in his slacks and flowy dress shirt from dinner, the two top buttons open and offering a tempting view of his golden skin. The young royal grins at you like a schoolboy who’s been told he’s allowed to have sweets after dinner.

“My love,” it's quiet, almost cautious, the way he calls out to you. Especially with those warm, sparkling eyes, looking at you like you hung the moon and the stars for him.

Immediately you're engulfed in his arms, the floral scent of the royal gardens and his natural musk greeting your senses. It's intoxicating, and it's so, so bad for you. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, a fond smile etching into your heated skin. He inhales your scent just like you did his and sighs, voice dreamy and floaty. It only ever does become that light when he's with you, and you try not to read into it too much. It'd only hurt if you do. But there's a painful heaviness weighing down on you anyway. “I missed you.”

You deflect, you always do. And you have to wonder if he's sick of it yet. “You just saw me not two hours ago, Your Highness.”

The smile pressed against your skin falters for a second before it's pulling away. Yet when you meet Mingyu's gaze, the eye-crinkling grin is ever-present. "Baby, I thought we were past formalities at this point." He jests, tilting his head and making you think of a confused puppy. Forcing out a chuckle, you shake your head, heart ridiculously heavy in your chest. "Right, right. Sorry, Gyu. Old habits."

The nickname appeases him and the prince's smile brightens if that was even possible. Old habits indeed; ones you can only drop when you're in his bedroom, away from prying and judgmental eyes, away from whispers of you seducing a royal to advance yourself in society. Away from everything that's been haunting you ever since you and the prince let your bodies entangle. He doesn't need to know your current thoughts, nor will he ever hear of them.

"It's alright," he says, and he tries so hard to convince you as well as himself. Mingyu leans in, kisses you gently, and holds you just as carefully. He unloops his arms around your waist and leads you to his bed, large and luxurious and expensive. The silk will never not feel foreign against your skin, too used the worn-out linen of your own bed. You let yourself fall into its strange comfort anyway. “I’ll take care of you, darling.”

The prince is a man of his word, evident in the way he slowly and carefully undoes every button on the back of your blouse, how his fingers -- foreign to labor and free of callouses -- dance their way to push your underthings out of the way. The warmth of his soft, unsoiled hands travel all across your body, from your chest, to your waist, and to where your plain, linen skirt is tied and holding up the remaining layers separating your skin from his.

All the while his lips were marking you wherever they could. For every inch of skin his hands reveal to his eyes, his lips follow diligently like a moth to a flame. But as enamored as the prince is with you, as dizzy as your scent makes him, he still has enough sense in him to be careful. Whatever marks he leaves are for his eyes only; he couldn’t even bear to think of what would happen to you if someone else were to notice how you would wince when you accidentally touch one of the tender spots under your clothes.

“So beautiful,” you hear him mutter under his breath as he finally swipes your underwear down your legs and kisses the gentle swell of your abdomen. You’ve heard that from him countless of times– you could never understand how something so sweet could tug at your heartstrings so painfully. You only let out a smile and soft exhale in response, a hand coming down to rest on the back of his head.

Mingyu settles himself between your legs, handsome face nearly pressing into your apex. With your fingers now treading and tugging at his soft hair in impatience, you could simply push him forward. You could, but you’d never. Even now, when your prince is quite literally preparing himself to worship you and show you his love in the most blissful way he could think of– you still have to remember your place.

The prince finally dives in, moaning against your heat at the taste of your arousal, and your other hand clamps down on your mouth. There would be nothing more incriminating than noises of pleasure coming from the prince’s quarters when he’s not wed and not one to bring women to his bed when he pleases. No, not your prince. Never your prince.

He has your hips bucking against his face in no time– you hate nothing more than feeding his ego, but your heart flutters anyway when you feel his lips stretch into an intoxicated smile against your folds. It’s dirty, but he’s so sweet, so caring, so considerate. Mingyu pulls away for a second to nip at your thigh before soothing it with a kiss.

“G-gyu,” you breathe out, nails scratching deliciously against his scalp. He makes a humming noise, quite clearly enjoying himself a little too much. “My love, stop. I… I need you.”

His response is immediate if not a little embarrassing for someone of his title. “But you haven’t-”

“I need you, Gyu.” You’ve never asked him for anything until now; that has always bothered him. He had hopes that you’d be convinced that he sees you as an equal at this point– as his lover, for god’s sake– but you regrettably cannot seem to shake your role of a royal servant off. You still act like your only purpose is to heed to his every beck and call when truly all Mingyu wants is to take care of you. To show you what he cannot when you’re outside the solitude of his room. To love you as you deserve.

He sees it in your eyes– the desperation, the sorrow, the longing, and most especially, the love you could never bring yourself to profess. So, Mingyu rises, swipes his hair back from obscuring his sight, and reaches down to grip your thighs. They melt at his touch, almost perfectly malleable. Your thighs are slightly pressing against your stomach; the position completely exposes your puffy, glistening cunt to your lover and you grow bashful at the realization.

You try calling out to him, to maybe make your shyness known, but Mingyu is just awestruck. No matter how many times he’s seen you bare, you always manage to blow him away. He sucks in a breath when his finger touches your wetness, tempted to once again dive in and lap up your nectar. He’d have to ask you to shirk out on your kitchen duties and let him spend the entire day between your legs one of these days. Mingyu shakes the incredulous thought out of his head and instead focuses on the way your cunt is eagerly sucking in his digit.

“I’ll take care of you,” he sighs, almost to himself. He pumps his finger inside you a few times before adding another, checking on your expression for any discomfort. When he sees none, he continues. You fight off any pathetically needy sounds that might escape you all the while. Mingyu notices, he always does. With a reassuring kiss to your calf, he repeats himself. “I’ll take care of you, my love.”

You’re seeing stars by the time he pushes his cock inside you. Mingyu exhales shakily, steeling his self-control so as not to pound you in the mattress and make you miss your duties for a week. Oh, truly, he would if he could. Your thighs are shaking and your hands are almost frantic, searching for something to hold onto.

“Sshh, darling, I’m right here. I’m here.” Mingyu spreads your legs, allowing him to rest his body on yours, hand interlacing with your wandering one and face pressed into your neck. You’ve also found purchase on the pillow supporting your head. His weight embracing you is comforting and serves to push him deeper inside you. Soon you find your hips rolling against his, eager for the mind-numbing pleasure of thickness drilling into you over and over again.

“M-move, please,” you choke out; it’s only then that either of you notice the tears welling in your eyes. Before Mingyu could speak, you exhale something that almost sounds like an order. “Move, my love. Please take care of me.”

Mingyu makes a sound of pleasure that sounds just on the edge of cockiness; you fight the smile that was just starting to spread on your face because of his antics. It’s no use as your expression quickly distorts to that of pleasure as the prince slowly but surely picks up the pace of his hips. He groans out praise after praise into the crook of your neck. Then he’s moving, planting words of affection into your skin with a kiss until he reaches the swell of your chest. Your legs are pushed up higher both to accommodate the prince’s comfort and to drive him deeper into you.

He suckles on the bud of your left breast, hand squeezing yours in ecstacy, a reminder of sorts. You once again slap your hand over your mouth, muffling your wanton moans that were riser higher and higher. Mingyu rises from your chest and pulls you up with him so that you’re on top instead. You gasp at the feeling of him being so deep inside you, thickness stretching your velvet walls so deliciously that you couldn’t help but clench around him. It seems it’s not only your heart that doesn’t want to let go of your prince.

“F-fuck, baby,” Mingyu lets out a breathy laugh, the warmth of his words hitting your collarbone. You look down at him as if to say that you’re listening; you’re met with dazzling brown eyes, love and passion and pure dedication simmering underneath his almost honey-like irises. It takes your breath away. “S-so beautiful like this, feels so good.”

You gyrate your hips on top of his, suppressing a moan at how he continues to fill you up still, bullying your insides and the tip of his cock nudging your most sensitive spot. Your arms are now looped behind his shoulders, pulling him close to your chest. Mingyu goes back to mouthing at your breasts, hands firmly planted on your hips and encouraging you to start bouncing on him.

He realizes that to be a mistake as he nearly cums from the feeling of your cunt gripping him as you bounce, his grip aiding you in your movements. Mingyu marvels at your self control; you’re already so cockdrunk yet your words are stable as you gently sigh, “Touch me, Gyu, please.”

The prince nods, eager to please you and make you feel good. Sometimes he thinks about being at your beck and call– and not only in the bedroom.

His fingers expertly find your clit, teasing the sensitive bundle until he feels you leaking all over his lap. When he feels your hips stutter, a surge of determination washes over him, and suddenly his fingers are rubbing fast circles. He watches you in awe as you throw your head back, hand silencing your whorish sounds. Oh, how your prince longs to hear those sounds.

You don’t even manage to choke out a warning before your whole body seizes up, your sticky and warm arousal making a mess of your lover’s lap and his silk sheets. Without missing a beat, you leap off his lap with trembling legs and take his cock into your mouth, stroking with a passionate hand what you don’t currently have the energy to fit back inside you.

Mingyu shudders and bites his forearm as he floods your mouth with his cum. You help him ride it out, stroking and stroking while he calms down and subdues his moans. A contented hum emanates from your chest as you swallow his release, looking up at him. Mingyu loves you even more like this; when you don’t have a care in the world and hold the purest of love in your eyes as you look at him. He wishes you could look at him like that without having to worry for your life.

His hand soothes your hair as you rest your cheek on his thigh, your own legs still shaking. A few moments later, Mingyu scoops you up, just holds you against his chest and leaves drops of kisses onto the crown of your head. He lays you both down soon after, chests pressed against each other.

"There's something I must tell you," he starts off slowly once you've both caught your breath, cautious and afraid, and you realize this is the same tone he greeted you with earlier. Your gaze catches his, and it bothers you just how foreign the worry on his face looks. Yes, you've seen him worried before, but not like this. Not like his world would end the moment he told you whatever's causing him anxiety like this. It doesn't belong on his face; all there should be is happiness and love and kisses, not whatever the fuck this is that's hurting him. "I'm sure you've heard it already-"

"No, I haven't." you cut him off, precise and final. It's true; you've been doing your best to avoid any and every hot piece of gossip circulating in the kitchens and amongst the servants. You lean into his chest, breathing in the fading familiarity of his scent. Mingyu's hand comes up to caress your hair, afraid to look down at you and see the pain that will undoubtedly paint your face once he unburdens himself of the news.

You nod, cheek squishing against his broad and firm chest. Mingyu sighs when he feels you tracing nondescript patterns on his warm skin. "You can tell me, Gyu. It's all right, you can tell me."

The nickname squeezes at his heart so painfully he actually feels his chest tightening. He leaves one more kiss on your forehead. It feels like a goodbye. He prepares the three words on the tip of his tongue and prays to what powerful being above that you reciprocate it like he knows you want to.

“I love you.” A strong-willed declaration, and your heart simply flutters. After all, how could it not? Your very own prince charming is proclaiming the strongest of feelings for you. Your forehead is pressed against his chest; the loud thumping of his heart chokes your own.

“I love you too, my prince.”

The next time you see Prince Mingyu is when you’re arranging tarts at the buffet, making sure they look presentable and will not teeter off the edge of the tower to be wasted. You catch his eye, and you hope yours are mirroring his– full of sadness and longing and desperation. You look away first.

“Staring at the prince again?” your fellow apprentice Chan nudges your arm, grinning like he’s just said the funniest joke to ever exist. “Aren’t you getting sick of your crush on him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Chan. This is his engagement party, for heaven’s sake.”

#seventeen angst #mingyu angst #seventeen smut #mingyu smut #seventeen drabbles #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader #liv.🎀.docx

352 notes · View notes

jiminjamms · 11 months ago

Text

sex therapy :: 26. together

chapter tags/warnings: a very broken marriage. heavy angst. at least i am not gege. mai and maki and megumi as an iconic trio. infidelity/adultery. family drama. strong language. corruption.

word count: 4.8k

notes: thank you for the overwhelming reception from the last chapter! work has been consuming my life, sadly, which is why this chapter took longer than i anticipated. gr. in this upcoming piece, though, my main focuses are the character development in y/n as well as explanations from toji himself. enjoy! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

A large, warm hand massaged the delicate stretch between your thumb and forefinger.

Gently. Leisurely. Daintily.

Vanilla and cinnamon notes entered your lungs with every inhale, a velvetiness akin to everything you imagined clouds to be like if brushing against your cheek, the comforting sensations bringing back nostalgic memories from the carefree times your heart longed to return to.

Was this Heaven? you wondered in this dark and dreamy daze.

You would not mind staying in this state eternally if that meant the promise of peace and quiet forever.

A voice, not from yourself, dispersed your thoughts.

“Suguru, what are the chances she won’t ever wake up?”

Wake up?

Oh, so you were just asleep.

“Shut up, Sukuna,” another person quipped, this tone more leveled and coarser than the last. “Don’t say shit like that.”

The first person, who must be Sukuna then, chuckled lowly to himself. “Oh, who would’ve thought? Choso is having a soft spot?” he marveled with great interest, “Since when did you care so much about—”

But a third voice interrupted the banter. “She’s awake.”

After a long struggle, your eyes fluttered open to see a crowd gathered around you. Immediately beside you was Suguru Geto. He had been the one nestling your hand, but he practically didn’t look like himself with the concern etched into his brow, replacing the cheerfulness in his typical visage. Behind him stood Sukuna and Choso. The former grinned with fierce satisfaction, while the latter…scowled at you?

To be fair, Choso always scowled at you.

“Good evening, gorgeous.” Geto greeted with a melancholic smile, giving you another squeeze, firm and encouraging. Like a true gentleman, he helped you sit upright, his other hand reaching over your head to brush aside some stray strands by your forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”

Exhaustion, meanwhile, rattled you to the bone.

You were weak, your movements fragile, almost like you were a fawn in her first hours of life. You blinked rapidly while taking in the new environment, only to quickly recognize the gray and cream colors in your surroundings. Back at Toji’s apartment was where you found yourself, with the familiar spiced floral scents from the flickering candle nearby confirming that this was the master bedroom.

Given the dull throb by your temples, you frowned.

“What—?” your voice came out as a hoarse rasp. “What happened?”

The trio traded looks at each other with communicative eyes.

In the end, Choso tucked his hands into his front pocket and took the initiative to speak.

“You were in the Zenin residence with Mai and Maki, remember?” No, not really.“Got into an argument with your husband. Started having a panic attack. Collapsed. Puked.”

Oh…

Recollections from your last conscious moments flooded your head like a tsunami: the screaming, the crying, and the fighting. Loud, angry, bitter fighting.

Fighting for your dignity. Fighting for your heart. Fighting for your life. Goodness gracious. As much as the memories sucked all life from you, you instead felt completely…numb.

After all, you had already been dead on the inside. You were too worn out, both physically and emotionally, to react. Everything that you had to go through since your wedding had brought you to your wit’s end, and this recent altercation with Naoya Zenin was truly the icing on the cake.

When you caught sight of yourself in a nearby mirror, you could hardly recognize yourself. Your expression, glum. Your lips, chafed, Your face, pallor. Absent of any other color than an ashen hue.

“How…did I get here?”

“Mai and Maki got worried and called Toji, who told them to bring you here,” Sukuna answered this time. “You’re lucky the girls reacted fast, else we would have sent you to an emergency room. Suguru even stopped his shift at his clinic to watch over you.”

“I—,” you sighed, lost for words and dropping your tired gaze to the floor. Dealing with inner turmoil to this degree was more than what any sane person could handle. All efforts towards your happiness were in vain anyway, as the cosmos conspired to make your existence one neverending nightmare. Everyone else had their ambitions and shit to deal with, but here you were as an absolute nuisance to the people who should not be otherwise pestered, and you were ashamed for the unnecessary trouble that you had caused. “Gosh, this is embarrassing.”

“We are so sorry!”

Unexpectedly, the apology came from a girl’s voice, and you had to turn around to see three familiar teenagers by the bedroom door.

Just last week, you would never have imagined ever seeing Mai, Maki, and Megumi together. Yet, here you were, watching the twins and their—technically speaking—nephew (cute) standing side-by-side, twiddling their thumbs in their nervous corner (also cute).

Flustered and prepared for admonishment, Mai bowed her head at a slight angle as she hurriedly explained, “We don’t…We don’t mean to put you in an awkward position. We just didn’t know what to do. Maki and I were worried when you fell to the floor and started throwing up. We…We should’ve asked for your permission on who to call for help. But we didn’t know who else to phone, so we ended up dialing Toji. Now, we’ve put you in a weird spot and that is all our fault—”

“Do not apologize. That was the right thing to do.” The comment came from yet another person, and when Sukuna and Choso stepped to the side, who you saw at the room’s furthest end was none other than Toji Fushiguro himself.

He had taken a seat all the way by the wall, with one leg thrust over the other in a relaxed but kingly sort of manner. With his sleeves rolled up, his forearms bled to his wrists with ink, and the emeralds in his sharp gaze gleamed as he stared pointedly in your direction.

Of everyone in the room, his countenance appeared the most composed, but you could feelhim reading through the emotions present on your face. He inclined forward, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin on his palm.

When he noticed the slightest shift in your posture too, the tiny scar by his lips flexed along with a smile.

“So, you’ve figured me out, hm?”

Easily, you could sense all seven pairs of eyes in the room (the four therapists plus the three teens) landing on you. The sudden attention rendered you nervous. Even if you chose silence as your response, the entire room, the entire planet, and perhaps even the entire galaxy could speculate your answer through your expression alone.

After a long while, you breathed out, “You didn’t tell me that you were a Zenin.”

The elephant in the room had to be addressed obviously, and you were not shy to confront the situation head-on.

While you did not intend to sound accusatory, your tone came off as such anyway. How could you not, when you had essentially been misled for weeks? Sure, Toji probably did not want to be badmouthing the Zenins to the very person (you) who had been recently married into the family. But, by withholding the fact that he and your husband were cousins, Toji had created much unnecessary anguish including the current limbo that your marriage was in right now.

Meanwhile, that same man pressed his nails into his chin in contemplation.

“I am not a Zenin, though,” he eventually corrected in a domineering voice, all austere in his throne. “At least, not any longer. I took my first wife’s last name years ago. I go by Fushiguro now.” Curt, direct, and pithy. Toji wasted not a syllable. “Everything worked out though, I guess. Naobito cut me off from the Zenin clan earlier this year. Gave me ten billion yen and told me to get lost, so I did.”

Toji always kept his private matters to himself, but with everything that he had gone through, you were struck by his poise, as if being expelled from such an influential household had been a high-school breakup he had gotten over long ago.

Nonetheless, you wondered if he missed that other life, and you brought your knees toward your chest.

“So,” how should you put this, “you’re not upset?”

Toji scoffed immediately.

“Upset?” A bitter grin spread off his lips. “Why would I be upset? That household is a trash dump. All my life, there were no choices for me to make when my uncles and granduncles decided everything already,” and he began counting with his fingers, “my teachers, my classes, my extracurriculars, my friends. Everything. I was only a puppet to bring honor to the family name, bring in money for the company.”

Listening to his sonorous voice, you rested your cheek onto a knee.

"I see."

His story was depressing, and from conversations with in-laws such as Mai and Maki, you knew that he was not lying, either. Coming from nobility as well, you were also aware of the pressures that came with the people who boasted their 'old-money' statuses, but the Zenin household had always been notorious for being miserable.

Toji had said so before in a prior discussion, how ‘family isn’t family for something like the Zenins’ because both politics and business took precedence.

Then, he went on.

“Some people would kill to have my problems, but I did not want that life, you know? Around the time I started college, I decided that I wanted to make judgments for myself and be my own distinct entity, but that made people upset. Privileged. Entitled. Ungrateful. Whatever. My family members called me many things as a young adult when they figured I did not want to be their pawn for my whole life, with the only person who understood me for many years being my best friend in university.”

Megumi’s mom.

Toji nearly appeared to be an altogether different person whenever he spoke about his first wife. The chartreuse in his eyes would stir with both sorrow and fond reminiscence as he thought about the Mrs. Fushiguro you would never get to meet, his closest confidant whom he lost to the cruel separation brought by life versus death. She must have been someone whom he valued a lot—a person who completely transformed him—as Toji had discarded his last name (which was Zenin, of all things) for hers.

‘He truly loved my mom,’ Megumi explained before. 'He had given up everything.’

Thus, fate could truly be unfair.

The loss and pain Toji must have endured, a topic Megumi had alluded to in his discussion with you before.

Not to mention, the expectations, frustration, and suffocation that came from the clan's elders, too. Experiencing the intense atmosphere in the Zenin household firsthand allowed you to empathize with him. Given the stark differences between him and your lawful husband, there was no wonder Toji did not wish to deal with his older relatives' high-strung conventions.

But, if he had been suffering so much…

“Why did you care so much for what your family thought?” you asked, disregarding the look that the three teenagers by the door exchanged with each other. “Toji, you went to university in the United States. You had a wife and son at a young age. You went from a business background to a licensed therapist, so why did you not—”

“Leaving is difficult when you’re the family heir and the corporation’s CEO.”

The expression that you then returned was blank.

Huh?

His words triggered something in your head, so you repeated after him.

“Leaving is difficult when,” and your voice trailed off, “when…you…are the heir and CEO.”

Heir. CEO.

Zenin.

Toji.

Naoya.

But Toji’s older.

‘Naoya got into a huge dispute with him earlier this year.’

Sheer realization slapped you hard across your face. No way.

“Toji,” you began after letting the revelation sink into you a while later, but your voice barely eeked above a mumble, “so you were once the successor to the Zenin household and company?"

The man in question did not respond, but the silent affirmation from the six other onlookers was an answer in itself.

Yes.

In hindsight, you wanted to say you had always seen the possibility. Still, you never fully registered this until now: the thoughtfulness in his strategy, the sophistication in his speech, the charisma in his leadership.

Previously, Toji had impressed you with how much he knew about the Zenin Corporation’s market share in the Asia-Pacific or the firm’s outsized influence on the international stage. Yet, most (including yourself) would not guess that someone like Toji Fushiguro—your tattooed and brawny sex therapist (plus single dad)—had once been heralded as the indisputable inheritor to the proud lineage and conglomerate.

That had been your mistake.

Toji was more than what people made him out to be, which reminded you to never assume anything superficially about someone—a remark he had once made. For good reason, because he had been referring to himself all along.

You could almost visualize Toji Fushiguro as the seasoned executive he had once been in light of this new information: his black strands slicked into a side part, his charcoal blazer freshly pressed, his leather oxfords newly polished.

Maybe because he was more mature or maybe because he was simply older, but Toji appeared more fitting for the important roles in the Zenin household compared to the man presently poised for succession.

Consequently, you must also ask, “Then, how did Naoya end up in your seat?”

Sukuna and Megumi shared a glance.

Choso grimaced, and Suguru kissed his teeth.

Meanwhile, Toji ran a lone finger down his jaw, following the lines from a tattoo.

“Let me give you some context, sweetheart,” he offered, now brushing his chin as he spoke. “For the last—let’s say—few hundred years, the oldest male in each generation became the leader in the Zenin clan. Is the rule stupid? Yes. Should there be more criteria in evaluating a potential heir aside from birth order? Also yes. But nothing has stopped this before because the Zenins, as you know by now, are a family built on antiquity and tradition. So, when I was born as the oldest male in my generation and Naoya had come in second place...”

Toji did not have to finish his sentence for you to figure out the rest.

Despite the demands that came along with being the next family head, Toji must have been esteemed as nothing short of a crown price among the Japanese elite, with seniors in the Zenin household utilizing all their resources to prepare the once young and starry-eyed boy for taking over such an influential role. Naturally, his enviable position would spark jealousy, even from those whom Toji deemed related to by birth.

Including his very own younger first cousin.

Toji frowned in exasperation.

“Your husband is one childish and jealous brat, but Naoya Zenin has been like that for as long as I have known him. To claim the heir and CEO titles, he acquired the trust from myself and my colleagues by working with us in sex therapy, only to stab us all in the back. He’s a liar. A total manipulator.”

And, from personal experiences, you knew that those words could not be more true.

At this point, Toji sank his handsome face into his immense palm.

“Well, now Naoya Zenin has everything he wants but is still an incompetent asshole. The whole enterprise is hanging by a thread. The entire clan cannot fucking stand him. What’s crazy is that his father Naobito is not doing anything about this, and I cannot tell if that is because the old man is giving his son free passes or because he has finally gotten senile. With Naoya's pettiness, though, the father-son duo have done everything to erase my name from the family, even going as far as to dismiss the executives that I brought onto the management team to undo my legacy.”

When Toji glanced up to cast his gaze forward, you then suddenly understood that the three other men in the room were more than just his fellow board-licensed colleagues.

You recalled Toji’s words in the Teyvat meeting room.

‘I recruited these guys right when they completed their undergraduate degrees, around the time I just opened my therapy office,’ and the puzzle pieces clicked into place from the realization that sex therapy had not been the only thing that Toji had worked with them on—Sukuna, Choso, and Suguru had been executives at the Zenin Corporation reporting to Toji, too. ‘We’ve been working together since, for the past four years.’

Discerning these revelations from your expressions, Toji added in confirmation.

“I had selected these three to oversee the Zenin Corporation’s operations with me,” he said, and you remembered the same conversation in which the men discussed their University of Tokyo studies while Toji listed their previous roles. Sukuna, Economics. “Sukuna, Director of Investments and Real Estate.” Choso, Mechanical Engineering. “Choso, Chief Engineer and Supply Chain Manager.” Suguru, Biology. “Suguru, Healthcare and Innovation Administrator.”

Arguably the most consequential divisions in a conglomerate that spanned numerous sectors, with each department bringing in yen by the billions every year.

‘These guys have treated me like family more than my blood-related kin have.’

Learning this about the four therapists added to your fascination.

For you, the discovery was like uncovering a hidden treasure trove. To imagine everything that the four—as one cohesive unit—had gone through together at the top of the corporate ladder: scrutiny from the media and stakeholders, impromptu meetings that demanded make-or-break decisions, and immediate responses to industry trends and regulations.

Only for them to be cast aside by no one other than your husband.

In the end, this all made sense.

Now, you understood why the therapists were once incredibly demeaning and belligerent toward you. How could they possibly sympathize with the woman married to the man who had taken virtually everything from them?

Heck, if you were in their shoes and had no further context, you would hate yourself, too.

Only now were you hearing their perspectives, and you were grateful that—compared to several weeks before—they trusted you enough to open up.

At last, all you could do was sigh and mutter, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Sukuna shot back without hesitation, which stunned you given how he had been the one who mocked you the most. Yet, a scintilla of kindness flared in his fiery eyes, so you continued with your tone softer and quieter.

“I feel terrible.” Such vulnerability in front of so many people at once went beyond your comfort zone. “For the unfairness Naoya had brought upon you all, and how I…I can’t change anything. I can’t do anything. All I am is…useless.”

“No, you are powerful,” Suguru interjected this time. “Your husband relies on your public image to keep scrutiny off him. He needs you. He’s been demoralizing you for months because he knows the ball will always be in your court, and never his.”

His words made you stop.

“You truly think so?” you asked.

“Yes.”

Choso, who replied, seemed honest.

He was honest.

He might throw you off from how aloof and stoic his attractive face would appear, but Choso was not a liar.

Bringing your feet off the bed, you slowly swung your feet.

“I…am surprised you all even want to talk to me.”

Toji tugged at his dress shirt’s collar and flashed his ink-covered muscles underneath. “What makes you think that?”

His pointed question made you realize how much Naoya had been fucking with your mind, blaming and villainizing you at every chance, thus devolving you into a spineless worm feeling remorse for every little thing.

Shrugging, you tossed your gaze to the side.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “You could have avenged yourself by now. I am Naoya’s wife and Naobito’s daughter-in-law. There had been a thousand chances for you to do something horrible to me: to hurt me, blackmail me, spread dirty rumors about me, but…you haven’t.”

“Why would I do that?” Toji replied instantly and candidly. Rather than appearing offended by your judgments, he started giving you that look again whenever he had his therapist hat on—the one where he would tilt his head at a slight angle to gauge the sentiments painted across your face. “I could have chosen to be bitter and vengeful for the rest of my life, but I am grateful for what I have. Why let a toxic bunch impact my life? I already told you how that household is an absolute fucking hell. I'm glad I have found an out. At the very least, my son would not have to deal with the crap from my young adult years because you know who is the oldest male in the generation after mine?”

Megumi.

All gazes now fell upon the younger Fushiguro, who tried to casually shrug the attention off.

Who cares if I was second-in-line to leading perhaps the most prestigious family in Japan? his nonchalance wanted to convey, but his ears turned pink anyway.

Toji continued, “Then, of course, there are some people whom I care about a lot.” Using his head, he gestured to the twins. “These girls are the best aunts to my son that I, as a father, could ever ask for. They’re only one year older than Megumi, but Mai and Maki used to go on playdates with him on the weekends, walk him to school every morning, and cook him breakfasts over the holidays. The twins even helped my son take his first steps. There is this one photo we have in the library—I don’t know if you have gotten a chance before to see it. But there’s Mai and Maki, each holding one of Megumi’s little hands back in his chubby toddler days and—”

“Dad!” a very flustered and irritated teenage boy finally had to say. “This is not the time to talk about that picture!”

Next to him, a proud Mai and Maki coo and tease their grouchy nephew, poking at his puffed-up cheeks and ruffling his uncombed hair.

“Aw, is someone a little embarrassed?”

Smiling at the little banter from the trio, Toji did not let them distract him from his conversation with you. “What I’m trying to get at is…life’s too short not to enjoy the happy sides of it,” but his eyes glazed with rue nevertheless, “Now is the perfect time to focus on your well-being. Take a look around this room. A lot of people want to see you leading a fulfilling life, Y/N. A fulfilling life for yourself, not for anyone else. Not for me, not for anyone in this room, and certainly not for your husband. Nothing—and I mean absolutely nothing—should hold you back from pursuing your health and happiness.”

While you assumed that your best times were over, Toji reminded you those good days can be brought back with the right attitude. He had a point. Why should you allow your marriage to hinder you from connecting with people whom you care about, working towards the passions that brought you purpose, and feeling the love that you deserve?

Instead, you should seek every sunrise and sunset as an opportunity to live better and without regrets.

As you ruminated on this different mindset, a sudden knock from the door cut your thoughts short.

Who…

Like you, most others looked around blankly, but Toji ordered from his seat, “Let him in.”

Mai, who stood closest to the entryway, obeyed.

Once she unlocked the door, the room fell silent save for the footsteps of the man walking in, his soles creating soft echoes on the linoleum floor. Overhead, pale lights revealed the lines etched on his exhausted face, the worry that sat heavily on his chest.

“Mister Daisuke,” someone eventually acknowledged out of respect.

Your father did not hear the greeting as he searched the room, his sullen gaze darting from face to face until he found you. His shoulders fell from his overwhelming relief. Still in a suit after a long workday, he stumbled forward feebly.

“You’re alright,” he whispered between steps, scarcely audible.

He crouched toward the floor once he approached you, and when Suguru transferred your hands into your father’s, you noticed the unstoppable quiver from the latter even as you gripped him tightly in an attempt to stop the tremor.

His skin was tough, weathered by his additional decades in life. But, in his palms, you found the familiar tenderness that had comforted you since you were a little girl and, in his gaze, you noticed the sadness only found in the despair of a heartbroken parent.

“Thank goodness, you are okay,” and before everyone, tears slipped past his eyes, “I was terrified. I was so scared. When Toji called to tell me you had thrown up and collapsed, do you know how afraid I was?”

You glanced over at the said therapist, reminding yourself that—if Toji had been the CEO before Naoya—he must have worked very closely with your COO father up until recently. For your father to know exactly where you were and walk in with this expression suggested that the former colleagues had had a lengthy conversation about your circumstances. A part of you wanted to be angry. Why drag your father into this worry? But a larger part of you had always wanted to reveal to him the wretched months that had gone by and longed for his support.

And now, he was here.

The older man took a shuddering breath and brought his fingers to your cheek, holding and cradling you like he would never get to do this again.

“I can’t lose you,” he lamented. “I have lost enough in my life already. I cannot lose you, too. I just can’t. Why have you not told me the truth? If you were not happy with Naoya, why have you not told me sooner? Did you think I would place my loyalty to the company over my own child? I feel so guilty and broken to hear about what you have been going through.”

Frankly, you felt just as broken, too.

In fact, seeing and hearing your father weep like this shattered you. As devoted as your father was, his front never failed to be unwavering and strong. Even when your mother’s death left a significant hole in his heart, he bit back his grief. Scars from your mother’s untimely death scarred his heart, wounds that never healed and would stay with him until his last breath, but he rarely expressed his suppressed sorrow.

All for your sake. Because you were his one and only daughter, his one and only child.

So now, for him to see you in such a sorry state was crushing his whole world that had become you.

“Dad.” You helped him wipe his tears away, just like how he had always done for you. “I didn’t want to make you disappointed. I didn’t want to make you sad. I…I just wanted to protect you.”

“No,” he responded firmly. How could a loving father accept the possibility that his daughter would even think about placing him before herself? “Protect yourself first.”

You looked up when you sensed two more approaching individuals and found Mai and Maki with doleful smiles.

“We still have something to return to you, Y/N.”

In your left palm, each girl pressed one ring—the first which promised a future forever and the second which symbolized an infinite unity.

You stared at the jewelry as your chest remembered the waves of happiness, excitement, hope, confusion, betrayal, and pain.

So, so much pain.

Your father, who would not miss the solemn undertones in your gaze, squeezed your hands in his.

“My dear daughter,” he started, and you could tell he could no longer bear to see you suffer any longer, “what are you planning to do?”

Your throat turned dry.

Any possibility seemed like a viable solution, a means for a desperate escape.

For months, you should have prepared yourself for this very question, but now that you were confronted with this reality for the first time, you did not know what to say.

You had clutched onto the false hope for your troubled marriage to be sorted out. Escaping your dreary matrimony had once been too far-fetched of an option given an impending cold war between your families, which you would never wish upon the stars to happen. Therefore, even as you found yourself stuck on a stifling dead end, you did not exactly prepare for the next steps for the occasion you found Naoya Zenin’s mistreatment too much to bear.

However, times have changed.

Your allies and enemies have changed.

Most of all, you have changed.

Therefore, with all the universe’s possibilities at your fingertips, one particular option stuck out.

“I’m going to file for a divorce.”

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: So many things. To see us freak out at the idea of a divorce during the beginning of the fic, up to now, where we suggested the option out of our volution. Also, the much-needed heart-to-heart conversation between Toji and us, and how that really shows a slow maturation in our relationship with him (and everyone else)! Let me know what you think, and see you next chapter!

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

349 notes · View notes

ninibeingdelulu · 6 months ago

Text

Hypnotized

synopsis: rin can’t fall asleep, but your presence soothe him

The faint glow of moonbeams filters through the gauzy curtains - casting dreamy patchworks of silvery light across the rumpled bedsheets tangled around your slumbering forms.

Rin lies utterly motionless beside you; every chiseled plane of his features exquisitely defined while he obsessively traces the rhythmic rise and fall of your bare back expanding with each deep breath.

Sleep continues eluding him despite the late hour weighing heavy on his lids. Rin's mind remains preoccupied replaying every calculated maneuver and lightning-fast feint he executed over and over from their latest scrimmage match earlier in the day.

Always seeking flaws...any minuscule discrepancy he can seize upon and drill to sublime perfection before their next clash of wills on the pitch.

That relentless drive for sharpening his already razor-sharp skills is what ultimately drags Rin's heated stare lower - becoming instantly transfixed by the smattering of faint beauty marks adorning the expanse of your exposed skin glowing like tiny starbursts in the wan lighting.

He's seen those flecks dusting the elegant column of your throat and slim curvature of your shoulders countless times before...yet tonight, they seem to beckon with an irresistible magnetism he simply cannot ignore.

Careful not to jostle your sleeping form too abruptly, Rin slowly rolls until propping up on one elbow - cerulean gaze roving in a leisurely perusal from the sparse constellations dotting your nape down to where the sheets tangle in a heap around your waist.

With the utmost delicacy, he extends one calloused fingertip to reverently ghost along the gilded trail scattered across each shoulder blade in a featherlight caress.

His jaw clenches when your breath hitches softly from the ticklish contact but Rin refuses breaking whatever hypnotic trance he's fallen under now.

Instead, the obsessive focus burning behind those electric blue irises only intensifies further as he meticulously maps and commits to memory the precise pattern extending along your back down towards the lush flare of your hips.

Time slips into an endless suspension as Rin traverses each sun-kissed dip and swell of your statuesque form in turn - quickly becoming utterly drunk on the velvet heat suffusing your succulent skin under his touch.

Your matching tempos gradually sync until he's inhaling your rich floral bouquet on every inhale while simultaneously imprinting your unique topography into his very marrow...

Far too soon, Rin notes the first rosy tendrils striating the horizon beyond the bedroom window.

Yet even with every second placing him perilously closer to their usual pre-dawn training regimen, some deep-seated compulsion keeps him anchored firmly within this simmering lull of rapture currently encompassing your tangled frames.

He'll simply remain awash in your essence awhile longer - burning the experience into his soul until eventually succumbing to the lullaby of your steady pulse thrumming in tandem with his own.

Already he can feel those battle-forged muscles steadily unwinding as Rin nuzzles his flushed face into the inviting curve of your nape while securely gathering you against the solid furnace of his chest.

In these blissful twilight moments hovering between slumber and wakefulness, the lines neatly separating ego from flesh fall away until nothing but your combined heartbeats remain echoing through the ether.

And it's to this precious cadence Rin Itoshi ultimately surrenders...

275 notes · View notes

l0uterstella · 8 months ago

Text

CHARACTER DESIGN NOTES FROM THE 4GAMER INTERVIEW

🍎 HALLRITT - "I told them that I absolutely wanted to include the ribbon in the upper right corner, no matter how cute it turned out to be. It also includes the image of Kitty's blue overalls on his suspenders. The yellow ribbon on his boots is an image of Kitty's twin, Mimmy."

🎼MEROLD - "He was drawn together with Blue Bouquet's Kurode. My Melody wears a hood, as she was originally designed as a "Little Red Riding Hood". The slit on the side was inspired by the design of the slit under My Melody's neck."

🍀PURUTH - "Since Pompompurin is a golden retriever, one of many dog designs, the belt-like thing coming out of his waist has the image of a leash. The shoes on the left and right sides are different, reflecting Purin's hobby of collecting and hiding one shoe on each side."

🌹 ROMARRICHE - "The silhouette of Marroncream's puff sleeves is expressed by wearing a cape. The floral pattern and polka dots are also inspired by her. We have not yet shown the back view, but there is also a lot of attention to detail hidden in the cape."

🐟 RIMICHA - "Kirimi-chan was the first runner-up in the "Eating Character General Election," so we gave him a distinctive mouth. Also, the asymmetry of his hair expresses their (Kirimichan) original silhouette, which is voluminous on the right side. The fishnet stockings are an image of a grill…!"

🌺 SANAH - "Usahana is a character who values the colorful colors she gets from the sky and flowers, so we took advantage of that. Also, around the year 2000, when Usahana debuted, sticker exchanges were popular, so we also incorporated that image into the design."

☁ CIELOMORT - "While also expressing Cielomort's royal and mysterious image, we incorporated motifs from Cinnamoroll, such as "clouds," "sky," and "white puppy". Cinnamoroll is also characterized by his swirling tail, so we made Cielomort's hair curly as well."

👿 KURODE - "As far as the spiritual nature is concerned, the theme of "becoming who you want to be" is the basis of Kuromi's work, and it makes use of the visual sense of "The World Kuromification Project". In contrast to the fluffy cuteness of Merold, I imagined a darker cuteness."

✉️ WILLMESH - "Wish Me Mell is a postman's helper, so he is given a mail bag and a brooch with a sealing wax motif. The polka dot pattern on Wish Me Mell's palm is reproduced with a polka dot bandage."

💫 KLARKSTELLA - "Kiki and Lala are "dreamy and cute" and "starry-eyed," so we developed them from there and based the costume on the image of pajamas. The twin-leaf-like hair on the top of her head is also inspired by Kiki and Lala. Another point is that they are tall."

🌟 LOUTERSTELLA - "His basic image is just the same as Klarkstella's, but we were careful to not simply make them different colors. They both have a dreamy atmosphere, but not too cute, and I think they have beautiful designs with a mythological mystery."

🌾 MYUNNA - "The design of the "spirit of flour" is based on the "fragile cuteness" of Cogimyun, who looks as if he might be blown away and turned into powder. Also, the back of his dress is a silhouette of Cogimyun's pet shrimp, and the decorations on his shoes are also based on her signature."

🐊 BADOBARM - "Bad Badztamaru's mischievous boyish atmosphere has been reproduced as a life-size male figure. Also, the "Xs and Os" shape, which is often used by Bad Badztmaru himself, is used in many of the costume decorations. By the way, Badztmaru's pet crocodile is called "Pochi," while the crocodile-shaped fairy with Badobarm is "Tama.""

🐶 CHACO - "We tried to express Pochacco's silhouette and his skateboarding element with the image of a very active child. We were particular about the balance of colors so that it would not be monotone, so we gave the hair color a unique look so that it would not be similar to other children."

🐣 ARUPEK - "From Ahiru No Pekkle's treasured bucket, we gave him a water pistol as an element for water. The large feet are also reproduced in his shoes. The hunting cap has a bird-like silhouette. The "1989" on the patch is Pekkle's debut year!"

🐧 TUXAM - "Tuxedo Sam is a gentlemanly penguin boy who has studied abroad in England, so we kept his noble image in mind. His hat is a combination of the sailor hat Sam wears and the hat of Sherlock Holmes... Who is famous in England. On the stick is an ice cream cone that Sam often spills."

🐙 HANGYON - "We designed the bewitching element based on Hangyodon, a half-fish man born in China. The round eyes are represented by sunglasses, and the pink color of Hangyodon's lips is incorporated into the lenses and makeup. The fairy on his shoulder, "Lily," was inspired by Sayuri, an octopus who is a good friend of Hangyodon."

🐸 PIKERO - "Since his lord's real name is "Keroppi Hasunoue (Keroppi above a lotus)", we added a black pattern to the umbrella to make it look like a lotus leaf. Also, it is hard to tell, but his eyes are pink, which represents the color of Keroppi's cheeks. His overall image is not Chinese, but Vietnamese."

389 notes · View notes

emepe · 10 months ago

Text

— Pairing: Eren x Reader, friends to lovers

— General info: series, 18+, modern AU, serial killer AU, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

— Summary: Fate is a tricky thing. Certain situations can’t be avoided as much as certain people’s lives can’t be kept from intertwining. With a serial killer on the loose, and unexpected relationships blooming, how will the universe intervene?

— Chapter summary: A simple dinner party leads to new relations. Eren Jaeger can't keep his eyes off of you.

— Content warnings: mentions of murder, alcohol consumption.

— Notes: I'm so excited to post the first chapter to my new series. I've been wanting to write again for two years now and I finally got hit with inspiration. This is a little different from my usual stuff, but I hope you'll like it. A special thank you to @dreamy-jaeger for beta-reading <3 Happy reading, bubs!

Links: Read on AO3 | Chapter guide | Masterlist

at first sight

Nobody ever said anything about the desperate cries that could be faintly heard from one of the units in Sina Park. Then again, the surrounding houses were occupied by people well into the age when sound just doesn’t reach them as well as it did even just a few years back.

Sina Park was known for being a peaceful area. With its small and painterly identical houses, and its gardens full of color and floral aromas, it was a picture-perfect community. It wasn’t embedded into its terms to remain strictly as senior-only housing but the great majority of its residents certainly gave off that idea to any outsider. It was to the point where it came as a surprise for one to find out there was someone under the age of sixty living there. But everyone in Sina was well acquainted with each other, and friendliness was practically the norm between every carefree neighbor.

That was probably why Mr. Shadis didn’t bat an eye when he was enjoying a cup of tea on his front porch and he saw the youngest of the Sina community step out with a duffel bag that was promptly thrown into the trunk of his car, the same night silence reclaimed its territory in Sina Gardens.

“A bit chilly tonight, eh Fred?” Mr. Shadis asked from his side of the street, raising his hand in greeting when he saw his neighbor walk out.

The young man tossed a boyish smile toward his elder while reciprocating his wave.

“Just a bit, Mr. Shadis. You probably shouldn’t be out much longer or you’ll catch a cold,” he replied, still smiling as he slammed his trunk shut and smoothly tossed his car key in the air with his left hand, catching it swiftly with his right.

“Me? What about you?” Shadis teased.

“I’ve still got good bones,” he joked to which Shadis clicked his tongue, feigning hurt feelings as he shook his head.

“You be careful on the road now, eh Fred?” he said, watching the young man disappear into his car, his hand lagging behind to wave goodbye.

The car peeled slowly from its driveway, out of Sina Park, and onto the main road. As the speedometer needle trembled between steady numbers, music flowed softly through the car’s speakers, barely loud enough to disguise the disgusted voice that murmured “That’s not my name, you stupid fuck.”

The early autumn breeze pins your skirt against your thighs and playfully tussles your hair as you hurry toward the bakery on the corner of the street. You’re welcomed by the pleasant jingle of the bell above the door, as well as Kuchel’s warm interior that puts a stop to the outside’s disturbances on your clothes.

A slight impatience consumes you as you wait for your turn to order, but you try to keep your booted feet from tapping against the hardwood floor and settle for tapping your fingers on your wallet as you try to assess the available baked goods from your spot in line. There’s a variety of sweet and salty treats — from jumbo oatmeal cookies to pain au chocolat to rolls — but you’ve only got a single thing in mind. A breath of relief escapes your lightly chapped lips when you get close enough to see a neatly stacked pyramid of lemon bars in the display, and a second one after you have a box of them secured in your hands minutes later.

A satisfied smirk tugs lightly at your lips as you allow yourself to admire the neatly packaged treats. As you make your way to the door, the bell dings, pulling your attention from the box and saving you from clumsily bumping into the man who just walked in. The exchange is brief; he quickly apologizes for the avoided accident and holds the door open for you with a shy smile.

You don’t reciprocate his warm smile but opt for politely nodding in acknowledgment and thanking him for the gesture before hurrying out the door, not wanting to prolong his act of kindness more than necessary. You take a sharp turn toward the nearest bus stop, completely oblivious to the lingering pair of emerald eyes that steal one last glance at you from inside the bakery.

Once again, the wind teases your hair until it finds itself locked out by the shutting door of the bus you settle into. Your hand dives into your purse to retrieve your earbuds as soon as you find a seat, yet no music plays throughout your journey. The box from the bakery remains safely in your lap, the contents being lightly jostled now and then when the bus stops to pick up more passengers.

From the bakery to the bus and for the twenty-minute commute, you go over the names of the people you’ll be meeting in your head.

It’s not often that you get invited to a coworker’s housewarming party. It’s not often that you form a friendly relationship with a coworker. In fact, it’s not often that you engage with someone at all unless it’s for work or other impersonal things. But Armin Arlert’s nice. Despite being the kind of person who can’t seem to let the purposely lonely be lonely, you’ve taken a liking to him.

His friends, you think, might be a different story. It’s not that you expect them to be dreadful people, but socializing has never been your scene. You can be pleasant, laugh at jokes, and perhaps even throw one out yourself, but it’s not in you to pursue deeper connections. You’re more at ease keeping to yourself and observing if anything. However, the hopeful look on Armin’s face during your lunch break last week, when he insisted he wanted you at his party, has been popping up in your head at all hours so you feel as though you have no choice but to go beyond your standard pleasantries.

Your plan for surviving the evening is simple. Get there a few hours early so you can help cook, clean, or anything else Armin might need help with before his friends arrive. Partly because that’s what your altruistic nature steers you to do, but also because you’re hoping you can get a refresher course on what Armin's friends are like so you know what to expect and how to act. If they’re all friends of Armin, maybe it’ll be worth it for you to put some genuine intention behind your courtesies. After all, being friends with Armin hasn’t been difficult so far. You dare to even call it nice. Maybe it’s time for you to make at least one more friend.

Armin’s kitchen is bustling with energy as he and his friends move from one spot to another, swiftly keeping out of each other’s way in perfect sync to finish dinner preparations.

“I still can’t believe every single one of you bought me a candle… and the same one to top it all off,” Armin shakes his head in amusement, his mind recalling the small cluster of ocean-scented candles he left on the living room coffee table.

Despite his constant assurance that he’d take full responsibility for the food and drinks — he was the one to bring up the idea of a housewarming party first, so it only made sense —, all of his friends arrived little by little before noon to help out with the cooking. First was Mikasa who, as soon as Armin opened the door, handed him the gift bag with a smile, congratulating him on the move and saying she hoped her present would help make the place a little cozier.

Then came Connie and Sasha who, despite being roommates, failed to coordinate their gift choices and only realized they bought the same thing when Armin opened Sasha’s bag first and Connie’s jaw dropped in absolute horror. It only got funnier from there. Jean barely stuck the carefully wrapped gift box toward Armin when Mikasa muttered under her breath “It’s a good day for candle sales”.

“Well, you like candles, and the ocean is pretty much your brand, dude. Don’t blame us.” Jean shrugs, not bothering to peel his focused gaze from the carrots he’s grating.

“The last time I even talked about the ocean I was, like, fifteen. Almost ten years ago!”

Everyone knows Armin loves the long-term supply of ocean-scented candles, and what may seem like complaints to outsiders is just another bit they’ve all dragged on from their youth.

But Connie still seems a bit lost. His hands pause from sprinkling rosemary leaves on the potato wedges Mikasa neatly laid out on a baking tray.

“So you’re not fucking with the ocean anymore?” he asks with an uncharacteristically serious expression that causes Jean to sputter a laugh before disguising it as a cough.

“Ignore them,” Sasha prompts, rolling her eyes. Her lips then stretch into a suggestive grin. “Tell us about the girl you invited over. Before she gets here, you have to tell us for real this time, are you into her? Do we need to talk you up? I’m the best wingwoman, Armin. I will make her love you even if it kills me.” Sasha’s hands fall heavily onto Armin’s shoulders as if to back up her conviction.

Armin furrows his brow in mild exasperation. This was the second time he’d been harrowed with that string of questions, which didn’t seem like much, but it took a while for him to get his friends to drop the topic the first time around. He shakes his head and peels Sasha’s hands from his form, fixing them firmly at her sides.

“I already told you it’s not like that. And I don't think human sacrifice is needed, Sash. We’re friends. I just want her to meet you guys… and Eren, of course.”

Nobody picks up on the short pause before Eren’s name or Armin’s sly expression that he’s quick to hide by turning to face the sink.

“She’s a bit quiet but she’s really nice. I think she’ll be a nice addition to our group. You’ll like her, I promise. Just go a little easy, okay?” Armin pauses as he tugs on a pair of dishwashing gloves to whip around one last time. “And don’t say anything weird! I swear I’m telling the truth.”

“Okay,” Jean replies in a sing-songy voice. Armin turns to shoot him a threatening look upon hearing his teasing tone, only to find Jean pointing a stern finger in his direction, “But if you change your mind, I got you, bro.”

Armin only smiles in response, not willing to spare any more breath in correcting him, and starts washing the dishes. Before he can finish scrubbing the bowl in his hands, the doorbell rings and he rushes to pry himself free from his dishwashing gloves before heading to the intercom, glancing back to make sure everyone is still keeping busy.

“It’s me,” a slightly fuzzy version of your voice comes through the speaker.

He buzzes you in immediately and steps into the hall to wait for you.

When he sees you round the corner, his face breaks out into a grin.

“Hey, you made it!”

Your lips quirk into a small smile. Armin makes way for you to step inside.

“I thought I could get here a little early to help you with the food. I hope that’s okay.” Your voice trembles a bit at the end, and you start to worry when you realize Armin’s grin has faded.

“Actually, everything is pretty much done already. Everyone got here around noon, and they kind of took over.”

As if on cue, a burst of laughter hits your ears from where you assume the kitchen is.

You manage to let out a slow ‘oh’.

Your simple plan has officially backfired. Since Armin's friends are already here, and since he's had no shortage of hands to help him prepare for his get-together, there's nothing left for you to do. More importantly, there’s no more window for you to ask questions. You hoped you’d be the first to arrive, and each arrival after that would be spaced out so you had enough time to get a feel on every one of Armin’s friends on their own. Now that that’s out the window, you start to worry the dynamics will be a bit too awkward between you and however many there are of them. It’s a battlefield now. Too many factors, too many things to worry about. Headfirst, no safety net, no baby steps.

Almost as if he can sense your panic through your otherwise expressionless face, Armin smiles.

“Don't worry about it, they're nice.”

Your fingers curl tighter around the box of desserts. There's a permanent knot in your stomach that twists further, reminding you of its presence, in situations like this. Your mind flashes a jumble of different scenarios and all the possibilities for outcomes without letting you actually process or make sense of any of it.

And in the next instant, you're back.

“I brought some lemon bars from Kuchel.” You raise the box just enough for the movement to catch Armin’s eye.

His face lights up when he looks down at the box in your hands and he immediately takes hold of it.

“I freakin’ love these! Thank you!”

Relief washes over your previously tensed features. Of course, you already knew these specific lemon bars are Armin’s favorite. He's always bummed out when you go together to Kuchel for your lunch break and there's no more left.

“I actually got the last batch,” you state proudly, the feeling only growing when his fingers excitedly tug at the ribbon tying the handles together and fishing out a pastry, biting into it with no hesitation.

“No kidding, they always sell out. Come on, I'll introduce you to everybody.” He heads toward the kitchen, waving at you to follow him.

You nervously tug at your turtleneck's sleeves, leaving them to cover your hands in an almost protective manner.

The fact that all eyes fall on you the second you step into everyone's line of vision doesn't help you feel at ease. Your gaze wanders to a distant place in an attempt to lessen the mental weight everyone's stares bear on you. But Armin throws a comforting arm over your shoulder and gives you a light squeeze as he announces your name to everybody.

When you look up — because you have to in order to properly link names and faces together — each new person in the room has a warmth to their features that gradually soothes your internal distress.

Sasha’s the first name to be called out. She's also the only one who goes up to steal you from Armin's arms and hugs you excitedly, squealing about how exciting it is to finally meet you. You're taken aback by the sudden embrace, but she’s holding you so tight that you can't look back at Armin for help. You're also oblivious to his warning gaze toward her behind your back.

Mikasa smiles and nods politely at you from the other side of the counter. It's quite the contrast from the first girl, but her gaze radiates kindness.

Jean's good looks are the first thing you notice from him, and he's got a cool energy to match. He raises two fingers in a salute when it's his turn, paired with a side smile as he casually leans against the bar.

Lastly, there's Connie, who proves himself to be as goofy as Armin told you beforehand, by dramatically posing with one arm against the counter and his opposite hand resting on his hip, muscles flexed, head turned low just so he could look up again and say “the one and only”.

You purse your lips in response to hide the smile that still manages to slip through.

“Nice to meet you all.”

You stand there awkwardly for what you think is a second too long, silently begging to come up with something else to say or for someone else to pick up the task so everyone can move on.

Thankfully, Armin swoops in, showing off his box of lemon bars on his way to a seat at the bar. He taps the seat next to him, gesturing for you to sit.

“Impressive,” Jean says, nodding in approval as he neatly folds a tea towel. He knows how much Armin loves Kuchel's lemon bars.

“It's not a big deal,” you reply, waving him off as you scan the room for something to give yourself to do. But there isn't much.

The counters have been cleared of any signs of ingredient prep during introductions, there's a timer set for the oven, and there's but a small pile of dishes left unfinished at the sink, which Mikasa is already finishing up. So you settle for sitting at the bar and staying out of everyone's way.

However, sitting still doesn't clear you from everyone's attention. It only makes sense that they're curious about you. And with the oven timer still with a little less than an hour to go, you can sense the start of a conversation where you're the main focus.

“So…” Jean begins.

Everyone gathers around the bar.

You brace yourself.

The following minutes are a bit of a blur. You try your best to keep up with everyone's questions. Where you're from, your birthday, your zodiac sign, what kind of music you like, if you've been to this and that place, or tried the food at x, y, and z. They're pretty basic questions, but as long as you're a target you're kept on your toes. After each of your answers, there's an exchanged glance or a nod of approval. You know everyone is only trying to get to know you, yet you can't help but feel as though every question is part of a test and your likability is at stake. That is until the conversation branches out to a story about the best taco truck in the next town over, which, in turn, leads to a story about Connie and Sasha getting food poisoning from a different taco truck they decided to try after their favorite one happened to close early that day. Only then can you breathe a sigh of relief. You even laugh a little at Sasha’s colorful retelling of the taco story.

“So, basically, don't go to Tito's,” Sasha finalizes, giving you a stern look. “You'll be shitting and barfing for a week.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” you laugh.

After that, the conversation flows a lot easier for you. There's less pressure with the decrease in questions thrown your way, which gives you more confidence to chime in with anecdotes of your own. It's hard to pinpoint when the conversation stopped feeling like a test, but you're grateful for it.

You realize there was never any battlefield to survive. Not here, not with this group of friends. And it’s nice to have several people willing to fill in any silence and steer the flow of the conversation instead of feeling the pressure of everyone's interest in your hands.

Just as you take a second to wander your gaze across everyone's laughing faces, finally feeling at ease with your place in the group, the doorbell rings, followed by the shrill sound of the timer.

“Fucking Jaeger,” Jean mutters.

“Just in time,” Armin grins, hops down from his chair, and makes his way to the door. Jean follows him at his heel, mumbling something about “Jaeger” being late.

You're distracted by Mikasa's voice calling your name.

“Could you get me the oven mitts, please?”

You nod and offer your assistance in taking out the chicken.

On the other side of the wall, Armin buzzes his last guest in and holds the door open to wait, shooting a confused look at Jean, who leans back against the wall to wait, too.

As soon as he comes in, Armin yells out, “Eren!” and pulls his best friend into a big hug, forcing him to crouch slightly to accommodate his embrace. They both laugh as Jean stands with his arms across his chest and a disgruntled look on his face.

“Hey, man. Sorry I'm late.”

“Mhm,” Jean hums, expecting Eren to cower under his gaze.

He doesn't. Jean is completely ignored as Eren sheepishly starts to explain himself, even though Armin didn't expect him until around this time anyway.

“I wanted to get you those lemon bars you like from that bakery. But when I got there, they were all out, so I went to their other shop across town, but they didn't have any either, and so then I—”

Armin laughs.

“Relax. You made it, that's what matters.”

“I feel bad, though. I really wanted to get some for you. I know they're your favorite.”

“If you really wanted to do something nice, you could've gotten here earlier to help with the cooking,” Jean scolds. Then he smirks. “Like I did.”

Eren rolls his eyes, finally acknowledging Jean.

He then pulls out a small gift box and hands it to Armin with a smile.

"I got you a candle, though."

Jean snorts and walks back to the kitchen, leaving an annoyed Eren shooting daggers at his back.

Armin graciously takes the gift, taking the lid off to confirm that the candle is, indeed, ocean-scented.

"Thanks, buddy. I was running short on these," he smiles sympathetically at his friend, patting his shoulder.

As they walk into the open space of the dining area, you walk out with a stack of plates in your hands to set the table. Armin perks up upon seeing you and excitedly rushes Eren, saying he wants to introduce him to somebody.

Armin’s voice catches your attention as you carefully set the plates down. “This is my best friend Eren.”

Your gaze shifts toward the pair of surprised green eyes already set on you while Armin’s voice goes on in the background, repeating your name to his friend.

“Hey, it’s you.” Eren smiles in recognition.

Armin’s eyebrows raise in surprise; yours furrow in confusion. Everyone starts filing to the dining area with food and silverware to finish setting the table. You step aside, murmuring quiet apologies as you get out of their way and step closer to Armin and his friend.

“You two know each other?” Armin asks, his gaze shifting between the two of you.

Before Eren can answer, he’s interrupted by Mikasa walking over.

“Hey, Eren. You’re late.” She looks up at him with disappointment. You get the feeling he was supposed to arrive around the same time she and the others did.

“Yeah!” Connie whines from the dining table, where he’s setting up wine glasses. “We had to work twice as hard.”

Eren ignores Connie’s flawed math.

“Sorry, everybody,” he replies, yet his tone is more that of a meek kid who’s forced to apologize.

He returns his focus to his original conversation. Armin is still looking at him expectantly.

“Oh, right! Uh… yeah, we bumped into each other at Kuchel’s earlier,” he finally explains. He looks at you shyly. “I held the door for you.”

Your furrowed brow softens, and your lips shape into a silent ah! when you recall the brief interaction. You didn’t even remember his face, but you nod along now.

“Come on, guys. Let’s eat!” Mikasa’s voice cuts through the silence, putting an end to your conversation.

Throughout dinner, everyone is a lot more chatty than you expected, considering there's plenty of food to get through. Everyone spills out as many light-hearted anecdotes about one another as the bites they take of baked potato wedges, garlic butter chicken, and grated carrot salad. Their stories are clear to have been brought up between them several times over the years, but they're new to you and you appreciate them choosing to share with you.

It turns out, the universe has worked its magic to make sure all six friends remain close since childhood. The fact is a little intimidating when you find out, but you do your best to push it aside.

At first, you're perfectly fine quietly listening as you eat, your voice only adding to the mix in the shape of a laugh, a gasp, or a question for the storyteller — just enough so they don't forget you're there.

The entire time, you feel a pair of eyes stealing glances at you from across the table even when you're not talking. Whenever you slowly look up to meet them, Eren quickly shifts his gaze elsewhere. When choosing places at the table, Armin insisted on having you across from one another. He didn't outright say it, but he did rearrange everyone else so that it worked out that way.

Given that he was the last to arrive and you've barely spoken directly to each other since he got here, you're not sure how to feel about Eren yet. He seems nice enough, but you don't feel as easy even looking at him as you do with the others. It's strange, but his late arrival made all the difference. Somehow he seems like a total stranger compared to the people you met just an hour before him. After your awkward introduction, it’s hard to say if you can make the situation better.

Night has settled in by the time everyone is leaning back in their seats with full bellies, lazily sipping wine every few minutes as the conversation eases into a quieter, slower pace. The serving dishes have been scraped clean. The box of lemon bars you brought over has been split for dessert, leaving just one lonely square that you know a slightly tipsy Armin has been eyeing.

Eren had turned to look at you with surprise when Armin thanked you for the second time.

“Ah, so you're the one who beat me to the last batch,” was what he said.

A soft apology tumbled from your lips.

So far, you hadn't proved yourself to be big on smiling but, when you did, it was nice to look at. Consequently, he tried to be the cause of at least one. So when you gave him nothing for his weak attempt at teasing, he shrunk in his seat and decided to keep quiet.

It's not long before Jean suggests moving to the living room to play a game and you take that as your cue to start clearing the table so there's no mess to come back to later. As you slip quietly into the kitchen, you can hear Jean and Connie arguing over whether to play cards or Monopoly. As Connie argues, he doesn't want to play Monopoly with a cheater, to which Jean says it's not his fault he's the better player.

You carefully place the dishes in the sink, adjusting the streaming water to a warm temperature. As you tug the pair of dishwashing gloves onto your hands, you catch a glimpse of a figure stepping beside you. When you look up, you're met with a boyish grin and shy jewel-toned eyes. He's setting down another pile of dirty dishes on the counter.

“Hi.”

You're not sure how to respond other than with a polite nod and a soft hi back. There's not much else to say, anyway. Half of you hopes he'll leave; you need some space to recharge your social battery. The other half is curious about the kind of conversation you might have to engage in if he stays.

You focus your gaze on the soaking dishes, waiting with bated breath to see what he does.

He stays.

He offers to dry what you wash.

There's a nervous tremor in his voice. Like a kid scared to ask for permission instead of an adult offering help. It's so small you barely notice it, but it's there.

You nod.

You wash, he dries.

It's quiet save for the sounds of dishes clinking together.

Then, his voice comes through.

“I didn't mean to put you on the spot earlier when I got here. I just have a knack for remembering faces.”

An uncomfortable warmth crawls up your neck and pools at your cheeks.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm kind of the opposite. I just don't pay attention to faces,” you explain.

“Oh.” He forces a laugh. “Yeah, no, I get it.”

He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, unsure of how to keep the conversation going. It's a bit discouraging for him to see how laser-focused you are on doing the dishes though, and he already feels foolish for making you apologize for not recognizing a total stranger. He tries not to stare at you too much but it's difficult when you're right there beside him. He only hopes you can't make him out looking at you from the corner of his eye.

You, on the other hand, can feel his eyes burning holes into your side profile. Ignoring it is harder than you hope but at least you have something to help. You're not sure if he expects you to reciprocate his efforts in breaking the ice, but you've yet to get a proper read on him. He was mostly quiet during dinner. Whenever a story with him at the center came up, he'd try to sway the conversation in a different direction. He seemed tense and you hate to think he might be uncomfortable with your presence. Maybe he's an anxious person who's easily embarrassed, you think. Or he might’ve thought you were stuck up and rude after you failed to recognize him and that's why the air now feels so thick. That happens a lot. The people around you are mostly a blur until — and if you ever — have a reason to break into friendly territory.

The next time you hand a dish for Eren to dry, your gaze lingers, carefully taking in his features. His green eyes are striking, but it's not as if the rest of his face falls short of that. He's very handsome. In a more boyish way than you observed Jean to be, but sharper than, say, Armin. His brown hair is neatly cut on the sides, contrasted by the choppy bangs that line his forehead — something that brings more youth to his face. He's got long, thick lashes and plump lips. Faint freckles are scattered along what one might consider to be a perfect straight nose. He's very handsome, indeed. But that's not all. There's a delicacy to his features that blends them all harmoniously, making Eren Jaeger quite… pretty.

Eren suddenly clears his throat; you take it as a sign to stop staring.

“So… um… how long have you been friends with Armin?”

You already know the answer, and you didn’t mind the silence at all, but you might as well try to get Armin’s best friend in your good graces. Especially after your dreadful mistake of not recognizing him. It bothers you to think he might have decided he doesn’t like you because of that.

“Since we were six… Um… He had a lot of trouble with bullies back in elementary school and I beat them up for him.”

That part you didn’t know, so you pause your focus on the plate you’re scrubbing to glance at Eren with admiration.

“I think he might’ve developed a weird hero complex by mistake though,” he laughs to himself. “He wanted me to get into fights every time he saw someone new being bullied.”

You laugh. The sound makes Eren’s chest swell with pride.

“Did you do it?”

He bashfully nods without ungluing his gaze from the serving spoon he’s drying.

You laugh some more.

“And of course, then he would take them in as a friend. Something about strength in numbers or whatever. To this day he has this thing that he needs to take in anyone who seems vulnerable.”

You laugh through your nose fully aware of the familiarity you feel from Eren’s story.

“That definitely sounds like him.”

You grin as you finish rinsing the plate, excited to have found some common ground to latch onto for conversation.

Eren admires your happy expression from the corner of his eye.

But when you turn to look at him, he averts his gaze, curling his lips inwards, and he takes the plate from your hands.

Your lips downturn a bit, thinking you might still have a long way to go before you can make up for your mistake.

Still, the thickness in the kitchen air dissipates as you each return to your tasks, the corners of your lips perking up in relieved smiles.

Armin walks in a moment later with the remnants of a laugh on his face from whatever conversation he just left behind. His faded grin resurfaces when he finds you and Eren together, and he catches a glimpse of the pink tint dusting his best friend's cheeks.

He watches for a few seconds, mildly amused that neither of you seems to notice his presence. Just as Eren finishes wiping the last fork dry, he decides to speak.

“You didn't need to do that.”

His statement is directed at both of you, yet his gaze is fixed on you, a warm smile gracing his features.

“You should join the others,” he tells you. “Oh, and uh…” He swipes a bottle from one of the cupboards. “Take this with you.”

“Let me just help put away everything,” you offer.

“It's okay, Eren and I got it,” he assures you.

You back out hesitantly, only decidedly walking out when Armin gives you a reassuring nod.

Both men watch you leave. As soon as you're out of sight, Armin's lips stretch into a knowing smile.

“She's pretty, huh?”

Eren's eyebrows upturn in clear worry when he rips his gaze from you to look at Armin. They soften a split second later in an attempt to appear nonchalant before his grinning friend.

“Um… I guess so… I don't know.”

He hurries to tend to the dishes waiting to be put away, hoping it's enough to mask the way he slowly deflates.

Plates and forks are stored in silence. An amused Armin keeps glancing at him.

After a while, a soft laugh escapes his lips.

“Relax, I'm not into her.”

Eren stiffens, unable to remove his hand by will from the cupboard door he just shut, and instead letting gravity take the wheel.

Before he can reflect on how exposed he feels, Armin's voice comes through again from where he's now leaning casually against the counter with his hands in his pockets.

“But I meant it when I said she's pretty.” He nods along for emphasis even though Eren has yet to look at him.

“She's really smart too. And kind! I mean, she can seem a little cold at first, but I heard some guys are into that. There's just this charm to her, you know? A few guys at work have tried asking her out but they're totally wrong for her.” He shakes his head at the last thought, then side-eyes Eren expectantly.

“If she ever goes out with someone, I hope it's one of the good guys.”

Throughout Armin's speech, Eren kept his lips pressed together in a tight line, wondering where Armin was headed with all he was saying. At first, he assumed his friend was interested in the new face of the group, which is why he feigned disinterest. But with every word that kept rolling off his tongue, his intentions were blatantly obvious. And yet he still decides to ask, “What are you trying to do, Armin?”

"Nothing... nothing at all," Armin answers with a shrug, playing it off as if any suggestion is all in Eren's head. He straightens up and starts walking out of the kitchen. There's a pause in his step just before he can slip out of sight. Looking at Eren over his shoulder, he leaves him with one last thought.

“All I'm saying is if you just keep staring at her, she’s gonna get weirded out.”

Eren is left alone, blushing profusely and running a shaky hand through his hair.

“Come on! That can’t be your most embarrassing thing!”

You shrug.

“That's all I've got.”

“What’s going on?” Eren asks as he takes in the scene.

It took him a while to reason with himself alone in the kitchen. By the time Eren joins everyone in the living room — nerves finally dormant — everyone is sitting on the floor around the coffee table playing a drinking game. He walks over in search of an open space and ends up nestled between Jean and Connie. Jean throws an arm over his shoulders.

“Jaeger, good. Buddy, tell her about the time you tried to do a one-arm pushup.” From his sleepy eyes and the affectionate term toward Eren, one can easily tell he's drunk.

Eren looks up quizzically at everybody.

“We're telling our most embarrassing stories,” you explain. “Whoever has the worst one wins the round and everyone else has to drink. I think it's just a ploy for everyone to get dirt on me though.”

You pout at your cup. It's clear you're a little tipsy, too.

Eren softly laughs.

“Whaa– we would never,” Sasha pouts.

“You're getting a deal! You get six embarrassing stories for the price of one!” Connie points out.

As you start to argue that it's not really fair because it's not like you have anyone to tell, Sasha’s phone buzzes in her pocket and a loud groan rumbles from her throat after skimming through whatever text she just got. Her chin falls onto the coffee table, arms stretched out before her so she can reply.

Mikasa looks at her with concern and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, affectionately tapping her nose afterward.

“What's wrong?”

“Kaya's out with her friends and she's asking me to send her money for an Uber. I told her to be careful with her money but she just won't listen.”

Everyone either sympathetically smiles at her or idly watches her send over fifty dollars. You look at Armin, who quietly explains Kaya is Sasha’s younger sister who's a college freshman. You nod in understanding.

“That's a little sibling for you,” Connie mutters, softly patting Sasha’s head.

“That's why I love being an only child,” Jean states matter-of-factly. He stretches his arms over his head, rolling his shoulders back before reaching for the bottle of liquor at the center of the table. “Never had to worry about some annoying little runt.”

“I would've liked to have a younger sister,” Mikasa says. “It would've been fun to hang out and teach her things, you know?”

A touch of nostalgia dances along her lips as she traces the rim of her glass with her index finger.

“Oh, do you have any siblings?” Her eyes flit in your direction.

The question is innocent, but the topic of family causes you to shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“No… I don't.” You try to smile, but it's stiff.

Jean's loud clapping startles you. He tops off all but Connie's and Sasha’s glasses.

“Oh yeah, single child gang!” He raises his glass in cheers and downs the contents. You follow his lead, hoping that'll mark the end of that topic. But it doesn't. “You must've been spoiled growing up, am I right?”

You lower your gaze, opting to fiddle with your fingers instead of answering.

Mikasa seems to sense the fragility of the topic from your side because her eyebrows upturn in concern when she looks at you.

“Hey, not everyone has a mother like yours. Don't be rude, Jean-boy.” She raises a teasing eyebrow as she whips her head in Jean's direction.

“Didn't you yell at her when she brought cupcakes to our class for your birthday?” Eren scrunched his eyebrows together in feigned thought.

“I was twelve! You can't keep holding that over my head. I'm twenty-five now,” Jean whines.

“And I've yet to see you mature,” Eren mutters.

A hushed giggle escapes your lips. You cover it up by sipping your drink. A satisfied smirk tugs at Eren's lips when he catches a glimpse of your smile.

Contrary to his sober self, drunk Jean craves Eren's approval and affection instead of their usual frenemy-like banter. He looks at him with sad eyes.

“Hey, I've made up for it. Mama Kirstein doesn't need to lift a finger thanks to her amazing engineer son.”

Sasha’s face contorts in confusion.

“Last time I went to Trost with you, she was still working as a seamstress.”

Jean waves her off.

“She just likes to keep busy.”

“What do your parents do?” Sasha turns to you.

You're trapped.

From the corner of your eye, you can see Armin leaning forward with just as much interest as the others. In the past, Armin's asked about your family only once. After vaguely implying you weren't close to them, he dropped the topic. But now, in his intoxicated state, he doesn't do much to keep his level of curiosity under wraps. And knowing you're slightly buzzed, too, he hopes you’ve let go of any inhibitions that have kept you from revealing more of your background.

Armin likes you. He's always admired your efficiency at work, but you seemed lonely and closed off — which is why he decided to approach you in the first place. To everyone in the office, you were a cold stuck-up woman — yet they still refused to stop obsessing over you. To him, you were just misunderstood and lowkey. Sure, you refused to do much to take up space in a room, but through small conversations here and there, he was allowed to slowly unveil your true self.

But there was always another hidden wall. Armin wouldn't admit it out of fear of seeming like a creep, but that line you expertly draw — allowing someone in without fully giving yourself away — is part of what makes you alluring. That and your keen eye for reading people.

You wet your lips with a swipe of your tongue, looking for a way out inside the clear liquid sitting at the bottom of your glass.

Eren zeroes in on your face, trying to decipher the distant look in your eyes. The weight on his chest lightens when you finally speak.

“I'm not sure what they're doing now. Last time I checked, my mom was a drug addict, and my dad left when I was twelve.”

The weight in Eren's chest comes back heavier than ever.

Silence takes over the living room. Even the darkness outside the window seems eerily quiet as your abrupt statement courses through the gears in everyone's heads.

There's no certainty as to why you blurted out what you did. Maybe it was a sense of security which you now think was a trick of your mind. Perhaps the alcohol is to blame. After all, you didn't feel any need to be a burden on others on an otherwise fun night before. But the words just seemed to push their way out of your mouth.

A severe scolding rings in your ears.

You always ruin everything!

You don't expect anyone to come up with an answer. In fact, you'll be grateful if someone simply discards your words and steers the conversation in a different direction. But if nobody does, then you'll quietly make your way home. There’s no use in annoying others by begging them to let you stay, promising you won't cause any more trouble.

“How long has it been since you saw your mom?” Mikasa's voice cuts through the thickness of the air.

The look in her eyes is sympathetic. Not the fake kind that makes you feel pitied for having endured a rough life. It's the kind that simply matches such an ordinary question.

“About a year,” you murmur.

Jean hums in thought.

“A year, huh? That's almost how long you've been in the city, right?” He scratches his chin as he retrieves the information you shared earlier from his tipsy brain.

You nod. “Yup… one year.”

Everyone nods along to your answer. Everyone but one.

You nervously blink toward the left, searching Armin's face. He's slumped in his spot, his eyes lost at a blank point. They flash in your direction, and he quickly composes himself, but not quick enough for his expression to go unnoticed by you.

Despite some things here and there, he thought you were close. He never pressured you to share anything you didn't want to. Just getting along and respecting each other would have sufficed — he’s a giver more than he is a taker. But he feels like he failed to support you. He's extremely dumbfounded, but he doesn't make it a point that you never told him the specifics on something so big. He refuses to make you think he resents you for it.

But the glimpse you caught of his fallen shoulders and clouded eyes still makes you lower your head in guilt. Just ten minutes ago, you felt accomplished for being on your way to gaining new friends and grateful that Armin paved the way for you. You're embarrassed for having thought that you could juggle more relationships when you've barely been open to the one you already have. It's almost laughable that you thought to leave your comfort zone and give this evening a try.

Before you can issue an apology, Jean's loud clapping startles you for the second time tonight.

"Well.” He tilts his head as he splits the last of the liquor into everyone's glass for one last drink. “In any case... if you hadn't moved here, you wouldn't be drinking with the best people you'll ever meet."

“Hear, hear!” Armin yells beside you, following Jean's lead and raising his glass toward the center.

Your eyes meet his. He's smiling, nodding almost imperceptibly for you to join your glass with everyone else's. The corners of your lips quirk into a relieved smile. You raise your glass.

The rest of the group cheers as joyful clinks spread through the room.

Whatever darkness was squeezing at your chest dissipates. Your eyes crinkle in amusement as you allow your giddiness to take over.

A pair of mesmerized green eyes linger on your face from the opposite side of the coffee table. His lips part slightly to draw in a long breath, followed by a sip of alcohol.

A beeping phone sifts through the commotion.

Mikasa looks down at her phone. First, with curiosity, then with worry.

Levi Don't go out at night for a while. Killer on the loose. SN3

She calls out Armin's name.

“Turn on the news on channel 3.”

The urgency tainting Mikasa's usual steady voice has Armin scrambling to find the remote, though with a bit of confusion. Everyone else exchanges quizzical glances while they wait for him to turn the television on.

A male newscaster is halfway through reciting a report on the police department's recent findings.

“... The twenty-six-year-old woman's body was dismembered and disposed of in a garbage dumpster behind a local restaurant. Police have yet to report any evidence that can lead them to any suspects. An autopsy is ongoing to pinpoint the cause of death but with the initial report, signs point to a possible case of torture…”

The mood shifts yet again. Everyone stares at the screen, but the words no longer reach anyone's ears. Nobody recognized the girl identified on the screen but it's still unnerving when something so tragic and cruel happens in the city one lives in. Being close in age to the victim just makes it even rougher.

Eren is the first to look back — specifically at the girls.

You all seem lost in thought. His gaze flits in your direction. You're just as distant, nursing your glass in your hands as you chew on your bottom lip. He turns to Mikasa.

“Was that Levi earlier?”

Eren's voice pulls Mikasa from her thoughts.

She nods.

“Who's Levi?” you ask.

“My uncle,” she explains. “He texted me not to go out at night for a while. They didn't say if this was a serial killer but I don't think he wants to take any chances as long as the culprit is out there.” In a lower voice she adds, “he's in the police.”

You slowly nod, then suddenly remember where you are.

“I need to get home fast, then.”

Your eyes land on the digital clock beside the TV. It's well past the time to catch the last bus. You swipe your phone from your purse to look up cab numbers, unaware of the nervous glances exchanged all around you.

“I don't think you should leave now.” Eren stops you from dialing the first cab company from your search results, his eyes wide with concern. He doesn't realize his hand is holding onto your wrist until you look down at it.

He pulls away, embarrassed, but remains firm in his statement.

“Eren's right,” Connie agrees. He has a protective hand on Sasha’s shoulder. “Mind if we crash here tonight?” He directs his gaze at Armin.

“No need to ask. I'll bring out some blankets.”

It's two in the morning. A cluster of tired bodies sleeps peacefully on the living room floor. Lazy limbs stretch out and across someone else's. Light snores and rare mumblings are the only thing that disturbs the quiet.

The murder on the news had left everyone unsettled. Much so, that everyone felt inclined to sleep together in the same room. It didn’t do much for their comfort given the space, but it gave everyone a sense of safety.

Eren’s eyelids barely flutter open. They're so heavy, he wishes he could just ignore the uncomfortable fullness of his bladder. But he can't. Begrudgingly, he clumsily rises to his feet and makes his way to the bathroom, rubbing his temples with one hand and feeling around for any walls and furniture with his other while his eyes adjust to the darkness.

When he gets back, he catches sight of a lone figure sitting out on the small balcony outside of the kitchen.

It takes him a minute to rid himself of the extra warmth in his face. He takes a deep breath and quietly slides the door open to step out.

“Hey.”

You look up at him from your chair. Your knees are pressed against your chest, your arms wrapped around them for support as your cheek rests on top.

“Hi.”

“Is it okay if I sit?”

You nod and proceed to face forward, resting your chin where your cheek used to be.

The night is pleasantly warm. You're wearing the sweats and shirt Armin lent you for the night.

Eren's gaze roams every shape of your side profile. It's the second time you've been alone together and he's racking his brain on what to talk about to balance out the way he's been staring at you all night. He doesn't want to give Armin another reason to tease him. His hands are sweaty and his cheeks start to warm at the reminder.

“Did I wake you?”

Your voice is gentle and sweet, but it startles him nonetheless.

“No,” he manages to say. He pauses. “How long have you been out here?”

You shake your head as you look up at the star-littered sky.

“Not long.”

He hums, mulling your answer over.

If you’re awake at this hour, not bothering to try going back to sleep, something must be weighing heavily on your mind, he reasons. That’s further proven by the way you’re shrinking into yourself, trying to take up as little space as you can. Not that he’s especially knowledgeable about you, but there’s a difference in how your quietness manifests itself now than during dinner. It’s comparable to the way you were after watching the news.

“Are you okay?”

He watches you hesitate to give him an answer. Your lips tremble, parting and pressing together a couple of times. It’s as if you’re willing to talk but the words are lodged in your throat.

“You can tell me.”

Still no answer.

“Is it because of the girl on the news?”

Finally, you look at him. Your brows twist with grief.

“I just can’t stop thinking about her. Her family must be devastated.”

All evening, Eren’s had a hard time holding your gaze. Mainly because he didn’t want to give himself away, but it’s also hard to admire someone when they’re looking directly at you. Once his racing heart finds a steadier rhythm, he finds it’s actually easy to lose himself in your eyes.

There’s a subtle glassiness to them — one he’d be more concerned about if he hadn’t noticed it as a natural part of you. Your eyes heavily conveyed every emotion, every little thought. And Eren suddenly felt compelled to learn how to read them.

The way you’ve presented yourself so far — gentle and cautious — gives you an aura of delicate maturity in the eyes of others. But for a brief moment, you seem small. Troubled, even.

“I know it’s selfish for me to be thinking about this, but sometimes I wonder if I’ll have anyone crying for me when I die. I don’t have many people,” you whisper.

It feels strange to Eren to suddenly feel a surge of courage when he’s been nothing but an awkward wreck around you since you met.

“You have us now.”

You don’t show yourself to be entirely convinced. In fact, there’s a hint of amusement shimmering in your eyes. But you appreciate his words no matter how empty they might turn out to be.

Eren hesitates to ask you the question that’s been gnawing at his brain for hours now. You’ve been sharing such a pleasant moment, that he hates to think he might ruin it all and end up losing his cool in the process.

“That stuff about your parents… is it true?”

It’s a leap of faith.

“You think I made it up?”

The raised eyebrow and the humorless smile that graces your lips take him by surprise, even more so than the firm tone of your voice.

“No, of course not!” He chokes on his words, frantic he might have offended you.

But you laugh, and it soothes him instantly.

“Relax, I was just teasing you.” You look away, warmth pooling at your cheeks upon your failed attempt to be funny. “It’s true, by the way. I’m a child of neglect.”

A heavy sigh pushes past your lips.

He doesn't pick up on your embarrassment — he’s much too focused on his own.

Despite the bitterness lacing your gentle voice, he can’t help himself from wanting to know more. It makes him anxious. Finding you attractive is besides the point. His mind is scrambling at any opportunity to get closer to you. He wants to keep talking. He wants to hear more about what worries you. He wants to stretch out the night and keep the conversation going — even if he’s caught off guard by your unpredictable teasing a few more times. He wants to know about your past. He wants to know you. But you kill off his chances when you suddenly change the course of the conversation.

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” You look up at him with concern contorting your features. It takes everything in him not to let his gaze drift to your bottom lip that’s caught between your teeth to keep your nerves at bay.

“Huh?”

You clear your throat before explaining and fiddle with your hands as you do. You focus on the moon instead of him.

It’s quite cute for Eren to see you fidget for once.

“It's just that during dinner you barely talked and whenever I looked at you, you would look away,” you explain bashfully. “And then when we were doing the dishes together, you just felt a little awkward. I mean, I don’t expect you to be all chummy with me, but it was kind of like you were forcing yourself to talk to me.”

Eren wants to smack himself. He had no idea of the message he was sending all this time. All those averted gazes and suppressed smiles must have looked totally different from your end.

“I thought maybe you were uncomfortable with me around.”

Your voice is even softer than before. It might have to do with the people sleeping inside or maybe you're just feeling quieter than usual. Eren has no idea. But it's a nice sound, and his quickening heartbeat isn't lost on him.

The abrupt changes in his system are giving him whiplash. And it’s all because of you.

“I’m not,” he whispers. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

A deep shade of red gradually tints his cheeks, openly defying the pale blue light from the moon. His gaze shies away from you and settles on his lap, where he nervously rubs his sweaty palms just to give himself something to do. When his eyes slowly drift back to your face, he swallows hard.

It finally hits you.

Oh, you think.

Next chapter

Chapter guide | Masterlist | Navigation

#aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #snk x reader #eren jaeger fanfiction #eren jaeger x y/n #eren jaeger x reader #aot imagines #eren yeager fanfiction #eren yeager x reader #eren x reader #tw: alcohol

140 notes · View notes