#genuinely so so tired tho like I’m trying to hold on to the things I love and enjoy and it’s just making me guiltier about being like this

[gonzogender]

Full meltdown trying to refill my adderall every couple months >:^)

[m4nj1r0s]

Hiii okay I'm obsessed with your TR headcanons! May I request relationship headcanons for Shinichiro Sano? Maybe with a stoic/ calm and collected reader? Thank you if you do 💖

Shinichiro Sano with a stoic/collected reader headcannons

I’m so sorry for the rlly late reply I was sooo inactive recently but tyy! It’s a little short but hope you like it :)

———————————————————————————————————————

- Admires you a lot, since he’s quite literally the opposite.

- Before you guys started dating, he used to sneak glances at you with a massive blush on his face. You were just so pretty even whilst you did the most boring things on earth.

- Unfortunately, his little ‘glance’ ended up w/ him staring at you for a good 10 mins and he’s scared you think he’s a weirdo :(

- You probably do ibsr

- Whenever he’s around you he tries to act nonchalant like in the gif, but internally he’s freaking out. Poor boy doesn’t want to ward you off because he likes you sm.

- Given his track record with girls, it’s safe to say he goes to Wakasa. You two are similar, and he wants to try and figure out what you’re thinking.

- Wakasa actually gives him genuine advice, probably because he’s gotten so much second-hand embarrassment from Shinichiro asking girls out before 😭

- Has a whole ass notepad where he jots down things you tell him about yourself. Even if it’s the smallest thing.

- “So, you had a vanilla milkshake whilst you were on vacation 3 years ago?”

- “Correct.. Why are you writing that down?”

- Read a romance novel to try and figure out how to confess to you and he decided to do it on a day that was rainy so you two could have a cute first kiss in the rain moment right after you said yes, breaking your stoic demeanor and also confessed your undying love to him.

- Assuming you said yes ofc..

- Wakasa shut it down almost immediately after Shinichiro told him tho 🙁

- So he opted to ask you out whilst you two were hanging out in his motorbike shop during the sunset.

- “So you’ll actually go out with me???!”

- “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

- Mf was literally jumping for joy

- Naturally after you guys start dating you’ll hang around with Wakasa, Benkei and Takeomi more. Which is fine, since you and Wakasa have similar personalities and you get along with Benkei & Takeomi.

- Shinichiro was happy that you got along w/ his friends but he does get jealous easily. Especially when you and Wakasa form a good friendship :(

- He’s not upset you two get along, but he’s going with you anytime you hang out.

- He gets jealous pretty easily, and then he gets insecure when you seem to be so nonchalant.

- Do you get as jealous as he does when he talks to girls?? (they only talk to him to ask for directions)

- Mikey and Emma adore you, though they were ASTOUNDED Shinichiro brought someone as cool as you home as his girlfriend.

- They crash your guys’ dates sometimes, but you guys don’t mind.

- Shinichiro loves to hand-feed you, and this mf WILL even if you try and stop him.

- “..Move that spoon away from my face.”

- “Honeybuns, you have to eat!-”

- Literally the king of making the cheesiest, corniest nicknames for you and he genuinely thinks they’re cute.

- They range from Honeybuns, Pookie, SNOOKIE, Sugarplum, Sweetiepie and Cinnamonbun.

- Yes, he literally calls you cinnamon bun sometimes 😭

- But he is a gentleman. Will hold open doors for you, make sure you have a helmet if youre going on his motorbike, tie your shoelaces for you and on those rare days you’re too tired to walk he will carry you.

- I hc he’s actually strong, but js can’t fight for whatever reason. So he’s pretty good at lifting things up, which is useful if you ever want to rearrange furniture :)

- Has a fun little game where he tries his hardest to catch you off guard and will randomly kiss you, but the thing is he always does it at the worst time 😭

- One time he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist and you punched him 😭

- “Why would you punch me, Cinnamonbun?!”

- “..My bad.”

- You’re his savior when he gets injured though. Whether it was in his shop, or Mikey and Emma ganging up on him, you always tend to his injuries and your calmness also relaxes him in turn.

- Has a cringe t-Shirt with your face on it that says ‘If Lost, please return to:’ 🫠

- He thinks it’s cute!..

- In conclusion, he will be extra cheesy if you’re stoic <3

[roseychains]

sorry for being a little shit and asking so much (I asked twice 🏳️🏳️) but do u PERHAPS write like, idk maybe sorta fluff?? but not hardcore fluff. something in me just wants to see brother!sukuna x sister!reader but not smut or anything. ^_^

also, I’m not anonymous so I don’t rlly need a sign off but it’ll still be 🫧🕊️ bc I’m greedy. please and ty in advance! Ik writing can be tiring and so can getting tons of requests :’)

Brother Sukuna

A/n: so it’s obi gonna be out of character cuz sukuna but more so it’s gonna probably be atleast a little unrealistic bc I have a twin brother, who is anything but sukuna-like.(for reference, he’s a big shot in our schools band, the only one who made state and lowkey a nerd) I’ll try my best tho lol

C/w: NOT A SHIP. PURELY PLATONIC. mentions of bullying, as well as assault. (Neither done by Sukuna).

First and foremost, protective but not in the way you’d expect. If you ever come to him complaining about people bullying you he’d probably brush it off and tell you to not concern yourself with others opinions, but then the next day those same bully’s were beaten into a pulp

An actual menace. A prankster if you will. Bluring the line between playful and hands down annoying. Take for example, drinking your drinks you put in the fridge to get cold, eating snacks you bought for yourself(he’s a fatass), NEVER PUTS THE TOILET SEAT DOWN, blasts music when your trying to sleep, takes controllers from you when he needs them, at anytime without asking permission, the list goes on.

But he does have equal amount good quality’s as he does bad ones. Despite his annoying habits, he makes up for it in other things. He drives you to places, anytime he’s bring home food he will get you something too(50/50 chance if he asked you or picks for you), and 11 out of 10 times sides with you in arguments you have with people. Additionally, he will also show up to any events you want him too, even if sometimes begrudgingly so. I can also imagine him getting pissed off if you try to compensate him for anything like gas or food, offended you think he’s poor

He gives me stoner vibes. So, as a sibling, he wouldn’t let you do anything till ur an adult and once u are he would only give u his stuff when your together and safe

At any point if you ever text him that your in trouble and need him to pick you up, he’s immediately on his way without a second thought. He might be a dick sometimes but he doesn’t play when it comes to your safety

Speaking of safety, if anyone victimizes you, more than just regular bullying I’m talking physical or sexual assault, he will do a whole lot more than just beat them up. Let’s just say he’s not afraid of being potentially jailed. Knowing the justice system, even if he did end up in jail he’d probably have a not terrible time, seeing as people who killed/severely ingured an assaulter are often respected

As children, when you would roughhouse he would find himself holding back and letting you win. As much as he likes to antagonize you he won’t ever hurt you

In summary, he’s genuinely very caring but never shows it. It kills his tough guy personality but deep down he does care for you deeply

[trickstarbrave]

hey i wrote more

modern au is BACK. nerevar and voryn are also back together !!!

i havent proofread it tho bc im miserable and tired sorry if theres weird typos. i wrote most of this on my phone

Nerevar was once again sitting on the couch, now anxiously waiting. He kind of felt sick if he was being honest, nauseated at the idea of confronting Voryn. 

Voryn was going to be mad at him, right? Nerevar would have been angry in his shoes. Sure, Nerevar was told to leave by Voryn’s brothers, but they didn’t force him to. They could have threatened Nerevar or used violence, or even just harassed him into leaving. Instead they just told him to leave, saying it was for Voryn’s future. Hell, maybe the three of them genuinely believed Voryn would have been disowned or disinherited if he had a baby at 18--it wasn’t implausible. Nerevar also believed the same thing. But Nerevar was the one who went along with it. He could have called Voryn at any time telling him his brothers were distracting him intentionally. He could have told Voryn over the phone he was pregnant. He could have told the truth. But Nerevar ran away like a coward because it was easier than sticking around for years and years, giving Voryn the chance to leave him. 

Voryn had every right to be furious with Nerevar, telling him he was horrible for keeping this secret from him. Voryn had every right to demand answers for what Nerevar was thinking by going along with his brothers’ plan and not telling him anything. Voryn had every right to demand an apology, and there wasn’t much Nerevar could do to make up for any hurt he caused him. 

He heard the sound of the door opening and on impulse stood up. It was annoying to stand up this far along, but he was already doing so without really thinking about it. Maybe it was actually an instinct to run away, but there wasn’t anywhere else he could really run to. 

Next came the sound of footsteps, and before he had a chance to fully prepare himself, there was someone familiar in the living room with him.

Voryn’s hair looked bad. It was the first thing Nerevar noticed, trying to avoid his eyes initially. It looked frizzy and kinda dry, as opposed to shiny and sleek as it usually was. His clothes were also wrinkled and kind of frumpy, something Voryn would normally do everything to avoid. Even when he would wear just a t-shirt and slacks, he made sure they matched, were wrinkle free, and always fit properly. 

Finally, Nerevar met his eyes, and instead of finding anger, all he saw was a mix of emotions that made Nerevar feel like all of the wind had been knocked out of him. 

Nerevar would have preferred he be angry. He didn’t like Voryn being angry at him, but this seemed even more painful. Instead, Voryn looked at Nerevar with a heartbreaking mixture of sadness and relief, his hands reaching out hesitantly, unsure if he was allowed to touch Nerevar. Under his eyes were dark circles, his brows ungroomed, and his beard scruffy and a bit unkempt. Nerevar felt his own tears welling up, his heart lurching, and equally hesitantly opened his arms as though asking for a hug. 

“Neht,” Voryn whispered, stepping forward quickly to wrap his arms around him. They couldn’t hug properly, not with Nerevar’s stomach being as big as it was. Instead it had to be an awkward, partially to the side hug rather than chest to chest. Still though, it felt like a sweet relief, the familiar warm of Voryn in his arms and the scent of his cologne faintly clinging to his clothes, the tears in Nerevar’s eyes quickly starting to fall. “Thank god you’re safe.” Voryn continued, pressing a kiss to his messy hair. “I was so worried about you…” 

“I’m sorry,” Nerevar’s voice broke in a sob. He hadn’t intended to cry and babble apologies like this. He intended to just sit down and talk about it, let Voryn yell at him if he wanted to, and try to work something out. But having Voryn holding him like this was too much. “I’m so sorry, Voryn,” The feeling he had when he sent that text came washing over him all over again, that much stronger. All of the guilt he’d shoved aside, all of the pain and loneliness he felt after leaving, everything was catching up to him. 

“Shh,” Voryn hushed him, “Everything’s alright now, you’re safe and that’s what matters.” Voryn then gently prodded Nerevar to sit on the couch, helping him down, not letting go of him for a moment. 

“You should be mad at me.” Nerevar knew he was making a mess of Voryn’s hoodie with how much he was crying. It would be covered in snot and tears and spit. But he didn’t want to pull away yet, not when it felt nice being held. Instead he’d rather Voryn start scolding him first. 

“Why would I be mad at you?” Voryn asked him incredulously, stroking his hair. “Neht, you did nothing wrong.” 

“I left…” He continued mumbling into Voryn’s hoodie. 

“My brothers lied to you. They misled you and told you to leave.” Voryn pulled Nerevar away just long enough to start wiping his face, but still didn’t let him go. “You thought you were doing the right thing, for both me and our baby.” Nerevar’s heart skipped a beat as Voryn said their baby. Not just Nerevar’s baby, but Voryn’s too. “I know you wouldn’t want to leave on your own. I know that you wanted to tell me.” Nerevar chewed on his lower lip in guilt. 

He had wanted to leave. He was convinced that Voryn was just going to leave him anyway. He only wanted to tell Voryn because it felt wrong to hide it from him, but he was already thinking about what a horrible life their son would have if Nerevar stayed. 

“I did want to leave though.” Nerevar admitted. Honestly, maybe at this point he wanted Voryn to be angry with him. Part of him was coming clean just so Voryn could see him as the person he was, and stop acting so kind and caring. To either realize Nerevar was right or be so insulted he didn’t want him back anymore. “I thought you might just--that you would get sick of me and want to leave eventually. I could handle that myself but I wouldn’t know how to explain that to a kid--” 

“You thought I’d leave you?” Voryn’s voice broke. “Nerevar,” Nerevar couldn’t look at him again, instead closing his eyes since he didn’t feel it was appropriate to bury his face into Voryn’s chest again. “Why on earth would I leave you?”

“Because I’m… I’m lower class than you.” Nerevar hiccupped even though he found the fact obnoxious. He was trying to will his tears away and failing. “Eventually you’d get sick of the fact I was embarrassing to be around and you’d want someone your family doesn’t hate--”

“Nerevar, I’m not so shallow that I’d do that.” Voryn was still stroking his face, trying to get Nerevar to look at him again. “If I was, why would I date you in the first place?” 

“Because I seemed interesting to mess around with.” Nerevar couldn’t really place why Voryn would either, just that he caught Voryn’s eye. “Or maybe you just think I’m hot.” That was also a possibility. Nerevar didn’t think he looked bad; in fact he thought of himself as quite good looking (or rather he used to, dysphoria was kicking his ass at the moment). Wasn’t that why most people their age dated anyways? “But that you’d realize as you got older you’d need something more…”

“Why did you date me?” Voryn’s question was unexpected. Nerevar thought he might fight it or dismiss his concerns, childishly having not even thought about it and assume Nerevar was simply thinking about it too hard. 

“Because you’re…” Nerevar finally looked at him, his hands clinging to Voryn. “Because you’re beautiful and smart and… Confident and strong willed…” The tears started coming even faster as he felt the love he’s always had for Voryn washing over him. “You’re also so kind to me, always know what to do to make me feel better, always make me feel…” He couldn’t continue the sentence, he was sobbing too hard now. Part of him wanted to cling to this, to beg Voryn not to leave him, that Voryn was one of the best things that had ever happened to him, but he also felt like he would be a terrible person for holding Voryn back. 

“Shh…” Voryn hushed him again, rubbing his back and pulling him back into a hug. Nerevar again felt guilty about crying like a child and ruining Voryn’s hoodie further, but he also didn’t have it in him to pull away and he couldn’t make the tears stop. “Nerevar, I wasn’t just dating you because I liked the way you looked. I love you.” Nerevar choked on a sob, digging his nails into the fabric even further. “I love the fact you’re confident and intelligent, the way you always manage to come up with a plan and never want to give up. The way you can convince just about anyone of anything you want, and how much you love protecting the people close to you.” 

Nerevar didn’t know how much he wanted to hear that. He still couldn’t believe it, but it sounded so sweet in that tone of voice, sugary and syrupy and tender like it was the most heartfelt love confession in existence. Maybe he just wanted to believe it, as illogical as it was. 

“I love you,” Nerevar mumbled into his hoodie. “I love you so much, Voryn…” He hiccuped again, before he felt a painful kick in his stomach, wincing. 

“What is it?” Voryn said softly, pulling away just enough to look down at him, while Nerevar rubbed his stomach. Another kick followed, and then with it pressure on his hips that made pain shoot down his right leg. He hissed, trying to shift to a more comfortable position. Voryn was at his side, hushing him, helping him lean back against the couch, before rubbing his stomach too. “Is that better?” 

“Yeah,” Nerevar mumbled into Voryn’s shoulder where he was now resting his head, the pain in his leg going away and the kicking slowing. “He--he really hates it when I’m crying.” 

“It’s a boy?” Voryn asked, a sort of wonder in his voice Nerevar knew very well. It was one thing to know about the pregnancy, but the more you knew about the baby and how they were developing, the more ‘real’ it became. 

“Yeah,” Nerevar couldn’t help but smile, warmth flooding him now as the tears began slowing. “The doctor said he’s able to hear things outside my body now too.” It was something almost magical to know, though a bit weird to think about how he could hear his stomach growling and heart beating before that (or still could, really). 

“Have you thought of a name?” Voryn asked, his voice soft, even more tender than before.

“I haven’t been able to think of one, no.” He snorted. “My mom said to just wait as she didn’t know what to name me until after I was born… But I also just kind of suck at naming things.” 

“I could…” Voryn began, his expression somewhere between hopeful and worried that Nerevar would refuse, “I could help you pick out names if you’d like, Neht.” Nerevar snorted, before laughing happily. 

“I’d like that.” He wanted Voryn to be a part of this, if possible. Part of him was still reluctant, anxious that Voryn would leave him eventually, but he was trying to force that down. He loved Voryn more than anything, and part of loving someone meant trusting them. His mom was right in that Voryn hadn’t done anything to break his trust, and Nerevar wanted Voryn at his side. He was prepared to do this with just his mom supporting him, but he wanted Voryn there helping him, supporting him, loving him. Even if Voryn might change his mind later, he wanted to believe they’d work something out. Voryn wouldn’t just leave him and their son coldly and callously, saying he didn’t care about either of them anymore, and if he did there would be hell to pay for it.

At his answer, Voryn looked overjoyed, warmth in his eyes. “Do you mind if I… Talked to him a bit?” 

Nerevar snorted again. “Go for it.” It would certainly be cute, right?

Voryn then kneeled down in front of the couch, pressing a soft kiss to Nerevar’s stomach. “Hi little one,” Voryn never had a more tender expression on his face than he did at that moment. “I already can’t wait to meet you.” He leaned in to press another soft, gentle kiss, and Nerevar felt a slight kick. “I love you so much. I can’t wait to hold you, sing to you…”

“A lot of it is going to be him crying and making a mess.” Nerevar reminded him, but mostly that was just to cover up the fact his eyes were already watering again. He wasn’t normally this much of a sap who cried this much, but he’d blame it on pregnancy hormones. 

“I’m sure I’ll be miserable alongside you, Neht,” Voryn looked up at him, still smiling so warmly it got Nerevar’s heart racing, “But I’ll still love our son dearly and treasure all the special moments we’ll have with him.”

He sat up on the couch once more, taking Nerevar’s hand. “Please,” He pleaded, now desperate, “Please let me do this with you, Neht. Please come back with me.” Seeing Voryn like this once again left Nerevar feeling like all the wind had been knocked out of him. “I want to get a place for us and our baby. I want to help you through this. I want to be there for you and our son.”

“I…” Nerevar knew this was a possibility, but he was still hesitant. Not because he didn’t want to trust Voryn, but instead because he had done so much to set up here. It wasn’t fair to ask Voryn to live in his mom’s house, but Nerevar leaving would mean packing up the nursery, getting a new doctor, not to mention traveling while pregnant and reworking his birth plan. Still, he didn’t want Voryn to leave him again either.

Seeing him hesitate, Voryn continued. “I think it would be good, Neht.” Voryn explained. “You’re used to the city more, you’ll have your friends close by… We can get whatever kind of place you want, move everything you’ve got for the baby in… We can even have a nanny help out a little after you’ve given birth so you're not exhausted.”

Nerevar didn’t like the last part. While he was missing his friends, along with pregnancy cravings for many restaurants back home, he didn’t like the idea of a stranger handling his baby. “Moving all of the nursery stuff seems like such a pain,” Nerevar groaned, “And I don’t think a nanny would be a good idea.”

“It is,” His mom chimed in, entering with Voryn’s mom. Nerevar jumped at that, forgetting the other two were also there. It seemed they were giving them some privacy to make up, but came in to check in on or speak with them. “You have no idea how miserable it is with a newborn.” His mother looked tired just saying that. “Even though I had your father, we were both miserable. The house was a mess, we were barely getting sleep, had no time to do laundry, and god forbid you heard the dryer go off if we did have time to do laundry, because then it would wake you up and you’d scream your little head off.” Nerevar glanced away; it wasn’t his fault, but he felt guilty putting his parents through that. 

“You’ll want help. Trust me. And if you have the chance to get help so you can have time to sleep and eat and shower without feeling like a zombie or being on edge, you should take it.” She sat on one of the chairs in the living room. “It’s better to look for one now while your head’s clear.”

“I thought you were going to help?”

“I can come too and help.” She shrugged. “I doubt you’ll want your mom staying with you long term, but I’m still not a professional.” 

“Besides,” Morvani began, “I assume you’ll want to go to college, right? It would be good to have the boy accustomed to a nanny from a young age. It’ll be harder on him if he has to adjust to someone new, and it’ll only make you anxious when you’re in classes. It’s best to find a good one ahead of time and all three of you adjust to them.” 

It was a good argument. He should get a feel for the nanny before he started college, that way he knew if he could trust them with his son while he was out of the house for longer periods of time for classes. He didn’t plan to go to college until the fall semester since he wouldn’t have enough time to recover properly for spring. A little over half a year would be plenty of time to adjust and see for himself if they were trustworthy. 

“… Alright.” Nerevar sighed. “I guess I’ll have to pack everything up.” Nerevar felt anxious about this, but normally Voryn was more anxious than him. If Voryn seemed alright with it, it probably would be.

[spicybylerpolls]

It is genuinely ASTONISHING to see how many people are against your blog because they believe “it’s bad/weird to fantasize” or they say stuff like, ���analyzing is fine. fantasizing is evil.” Actually fantasization is a divine gift, a spiritual experience, one of the best things we can do as humans. And most clearly Bylers agree!

They spend all day fantasizing about Mike and Will holding hands, going on dates, kissing, even ‘making out sloppily’ but the second we on the spicy side say that we want Byler to fuck, people start freaking out. How dare you fantasize?

Stick to analysis, freak.

Can someone please tell me why sex is such a big weird scandalous taboo? Have we gone back in time? Is this an evangelical youth group? Is this Catholic school? Are we Mormons? To fight back, some say, “Oh I’m not fantasizing, I’m just exploring the character dynamics” as if fantasizing will implicate them as some kind of dirty rotten sinner, as if this is some kind of gotcha that will expose fandom nonces.

But I don’t get it. I’m doing both, unapologetically! I’m exploring Byler’s dynamics, just like we do with ever other HC and canon analysis point, AND I’m fantasizing about them fucking like rabbits until the end of time, just like we fantasize about how the Byler kiss will go or how Mike will finally admit his sexuality.

Last time I checked, sex is part of sexuality, it’s literally in the name, and it’s a Divine Gift. Mike and Will are not disembodied beings who only want to hold hands and look at flowers all day. They are gay teenage boys who are sexually ravenous for each other. It’s clear this era of Puriteens didn’t devour Reddie or Stenborough smut under the covers while giggling and kicking their feet. And none of them would have SURVIVED the Harry Potter fandom.

The other side of this are the adult fancops who are siding with the puriteens and constantly trying to cancel Bylers for thinking unholy thoughts. You can only think analytical thoughts while wearing suits and taking cold showers. Meanwhile 65% of the fandom is openly attracted to Finn, and I’m supposed to be gaslit into thinking this doesn’t translate into their experience actually watching the show? I’m supposed to believe they watched him drool over Will’s ass and then said, “No, he didn’t do that”?

“But why aren’t you fantasizing about adult ships like J0pper or JAncy or or or-”

Because I don’t care about them? No offense. I’ve never read J0pper or JAncy fanfic in my life. And this isn’t J0pper Tumblr? It’s Byler Tumblr. I’m a Byler and naturally I want to see my favorite characters rail each other romantically? And it’s very, dare I say, unnatural and unrealistic when you read fanfics and Mike and Will kiss each other and don’t so much as get a boner. One boner?

I’m so tired. It’s utter gobbledegook.

Especially giving the context of what Stranger Things and Byler represents, it’s so obvious that sexual exploration is the natural evolution for these characters in their arcs in Season 5. Self-actualization and an embrace of the queer experience in all its sensuality and beauty.

The shame WILL be on the other side.

yeah, all great points! I think people get overprotective and hyper-vigilant, and they want to make sure they're taking a strong stand against their nebulous, exaggerated, hypothetical image of the shadowy "30-year old creep" getting off to Byler smut in a dark room.

but you're right that all Bylers "fantasize" about many things, even those most vocal in the analyze-only movement. technically all of Byler is "fantasizing," since they aren't together yet and they are fictional. we're all just envisioning scenarios and situations!

for some reason tho, people are chill with people daydreaming about every romantic scenario imaginable and chill with people conjuring up sad, tragic, angsty situations involving Vecna and bullying and pain. but sex? no. sex is shocking, alarming, and frightening.

also, this is definition of fantasize:

there's nothing inherently creepy about that definition. It's neutral.

[thelightofmylife]

i was writing an ask a little bit ago but i tabbed out of my phone and it deleted the whole thing (T⌓T);;

ah, no matter ! i will try again. it’s five ! @5-lover

i wanted to express my admiration for the fact that you put pieces of yourself as a whole into your inserts - that’s something i find very sweet to do, and appreciate how much care you express towards your significant other(s) !

to answer the same question in turn, i tend to use OCs, purely because i see myself in my creation (as you so mentioned !) but also enjoy a customised little backstory ! (and, also, for universes where one is not typically human - my little pony, for example - it makes a bit more sense for me !)

i had a few questions i was curious for, and were deleted in my previous draft, but i will write them out again ! i persist \o/ !!

(no pressure to answer any or all of these ! i am simply a curious thing with a love for your energy and way of word ! <3)

firstly !! — sleepwear ! i love sleepwear. have you a clue as to what your charmer would wear to bed ? maybe something matching with yourself, or something entirely different ? whatever it is, it should be cozy to rest up against !!

secondly — it’s a given you are loved as a whole, that much is true ! however, does your aventurine have a favourite ? perhaps something he kisses more oft than not, or appreciates to look at further ? or, if it’s a more conceptual thing, something he smiles at whenever it happens ? ♡

lastly — how did you come to realise your love for him ? i adore hearing such tales of things, it’s always so genuine and sweet !

i do hope you’re having a wonderful day my friend, and feel no pressure to even respond or not ! take care ! (nwn)/

Hellllooo five!!! @5-lover It’s usually why I tab out and write it on notes or my Pc but I’m too tired to reach my PC so phone it is… slowly. Thank you so much :(( for seeing the care and love I put into this, it’s a LOT,,,,, I want to live vicariously thru my self insert so I can continue to love andlove and lov.e i'm not. used to being loved. i'd rather love. so i feel afraid thinking about my f/o's loving me back. i'm so... i'm tender but i've only ever known hurt for loving and caring about people, lovers and friends alike. But almost in a nihilistic pointless way, I keep doing it because love is good but it is so scary.

i think that's sooo cute htat you have pony ocs tho ! but the way I see it is that you can also fine tune your backstory even as an SI <3 !however i think your interpretation of such is super jazzy. sorry for the late repy-ly, i could,nt sit up all day long until now basically to talk to yoooou!! agony :( i saw this and I was soooo excited to reply. uuuu...hate being Big Sicky you are so sweet and i feel i can talk to you all day so i challenge u to also answer those questions and will send sme of my own when i look thru ask games or regain energy 1) Sleep wear... https://www.youloveit.com/entertainment/3739-honkai-star-rail-aventurine-leisure-pajama-new-official-wallpapers.html this is what he canonically wears to bed ~ so hot and cute! I just want to eat him up in a non sexual way (am asexual, want to kiss him so much!!) so cute and so baby. he sleeps so innocently and cutely, but I think he enjoys silky or satin jammies, maybe even cotton,,! I will match if he can get me something sensory safe but i love my vietnamese pajamas or my wittle night gowns teehee <3 very breathable .... i treasure mornings with him

2) I...i don't know. but i like to believe he loves my kindness and sincerity towards him, when i kiss his cheeks so lovingly and giggle and hold him so tight and close he feels warm. i think he thinks i'm hilarious, and pats my head whenever i have an airheaded moment due to my sickness teehee it makes me a very silly person for what it is worth.

3) i realized it when i saw how broken we are as people and yet, he had so much love in him still. the way I see it is that two broken halves don't make a whole but we can soothe ourselves by being together, and be happy despite the horrors of the universe, and carve out a small part for ourselves. we are entitled to have a shred of happiness for our deep suffering and grief. i just feel...so connected to him in hardship. it's hard to explain cuz we're quite different but i think we need each other thanks to our personality types and what we look for in the world

thank you so much !! i had SO much fun answering, i'd love to hear back asap <3 you can reply in replies or however you wish. I want you to of course answer whatever you want or tell me what you want but I offer back 1) what is your relation to Celestia? Are you a guard, royalty that is married, etc?

2) What do your dates with the Princess look like?

3) If I were to ask Princess Celestia what's three things she is head over heels about you, what would she tell me? People often love for the most surprising reasons even if you do not expect it. We often find ourselves loving the most silly, little, endearing things about another person, even if you do not see it in yourself.

4) What would a bouquet from you to Princess celestia contain? <3

answer freely <3333 !!!! sending you much love !!

[sister-lucifer]

Ur genuinely one of the best fanfic writers I've ever had the fortune to come across. So i have a question for you, do you have any tips on writing in general? How do you decide what should be sfw and what should be NSFW?

Sorry if it's a weird question, I've gotta pick ur brain about it tho

to answer your question on how i decide what’s sfw or nsfw: tbh, it depends. sometimes i sit down to write something perfectly wholesome and it winds up horny. sometimes i sit down to write something filthy and it gets soft halfway through. sometimes it really rides the line between smut and fluff. it just depends on wherever my idea takes me. i consider anything more than kissing OR anything with saucy dialogue should be tagged with nsfw just to be safe, but this is subjective!

for general writing tips (honestly, i’m tired af rn so i’ll probably come back tomorrow to reblog this with more tips but here’s some i think are very helpful for both sfw and nsfw fic writing):

a lot of times authors (including myself) get stuck writing repetitive or mundane scenes. especially when i write smut bc really sex is just the same thing over and over and over again, sometimes at varying speeds, but still.

if you’re stuck on where to go in a scene, remember to not only describe what the characters are doing; describe how they feel, what they’re thinking, what they’re considering doing. remember to describe the internal point of view as well.

how does this character feel towards the other character? has this changed? if so, why, and how do they feel about it?

how do they feel about whatever action they’re doing with the other character? how does the other character make them feel?

do these characters know each other well? do they notice mundane details about each other? if so, include it.

if a character is thinking, feeling, or doing anything, it can be included.

think very hard about how YOU are imagining this scene. you probably forget to mention a detail or two, like a character looking around or running their hands over marks on a table or absentmindedly kicking at the ground.

every minor detail is important to the atmosphere of a scene. adding or omitting certain things can completely change the way a scene feels

also, be very intentional about word choice. why use “angry” when you can use “furious?” why use “break” when you can use “shatter?” why use “yell” when you could use “shriek?” think hard about that sort of thing, it makes all the difference.

and, last one for now: remember to describe emotions physically. do not just say that a character is angry; describe their brows furrowing, hands balling into fists, or their eyes clouding with fury. do not just say a character is sad; describe the tears they are trying to hold back, the quiver in their voice, or the shake in their hands.

i hope this helps, and any authors who are reading this please feel free to reblog! i’m always here to help:)

and also sorry for any typos it is 1:30 am

[femzai]

“ you are, by far, the brightest star. ”

⋮ sigzai hcs as a first post !!

⋮ this was a req by a friend tho!!

⋮ (first time postin on tumblr…)

⋮ i’m halfway thru bsd so.. no spoilers pls!

⋮ i don’t kno shit abt sigma so this will be fun

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

dazai

aint he like… THE CUTEST LOWKEY WITH A SIGNIFICANT OTHER…??

(as a femzai truther, shes everything to me so… forgive me if i use she/he on him its like reflex!!) dazai definitely jokes/teases with him so much, till sigma gets a bit annoyed and he starts like scoffing going, “ I.. solemnly swear, I will never do such a thing again! ” and then clutching his chest as if shes gonna die while holding onto sigma as a apology LMAO

i’ve seen the clips on tiktok with the dance scene and they are the cutest genuinely.. probably if they were sharing a home together, dazai definitely initiates a dance every time a good song comes on like a radio or speaker :))

i feel like in that little asylum they are in (idfk ouu) dazai makes do with it! flirting casually, touching and holding sigma close.

she’s definitely like the sorta guy to know origami, i feel like theres scraps of paper from the little asylum they are in. 100% making paper crafts for sigma with the stupidest smile on his face.

“Hmm ♪… ! Another flower for you, dear. Do you like it? I think I messed up at a few places .. but does that really matter ? It’s the thought that counts. （╹◡╹）♡”

to mix it up!! to think out of the canon (like the place they r in :3) i feel like dazai doesn’t try to offer sigma to die with her too often, getting a small understanding on how he wants to live still even though dazai himself wishes to die.

playful with the poor fucker, super overdramatic (like i said earlier) (+ super overdramatic with everyone lowkey) but around sigma he definitely tones it down a bit, maybe to not freak him out completely. (i feel like sigma is autistic, staring at him with my big ol’ eyes said it all.)

did you all see how dazai grabbed sigma by his waist? and you know how in number 4 how i said she definitely holds sigma? the waist is his favorite part no questions asked. probably lightly runs her hands around it, then she grabs it casually. a calculated attack and she pretends it wasnt!!!! >_>

hair playing is a thing!! like.. actively!!! twirling a strand or braiding it aimlessly definitely happens.. i swear it does, definitely goes both ways too! it could be a simple touch but it says a lot in terms of love language.

sigma

ahh what to do.. what to doo with this silly.. *shakes him violently.*

based off of his wiki (without spoiling myself fr) i can see him being a bit dependent on dazai (most definitely in a relationship of course), wanting to be there constantly. pretending to not worry until he does behind closed doors

being teased or like being joked with makes him a bit confused or angry, he doesn’t take the teasing lightly but he lets it slide for silly dazai

his like confident little act gets tiring at times for the silly goober, (definitely the autism hm..) unmasking around dazai comfortably when able to. probably enjoying the little moments where he can be himself and see how nothing changes with dazai when he is.

guys.. he definitely secretly enjoys the touch of when the little shit grabs him by the waist. he just complains about it because its always sudden i swear.. like he genuinely lets it happen when he can tell it will, however!! he’ll act surprised every time lowkey..

“..Again? You never rest with this, you know.. And you think you’re sneaky too do you..?! whatever.. It’s not like you’ll stop. (・ω・｀)”

i love half domesticated half the actual storyline, so im sprinkling one in (thanks to my pookie frederick for this one literally.) “sigma taking cats home except that there's almost 15 of them and dazai feels bad saying no.” are its exact words and its so cutesy…

ive seen that anime clip where dazai literally stopd ontop of sigmas back to fix a outlet and i giggled a bit. dazai definitely unnecessarily be asking to get on sigmas back and poor sigma is like.. “Right… ( ^_^ ;; )” but acts of service is a love language for the silly :3

now that i think about it, sigma goes out of its ways to go do things for dazai. maybe like picking something up or whatever, its definitely something worthy doing to show at least some appreciation and it doesn’t go unnoticed i swear!!

the little things in dazais dont go unnoticed either!! i feel like just by being around each other, sigma has just like automatically catches some cues from dazais expression or mannerisms. something about it that makes him understand a bit.. (probably telling when hes gonna be a freaking idiot and try to kill himself AGAIN LMAO.)

- wa wa authors note!!

⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ — whaddya think?? :3 its genuinely my first time so idk.. and im recent in the fandom so ill def do a intro soon!!

i dont have a set aesthetic yet as i dont use tumblr posting optioms but ill find it out soon :) so thats it… >_>

[autisticempathydaemon]

What is your Enneagram type? Is a type 9w1, but also really resonate with 4.

Do you love gargantuan Youtube video essays, and if so, which is your favorite and why? History. I love history. Tell me all the most random obscure factoids about our past that will impress but likely amount to nothing.

What Redacted boy holds no appeal to you, and why? Like, not the one you hate but the one who you don’t get the hype for. (I won’t judge, I promise.) Caelum. No hate to the little cutie, but he really reminds me of the kids I used to teach back when I worked at a preschool. I loved them to death, but there's a reason I'm not a teacher anymore. Also Ollie. No hate, just no interest.

Tell me about that one book/movie/tv show you know all the words to. Phantom of The Opera. My first musical love.

Which Redacted boy are you platonically attracted to? Like- forget dating, which dude do you want to be your best friend? Sam. There's something comforting about his accent. I'm a Texan, born and raised. I feel a kindredship with him. His frustrations when he finds "Darlin's" pantry and fridge empty is so southern, I felt seen in my heart of hearts. (Still wanna date him tho...)

Do you have a go-to thing you ramble about when you’re tired, and if so, what is it? (For example, my boyfriend knows I’m ready to sleep when I start talking about space.) It's either ADHD, Christian theology and apologetics, or history. No inbetween.

Tell me your go-to gas station and drink combo. "I pray at my altar of slush, yeah, I live for that sweet frozen rush." Before Gavin, Heathers converted me to the cult of the 7-11 Slushie.

Tell me about your favorite playlist at the moment. Beauty and the Beast Broadway OST. Trying to learn the part of Belle. Why? No reason.

What’s your guilty pleasure media, and why? Heathers. A musical that features underage drinking, sex, suicide attempts, and murder! Heaven forbid!

And whatever else you think tells me about who you are! I love research and learning, but it does have to be on my own terms. I'm also really painfully shy at first, and I'm horrible at remembering...anything really. I love listening to people nerd out around or to me, because I love that they feel comfortable enough to not worry what I'll think of their passions, even if it's something I have no personal interest in.

Okay, now hear me OUT, lend me your ear. I’m thinking “shy introvert meets comfort extrovert” vibes. I’m thinking “musical theater nerd meets EDM raver” gap couple vibes. I’m thinking Hudson.

The little ways the two of you contrast would be so cute in a relationship. Like, I don’t think Hudson would be a musical theater guy at least at first, but he likes when you sing it, plays your favorite songs on the station when he knows you’re on the road and listening. He knows nothing about history, but he always has a new documentary picked and queued for when y’all destress after your days at work.

Then there’s the big ways. Hudson knows you’re shy, but radio hosts are skilled at getting people to talk, at letting people know how genuinely interested they are. Hudson knows 9w1’s can be more inclined to listen, to blend in, to mediate, but he is always there to make sure to listen to you and to sing your praises when you stand out.

Song:

All I wanna do is get to holdin' you/ And get to knowin' you/ And get to showin' you/ And get to lovin' you

I’m talking a lot about Hudson being sweet, which he is, but he’s also a fuckin menace. He loves that you’re from Texas, especially if you have an accent, and play the most ludicrous country music around the house to get you to dance with him.

Runner-Ups:

If I were to pair shy with shy, introvert with introvert, you and Geordi would be a darling match. He could benefit a wonderful, patient listener, and I think he’d take you to any musical you want, even if he’s not a fan. Guy, in my head and in my heart, I know to be a musical theater boy. I think he could play a fun, devil may care Danny Zuko or Sandy across you, and he’d have a great time.

Read this post and send me an ask if you’d like a match-up of your own! 💌

Note: back to our regularly scheduled positivity 💕

[bonapaga]

lol I barely check tumblr, thank you for tagging me tho!!

3 Ships/ First ever ship

The first ship that comes to mind would be AsuShin of course. I haven’t rewatched Eva and I really need to because I think diving into the Eva fanfiction community and reading (genuinely great) fanfic of this ship has like really changed my perception of the show. And I feel like I need to rewatch Eva (and eventually get to the rebuilds too) to get an idea of how all of this connects (and what should be separated too). But yeah, I think I really love this pairing because they just have a lot of fascinating parallels and ways they match and awesome chemistry which is just lovely to see and think about.

I won’t blab as much on the other two…

KyouAnna from The Dangers of my Heart - if you wanna read some stellar rom-com writing, do not miss this manga. It’s amazing how natural these two fit with each other despite how disparate they were in the beginning.

and Haruhi and Kyon - I need to rewatch this too

Last Song

It’s I’m Best Friends with my Own Front Door by Bill Wurtz

I love this song, it reminds me that leaving out and doing things is good. And moving is good, and it’s a good pick me up when I’m leaning towards more depressive feelings.

bill wurtz is so real tho, I love the essence in his songs and lyrics.

Last Movie

The last film I watched was Wild Strawberries (1957), I watched it in my school’s world cinema club. It was a nice, surprisingly wholesome yet mostly introspective look at this old guy’s life and his existential thoughts about it. I don’t know many very old people in my life (aside from my old sociology teacher, who’s such an awesome person) and I like this film for making me think about those people more.

Currently Reading

I’m currently looking at a few things at the moment, it’s one of those times where I can’t get a hold of my interests.

-Otaku and the struggle of imagination in Japan by Patrick Galbraith

really awesome essay book about otaku culture

-Staying Alive poetry collection

-Suite Vénitienne by Sophie Calle

I found this on a desk in my school library and I read it one sitting, which is pretty easy because a lot of it was photographs, but yeah. So the author decides to go to Venice to stalk someone who they briefly met in a party in Paris, just on a whim. It’s pretty cool.

Some other books I barely started but I wanna read more of:

-Stoner by John Williams

-A portrait of the artist as a young man by James Joyce

Also I really need to catch up on my selected reading for school, I’m too deep my own rabbit holes and I need some air.

Currently Watching

Nathan for You - lol what the fuck

re-watching Monogatari - this had been on hold for a long time now lol whoops

Currently Consuming

nothing at the moment, but earlier I bought a pack of those small square brownies (of 20) and one of those packs of apple pies (6) and I ate all of both of them because I can’t effectively control my snacking

lol whoops

I will drink water soon

Currently Craving

copy and paste the previous section except the water part because that’s not something you really crave

…

lol I don’t really know anyone on Tumblr, except the one who tagged me

I wonder if I’ll use it more

I need to try to sleep soon it’s 6am but I’m not even tired yet oh no

Tag 9 people to get to know better

from @the-world-annealing

3 ships / First ever ship: it's extremely tumblr that this is the first question.

the weird Alucard/Seras/Integra polycule in Hellsing left a permanent impact on me, i think. the loyalty of a weapon, a hound, to its handler.

reimu/yukari as depicted in "Teeth and Claws"

augmented human c4-621/catching a fucking break for once in its life

Last song: Rusted Pride from the AC6 soundtrack. i was talking with @yashkonu about certain AC6 things last night and i just had to listen to it.

Last movie: uhh, probably Across the Spider-Verse? i'm not much of a movie person.

Currently reading: i haven't been reading as much as i'd "like" to, but I really need to finish the Machineries of Empire trilogy by reading Revenant Gun.

Currently watching: re-watching Yuri is My Job! with a friend, and watching 16bit Sensation: Another Layer, the Arknights anime, and

Currently consuming: just had some grape juice :)

Currently craving: really sour really caffeinated energy drinks. shouldn't have one though because if i have both energy drinks and my adhd medication i have an extremely bad time

normally i don't tag forward but i'm trying to be a little more social. no pressure if you don't wanna ofc.

let's say... @yashkonu @such-sweet-entropy @kaiasky @phaeton-flier @twilight-sparkle-irl @abalidoth @oathboundfamiliar @self-loving-vampire @thimbledoll

[keepermcge]

Not to be NSFW, but can Lann get love? Hugs? Someone holding him and telling him it’ll be okay? Thanks.  

[dreamsofjanuary]

Hii! Can i request some Dating Headcanons with Neil Perry? Maybe some that reader is latina? If you don’t how to do it, it’s fine! Thank youuu🫶🏼🫶🏼 hope you are having a great day!

dating neil perry

warnings: none!

note: i didn’t make the reader explicitly latina, purely because as a white person i don’t think i’d be able to capture writing from another race’s pov accurately, and it would feel wrong to impersonate another race like that. i’m sure there are plenty of other latina writers that would love to do your request justice, though! also this is kind of all over the place, i’m sorry 😭

- okay we all know that neil is fairly confident, but when it comes to you??

- he gets so shy

- like. blushing and awkward laughing around you level shy.

- he stays up at night trying to figure out how to ask you out

- the poets have tried multiple times to help him out, but he’s hopeless - which none of them really expected in truth

- they all seem to turn into kids again, physically pushing him towards you whenever they see you, or teasing you just enough so that your interest is piqued, but not enough so that you know that neil has a crush on you

- even mr keating had noticed that neil was distracted, and accurately put it down to teenage romance

- when he finally does ask you out, it’s only because he talked it out so much with charlie

- of course, he’s a gentleman, but he also doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it in case he gets rejected

- so, at a dinner party one evening, he manages to get you alone, and asks if you’d let him take you to a restaurant that weekend

- of course you say yes

- because why wouldn’t you

- since then, going to restaurants has been a bi-weekly thing for the both of you

- despite your best efforts, he ALWAYS pays

- he loves to see you all dressed up

- and the vision of him in a suit isn’t exactly something you complain about either

- after dating for a few weeks, you finally pluck up the courage to attend one of the society’s meetings

- you were nervous at first, worried that you weren’t as well read as the boys were

- neil reassured you that you were definitely intelligent enough to be there - “not that intelligence matters all that much, we’ve got charlie”

- you often write poetry for each other, and you keep all of the ones you’d been given in a drawer in your bedroom

- he has to be a little more discreet, so keeps all of the ones you’d given him in an envelope in his wardrobe

- he reads at least one every night

- todd is beyond tired of hearing about you

- this poor boy had to listen to neil ramble about you for months before he even had the courage to ask you out

- but now that you’re officially dating? neil never shuts up about you

- neil’s love language is quality time, so he’s always trying to find excuses to be with you

- definitely clingy - when one of you has to leave the other, he gets genuinely sad

- even if you’re going to see each other the next day

- also LOVES to see you in his clothes

- especially his jumpers

- he loves how they fit you, and how it’s a subtle signal that you’re his

- he doesn’t get jealous super easily, but he absolutely hates people staring at you

- even if you don’t mind, he’ll always wrap an arm around you or hold your hand to show them that you’re very much not single

- there have been occasions where he’s interrupted conversations being slightly more affectionate than usual - a clear sign that he’s jealous or insecure and will need reassuring later

- which ofc, you’re more than happy to do

- he always makes it look casual tho - he’s never dramatic or passive-aggressive about it

- neil is actually very insecure and needs a lot of reassurance - something that surprised you at first due to his joyful personality

- he’s also an amazing listener

- he’ll always let you vent to him, no matter what it’s about

- he’s sympathetic about everything you tell him, but especially if you don’t get along with your parents

- he knows how badly it can hurt, and he hates that you have to go through that

- on the other hand tho, he never loves you more than when you’re rambling on about something you’re interested in

- he loves how excited you get, how your eyes seem to light up

- even if he has no interest in the topic, he adores listening to you talk about it

- to conclude, neil is the best boyfriend ever and i love him so much xoxoxo

[miekasa]

NICE.

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

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

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

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

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

+ word count: 19k. i’m sorry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, baby. I love you.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Get off my line.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no—of course not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was almost three thou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It wasn’t mine, I was—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what’s it matter to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not avoiding him,” you frown.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sound like you speak from personal experience.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“His parents?” Jean cuts you off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you… told Eren yet?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is… is that why you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles. “I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You—you, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah? What, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t taste any almonds.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I mean—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eren—”

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

“Eren—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you took it, anyway?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eren loves you, more than you could ever know.

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

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

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

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

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

“Mitchell, I have to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And if I asked you now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[thecontumacious]

Brainrot of the Day: Teasing Vox

a/n: VOX AKUMAUR BRAINROT BCS I LOVE HIM SO MUCH HI???? here’s the clip for my reference btw xixixi

imagine him just coming to lay down with you, tired and just want nothing more than to cuddle

but then you suddenly climb onto his lap, straddle him best you can and give him neck kisses

“darling, what are you doing, hm?” he chuckles, putting his hands onto your waist.

he tries to be confident but his neck is fuckin sensitive so you ruin that sweet flesh of his with bruises

just ignore him, don’t answer to anything he says to you. even when he tells you that he’ll be taking control, don’t mind him

keep going

but if he physically restrains you from doing so, just give him your puppy dog eyes and he should be able to melt.

“baby please? i just wanna take care of you…”

he’ll sigh and let you have fun with him some more. he’s down bad for you and your kisses anyway hehe

ah yes his stomach and everything below kisses

do a whole bunch of that shit and vox will turn into putty in your hands

with that being said tho things do get riskier and there’s a bigger chance your puppy dog eyes won’t work here

i did headcanon that one of his love languages would be acts of service (you on the receiving part) so to have you take care of him in return, treating him with absolute royalty (and by that like genuinely, no jokin around) rly softens vox up

he’ll just stare at you with the most love filled eyes, holding your cheek or hair gently depending where you are and whisper, “god, i love you so fucking much you know that, love? you’re mine and i’m all yours.”

im then gonna ask you to pull away when vox is enjoying it the most

the most im lettin ya kiss him in order for him to be desperate is his thighs or inner thighs

do not go anywhere past the waistband of his pants.

he’ll be so close to having the moment of his life before you pull away, giving him one last kiss to his lips before curling up next to him to sleep

vox be like: o.0???? huh???? that’s it????

act cute and innocent and he maybe won’t push you for teasing him

“i never said i was in the mood, baby. can i have some cuddles now?” you pout at him and he rly has no choice but to give in

please do keep up the act though. if he sees even a sliver of you wanting more, he’ll smirk and take control

BUT THATS NOT WHAT THIS BRAINROT IS ABOUT OKAY

it’s about trying to make milord actually fucking beg for us kindred

only god knows how much i’d pay for that kind of content

but i do wanna let you know that everything comes with a price

he’ll make sure the next day you’re the one begging for him

good luck kindred

[allisonlol]

a/n: i am aware that i have a bunch of requests to get to but i just HAD to write this first,,,😭 i’ve been having so much brainrot for jouno omg

Dating Jouno Sfw + Nsfw Hc’s

warnings: nsfw under the cut

Sfw

writing all of this from experience btw 😏 (i wish)

dating jouno can be,,,difficult at times but worth it

you better be equally as sarcastic & quick witted as him

he’ll bully you at times (affectionately of course)

likes to get close to you or lean over you bc then he can hear how your heart rate picks up

ALWAYS teasing & flirting with you

loves the way you get all flustered and nervous when he does so <3

this man gets irritated by people just BREATHING (same tho) so you better make sure you’re relatively quiet around him 💀

might accidentally hurt your feelings sometimes with how harsh/blunt he can be

if you express this to him tho he will always apologize bc he would never want to genuinely upset you !!

the two of you go for walks a lot especially at night

holds your hand everywhere !! in fact he always looks for excuses to touch you and be as close as possible bc he loves the sensation of your skin <3

jouno loves when you’re tired at the end of the day and fall asleep with ur head on his shoulder; he finds it really peaceful listening to your shallow and even breaths

he’s not one to get jealous but,,,he does get the slightest bit uneasy when you talk to tecchou too much 😶

probably lies & tells you tecchou is a creep or something so you’ll be scared to talk to him again 💀 PLS

jealous jouno is good for more than one reason tho…and this is where i introduce the nsfw section 😌

Nsfw

OH MY HERE WE GO 🙏🏻

so if you know anything about jouno, you’ll know how absolutely sadistic he is

the man loves torturing people,,,you included (just in a different way 😶)

tends to be a bit violent in bed because he loves hearing all the sounds you make

will tie your hands together or to the bed frame so you can’t stop anything he does <3

(y’all have a safeword tho dw)

jouno lives to tease & edge you,,,he thinks it’s so cute how frustrated you get

definitely gets off on when you cry and beg for him to do more

a bit of a soft dom in the sense that while he’s in control, he’ll always end up doing what you want bc he could never say no to you <3

90% of the time has a very fast & aggressive pace…you’ll be getting absolutely RAILED 😩

jouno loves positions like missionary & mating press bc it allows him to be as close to you as possible

your little cries and moans in his ear are what turn him on the most

along with the feeling of you shaking and the sound of your heightened heartbeat

the good thing about him being so close is getting to hear HIM in your ear too,,,😶🦋🦋

his moans are really low & soft (he tries to stay quieter so he can hear you) also a lot of heavy breathing 🙏🏻

chokes & slaps you pretty frequently (never too hard tho) & by the end of it all you’ll probably have a decent amount of bruising

makes fun of you the whole time, especially if you cry. calls you all kinds of degrading names & laughs if you try to retaliate in any way

basically,,,jouno i’m free at 8 tonight you should come rail me too pls 🙏🏻

a/n: really went off on the nsfw section but- it’s 2am and i’ve been having nonstop brainrot so that’s my excuse

[yaomomvs]

TAKE OUR HAND

seijoh x manager!reader

in which aoba johsai vbc just wants you to take their hand, just as the many times they have reached for yours when they needed it

pls i’m sorry i just wrote this for comfort, in having a terrible week and so, i just really need my seijoh boys to comfort me even if it’s just in my head and just so you know, and as i’ve been trying to convince myself, things always get better

tuesday, [15:56 pm]

“nice kill yahaba senpai!” kindaichi congratulates his upperclassman.

his voice makes you react, it scared you. still holding your pen and the notebook you always carry around even on normal practice days, your hand threatens you in the most scary way possible.

fuck no, just... breathe.

you are quick to leave aside the notes, and so, you look around to the boys, who just after the coach’s whistle sounds they are quick to approach your spot.

you take the water bottles as quickly as you can.

“oh y/n-san, i know we are irresistible but you can’t just slack off admiring us!” makki teases you laughing.

“if our dear manager is admiring someone is obviously me” oikawa says, before taking a sip of his bottle, slightly making you blush even more.

“i don’t think she likes idiots who still watch youtube conspiracy videos at 3am”

“iwa!”

“weren’t you the one with a secret obsession for romance manga, iwaizumi?” it’s mattsun time to expose his friend. iwai mi doesn’t hesitate and he runs directly to matsukawa, while kunimi brings out his phone to start recording the chaos in the gym.

you don’t listen.

your head hurts, and then, you once again feel this weird thing in you stomach. you have been feeling like this for the past week, and you try to ignore it . but sometimes, you just want the world to stop.

you can’-

“y/n senpai?” watari calls your name, and you notice his furrowed brows looking at you, worried. you blink and correct your posture. you had just zooned out. “is everything ok?”

“ah yes watari kun!” you force your self to sound relaxed because you feel the sudden gaze of the entire team “i was just thinking in a smart way to insult oikawa, but i’m worried he won’t understand tho”

“hey! you said i was your favorite”

you fake laugh once again assuring everyone that you were just fine. the day goes on, and somehow is becomes more difficult to just stay down not worrying about anything.

and they notice.

you don’t walk home with the guys today. instead you run to the bus not before excusing yourself with an ‘urgent family thing’

“just please don’t let makki eat so much ramen today!” you giggle as you run to the bus “i’m not in the mood to dealing with diarrea!”

“that was a secret between us darling!” the pink haired guy screams cheeks blushing.

and maybe you were just too distracted, but before you face them away some of them notice how quick your smile fades.

“you know guys” yahaba is quick to say “call me crazy but, why did she lie?”

—

wednesday, [10:22 am]

when was the last time you actually enjoyed school? not practice, but school itself. seeing numbers everyday in the board that you don’t understand is frustrating. your throat hurts, there’s has been a not there since the begging of the day.

swallow it, y/n, dammit

you decided to take this class, don’t blame the world, blame yourself. isn’t it supposed to be simple? why isn’t it being simple? is that... 

"Square root of 57 is equal to Xo, miss" 

"alright!" 

it is not like it’s a race, you want to say. why was the teacher obsessed with speed?, it’s unfair. your time is not the same as that of others. 

you drop the pencil and you recline in your chair, why couldn’t you do operations and analysis as fast as they could? you take a look around and the eyes of others look frightening. you see ambition, you see security, you see admiration.

the bell rings and you just want to run, and well in a way you end up doing it. leaving your homeroom, you tell your friends that for today you want to be alone, the halls of aoba johsai are big, for your fortune or misfortune. you go to the vending machine and when your drink falls, the minimum noise makes you startle, lately it’s like that, small noises or actions affect you way too much.

and iwaizumi notices it.

you don’t make a single move, it’s just the cold drink resting on your hands. and before iwaizumi could stop mattsun, he was already putting his hand on your shoulder.

“y/n!”

the orange juice spills and once again fear takes hold of you.

you see them both, you’re not stupid and you know hajime stares at you weirdly, and now mattsun, you hide your fear it a bit worse than yesterday, but you do anyways.

"someday, Matsukawa-san, YOU’RE GOING TO KILL ME! and what will you do without me?" you try to say cheerful, wanting to take away the suspicion, for a moment it works.

"flunk history, that leads me to..." 

"no, sweeheart, i won’t give you my homework" 

you walk and both guys follow you, one faster than another, very naive of the situation. "I begin to believe you hate me," says Mattsun, as the three sit on a bench near the school cafeteria casually encountering kunimi who quickly joins you, patting the folds of your skirt as you sit down, you rest on the table and admire his needy expression and as the tantrum of mattsun grows.

minutes go by, your chest pain grows, but somehow you know how to let it go.

 with your hands supporting your face, lunch passes between you and kunimi, you try to talk, you really try. 

but still, your eyes just glow, and kunimi notices how it’s not the glow you always have.

—

thursday [12:03]

your head is spinning, you can feel the cold sweat. will this be the time? why do you feel so small? why can’t you say it?

it’s familiar, you recognize this feeling, an ocean, you’re floating, you know you can swim, but, you’re in the middle of nowhere, you look down. Out of nowhere the intimidating depth of the ocean is beneath you. And then, you sink. You feel like you’re drowning, you feel like you’re fighting the tide, but you just can’t do it.

i just need...

no, it’s not time yet, it’s still training. the boys... you’re the one who should take care of them, you’re the one who has to be be fine. they had no time to lose, they had a goal and for the moment that was the most important thing.

On that bench, your gaze is absent, you know it is so.

and through the window that overlooks your classroom, oikawa notices it too

“y/n...” he mumbled.

of course he’d noticed. at first it was not so clear, but now he remembers.

when kindaichi pinned your dark circles to him, while admiring you by fitting volleyballs in a way not of your own.

makki watches oikawa from your side, you don’t even know the pink-haired guy is there, unaware that he’s sitting next to you. but he notices. he’s been noticing for days that your eyes are threatening to close in the middle of class.

hanamaki catches your attention and instantly that mask you’ve been wearing for weeks appears again.

"hanamaki, i’m fine"

it doesn’t convince them. they both look out the window and nod.

oikawa notices, and god, he wished he had no reason to.

—

friday [14:00 pm]

breathe.

please just... breathe.

you’re fed up. the feeling of guilt and discomfort is still there, can’t you be calm? people don’t need to know, but why do you want to shout it?

the dressing room is alone, the girls from the soccer team are out and it’s your only chance.

the team needs you, hold on a little.

your footsteps are heard in the hallway once again, a symphony you’re tired of listening to.

your chest hurts, your heart is aching, but you just need a little more. hands are shaking, the cold in your body, you need to stop.

you have to make them stop.

but when you walk into the gym, even with your eyes down, all you feel is warm. and it’s because, the boys were standing, aligned begging for you.

no, they beg for your sake.

and everything stops.

one hand from him on your neck, and one hand around your shoulders.

because oikawa, without warning, now has you in his arms.

and then, only then, you break.

tears don’t take long to come out, along with desperate sobs. your legs fail and out of nowhere, you and oikawa are on your knees.

with an alarmed look, the whole club runs towards both, surrounding you as sensibly as possible.

"i’m sorry, i’m sorry I’M SORRY" is heard from you, between hiccups.

“love, listen...” iwaizumi approaches you,somehow he managed to catch up with you, somehow he managed to hold your hand.

"i promise i didn’t want to, but i can’t, i can’t anymore, why can’t i? i try and i try and i keep trying but it’s never enough! IM TIRED OF SEEING SOMETHING AND NOT BEING ABLE TO PROCESS IT LIKE THE OTHERS. I’M TIREDD OF NEVER FULFILLING WHAT I SHOULD”

yahaba’s heart aches, and just as most of the team, is shocked.

your hands, oh your adorable hands, those hands that bandage his in the middle of an important game, he sees them shaking horribly between iwaizumi’s.

“AND I’M SCARED, WHAT IF I LOSE YOU BECAUSE OF THAT BECAUSE OF ME? BECAUSE OF HOW I AM I-“

watari is quick to place your hair gently behind your ear, a kunimi covers you with his jacket.

“I LOOK IN THE MIRROR AND I DONT RECOGNIZE MYSELF” you lower your voice, its cracked now “oikawa I don’t recognize myself, I want to be me again" you whisper, and a knot appears in the captain’s throat, and he puts a hand on your cheek "please... just let me be me again" your throat burns, your eyes get redder.

the gym goes silent, your words still echoing in everyone’s head.

“why didn’t you-“

“i just couldn’t” you blame yourself cutting oikawa off “look at us! we are waisting time on me when we should be- i’m the one who has to- im you support not-“

“hey hey, love...” iwaizumi whispers his voice is filled with sweetness, letting you sit correctly and softly rubbing his thumb in your hands “how many times have you been there for us? y/n your hand is always there”

“that’s true” kyotani says, finally saying something, emotions overwhelmed him a lot, but he genuinely wanted to help you.

“there’s something about you, there’s light” kindaichi follows up.

“no matter where, or how bad we are, somehow you always are helping us stand up” mattsun also tries to carefully approach you, he wants nothing more for you to feel safe.

and oikawa’s arms were still around you. he never stopped.

“we have reached your hand so many times, so now it’s time for you to please take ours” oikawa holds you face, and you see the sincerity and kindness behind his brown eyes, it feels like home.

mattsun does a sign asking the coach for a day off, both of them smile tenderly at you and give the green flag. iwa and makki are next to hold you carefully helping you stand up. they help you stop shaking but it’s mad dog the one who wipes your tears away with a tissue watari handled him. still not knowing if he did it the right way. you still feel kunimi’s scent. you still see kindaichi holding your school bag making sure nothing is missing. yahaba is the one bringing you water. and oikawa still refuses to let you go.

all of them feel like home.

“thank you”

and that’s how you know everything is going to feel fine.

because this club was yours and you were theirs.

this was home.