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theragethatisdesire · 1 year ago

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much ado about nothing chapter 2 - eren x reader - 18+!!

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. minors and ageless blogs, please do not read below the cut.

welcome back to the much ado universe for our second installment! this chapter is just a lot more yearning and getting to know everyone in the uni, fleshing out the mysterious eren a little more, but there's a treat at the end ;)

@toxrez was kind enough to make some LOVELY fan art of this chapter, please find it linked here i am so appreciative so go send her some love!!!!

specific cws: tee tiny pinch of smut, drug/alcohol use, swearing, historia plotting on your downfall like the meddlesome best friend she is

“O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” - Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare (Act II, Scene 2)

A solid week or two passes and…nothing. You chastise yourself for being disappointed at Eren’s radio silence, especially since you hadn’t exactly given him a way to contact you. He knows Historia has your number, but he hasn’t reached out to get it from her. And why should you expect him to? the annoying, self-doubting voice in your head corrects you every time you dare to hope, you’re not exactly his usual type.

It’s true; since your run-in, Historia’s been busy doing reconnaissance on anything Eren-related she can pick up from the rumor mill. His dating history is a near-blank, but his “hoe history” as Historia lovingly dubs it, is colorful, full of rave girls and bar rats and Instagram models. You’d drank enough that night that it was entirely plausible you had imagined the excited sparkle in his eyes as you rambled on about misrepresentations of theme in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He had come to Scout’s to work after all, not on the prowl for a sex-starved literature student who couldn’t hold her tequila.

The fact was, he wasn’t interested, cemented after your night out to Scout’s on Halloween. Historia had gone to the trouble of dolling you up in an appropriately slutty outfit on the premise that It’s like, one of the biggest party nights of the entire year. There’s no way he’s not going to be there. But, the bar had been devoid of intoxicating cologne and green eyes, and you’d gone home empty-handed and far more drunk than you’d intended to.

The surprise comes a few days after.

You’re sharing a cup of tea with Historia as she paints your toenails on the couch, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly and enjoying the pampering. As you're moving your thumb to like Sasha's Instagram post, Historia reaches for her phone suddenly and knocks the nail polish bottle over, spilling it all over your– again, hand-painted coffee table. After four years with her, you can only contrive a semblance of annoyance; you’re surprised the table even lasted this long with no major casualties.

“Stor!” You scramble for the bottle, righting it, but Historia’s typing madly on her phone, muttering under her breath.

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!”

“What?” You can hardly contain your impatience, trying to quell the hopeful flutter rising in your chest. Historia bites her lip, grins wickedly at you.

“I told you. I told you.”

“Told me what?”

In lieu of an answer, Historia turns her phone to you. You squint to read the texts through the recently-cracked screen.

> Pregame at my place for min’s birthday tn u in?

> for sure! what time?

> 9ish u know the addy?

> yep! we’ll be there.

> See if ur friend wants to come too.

“Your friend?” you scoff, pushing her phone away in painfully feigned disinterest when in reality, your heart is pounding in your throat.

“That’s you,” Historia wiggles her eyebrows meaningfully, as if you weren’t already aware of the fact.

“I resent that,” you say, picking up your phone to continue your mindless scrolling until Historia snatches it from you, fixing you with a pointed look. “What? He can’t even use my name? What a douchebag.”

“That’s just how boys text,” Historia swats your concerns away. You bite back your scathing reminder that Historia has been a loud and proud lesbian since her teenage years and has no idea how “boys text”. Sure, you might be grasping at straws to hate him, resist the temptation rising in your throat, but you’re determined. He humiliated you once, and he won’t get the chance to do it again.

“We’re not going,” you say at the same time as Historia talks over you: “We’re going.” You scowl.

“We have to,” Historia shakes your shoulders, “he was all over you at Scout’s, not to mention that mysterious eight inch claim.”

“He’s had more than a week to reach out, and this is how he decides to do it? Summoning me through you?”

“Maybe he was too shy,” Historia shrugs, returning to painting your last few toes.

“Eren doesn’t strike me as a guy who’s too chicken to ask for a girl’s number, especially after everything you found out from Ymir.” Historia’s girlfriend may have been a bit on the anti-social side, but she somehow knows everyone and everything. Despite her bristly demeanor, Ymir possesses the god-given art of pulling the juiciest gossip out of complete strangers, and it isn’t a talent any of you have let go to waste over the years.

“He might surprise you,” Historia looks up at you through her lashes, “this is all just to get you laid anyway, so don’t think too much into it.”

You bite your lip, allowing her to work on your toes as you slip into thoughtful silence. If you’re honest with yourself, like, really honest, you’re not the best at “just getting laid”. In college, you were always the one stuck on the giving end of a one-sided situationship, and your only solution when it would inevitably fall through was to start anew with an equally terrible guy.

As you’ve leaned into your graduate years, you’ve been able to avoid your past pitfalls, sleeping with guys who are far enough away from your type to avoid heartbreak but cute enough to catch your interest, a category Eren should fall into. Something about him has you trapped, though, the same way you used to be. He makes your head spin, renders your normally pin-sharp thinking null and void, makes you say stupid, stupid things. Things like:

“Okay, fine. But an hour, max.”

You reflect on your stupid mistake as you stand on Eren’s porch with Historia and Ymir, in another cute-but-not-cute-but-not-trying-to-look-not-cute (or, at least, you think that’s the criteria) outfit of Historia’s choice. Historia had insisted on bringing her girlfriend to leave you free to “couple up” with Eren, but you realize all that means is you’re arriving to a party full of strangers as a third wheel. Great.

As Historia knocks, your stomach erupts in a bout of nervous grumbling. Not only have you forgotten to eat, but you haven’t been to a drug dealer’s party since you were probably nineteen. It’s actually quite a cute little house, homey brick with a red door and a well-kept lawn, not the trap den you’ve been envisioning all afternoon. The scene is eerily quiet, no LED lights shining in the windows, the low hum of music at a reasonable volume bumping through the walls. It��s not what you expected, but then again, you’re still on the wrong side of the door.

“Coming!” A voice— a feminine voice— echoes through the inside of the house, and one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen flings open the door. Just fucking great. “Hi, you guys are…?”

“Historia,” Historia chirps, not thrown off in the least. You smile timidly, trying to absorb some of the confidence that rolls off of her as she introduces Ymir and then you. The girl eyes you in particular but not threateningly, a hint of a smile playing on her face.

“Mikasa,” she opens the screen door, letting you inside, “Eren mentioned that you were coming.”

“Really?” Historia’s friendly grin grows devious, and you pinch her arm behind your back. “Ow!”

“You okay?” Mikasa frowns over her shoulder.

“Yeah, just stubbed my toe.” Historia scowls at you.

You round a corner to the source of the music, feeling a little like you’re going to puke, but you’re pleasantly surprised by the scene in front of you. It’s not a rager, and there’s nothing suspicious out except a handful of red solo cups and a couple of expertly-rolled blunts being passed around hand-to-hand.

Armin offers you a small wave from where he’s parked on a loveseat beside a striking, intimidating-looking blonde woman, failing miserably to flirt with her. Mikasa falls into an armchair beside another pretty brunette who’s wearing some sort of work uniform and an apron; her name tag reads Hitch<3. You faintly recognize the guy hitting the bong, his name might be John, and the dude beside him is one of Sasha’s best friends, Connie, who’s been posted on Barstool an impressive four or five times.

Eren comes strolling out of the kitchen with a half-eaten piece of pizza hanging out of his mouth and holding his phone, which he’s squinting at, away from his face like an old man. He looks so ridiculous you almost snort.

“Would you just get some glasses already, dude?” John coughs, waving the smoke out of his face and passing the bong to Connie.

“‘On’t need ‘emph,” Eren’s words are muffled by the pizza as he disproves his point entirely, moving his phone back and forth in the air until it seems he can finally see it. When he finishes his text, he takes notice of you, pulling the pizza out of his mouth with a crooked grin. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you try to come off nonchalant, but it doesn’t work, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“This is—“

“I introduced myself while you were stuffing your face,” Mikasa waves him off, leaning in to look at something on her friend’s phone. Eren scowls at her, moving along.

“Hitch,” he points to the name tag girl who offers a friendly wave, “Annie,” the blonde girl beside Armin on the couch, “Armin— well, you know Armin. Jean,” the mullet dude who’s still coughing, “and Connie.”

A chorus of greetings sounds off from around the room.

“Thank god we’ve finally got some more estrogen around here,” Hitch says to your little group, “these guys are insufferable with anything less than an equal ratio.”

Historia laughs, bouncing over to make further conversation and dragging Ymir behind her. You want to throttle her as she situates herself on the leg of the armchair (that’s already squeaking under two people’s weight) because now you’re left alone with Eren, who ducks into the kitchen and returns, holding something out to you.

You recognize the label of the local beer you’d been drinking at Scout’s the night you met, raising your eyebrows in surprise.

“You drink this, right?” Eren squints at the bottle, examining it. “I thought I remembered, but there was a million others at the store that looked just like it.”

“It’s my favorite,” you admit, accepting it from him with a little flutter in your chest. He grins again, toothy and pleased with himself.

“Good. Well, get comfortable, sit wherever, smoke whatever. I’ll be right back,” he holds up his pizza crust meaningfully, and you stifle a laugh. Eren Jaeger, the intimidating drug dealer apparently known around campus for his giant dick, doesn’t eat his pizza crusts. The thought eases your nerves; he may be the gorgeous, bad-news guy you’d flirted with a couple weeks ago, but he’s also a real person.

You follow his instruction, sitting beside Connie, not so close as to give the wrong impression, but close enough to invite a conversation. He offers a friendly hand.

“You’re Sasha’s friend, right?”

“Yeah,” you shake it, “Connie?”

“I’m surprised you remember. I’ve been backpacking through Thailand for the last eight months, thought everyone would’ve forgotten me by now.”

“Backpacking through Thailand?” You’re impressed.

“He’s only bringing it up so he can talk about it some more,” Jean grunts, shooting Connie an annoyed glance.

“I’d love to hear about it,” you say honestly, “I’ve never traveled.”

Connie launches into a detailed story of his flight over, being crammed between two families with crying babies, the different cities he visited, his bout with food poisoning on a twelve hour bus ride on his side trip to Cambodia. He’s funny and energetic, and it soothes you, lets you relax into the couch a little as you listen intently, asking a question here and there. You’re so caught up in his antics you don’t notice Eren sauntering over, plopping down beside you on the couch.

“Are you talking about Thailand again, bro?” Eren groans, wiping a hand over his face. Connie’s face flushes pink as he frowns.

“That’s what I’m saying!” Jean directs his red-eyed glare at Connie.

“Don’t stop him,” you argue, feeling bad as they dogpile on their friend, “I’m listening, Connie.”

Connie smiles gratefully, continuing on as if he hadn’t been interrupted. Eren sighs, resigned to his fate, and settles into his seat to your left, throwing an arm carelessly over the back of the couch, and, coincidentally, around your shoulders. You feel awful because now you’ve lied; you’re not listening to Connie at all, too encapsulated by both the physical and the emotional weight of Eren’s arm around you. No, you reprimand yourself, he’s just getting comfortable. Don’t read into it.

The hour you promised Historia flies by. You’re thoroughly entertained by Jean, Connie, and Eren’s dynamic; Jean seems like a bit of a hothead, bickering with Eren at every opportunity, but Connie balances them out nicely, providing comedic relief at the perfect moments. When you finish your first drink, Eren’s quick to offer you a second and eventually a third, heading off for the kitchen and throwing your one-hour rule right out of the window. One more won’t hurt, you think, especially since you’re actually enjoying yourself. With the lack of distraction, you’re now free to look across the room where Annie, Armin, Historia, Mikasa, and Ymir are all huddled in a circle around a phone. You hear Historia’s drunken giggle and decide to interfere.

“What are you guys doing over there?”

Historia and Ymir exchange an inspired look that makes you sick to your stomach as Eren returns, throwing his arm back over you and peering at the screen in Historia’s hand. “Is that that Truth or Dare app?”

“You know it?” Historia’s eyes sparkle; you can feel it in your bones that’s she’s just concocted a fresh form of torture for you.

“Sort of.” Eren scratches his head, unwitting to the plot you can see unfolding right in front of you.

“Play with us, then!” Historia smiles innocently, beckoning you over. You know better and start to hesitate, but Eren smirks at you.

“What? Too chicken?”

You scowl at him childishly, and turn back to Historia, gesturing to her to bring the game over to the center of the room. You all get re-settled with the new focal point of Ymir’s phone as Historia explains the rules: the phone will pass from player to player, and whoever is holding the phone gets the opportunity to read a truth or a dare prompt to someone in the circle. Simple enough, you think, relieved that Historia won’t have the creative liberty to think of anything humiliating.

“We’re playing the spicy version,” Ymir smirks, “hope you guys don’t mind.”

Fuck. So much for that idea. You try to stay calm under Eren’s arm, praying he doesn’t feel your body tense up.

Historia goes first, daring Connie to reveal his body count. The phone moves to Armin, who has to dare Annie to kiss him on any body part of her choosing, a pink stain erupting on his cheeks when she leans in to peck his nose. The dares progressively get worse until you’re all in stitches laughing at Ymir and Jean tentatively touching tongues, Ymir retching into her hand dramatically afterwards.

“Okay, I’m not that bad,” Jean frowns, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I have an aversion to men,” Ymir hisses, narrowing her eyes. Historia pets her girlfriend’s hair soothingly.

“Down, girl. Go, Armin!”

Armin presses the little rolling dice icon on the screen, and the game chimes as it arrives at its decision. Wide, blue eyes meet yours, and he says your name, asks the question.

“Truth or dare?”

You want to pick truth, take the safe route, but after a couple of drinks and Eren calling you a chicken, you can’t convince yourself to. See, Eren? I can be fun.

“Dare,” you answer confidently. Historia winks at you; you ignore her. Armin reads the screen, the corner of his mouth curling up mischievously.

“It’s daring you to sit on Eren’s lap.”

You blanche. The lap-sitting dare’s already been called several times: Armin himself is reading your dare out from where he’s perched on Hitch’s thighs. But Eren? Surely, Historia rigged it; you look to her in a panic, but her face is simply split into an anticipatory grin. You’re frozen for a beat until Eren shuffles around beside you.

“C’mon then,” Eren grunts, hooking you under the armpits and scooping you up onto his lap, wrapping his arms around your stomach so your ass is pressed firmly into his crotch. You look over your shoulder at him, positive that your eyes are comically wide in surprise; you’ve been able to feel the ripples in his arms through his hoodie all night, but you hadn’t expected him to be so strong. Eren shrugs from behind you, an impish smile on his face. “‘S just a dare. I don’t bite.”

“Don’t believe him,” Mikasa deadpans from across the table, “he’s got rabies.”

That lightens the tension between you, and you exhale an easy laugh, wiggling around on Eren’s lap until you’re comfortable. You hear Eren suck in a sharp breath behind you, low enough that only you catch it.

“You okay? Am I too heavy?”

Eren meets your eyes, almost looking a little startled that you heard him. “No, yeah, m’fine.”

There’s a strain to his voice that wasn’t there before, but you opt to ignore it, hoping you aren’t making him uncomfortable. You have to force yourself to focus on the game and not the heat of his hands sinking through your shirt, unmoving from their station on your hips. The game continues amidst several roaring rounds of laughter: Jean has to “slide his hand up Armin’s thigh suggestively”, Mikasa has to lick Hitch’s neck, Historia has to tell everyone her favorite sex position.

Hitch gets dared to kiss you next, standing and walking to where you sit on Eren, giving you a chaste peck on the lips full of tipsy giggles. Jean, Connie, Eren, and Armin are rendered silent, much to the girls’ amusement.

“Hello?” Mikasa waves a hand in front of Jean’s unblinking eyes; he swats her away irritably. You peek at Eren to see a perverted grin splitting his face; he looks happy as a clam. You pinch his thigh, making him jump.

“Ow! Damn, what was that for?” He rubs his thigh, voice wounded.

“Being a creep,” you say, but the smile twitching at your lips betrays you. Eren’s eyes grow imperceptibly darker, in a private way that feels like it’s just meant for you.

“If you think that’s bad…” he trails off, shaking his head and wrapping his arms against your stomach, snuggling you into his chest. You kick your feet in protest, laughing as you try to shove him off, but Eren’s got you pinned to him, eyebrows raised in amusement at your struggle. He sneaks a hand to your ribcage, digging his fingers in to tickle you. “C’mon, you’re not even trying!”

“Stop, Eren- fuck, that tickles!” You manage to choke out around your furious giggles, worming around in his iron grip.

“Can you lovebirds cut it out?” Jean shoves Eren’s shoulder harshly, nearly knocking you both off the couch. You slide off of his lap, already having fallen halfway off in the struggle, cheeks burning as you come back to the room full of half-strangers and out of the little moment you’ve just had with Eren. You can feel Historia’s eyes burning a smug hole in your forehead. “It’s almost eleven, if we’re going out we need to get moving.”

“Shit, really?” Eren’s still catching his breath, pulling his phone out of his back pocket to check for himself. Sure enough, 10:57 is glaring white on the screen back at him. The past week hits you, and suddenly you’re so tired, unwilling to face Scout’s or wherever they’re planning on going. “Scout’s or Devil’s Paradise? What are you guys in the mood for?”

You feel the permanence of the few drinks you’ve had and the lack of sleep this past week setting in, eyes heavy. “I think I’m probably just going to head home.”

You’re met with a resounding round of protests from the group. Only Eren is there to come to your defense, swinging an arm around you and pulling your ear to his mouth. “Want me to take you?”

He’s only had one beer, safe enough and far preferable to stumbling through the cold streets half-drunk and alone. You nod; you’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the exhaustion, but your eyes flutter, and you lean into his embrace.

“I’ll meet up with you guys later,” Eren says, waving his friends out the door; his tone leaves no room for argument. Ordinarily, you’d be embarrassed at the way he speaks for you, but you’re grateful for it now, legs draped over his while the rest of your party files out.

“Text me when you’re home!” Historia calls, she and Ymir making up the caboose of the line that files out of the door in search of more fun to be had. You’re not worried about missing out, content with the warmth of Eren’s body against yours. Once the door shuts, you two sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Eren scrolling on his phone and you drifting dangerously close to sleep, curled into him.

“Ready?” Eren’s inquisition isn’t pressing; he actually sounds more than happy to let you lay here for the rest of the night, let you take advantage of his status as a personal space heater and cuddle up for the next few hours.

“Ready,” you reluctantly sigh, allowing him to pull you to your feet and out the door. You let him practically carry you, leaning on him heavily until he buckles you into his obnoxious muscle car. Eren starts the engine only for metal music to come blaring out of the speakers.

“Fuck!” Eren jumps, scrambling to turn it down. “Sorry.”

You’re so tired you’re barely phased, laughing sleepily and pulling your knees to your chest, making yourself comfortable in the seat. “S’ok.”

The red LED lights lining the accents of the leather inside soothe you, the movement of the car rocking you softly as he pulls out and onto the street, driving you home. This is far too comfortable for a potential one night stand at best, but you’re too exhausted to care, little tidbits of Elizabethan English literature rocketing around in your tired mind. The car ride is short, your head bobbing against the cool windowpane as you watch the streetlights pass by. When you arrive, Eren places a hand on your knee, warming your skin through your jeans.

“Sure you’re okay?” You don’t miss the note of concern in his tone, smiling to yourself.

“Yeah,” you answer, shaking yourself awake as best you can, “I’m fine. Just tired, s’all.”

Eren looks dubious, searching your face. “You don’t seem like the type of girl to fall asleep at the pregame.”

“It’s school,” you admit, “and work. I’ve gotten like six hours of sleep in two days.”

“Want me to walk you up?”

“You don’t have to.”

“That’s not what I asked.” The authority in his voice isn’t something you’ll soon forget, feeding the flames in your core.

“I’m a big girl, Eren, I’ll be fine. I just have to hop through that door,” you point at the illuminated door in the parking garage, “into the elevator, and then third door on the–”

“Left. I remember,” Eren finishes for you, leaning onto the center console. He’s very close to your face, close enough for you to graze your hand over his cheek, which, you do, curiosity and beer outweighing your common sense. Your eyes are wide open now, studying him. You know you’re staring at his lips, too forward for your relationship as it stands, but you’re tipsy and far beyond tired and you can’t help yourself. In the low lighting of the parking garage, he’s gorgeous, eyes almost glowing.

You’re not sure who leans in, but you feel your lips brush together, tentative and shaky. He leans into you further, pressing his lips fully against yours. His mouth is even hotter than his hands were, searing as he kisses you deeper. You can feel his hand come up to caress your cheek, cupping your face and pulling you closer to him. You hate yourself for it, but a little whimper escapes you, pouring into him. Eren takes advantage of your open lips, swipes his tongue against your teeth, and before you know it, he’s pulling you over the center console to straddle in his lap.

He’s not too rough with you, but he’s insatiable, his hands traveling up your back, one landing on the back of your neck to hold you firmly to him and the other gripping your ass through your jeans, drinking you down like he’s a man starved. You nip at his bottom lip, wide awake now and grateful for the slight tint to his windows. Your hands run through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp, and it earns you a throaty groan from deep inside his chest, making you smile against his lips.

“You sure you don’t want me to walk you up?” Eren murmurs, mouthing at your jaw. The sound of his voice grounds you a little, and you giggle breathlessly as he brushes over a particularly ticklish spot.

“Told you I’m a big girl,” you whisper, “what do I need you for?”

Eren smirks, dark and dangerous. “Might need me to protect you. Who knows? There’s all sorts of awful guys who would love to take advantage of a pretty little thing like you.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm,” Eren’s half-hooded eyes flick down to your chest and back up to your eyes, making your regretful response twice as difficult to get out.

“I need to go to bed, and you need to go with Armin’s birthday thing,” you sigh, leaning back against the steering wheel. You’re well aware you don’t have the willpower to turn him down to your lips inches away, but it’s late, and you could use the sleep. Not to mention the 8:00 am lecture waiting for you first thing in the morning. “Isn’t he like, your best friend?”

Eren groans dramatically, throwing his head back against the headrest.

“Armin won’t mind, I mean,” he traces a hand up your body, fingers grazing you from hip to chest, “just look at you.”

“What?” You cock your head playfully. Eren rakes his gaze over your body, stopping in a few choice places, something wicked pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Really gonna make me say it?”

You smirk down at him. “Maybe.”

“You’re trouble,” he tackles you again, pulling you into another kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and giggles. Eventually you find the willpower to shove yourself away from him, knocking your spine into the steering wheel with a short honk that makes laughter spill from both of you.

“Okay, really, unless you would also like to wake up at 6:30, I should get going.” You dab at the little tears pricking your eyes, trying to catch your breath. “Plus, you’d be a bad friend if you didn’t head back out for Armin’s birthday.”

“Can’t have that,” Eren agrees, regret flickering over his face. He reaches for his door handle so you can climb out on his side, but he changes his mind, withdrawing his hand and going for his phone instead.

“What is it?”

“Before you go,” Eren slides his phone open, tongue caught between his lips— God, he’s so fucking cute, “lemme get your number.”

You can’t help yourself, crossing your arms over your chest. “Oh, so now you want my number.”

Eren frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Could’ve asked Historia all week.”

An indignant flush rises in his cheeks. “I’m a man. I wanted to ask you myself, in person. Plus…”

The rest of his words taper off into a quiet mumble that you can’t quite catch. “Plus what?”

“I was nervous,” Eren raises his gaze to meet your eyes sheepishly, cheeks now bright red. Your heart thuds in your chest; he really is beautiful, with his long dark lashes and strong nose. You can hardly conceptualize the fact that he’d just kissed you- twice. A teasing smile tugs at your mouth.

“Nervous?”

“‘M not exactly your type, am I?” You can barely hold your laugh in, remembering your own cyclical, self-disparaging thoughts over the last few days.

“Give me that.” You snatch his phone and type your number in, handing it back to him with a smile. “Okay, I really should head up now.”

Eren concedes, throwing his door open for you to clamber off of his lap, stand in the doorway of his car, look down at him. Eren stares at you for a beat, running his eyes up and down your body. You start to step back, bid him goodnight, when he breaks out into a boyish grin, raises a hand to flick two fingers at you in a come-hither motion.

“Get back over here.”

You dissolve into giggles, feeling light as air, leaning back into the car to indulge him in one- no, two, or maybe three more kisses before you’re pushing yourself off of him with a quiet moan. “Eren, I need to go to bed, really, I do.”

“I know,” he sighs, leaning back into his seat. If you dare to look down, you can see where his pants are starting to tent, a thick bulge behind the zipper. You swallow hard; maybe he’ll end up living up to his impressive reputation after all. It takes every ounce of nerve in your body, but you step back from the car and wave meekly.

“Goodnight, Eren.”

“I’ll see you,” Eren smiles, shutting his door. Before you can even make it through the door, your phone buzzes, and you pull it out with a knowing smile.

> nice ass ;) sleep tight

It's so crude it makes you laugh out loud, turning around to see Eren snickering to himself childishly in his car. You toss him your middle finger as a response, only making him laugh harder. You don't hear the roar of his engine until you're already stepping into the elevator. The ride up feels long, exacerbated by your exhaustion, and you lean heavily on the wall, nervous butterflies dancing in your stomach as if you’d just had your first kiss. Your phone buzzes again, and you know who it is before you even unlock the screen.

> make it home safe? it’s ok if u don’t answer bc ur wrapped up in bed with ur boy toy ;)

Historia’s text would have ordinarily annoyed you, but you’re so giddy and love-drunk you giggle to yourself, thumbs trembling as you type back.

> he just dropped me off. he’s heading back to u guys now

> what???? nothing happened?

> i don’t kiss and tell

> aha! so u DID kiss him

> maybe…

Your phone buzzes close to a dozen times after that, but you pocket it, figuring you can just fill Historia in in the morning. You want nothing more than to collapse in your bed, but the lingering taste of Eren on your lips is distracting you. All throughout your skincare and your tooth brushing and your changing clothes, it still feels like his hands are ghosting over your body.

When you finally tuck yourself in, you slither a hand down your body and into your pajama shorts, rubbing mindlessly until you cum with the memory of Eren’s mouth and everything it might be capable of on your mind and his name on your tongue. You feel a lick of hot shame as you throw your shorts into the hamper, but a rush of elation follows it up. Eren wants you just as badly as you want him, and now, you’ve gathered enough evidence to do something about it. One good fuck, you decide, and he’ll be out of your system. Just one.

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brave-and-gentle · 6 months ago

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Stitches: Reader x Jean Fluff Part 4

Welcome to - *waves* whatever this is. I originally called it my fluff mini series but I keep extending it.

If this is your first time here, please check out Part 1 Part 2 and Part 3.

If you like this mini series, be sure to check out my original character x Jean fic on Ao3 here

Pairings: femme reader x Jean

Summary: You begin to unravel the mystery of why your "situationship" with Jean hasn't progressed.

Warnings: none here

Word count: ~4.9K

Although you are exhausted after your night with Jean, you hardly sleep that night. Your mind races, twists and turns. You're torn between how much fun you had at the poetry slam and wine bar – very intimate settings – and the obvious way Jean pulled away from you at the very end of the night. It didn't make any sense. Why kiss you several weeks ago, why ask you out like that – and then nothing?

The Thursday work day is brutal. You trudge through your work, mindlessly checking patients in for their appointments, barely able to keep your eyes open until finally, you reach the last hour before the clinic closes.

You're unsure whether to look forward to trivia with your friends tonight. It's another chance to see Jean – another chance to get your hopes up. And you fear you've already gotten them up far too high. Maybe you shouldn't go.

You pull out your phone to find a few unread texts from Sasha that you've purposely ignored.

You should've woken me up this morning – I wanna know how it went last night with Jean!

Girl, do not leave me hanging!!

Spill. The. Tea.

If you don't spill soon I'm going straight to the horse's mouth. Hehe – get it??

Your stomach sinks down to your feet. You twist back and forth in your chair behind the clinic check-in desk. It's hard to let Sasha down.

It was fun. But I don't think he likes me like that. He's just flirty.

She responds immediately.

Girl please. I have never seen Jean be “just flirty” with anyone. You and I both know who he's going to try to sit next to at trivia tonight.

Releasing a sigh, you lean back in your chair. For once, you really don't have the mental energy to hang out with your friends. Missing one night shouldn't be a big deal, right? Everyone missed one every once in a while.

Actually, I don't know if I'll go tonight. I'm pretty tired.

What?? Pleeeeease :) it's more fun with you! :)

An uncontrollable smile spreads across your face. Sasha is all too persuasive, or maybe you're too persuadable. After Historia moved out, you dreaded evenings and weekends without any friends to hang out with. But it didn't take long for Sasha to plead with you to come to trivia with her friends and rave about how much she loved your company. It's nice to know someone wants you there – even if it's not Jean.

Maybe I'll take a nap before.

Yay! I'm working late so I'll head straight to the bar straight after. See you there :)

~ ~ ~

You lie on your bed, phone up to your ear in one hand and your other hand is gesticulating up to the ceiling.

“What does he want from me?” You demand from your best friend even though she's just as clueless as you. “I mean, we kiss the first night we hang out, he paints a fucking picture of me, he practically takes me out on a date – but nothing since that first kiss. Who does that?”

“Well,” Historia says your name in her soft voice, “you know, you've been. . .”

“What?” You demand.

“It's just um. . .oh, don't make me say it!”

“C'mon Historia.” You flip over to your stomach. “You know you can tell me anything. Hit me with it.”

“Well, you've kinda been doing the same thing. Giving mixed signals. You haven't made a move with Jean either, have you? Not since you went to see the ice sculptures?”

Your body tenses. Historia is right. You're just as guilty.

“No,” you answer with force. “I think I used up my bold moves that night.”

“What if you just tell him how you feel?”

“What if I just walk into five lanes of traffic?”

Historia says your name in an exasperated tone.

“What! It'd basically be the same feeling,” you defend.

“You asked my opinion and I gave it.”

“Ugh, yeah I know. It's almost unfair how much Ymir has rubbed off on you.” Historia rarely called you out on your bullshit, so when she did, you knew it was real. You look at your watch. 6:30 pm. You should be walking to trivia now. “Look, I gotta go. I'll catch up with you later?”

“Sure. Just remember – you deserve better. You don't have to take table scraps from anyone.”

You cringe, knowing exactly what Historia is referencing. She held you while you cried after the guy you dated for a year in college dumped you out of the blue because he “just didn't see a future together.” It should've been obvious from the beginning since he hardly ever made an effort to see you. Though it was a couple years ago, the old wound still aches sometimes. Historia and Ymir were your emotional stitches, but there was still a scar.

“Yeah, I know,” you say softly. “Anyways. Say hi to Ymir for me?”

“Always,” Historia says.

~ ~ ~

You rush through the bar doors knowing you're a little late. Trivia hasn't started yet, but all of your new friends are already seated with a drink in front of them. A few perk up to wave and greet you.

“Sorry guys!” You apologize and unwrap your scarf. Trost has slowly been warming up but it's still snowing. You're a little sweaty from running over despite the cold.

“No worries, saved you a seat!” Sasha leans back to wave at you from the middle of the table.

“Thanks,” you breath and take off your hat. You attempt to smooth down your hair while you take a seat next to Sasha. You turn to your left and -

It's Jean.

Of course. Sasha purposely saved you a seat between her and Jean.

Jean is wearing a light purple t-shirt. You've never seen him in a t-shirt before. His biceps are well defined and somehow still tanned despite it being winter.

“You good?” He asks you and tilts his head. You blush, not realizing how hard you were staring.

“Yeah, you uh, have paint on your shirt.” You poke a yellow splotch on his chest and wonder if his chest is as well defined as his biceps. And maybe something else is well defined – no no no, lord, grant me the strength to stop my unholy thoughts, you pray, though you've never been religious.

“Ah, shit.” Jean looks down and dabs the yellow splotch. “It's already dry.”

“Must've been a good time at the studio today?” You ask, attempting to clear your head.

“Yeah, really good,” he nods. “Actually,” he pauses and bites his bottom lip. He finally makes eye contact with you. “Would you mind coming to the studio sometime soon? Maybe tomorrow or Saturday? I have an idea.”

You raise your eyebrows. “And you need me?”

“Yes.” Jean nods with force. “I figured I should ask this time.”

“Oh.” Surprise ripples through your body. Is Jean asking to paint you? You're flustered, unsure how to respond. On one hand, it's flattering that he wants to use you for inspiration again – and involve you. On the other, it seems far too romantic for “friends.”

Pink flushes Jean's face as he waits for you to respond more. “Ah, never mind, it's a dumb idea.” He waves. “You don't have to.”

“No, I uh -”

“Hey everyone!” Eren calls the group to attention. He sits directly across from Jean. “I want to make a toast.” He wraps his arm around Mikasa, who leans into him and smiles. Her black hair falls like a curtain over half her face. Eren raises his drink in the air and waits for everyone else to follow his motion. “To my beautiful girlfriend Mikasa, whose birthday is tomorrow. And – we just celebrated our one-year anniversary. I wouldn't have gotten the guts to finally ask her out if it weren't for you all.”

Your friends give a mix of cheering and “awww.”

“Get a room already!” Connie berates the couple.

You grab the glass of water in front of you and raise it in celebration.

But you notice Eren isn't gazing back at Mikasa like you'd expect. No, his green eyes are piercing straight ahead.

At Jean.

Who is staring right back at Eren. Jean's fist shakes under the table, out of sight for everyone except you.

And in that moment, you realize.

Eren's toast isn't meant to praise Mikasa, though that's how almost everyone was interpreting it. No, it's a taunt.

For Jean.

Who nearly blew up when you two ran into Eren and Mikasa at the ice sculptures. Who insisted you were friends. Who backed away from you after the wine bar.

A burning question crashes down on you.

Does Jean has a thing for Mikasa?

Is that why he's avoided a second kiss?

Your stomach twists and stings. You take a small sip of your water as everyone says “cheers” and wishes Mikasa a happy birthday.

Jean's eyes wander over to you. He puts his beer down.

“Oh hey, you're missing a drink,” he points out. He licks a bit of foam off his upper lip. “Can I grab you anything?” He jabs his thumb at the bar behind him.

“No, I don't want anything,” you say and cross your arms. Jean raises his eyebrows at your curt, yet polite tone.

“Ah, okay.” He turns away and chats with Reiner on his other side. You're actually dying for a drink. Something to dull your senses would be fantastic, but you sit through all the trivia rounds without getting anything out of sheer stubborn will.

It's not about the drink, of course.

Jean doesn't try to talk to you again. It's as if you've built a wall in between the two of you.

And that's how it should be. How it needs to be. You can't delude yourself any longer.

You and Jean are just friends.

Just. Friends.

~ ~ ~

Connie is once again crashing your weekly movie night with Sasha. Though the two of you don't mind too much, you have one rule for Connie: no complaining about the movie choice.

“The Devil Wears Prada? Haven't you seen this a million times?” Connie holds up the battered DVD case like it's the sandwich Sasha forgot under the couch last week.

“Uh uh uh!” You wag the knife you're using to cut green bell peppers at him. “You know the rules, no complaining about our movie choice.”

“Especially since you weren't even invited,” Sasha's voice drips with acid as she gives him the side eye. Beside you, she continues rolling out the pizza dough. Friday night movie nights were your idea – a relaxing night in to recover after the chaos of Thursday night trivia with your new friends.

“Alright, fine fine.” Connie collapses into the couch cushions. “Why do you two like this movie so much anyways?”

“Because!” You erupt, throwing your hands in the air, one of them still wielding the knife. “It's the early 2000s rise of girl boss feminism. Miranda, who symbolizes white girl capitalism, is made out to be the main villain. She is a villain, but the real one, the one we didn't see when we were young, naive girls is Nate – the evil boyfriend who hates Andie for exploring fashion and her feminine side. But!” You pause for dramatic effect. “Andie is also a problem as she trades her relationships for capitalist success. In this essay I will. . .” you trail off and smirk.

“Sheesh,” Connie mutters. “Didn't realize this was an English class. No wonder you and Jean get along.”

“You don't have to be here,” you remind him and ignore the comment about Jean.

“Ugh. Lemme see what our dear Jeanboy is doing tonight.” At the mention of Jean's name, you peer over to watch Connie pull out his phone while you slice another bell pepper.

A sharp sting rips through your thumb.

“Agh!” You yell and pull your thumb away from the knife and cutting board. Distracted by the mention of Jean, you had sliced your thumb instead of the pepper. Sasha grabs a wad of paper towels and hands them to you. You squeeze down on your thumb and blood soaks through the paper towels.

“You good?” Sasha places an arm around you and guides you to sit on the couch next to Connie.

“I think so?” You answer, but your shaking voice tells another story.

“Let's see. . .” Sasha peels back the bloody wad with a gentle touch to reveal a deep cut. Your skin is split wide open and gushes blood.

“Yuck.” Connie leaps off the couch. “That looks nasty. Want me to call Marco? I don't think he's working tonight.”

You shrug, unsure if your cut actually needs stitches. Connie dials up Marco regardless of your indecision.

“Hey Marco – we need your man nurse skills . . .what, no! Not for me.” He clarifies that it's for you.

“Is this a regular occurrence?” You ask Sasha.

“Connie has abused Marco's skills so many times,” she laughs. “He refuses to help him anymore. You're a first timer though, so I'll bet anything he'll be over soon.”

Sure enough, Connie announces that Marco will be over in a few minutes.

“Anyways,” he flops back onto the couch, “I'll stick around until then at least.”

“Good call, literally,” you say.

Your mind wanders back to the reason you were so distracted. Heat rises to your face as you realize these are the safest people to ask what you've been wondering about Jean – and Mikasa.

“Hey. . . can I ask you guys something?”

“Sure!” Sasha beams and wraps another layer of paper towels around your thumb. Connie scrolls aimlessly through Instagram.

“About Jean . . . did he and Mikasa ever. . .you know?” You dance around your question, unsure of how to phrase it. Connie's head jerks up. Your heart pounds in anticipation. Did they date? Did they fuck? You gnaw on the inside of your cheek.

“Mmm, I'm not really sure,” Sasha muses and avoids eye contact. “Jean definitely had a thing for her when they met a couple years ago, but obviously nothing came of it.”

“But nothing happened – at all?” You press.

“Jeanboy doesn't kiss and tell,” Connie sighs. “I asked him once and he almost punched me. So if something did happen, we don't know. He's no fun.”

“Maybe you could ask Marco?” Sasha lightens up. “Those two have been tight forever. He's the only one that would know for sure.”

*knock knock*

“Speak of the devil,” Connie says and gets up to grab the door. “Marco, you've come to save her from bleeding out!”

Marco steps through the door with a small kit in hand.

“Hey,” Marco breathes your name and shivers from the lingering cold. “What happened?” He asks as he strips off his coat. Red from the bitter cold is spread across his freckled face.

“I uh, had an incident with a knife,” you explain and hold out your thumb. Marco walks over to you and Sasha on the couch. You realize he's almost as tall as Jean because as he kneels in front of you, he can still make level eye contact. With a gentle touch, he peels back the paper towel to reveal your wound.

“Yikes,” he frowns, “you're definitely going to need stitches.”

You involuntarily cringe.

“Alright, two options,” Marco continues and sits back on his heels. “I can take you to the urgent care I work at, or if you really trust me, we can do it here.”

“Ten out of ten recommend Doctor Marco!” Connie yells from the kitchen as he rifles through the cupboard for snacks.

“Not a doctor,” Marco mutters and shakes his head. “Anyways, I can do stitches in my sleep, but I can understand if you'd rather go to urgent care.”

“No, I trust you. Plus, I really don't fee like dropping a couple hundred dollars on stitches.” Ironically, the clinic you worked at didn't offer a very good health insurance plan.

“Sounds good,” Marco smiles. “Bathroom okay?”

“Yep.” You stand up and “Woah. . .”

Purple dots cloud your vision. Cotton balls fill your ears.

“Easy there.” Marco grabs your waist to steady you. “Hey Sasha? Connie? Can you go grab her some Gatorade or something?”

“On it!” Sasha jumps off the coach and grabs her purple puffy coat. At the same time, Connie whines, “But it's cold and dark out there!”

“C'mon.” Sasha grabs Connie and drags him to the front door. “Our comrade needs our help.”

“Fine,” he mutters and throws his coat on. “Good luck, you better still be alive when we come back.”

You wave to your friends as they leave.

“What's the Gatorade for?” You ask and steady yourself as your vision restores.

“Mostly to get those two outta here, they're kinda distracting.” Marco rubs the nape of his neck. “But you do also look a little pale. Some sugar and electrolytes should help with that.”

Marco grabs two chairs from the kitchen and places them in front of the bathroom sink.

“This shouldn't take too long. First, let's clean it,” he explains and takes out a packet of antiseptic wipes from his kit. He dabs your wound with a wipe and it instantly stings. You hiss and clench your fist. “That's the worst part – and it's over. Do you normally get squeamish around blood?”

“It's not really the blood,” you explain. “It's more like the anticipation.”

“Ah, anxiety?” He asks and prepares for the stitches. “Armin's like that too,” he chuckles. “He practically passed out during our first nursing rotations in school.”

“Wait, Armin was in nursing school with you?” You raise your eyebrows.

“Nursing school yes, but different ones. We were in the same rotation at the hospital though, that's how we met. I invited him to hang out with us and he brought Eren and Mikasa. That's how we all became friends. Armin ended up on the research of side of things instead, which he's much more suited for. He's brilliant. Oh – you might want to put your head down or look away for this.” Marco pauses and gives you a serious look. “It won't hurt much, but we can't have you passing out.”

“Oh, sure.” You comply and turn your head away, placing your chin on your free hand.

“So that means you all met what – your senior year?”

“Yep.” Marco idly confirms. You feel a gentle tugging on your skin.

“Marco . . . can I ask you a question? A personal one?” The tugging on your skin stops. “Not about you though,” you quickly explain.

“Oh.” The tugging resumes. “Sure.” The question burns on your lips.

“Did anything ever happen between Jean and Mikasa?” The burning on your lips blazes to your cheeks.

“Ah.” Marco clears his throat. “I thought you might ask about that.”

“Really?” Surprise ripples through your body.

“Yeah, Jean's been talking about you a lot lately. I figured something was going on. Anyways. . .” he trails off, concentrating on your last two stitches. “What I can tell you is that Jean was really into her when they first met at that party I mentioned.”

Your stomach turns.

“And did anything ever come of it?”

Marco hesitates.

“Look, I don't know if I should be sharing this with anyone -”

“Please, Marco?” You turn and plead with his light brown eyes. You're so desperate for information that a confession doesn't even phase you. “I like him. And I need to know. . . if he's hung up on someone else. I don't want to waste my time. Or get hurt. Please?”

Marco sighs. “Alright. They went on a date. One date.” He finishes off the stitches and avoids eye contact with you. “Jean asked and she said yes. He didn't tell me a ton, but he came home really happy that night. A couple days later, we all hear that Mikasa and Eren are officially a couple. I asked Jean what happened and he just growled at me. That's all I know.”

Your jaw actually drops. You stare at Marco open mouthed. You barely register that he's done with the stitches as he puts his supplies away. “So she went on a date with Jean and then immediately started dating Eren??”

Marco whips back over to look at you. “Oh, but please don't think poorly of Mikasa! She's not a bad person.” Now it's his turn to plead with you.

You remain silent. It's almost unthinkable. Admittedly you don't know Mikasa very well, but she's always seemed like a kind, introverted soul. What would posses her to do something like that? Flashes of anger heat your body despite Marco's insistence. That must've really hurt Jean.

“You really don't know what happened? Nothing at all?” You press your lips together in a tight line.

“No,” Marco shakes his head and stands up. “I wish I did. Jean was pretty bent out of shape about it for a while, but he's not exactly the kind to easily share his feelings.”

“You got that right,” you huff. “Be honest with me – do you think I'm wasting my time with Jean?”

Marco pauses in thought. He leans against the sink and crosses his arms. “No, not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I get the sense he likes you,” he smiles. “But,” his smile disappears, “I gotta be honest, I couldn't say if he's over Mikasa. It's been about a year, so maybe, but like I said, I don't even know everything that happened.” He shrugs. “But I think it's worth talking to Jean about it. Ask him and he'll probably be more honest with you than with me.”

“Sure,” you nod slowly. “It's just that. . . feelings are hard.” Your gaze lingers on your newly stitched up thumb. Telling Jean you like him and asking about Mikasa feels on par with ripping out your new stitches. And pouring more alcohol into the wound.

“Yeah, I get that,” Marco agrees. “I guess it depends on how much he's worth it to you.”

~ ~ ~

The movie night is a perfect distraction from the ulcer growing in your stomach from thinking about Jean. You and Sasha cackle throughout the movie, quoting lines from memory and imitating Miranda's stern look.

“I love my job, I love my job, I love my job.”

“CERULEAN!!”

“Florals? For spring? Groundbreaking.”

Despite Connie's griping, he stays the entire time and as per usual, falls asleep on your couch. After the movie, you crawl into bed and check your phone.

You have an unread text from Jean.

See you tomorrow morning?

You groan. Tomorrow is your scheduled Saturday morning creative date with Jean. Not date, you correct yourself. Your mind wanders back to what Marco said. Was figuring out what's up with Jean worth it to you? With the way he looked at Mikasa and his frustration with Eren, it seemed like he wasn't over what happened – dangerous territory. You weren't in too deep now, you try to convince yourself. You only kissed once. And sure, you're crushing, but crushes fade. You chew on the inside of your cheek, unsure of how to proceed. So you choose to avoid.

I'll have to sit this one out, not feeling great :/

Technically it's the truth. You don't think you'll get much writing done with Jean across the table from you. And you don't feel great – mentally or physically. Overthinking was getting exhausting, and your stitches were aching despite the pain killers Marco gave you. Your phone buzzes.

Ah, that's right, Marco told me about the stitches. That sucks! Do you need anything?

Nope, Sasha's got me covered. Don't need anything.

~ ~ ~

The next few days move at, well – a glacial pace.

You don't write at all.

Your wound under the stitches aches.

You think about Jean and Mikasa the entire time.

On Monday, Jean texts you an interesting article about world building, but you don't respond. In truth, you're dying to talk with him again. You don't realize how much you enjoy his company until you skip your creative date. You miss talking about art and writing with him. You miss that he takes it seriously in a way that your other friends didn't. You miss how open you could be with each other – well, for the most part.

You're taking your lunch break on Wednesday when you get another text from Jean.

Hey, you feeling better? Up for wine and writing/art tonight?

You sigh and tap your fingers over and over again on the table. Maybe the best decision is to cut it off now. The last time you admitted vulnerability, it didn't so well.

After months of dating that guy on your floor in college, you grew tired of only seeing him on his terms. You never felt like you could ask to see him. You were always waiting for him to text you. You even canceled plans with Historia in hopes that he might want to do something. You hated it. You began to hate yourself for how pathetic you became.

So you told him. You told him how you wanted to see each other more. You wanted to actually build a relationship, not just hang out with someone at parties on weekends. Your face burned and your voice shook, but you were proud of yourself for standing up for once.

And then he broke up with you. Right then and there.

And that was it.

You pull yourself back to the present moment and text Jean back.

I have plans tonight, sorry.

Text bubbles pop up and you brace yourself for impact.

Oh, okay.

Your stomach drops. You turn your phone off and shove the rest of your lunch back in the staff fridge. You're being rude to Jean, you know it. You hate yourself for it.

But this is for the best.

~ ~ ~

Once work is finally over, you hop on the train home and stop by the local liquor store. You might not be getting wine with Jean tonight, but you sure as hell want a glass of wine. Or two. Or three. Anything to get Jean off your mind. And with Sasha out tonight with Nicolo, you need a distraction.

As you walk toward the store, you admire at the blush pink sunset. Mid-February is still freezing in Trost, but at least it's now light when you get home, albeit just barely.

You mindlessly roam the aisles until you find the boxed wine section. In college, you and Historia always opted for boxes over bottles. It was the economically smart decision and neither of you were well versed enough in wine to tell much of a difference between a box and a fancy bottle.

Although you prefer a chardonnay, you grab a pink wine knowing that it's Sasha's favorite.

A large hand clamps down on your wrist as you're mere inches away from the box.

“C'mon, you are breaking my heart with that.” You jerk your head up to see what stranger has rudely interrupted you.

But it's no stranger.

It's Jean.

You are quite literally caught red-handed. Or pink-handed.

Despite your internal insistence that you are just friends, that you need to avoid Jean, your heart leaps with affection at the sight of him in his parka and knitted hat. Then your heart squeezes tight with guilt when you remember that you canceled on him tonight – and here you are, at the liquor store getting ready for a night alone.

“Hey, nothing wrong with box wine,” you grin in spite of yourself. You can't help smiling in his presence.

“There is everything wrong with box wine,” Jean groans and tilts his head back, exposing a glimpse of his throat. “I gotta have you over sometime and re-educate you since apparently the wine bar wasn't enough.”

You offer a noncommittal smile in return. “Anyways,” you clear your throat and give your captured wrist a pointed look. Jean releases his grip and you grab the pink box wine. “I gotta get going.”

“Oh, that's right.” Jean adjusts his winter hat, which fails to cover up his lengthening hair. “So uh – what are you up to tonight?”

“Girl's night with Sasha,” you blurt. It's the first thing you think of since she's part of the reason you're getting the pink wine.

Jean frowns. “Doesn't she have a date with Nicolo tonight? He's been telling me for weeks about this concert they're going to tonight.”

“Oh um. . . “ you trail off. Your entire body is frozen like you've stepped outside, blasted by Trost's bitter winter season. Once again, you're caught. You fumble and stutter, struggling to come up with another excuse.

The hurt flashing in Jean's hazel eyes cuts through you like the knife to your thumb. He sees right through your lie.

“Ah.” He rocks back on his heels. “Got it.” He nods and swallows. “Message received.” He turns on his heels and walks away from you.

Desperation surges through your body. You've wounded him, and you want to stitch it up.

“Jean, wait! I didn't mean -” Your protests are useless. Jean has left the liquor store empty handed.

Shit.

You make a bee line to the register to pay for your box wine.

Maybe it'll be four glasses tonight.

18 notes · View notes

constelacionesycielos · 8 months ago

Text

“In your smile the sun, the stars and my love were sprinkled♡”

Escribí una carta de amor para ti

De páginas que susurran secretos

Cargados de historias y también recuerdos

Que guardan en ellas la belleza del universo

Florecida en tu sonrisa y algunos versos.

Eres tú, el caballerito de mis sueños

Que apareció en mis más añorados viajes

Cada vez que cerraba los ojos un momento

Llevando una dulce sonrisa guardada el alma

Y otra, en el resplandor del cielo.

Cuando entendí que el destino podía ser gentil

Deje que mi esencia volase junto al viento

Y en el momentito menos esperado recibí

El calor de una dulce mano que entre sonrisas

Genuinas me invito a recorrer el firmamento.

Eres tú, siempre has sido tú, el otoño que me

enseñó lo amable que podía ser la vida

Entre risitas, tazas de té/café, algunos besos y

también caricias, mientras contemplo en su

mirada, la felicidad de cada amanecer

y el florecimiento de los días♡.

Otoño y primavera, mares y flores, lirios y alhelies, fresas y arándanos, tecito y café, jugos y vino, brownie y chesscake, estrellas y luna, libros y poemas, perros y gatitos, risitas y bromas, caricias y besos, colores y dibujitos en mandarín, naranja y azul, mandarina y maracuya, musiquita de los 80 y pop, lunarcitos y canciones, sonido de las olas y canto de los grillitos♡.

A su lado comprendí, que no importan los diversos colorcitos que conforman nuestra esencia y también vida, las diferencias hacen que nuestro presente sea aun más ¡hermoso! de contemplar, de aprender y también cuidar. Su mundito se convirtió también en mi hogar, donde anhelo vivir el resto de mis días en cada gentil presente que lleguemos a disfrutar♡.

Siempre será un caballerito a quien admiro por su esfuercito, dedicación, perseverancia y sueñitos. Existen un sin fin de cualidades que descubrí por primera vez en su ¡ser! y que he llegado a amar profundamente, incluso aquellas que usted considera <raritas> pues en ellas yacen las gotitas de su alma, también esencia que amo conocer, entre días nublados y también días cubiertos por los rayitos del señor sol, donde sin importar que, siempre permanecerán unidas nuestras manos. Gracias por brindarme de un besito en cada anochecer, por cobijarme entre sus brazos y tararear cancioncitas para brindarme del mejor de los descansos.

Felices ¡once meses, amorcito! marzo siempre será el mes del <florecimiento de la primavera y nuestro corazón> donde conmemoramos entre pinceladas de recuerdos, aquellos pasitos que dimos con paciencia antes de comenzar a recorrer este camino tomados de la mano♡. ¿Se recuerda? es fácil reír y sentir un sin fin de mariposas en el corazón, entre nuestras nochecitas de rave, jueguitos en plato, aventuras y pequeñas citas.

Nuestros corazones se encontraban plenos, mientras avanzaban pasito a pasito hacia un futuro que seguía siendo un secreto, pero que añorabamos que estuviese lleno de colores y gentiles sentimientos. Fue en ese momentito donde el destino dijo “finalmente crecieron cuan plantitas, están listos para ¡tomarse del corazón, entre hojitas y suspiros” y así fue.

Todo se llenó de nuevas tonalidades, en mi corazón comenzó a crecer un cariño inmenso por su personita, por <mi compañero de aventuras> con quien anhelo continuar creciendo día con día, hasta que el ocaso cubra nuestros cabellitos con su radiante brillo. Gracias por abrir un lugarcito en su suave corazón para que pudiese habitar en él, por llenarlo de flores, mariposas, atardeceres y todito aquello que sabe que amo, para que pueda continuar floreciendo, también a su ladito.

Fue a su lado que comprendí que un <te-amo> pueden ser expresado de la forma más genuina y significativa, sin esperar un momentito exacto, convirtiéndose en un jardincito donde se van coleccionando momentos entre sonrisas y besos. Soy feliz de contemplar en cada despertar esos ojitos somnolientos, una sonrisa tan dulce donde nacen nuevos versos y aquellos lunarcitos que cubren de nuevas galaxias su piel con aroma a otoño.

Se que las palabras nunca podrán expresar el sin fin de sentires que compartimos en cada momentito, junto a Asthon, Dorothy y aquellos seres que nos acompañan en este caminito, pero espero dejar entre pizcas espolvoreadas de amor, mi profundo sentir por usted.

Los dientes de león lo trajeron a mi, por eso viven en mi corazón como el poema más bello~ ¿le gustaría seguir coleccionando flores, caracoles de mar, hojitas y sueños, este nuevo tiempito?♡.

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sunlightandsuffering · 1 year ago

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Recently started doing spin classes! They are fun, would recommend! But lol, I couldn't get spin instructor Mikasa out of my mind and then I thought, I don't need to start another AU and it sort of fits with size queen Mika, so why not!

It’s been a whirlwind and Eren honestly doesn’t know how he got talked into this, but Historia is standing next to him, practically bouncing in place in a pair of tight little biker shorts and a baby pink bra.

Her eyes are as bright as stars, he can practically feel the excitement emanating from her, feeding off all of the other participant’s energy. “I can’t wait for you to meet her! For you to enjoy the class, it’s amazing you’re gonna love it!”

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Eren grumbles, trying his very best to keep his eyes from wandering around the lobby as they wait for the instructor to open up the door to the darkened spin classroom. She’s a friend of Historia’s, Mika or something? He’s never met her, but Historia’s been raving about her for the past month or so, and he hasn’t shut her up because he’s been sulking. He's still pissed about his most recent rejection, actually, his only rejection.

Just the thought pisses him off, the hot grey-eyed girl rejecting him simply because his dick was of all things, too big? Unhinged.

He needs to move on, and there’s no place better than a spin class made up of almost entirely women, most of them his age, and with bodies that are consistently stealing his attention. There’s a blonde girl a few feet away who keeps making eyes at him as she locks up her locker, and Eren is seriously considering dropping off his number after class. But even as he considers it he knows he won’t, because as humiliated as he is about it all, no matter what he does he cannot for the life of him get that girl out of his head. The lithe little body, the way she’d spoken to him, all soft and sweet, the plush of her ass cupped in his hands as he’d pressed her up against the wall, how she’d tasted…

“Eren!” Historia snaps, “Stop ogling girls and put your biking shoes on, it’s almost time to go in.” Ugh.

“Fine,” he groans, putting his own sneakers in a locker, and putting on the weird biking cleats they’d handed him upon entrance to the little studio. He’s never been too particularly keen on biking, but with the way Historia’s been raving about the spin classes and the fact that Ymir had firmly refused to go ever, he’d been her next victim. And like any other sap he’d ended up saying yes after some puppydog eyes and a promise of lunch if he didn’t like it.

The door to the room opens up and Eren follows Historia in dutifully, where she takes him to two bikes in the back row, helping him set the proper height and clipping his shoes into the pedals.

The room is large, two rows of bikes set up on different levels, all facing a large mirror and one bike in the centre, raised on a higher platform where Eren can see Historia’s friend, their instructor setting up. He can barely see her in the dark of the studio, the only light provided by the backlit mirrors and the array of moving LED bulbs overhead that move with different patterns and colours every few seconds, barely providing enough light to see much at all as they glow blue. It's a cool atmosphere he’ll give them that, and chilly as the fans sweep by him, but he’s sure to have one hell of a workout, he can already tell he’s going to suffer. The instructor peppy as people filter in, greeting everyone with cheerful ‘Hello’s’ and sentiments about being mindful and girlpower, making the most out of their workout, all that usual personal trainer crap he’s used to. So far, as he warms up on the bike, pedaling absently, he’s not super impressed with her. He doesn’t know what Historia was raving about. But then, as the rest of the class gets set up on their bikes, the overhead LED’s colour yellow, finally providing enough light for him to really see the girl Historia’s obsessed with. And to his horror, he knows exactly who it is, that pretty face engraved in the deepest parts of his brain, that lithe little body that haunts his dreams, perky tits that are compressed tightly in her sports bra, the line of her abs dipping into her tight biker shorts, fuck. “Good morning riders! I’m Mikasa and I’ll be your instructor this morning,” she tells the room airily, speaking over the mic attached to her headset as she starts riding, “I hope you’re ready for a great workout, let’s rock this Friday together!” Eren proceeds to have one of the most grueling workouts he’s ever had in his life, he doesn’t even have time to have dirty thoughts about the hot instructor he wants so badly to fuck it’s been haunting him for weeks. No, he’s too busy suffering as her cheery voice tells him to push harder, turn the resistance on the bike up, pedal more, just one more race!

By the time the class is over, and the lights are being turned on again, he’s a pathetic slump on the bike, struggling to unclip his cleats from the pedals and Historia cackles as she helps him remove himself. Here he thought he was in shape, how very humbling.

“I’m gonna go say hi to Mikasa,” Historia pipes up as Eren steps off of his bike, grabbing for his towel to wick away some of the embarrassing amount of sweat he’s got going on right now. He nods at her, barely listening, his eyes too intent on said girl now standing at the front of the room, slowly extricating herself from her headset.

Mikasa.

What a name, beautiful, elegant, just like her, it suits her perfectly. Mikasa, the one who got away.

He’s hit with the insane urge to say it out loud, let it flow from his lips, knows the edge of it would be addicting, that he’d want to say it all the time, for the rest of his life.

Eren presses his lips together tightly as he approaches the front of the class where Historia is excitedly praising Mikasa for a great class.

Get your shit together Yeager!

He’s about to confront the girl of his dreams, see her again for the first time since she’d rejected him in the cold of his apartment for having an above average sized dick.

It’s show time. He sidles up next to his blonde friend, making himself known and Mikasa’s eyes flick to him immediately, those familiar greys coloured with soft curiosity.

He waits for a moment as she takes in his presence, Historia saying something next to him, probably some kind of introduction and he keeps waiting, hoping, expecting something, anything, some kind of reaction. And yet there is nothing, no hint of familiarity in her eyes as she thrusts out her hand, a pretty smile overtaking her face, flashing pretty white teeth in the dim light of the room, “Hi, I’m Mikasa, nice to meet you Eren.”

She has no fucking clue who he is, not even a hint of recollection.

He takes her hand numbly, his much larger hand grasping firmly over hers, gripping warm soft palms, a bit sweaty with the heat of the workout, delicate unblemished fingers, such a stark contrast to his own.

He swallows, his throat suddenly dry as he warbles out some pathetic response, “Nice to meet you Mikasa.” In some ways, saying her name is a relief, but in others it’s a death sentence, because as the musical ‘a’s slip from his lips, her eyes sparkling as he pronounces it so perfectly on the first try, he gives a name to the monster that haunts his dreams. The pretty little five foot seven waif of a girl that could simultaneously knock him on his ass and be crushed in his arms has a name.

Mikasa Ackerman, she tells him, batting her eyelashes and gushing over the fact that he’s one of the first boys to attend her classes.

Here she is, the beautiful lithe little Spin instructor that is going to ruin his life.

#lys's drabbles #size queen mikasa

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