#if you want the key to the bad pun names it's in the end notes on ao3

[mrs-kodzuken]

Can I have a timeskip!Ushijima comfort fic? Like Ushi doesn't understand the concept of skinship like holding hands and hugs so he often shrugs off reader's attempts in skinships, which of course made reader feel sad ㅠㅠ

Thank you and have a nice day! <3

Understanding you ♡

Pairing: Aged up! Wakatoshi Ushijima x fem!reader

WC: 1.6k

Genre: slight angst to comfort/fluff

CW: fem!reader, inexperienced in relationships!Wakatoshi, slight angst from ushi :( , fluff and comfort all in the end :)) , maybe some self deprecation from reader, best friends with tendou, communication is always key

note: thank you for requesting this! I hope it’s up to your expectations, sugar!! <3

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

Being the girlfriend of the Wakatoshi Ushijima was something I didn’t expect would hurt this much. As his girlfriend, I understood the importance of volleyball since it quite literally is his career path. However, being in a relationship is a whole other aspect to think about.

There never really was anything that really stood out to me about his wrongdoings. He always made it to every dinner plan, he didn’t forget the classic month to month anniversaries, he seemed like he was just a gift from heaven.

I knew it was too good to be true when I realized we, or I, was severely lacking in the physical department of our relationship.

Ushijima and I never really got closer within touching or skin-ship distance. That really sucked for me and hurt my feelings since he aced every other aspect of our relationship, no pun intended.

I wasn’t sure if he was just uncomfortable with touching me or if he had some kind of weird feeling about touching me. However, with physical touch being my number one priority of love language I wasn’t sure how to go about telling him my feelings.

Giving Wakatoshi free rein to plan out his schedule, except for date nights, was a must. He is a grown man and I’m not his mother, but I always felt bad when there was something important, like this, to be talked about.

I couldn’t help but to bite my lip as I stared at our private text messages. His contact name, ‘Ushi baby’ stared right back at me whilst I tried to work up the courage to send a text.

Deciding against it, I threw my phone onto my bed and sighed loudly. He was at practice and had a game tomorrow so I didn’t want to bother him or cloud his mind with meaningless things like what I need to talk about.

I couldn’t help to wallow in my own pity. The clock on my white painted walls doing nothing but making the sound of ticking throughout my room which eventually annoyed me enough to leave.

It was around the time for Ushi’s practice to be over and I really wanted him to come over, I just didn’t know how everything would go.

Whenever we had first started dating I got introduced, and interviewed, by Wakatoshi’s best friend, Tendou. And now, Tendou was one of my closest friends so I decided to call the Chocolatier himself for support.

After the phone had rang for three seconds it picked up, “Hello! Hello!” the familiar voice sounded throughout my kitchen.

“Hey Ten! I am in need of advice and company.” I admitted due to the facetime call revealing his apron on with some stains of colors on it.

“Oh really?” He asked, drawing out the ‘really’.

“Yes, really. I need to talk to Wakatoshi, I’m just not sure how. Any ideas?”

“That depends on what you’re going to talk to him about. Saying the wrong thing could make him easily misunderstand what you mean and vice versa.” Tendou tried to poetically explain, as if I didn’t already know that.

“Yeah, thank you so much,” I rolled my eyes, “I’m feeling a bit.. lonely in our relationship lately. I need more physical affection from him and I’m not sure how to really bring it up because times that’s happened before.”

That little spill from me made memories pop up into my head of Ushijima rejecting my attempts for physical love.

I could only remember how he shrugged himself away from holding my hand or kissing me after I brought him a well-balanced lunch meal one day during practice.

I never felt more embarrassed or ashamed in my life. My own boyfriend rejected my advances to give him, and to receive love from him in front of his entire team.

It wasn’t the only time that that had happened. I tried doing it behind closed doors just in case he didn’t like publicly displaying affection. However, that didn’t work either when he moved away from me one night after being out to dinner.

From that point on it’s just been messaging, very little facetime, some phone calls, and occasionally visiting each other’s apartment. I wasn’t sure how to proceed with this, and I certainly didn’t think it was anywhere near enough to breaking up.

However, that doesn’t mean he didn’t hurt my feelings nor have been continuing to hurt them. Whether on purpose or not.

With Ushijima being a member of the Schweiden Adlers, I knew some of his teammates and occasionally talked with them about how my boyfriend was doing time to time.

However, I couldn’t help to not reach out to them within the last couple of weeks. I didn’t have the courage to confidently ask about him.

Tendou’s voice brought me back to where I needed to be, which was having this conversation to communicate my needs across to him.

“And since knowing him for a while helps my understanding, I think a simple conversation would do the trick. Honestly, I’m not sure why you called if you knew that too?” He questioned me, eyes peering dangerously close to mine through the tiny phone screen.

I bit my lip, “It’s just… he has a game tomorrow. I don’t want to ruin that by spouting dumb nonsense about how I’m not feeling this or that from him.”

Growing up, I’ve always considered other peoples thoughts, opinions, feelings before mine. It was just the kind of person I was, and now it hurts me the most when I need to express myself.

“Girl. Fuck that game.” He rolled his eyes at me.

“Yes Wakatoshi loves his career and it’ll always be there but you’re something in his life that can disappear at any moment. I think he’d want to know,” Tendou tried reasoning with my dumb logic as he pointed a wooden spoon in my direction.

I gave up. I knew in the back of my mind that Tendou was definitely right and I wasn’t but it was my own self that was keeping me from doing what I needed to do.

“Alright, I think I’ll ask him to come over tonight then.” I tried to say confidently after I made up my mind of what needed to be done.

“Great! When I’m in Tokyo next I’ll be sure to bring a little something for you and him.” Tendou winked at me before ending the facetime call.

That only left me to do one thing, text my boyfriend. I quickly sent him a text asking if it would be okay for him to come over after practice.

My nerves were all over the place as I waited for the tall, olive haired man to show up at my place.

Soon the door bell brought me out of my mind trance and when I opened the door I saw the one and only Ushijima.

“Hey Toshi, come in,” I widened the door after taking a good look at him.

It seemed like he came here right out of practice, he was still in his whole practice uniform. His usual stoic face didn’t change once I sat down on to my living room couch.

“Is something the matter, (Y/n)?” He bluntly asked, getting straight to the point with me.

I took a deep breath to prepare myself, “Yes, Toshi. There is something the matter. My feelings are hurt and have been hurt for a while due to the lack of physical touch in our relationship.” I paused for a moment to look over his face.

He seemed to be intently listening on every word I was saying which gave me the impression to keep going.

“I just want more skin ship with you like hugging, kissing, hang holding, or even just sitting beside you with arms touching. I feel deprived of that because you seem to always move away when I try to initiate it. Is there a reason or..?” I trailed off, finishing what I was saying and asking a question to see his side.

“I’m sorry for making you feel that way, (Y/n). I don’t understand the idea of that. It makes you feel more loved than usual?” He asked, trying to work around in his head of what I had mentioned.

“Well, yes. Without it I feel upset or rejected by you sometimes.” I hung my head low a bit, it was embarrassing having to discuss this. However, I was always one to get embarrassed or ashamed at anything I needed.

“I will try, for you.” He promised, his large hand reaching over to me and placing it on my knee. He was very warm and it traveled through my body.

I smiled a bit, “Thank you, I really appreciate it. I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.”

I scooted closer to him on the couch and he gave me his one million dollar small smile that I love. His arms wrapped around my shoulders whilst I hugged his torso. His lean but built, very built, body touched my soft one, I loved this feeling.

We stayed like that for a minute, nothing heard but the low volume of my living room TV and our breathing.

“Thank you, Toshi. I really appreciate that you’ll try for me.” I pulled away, already missing the hug but needing to say that to his face.

“Of course, love.” His hand came up to caress my face and I leaned into his touch.

The aching in my heart and body went away after discussing that with him. It was all just a bit miscommunication which was easily fixed after I expressed what I needed to.

I couldn’t be more content.

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a/n: I hope you enjoyed anon!! I’m terrible at writing for Ushijima but thank you for helping me extend the people I can write for :))

you all know my header rules, if not see pinned post!!

[thesinglesjukebox]

††† - "INVISIBLE HAND"

Claire recommends a Deftones/Far superduo with an ungoogleable name. (Literally! "Your search - "†††" - did not match any documents.")

[6.09]

Ian Mathers: Wait, is ††† just Chino from Deftones doing noisy synthpop? Did I forget about this? Was I not informed? [8]

Claire Biddles: This time last year, ††† released a cover of George Michael's "One More Try", a swoony bit of December melancholia that also served as a direct acknowledgement of inspiration. Much like Nine Inch Nails' Trent Reznor, Chino Moreno has always carried Michael's influence in his vocal performance, and no more so than in his work with †††, his Depeche Mode-ish duo with producer Shaun Lopez. In "Invisible Hand", Moreno's croons are propelled by internal drama, lifting and surging in the middle of words. His lyrics are either enigmatic or nonsense, depending on one's position, but the song itself is dense with narrative. Lopez switches modes and textures with every verse, laying a sheet of synths only to shoot through it with ten-foot-tall industrial drops; stabs of synthesised voices are weaponised; glass shatters as if in a locked room. Listening to the song, looking at the blue-lit model on the album art, I'm struck by the commonalities between the sheen of '90s/'00s alt-rock and Michael's contemporaneous "adult" period: the thread that links "Spinning the Wheel" and "Digital Bath", ending up with "Freeek!" and "Invisible Hand" -- the kind of industrial that isn't made from scrap, but from chrome coated in silk. [9]

Michelle Myers: What kind of Deftones girl are you? I'm from the Saturday Night Wrist era, but I probably would have told you my favorite album was Around the Fur if you were a metal dude I bummed a lighter from at a party in 2007. Anyway, I like this as an album cut, though I'm not sure it stands on its own as a single. Still, nobody does hot, sleazy angst better than Chino Moreno. [6]

Micha Cavaseno: I've said plenty about Chino over the course of my life, so let me go over to Shaun Lopez (or "Slopez" for those of us with far too much familiarity) first. At one point, this guy was a great post-hardcore guitarist, responsible for a number of great records with his band Far. "Love, American Style" and "Bury White" still get regular play from me, and even though that comeback album was bad and his post-Far band The Revolution Smile was some of the worst middle-of-the-road radio rock possible... the guy's had great moments! Chino -- again, I've said so much about my love for the guy! Crosses... ? Always getting worse! Part of it is that Shaun is such an unimaginative producer. So many of these riffs and little digital stabs of "hard clubby synthpop" just come off like the worst sort of adult-oriented electronica. Deftones have been mostly uninspiring to me in the last decade and a half, but if I wanted Chino doing his best faux David Gahan over Phantogram-level cliches, I know he's done better. (Team Sleep was right there! And all their gimmicky electronica was perfectly in vogue with the '00s!). So here I am, begging these men to get off TikTok, stop scrolling through legions of goth girls calling themselves "baby bats" dancing to warmed-over faux-'80s music mislabeled as "darkwave," and get their heads back in the game. [2]

Katherine St Asaph: Chino from Deftones going Dave Gahan mode (NOTE UPON REREADING: pun actually not intended, god) over a song composed entirely of bridges and final choruses. So when the actual bridge and final chorus arrive, they're identical, no more tension to be had. The half-time bit at the end could have gone somewhere. [7]

Nortey Dowuona: I was kinda excited to hear Chino's powerful yet silky voice rise over the swollen stolen valor of the 808 kick by Shaun Lopez, who also provides the newly drowned synth keys and seething guitar. But then they decided to add a Phil Collins drum track throwaway for the chorus. Big sigh. At least it's only a test. [5]

Alex Clifton: When the synths hit in the chorus this is pretty cool, but the rest of the time it feels like a knockoff Imagine Dragons song. [5]

Brad Shoup: The AWOLNATION EP was a dud, so this will have to tide me over for yowling modern rock with self-conscious electronic production choices. (Well, this and the Pumpkins' space opera.) Chino's voice remains a marvel. His sighs still don't feel like shtick, which is why I'm amazed at how much I enjoy them on the chorus paired with bog-standard synthwave. [6]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: An expertly executed take on some shit I really, really don't want to listen to -- every big noise and faux-gothic tone here has clearly been assembled by true appreciators of a dogshit form. The hook soars and the bass breaks the speakers and oh my god this is so tedious. But honestly, I respect it -- relative to the active rock and alternative radio baseline that these guys are pushing up against, this is a masterpiece. [4]

Frank Falisi: That sound is stuck in me. You know the one. [10]

Tim de Reuse: An unnerving, staccato vocal sample and an pleasantly grimy bass stab segue abruptly veer into a competent synthpop cruise. It'd go down smoother if the lyrics reached beyond the vaguest tendencies of early-aughts nu-metal. By their tone I understand that we're not happy, but I haven't a clue what we're supposed to be upset about. [5]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Witches, Chapter 11: I split another giant chapter in half. In this portion, I set up a filler case that exists purely to set the scene and allow me to make up two very bad AA-style pun names; shit hasn’t quite gotten real but it sure is about to; and Athena makes some new friends.

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

----

The Wright Anything Agency isn’t lucky.

Apollo should just expect that from the start. He didn’t, this time, because he trusted Phoenix - that being a loaded statement - to know what he was talking about and assumed - bad idea - that if he bothered to say Tenma Taro would be weaker at midsummer, then there was some chance of waiting. That it would lay low to wait out the fervor of the trial and the attention turned toward the Vale. That it wouldn’t wreak havoc immediately.

But they’re just a few days into May when the office phone rings with a call from a young woman who lives in Tenma Town and has been charged with robbing her prior place of employment. “Jinxie Tenma gave me your number,” she says, in between sobs, “and said you would believe me th - that - that I think Tenma Taro did it.”

“Of course we believe you,” Apollo assures her. Athena stands on her chair, propping herself on her desk, leaning forward to listen. With her ears, she can probably hear the other end of the line just fine. She might also be able to hear Apollo’s - not doubt, exactly, or disbelief, but the uncertainty he keeps feeling over Tenma Taro. None of them have seen it. They have Filch’s word, and they all know he wasn’t lying, but could he have been mistaken? Could Phoenix’s fae ‘friends’ have been mistaken in what they thought Phoenix was asking them about?

(He doubts it, but he still doesn’t think he knows well enough what they’re getting into.)

Athena searched all of LA’s used car lots for one that was yellow - “I’m like the cab driver for all of you at the agency, and also I just love yellow” - and with a new-old car they take the well-worn path back up to Nine-Tails Vale. Tenma Town is perched a little higher up the valley but has a similar old-fashioned cobblestone vibe, though some more modern office buildings dot the streets here and there. The town square is centered on a large fountain and a statue that Apollo doesn’t think is Tenma Taro, but it’s birdlike enough that it evokes that image. 

Their client, Isabella Pyrria - picked up overnight, released on bail in the morning, returned home, and called them as soon as she made it back - is still teary-eyed when they meet her at a bench by the fountain. She explains that she likes to go on walks in the evenings and her favorite route goes past the antiques store she was fired from at the beginning of April, and she hadn’t bothered to change her route because a lot of cool moths congregate under the awning at the cafe next door. She pulls out her phone to show them pictures. Athena nods at each photo, solemnly and knowingly. “I’m more of a marine mammals person myself,” she says, “but I like the fuzzy ones and their…” She holds her hands to her forehead, two fingers raised on each, and wiggles them. “Antenna. What’re your favorite animals, Apollo?”

“Can we get back to the case, please?” he asks.

Isabella swears to them that when she passed by the store sometime around 10 pm, there was nothing wrong. She didn’t stop long to investigate this spring’s batch of caterpillars, because she was trying to get to the corner store before it closed, because she hadn’t had anything for dinner. She made it there, stayed until closing chatting with the owner and petting the bodega cat, and when she came back out she heard the sirens and saw the police cruiser lights. 

The antique store’s security camera, mounted outside above the door, broke two months ago and was never fixed, but only employees knew this. Security tapes from cameras outside other buildings further down the street in both directions showed she was the only person who had passed by either. Anyone walking to the antiques store would be spotted by either of those.

“But Tenma Taro doesn’t have to walk,” Isabella says. “It could just fly straight down and land in front and not be seen.”

“Why would a yokai rob an antiques store?” Athena asks. “Why would a yokai rob anywhere?”

“To cause chaos?” Apollo suggests. What do yokai even do - they’re all so very individual? He did some cursory internet research but couldn’t find anything on Tenma Taro; it might as well have just come out of nowhere here in California. The scroll Jinxie said was the only image of it really is only one of two, the Forbidden Chamber scroll showing the gold ore being the other. 

“I don’t know why anyone would rob that antiques store,” Isabella says, toying with the hair tie around her wrist. “It’s got pretty stuff but it’s all cheap. There’s nothing worth taking there.”

Her fingers, plucking at the hair tie and smacking it against her wrist, are illuminated red. “Ms Pyrria,” Apollo says. “Are you being fully honest with us? There really isn’t anything that you or anyone would want to take?”

She lowers her eyes to her hands. “We did have, um, a coupon deal with a really good pizza place over in the Vale. Supposed to give one out with every purchase but I kinda just, um, took a whole bunch once I got fired. But that was it.”

That looks true. Apollo glances to Athena, who nods with a secondary confirmation. Okay. They’ve got this much figured out. Now to the scene of the crime.

The antique shop’s windows are shattered, everything that was displayed in them cracked and shattered across the floor inside and the sidewalk outside. Athena leans into the window to examine a typewriter. “You don’t think there could’ve been some kind of magic artifact in here that it wanted to get?” Apollo asks. “Something languishing as just a normal family heirloom that someone dumped off here?”

“Ooh, maybe,” Athena says. “I guess they’d probably have to take inventory to really find out if stuff’s missing, and this is uh - big mess.” She points with her thumb at the police tape across the doorway. “Can we just head in?”

“Er—” They should probably introduce themselves to a detective first, lower the chances of being yelled at once they’re inside. Apollo glances in through the doorway, hoping to catch sight of anyone in there investigating. Maybe most of the investigating already happened? “I guess…?”

Before he’s really finished saying it, Athena ducks under the tape and heads inside. Apollo lifts it up to follow her. If he’s honest with himself he’s not sure what he hopes they can find. Feathers again, maybe? The interior of the shop is densely packed with tables and shelving upturned and overturned, and what would have once been a clear path or two through are cluttered. Apollo steps over a tall wicker flower stand, lying on its side, and a pillow that was probably hand-embroidered. Athena has stopped with her neck craned to the side, reading the titles of the few books still left on a shelf. 

Oh, this is going to be rough, to stay focused, when this isn’t a murder and there’s not a particular area, the place where a body was, the place where the killing happened, to hone in on. He’s defended a smattering of other cases between the large nightmarish ones that weren’t murders, but neither did they have very complicated scenes. And no co-counsel distracted by knick-knacks, either. 

“Athena,” he says. She jumps, already having become engrossed. “We should probably give the whole place a once-over, see if anything jumps out, find a detective to talk to, and then we can try and look for anything else that—”

“Hey!” A woman’s voice cuts through the stillness, a loud, indignant squawk. “Who’s in here? This is a - oh! Yo! Apolly!”

Athena’s eyebrows rise and disappear beneath her bangs. “D-Detective Faraday?” Apollo asks, turning around and unable to look for her due to making sure he doesn’t place his feet on anything breakable. 

“Long time no see!” Kay chirps, with an air of familiarity that far surpasses the scant two times they’ve actually met. From New Years he’s pretty sure that she gives Y-suffix nicknames to everyone she can, but that doesn’t make it any better when Athena is snickering at him. “I mean, I expected to see you soon, what with Tenma Taro, but not quite this soon. And who’s this?” She extends a hand to Athena. “Hi, I’m Detective Kay Faraday!”

“Defense attorney Athena Cykes!” The two seem to be competing to see who can more enthusiastically shake the other’s hand. “Nice to meet you! What can you tell us about the case so far?”

Laughing brightly, Kay shakes her head, her black hair flying everywhere. “I’m not Emmy,” she says. “I’m not just gonna purposely give up the prosecution’s whole case right here. Besides.” She props her hands on her hips. “Tonight we’re going hunting for Tenma Taro anyway, and I’m sure you’ll get enough accidental stuff from us on how we totally believe yeah, it’s that big ol’ turkey causing trouble.”

Athena asks who “Emmy” is, and as Kay explains Ema and her general lack of concern for prosecutorial secrecy, Apollo picks his way through the mess to a door left ajar in the back, into a smaller, even more cluttered room, where none of the objects still left on the shelving have price tags. Prosecutor Debeste stands wedged between a rocking chair and a dresser with a shattered mirror, his upper body twisted awkwardly to give him room to move his arms and jot something down in a little notebook. “Where’s the line between antiques and junk?” Apollo asks, deciding that there is no good way any further into this room, and since he can see most of it, he should probably just stay planted here in the doorway.

“How much it sells for, maybe?” Sebastian offers up weakly. “Is this a trick question?”

“I guess it is, since I don’t have an answer.” Apollo has difficulty trying to survey the room; there’s too much going on, too much clutter that keeps drawing his eye one way and then another, and it takes longer than he thinks it should for him to notice the deep scratches in the wall. Three rivets straight down, tearing apart the wallpaper and wood, about two inches in between them, spaced like claw marks. “Do you have an explanation for that?” he asks, pointing to it.

Sebastian shakes his head and his glasses slide down his nose. “Not really a plausible one besides ‘giant bird monster’. The defendant could persum - presumably have made them with something she found laying around here, there’s some old farm tools kinds of things, but then the question is—”

“Why bother?” 

Sebastian nods sharply. “Exactly. It’s not a message or any code or something that the shop owner recognizes, and it would be a waste of time with more chance to be caught. And with—” He points down, in front of Apollo, and Apollo examines the floor to see more gashes in the wood, of the same spacing as those on the wall, like a giant bird-monster walking about on its talons. “That, too.” 

And maybe someone’s trying to frame a yokai for the crime, again, play on those fears, but it seems like even more effort to go to. “Is there anything noticeably missing?” Apollo asks. Plenty could be not-so-noticeably missing, all kinds of little knick-knacks, but that can’t be the purpose - no one is going to rob a store for 25-cent porcelain cat figurines. “Cash register, or any large or valuable stuff?”

“The register hadn’t been touched,” Sebastian says. “No fingerprints, nothing missing. The only thing the owner noticed so far and told me is that back here she had - she said it was a weird-looking stone she’d never figured out a price for because she didn’t know what it was or was made of. She said it was roughly” - he holds up his hands, less then a foot apart, and cupped toward each other. “And shaped like a six.”

Apollo’s stomach sinks, which has become a very familiar sensation in this kind of context. “A magatama?” he asks, pressing a hand to his forehead. He knew this wouldn’t be a normal case. It’s still going terribly. “A large magatama? That would be reason enough for Tenma Taro to break into a random human establishment, more than just scaring the townspeople.”

“If I were trying to scare the town, I’d hit up more than one place,” Athena says. She leans against the doorframe and peers in, as Kay attempts to squeeze in around her and past Apollo. “Just make it a random selection, no pattern, and not attack everywhere. Leave some dread that I’ll come back and get some of the people I spared before.”

“Dread’s a key part,” Kay agrees. “Especially drop some warning in advance, not enough for anyone to be able to stop you, but just enough to make them all anxious and freaked out waiting for the worst.”

“Okay, so you’re both evil,” Apollo says. Athena chortles and Kay breaks into full cackling. “That’s probably a good thing for me to know ahead of time, before we get any further on this.”

“Before we venture into the woods in the dark with them, you mean,” Sebastian says.

“In the dark?” Apollo repeats. “In the—”

“We’ve got, uh, ‘sources’,” Kay says, making the quotation marks with one hand, while in the other she holds and examines a teacup that had managed to survive the initial catastrophe. “Informants who’ve been keeping an eye out to make sure things don’t go belly-up without us knowing.”

“Like other detectives or officers or something?” Athena asks, with a few wide-eyed blinks of confusion. 

“Something,” Sebastian agrees. Apollo makes a note to himself to look out for crows. “But we know Tenma Taro doesn’t emerge during the day. You’ll have time to investigate in town; Ms Teak, the shop owner, went out for lunch but she told us she would be coming back, uh…” Sebastian checks his watch, pushing apart his sleeve and his glove to get to its face. “Soon? She lives above the shop, which is how she knew about the crime so quickly.”

“We should definitely talk to her, then,” Athena says. “And then at sunset we’ve got a whole new investigation to start!”

-

Ms Teak is a short, white-haired old lady who invites Apollo and Athena up to her living quarters above the shop, offers them tea, and insists that they call her “Auntie” even after they tell her they are Isabella’s lawyers. “That girl,” she says with a sad shake of her head, nearly spilling the tea that she pours for Athena, and Athena almost jostles the pot out of her hands eagerly trying to reach over and steady it. “She’s a sweet girl, but her head’s so far up in the clouds at the best of times. I just couldn’t keep rebalancing the register because she got her math all wrong. Or I’d tell her where to go clean and find an hour later she hadn’t done anything because she’d started with dusting the bookshelf and started thumbing through the first book to catch her eye. Cookies, dears?”

“Er, no thanks,” Apollo says at the same time Athena says, “Sure! Thank you very much!”

Depending on what sorts of witnesses she takes this offer from, she might end up in big trouble; but Apollo showed the blackmail letter to L’Belle and he stole it and destroyed it, so maybe he’s not that much better at proper witness protocol. Other subjects that should probably be taught in law school.

“I hate to think that such a sweet girl would be capable of this,” Ms Teak continues, returning to the small round table and setting down a little plate of tea biscuits. All of the decor of the house is mismatched, like it’s all come out of the antiques store at some point or another: a wicker chair next to a polished brown wood one next to a bar stool of almost equal height to the table, a white-and-gold teapot on a blue porcelain saucer, a cutting board shaped like a pig hanging on the kitchen wall visible from where they now sit in the tiny cramped dining area. “I had to let her go, you understand. It simply wasn’t working out. But I’ve got no ill-will toward the dear girl, and I’d hoped she had none toward me. Oh, dear, dear.” She pulls the wicker chair away from the table, that Apollo now can see the green flowered seat cushion and the pillow with an embroidered - opossum? Is that a possum? - resting against the back. 

“How did she react when you told her that you were firing her?” Apollo asks. He watches Athena reach slowly for another cookie, like if she moves slow enough she won’t be noticed, and when she returns it to her mouth she nibbles at it like a squirrel, if a squirrel were nibbling because it realized it isn’t professional or polite to just scarf it down. 

“Oh, the poor thing cried, of course. So embarrassed and ashamed of all the mistakes she’d made. Hated to think she’d failed at anything though I tried so hard to assure her that just because she wasn’t good at some things didn’t mean she wouldn’t find a passion that she could get her head locked into.”

“Yeah, I got a big sense of shame and sadness when she mentioned being fired, too,” Athena says quietly, tapping at the side of Widget. “Definitely not anything vindictive.”

“I do hope you’re right,” Ms Teak says. “I do hope you and that other nice young pair - how old are you? I swear all of you professional-types get younger and younger these days - can make sure she didn’t do it and find who did.” She sighs. “And I’ve got to clean up that mess they made, and I’d just gotten done all my spring reorganizing of the shop done, too.”

“The stone that was stolen from the back room,” Apollo says. “The prosecutor mentioned that. Do you remember where that came from originally?”

“Oh, I had that old thing for years,” Ms Teak replies. “Maybe a decade or more, now. I don’t quite remember when but my memory is sharp that it was Ms Tenma, rest her soul - the mayor’s wife, I mean, dear little Jinxie’s mother - who brought it in, asked me if I’d ever seen anything like it and told me she didn’t want it back, that I was free to sell it or get rid of it however I like. She said she didn’t know what it was either, but it made her so uneasy she wanted it out. Didn’t ask where she got it from, didn’t feel that was my business. Strange things happen in this town, you know.”  

Apollo knows. Apollo knows well that this one of, but not the only, the towns where strange things happen. Ms Teak glares at them over her teacup. “Best not to ask, sometimes.” She says it like advice, a warning. “And I kept telling myself I should get rid of it, but I’ve been so darned curious that I could never make myself ask for a few dollars for it, or just throw it in a river, you understand?” She shakes her head, sending her white curls bouncing. “Maybe whatever it belongs to wanted it back now, and poor Isabella’s lucky she wasn’t walking past at the time it arrived. Though maybe sharp young lawyers like you two don’t believe in that sort of thing?” She raises an eyebrow as she takes another sip of her tea.

“We’re the lawyers who defended Mayor Tenma when he was charged with murder last month,” Apollo says, hoping that the mayor’s popularity has continued to climb, hoping that he was never so hated here in Tenma Town, and that his saying this won’t be a black mark. “We’re, um, familiar with the goings-on around here.”

“That was you?” she asks, surprised, setting down her teacup and saucer. “My goodness. All of those big cases you must get, if the mayor chose you as his lawyers, and here you are up this way for little Isabella.”

“We don’t really—” Apollo begins, because really, it was a lucky fluke that they got to represent the mayor, and luckier that they didn’t entirely blow it, but Athena kicks him in the shin before he can correct Ms Teak on their office’s humble and confusing existence. 

“Thank you darlings oh so much for helping out our little town, once again.”

“It’s our pleasure!” Athena replies, taking another cookie. 

-

“She’s the most pleasant witness we’ve ever had!” Athena says brightly, once they’ve left behind the shop to compile their information back in the sunlight of the street. “What a great chance of pace!”

“You’ve had exactly one case before this,” Apollo says. “You can’t say that like—”

“Like Filch and L’Belle weren’t both terrible?” Athena interrupts. She’s unequivocally correct, of course, even without her knowing that Apollo, after his first case, would have had the same reaction to a cooperative, forthcoming, honest, friendly client; after dealing with Olga Orly, Phoenix, and Kristoph. Apollo would have had this same response, but didn’t, because all of the witnesses in his second case were also terrible. 

She grins at his silence, knowing what it means, and from her skirt pocket produces yet another cookie. 

-

The alderman’s manor and garden are closed to the public of Nine-Tails Vale - and indeed, anywhere else - for the foreseeable future, but Jinxie still has possession of the master key and has been in to clean up and keep dust from gathering. “The alderman’s wife is still in the hospital,” she explains, “but Papa and I went to see her and she told us that she trusted the town was in good hands with us.” She squares her shoulders, a stack of charms still arrayed in her hand, ready to strike, but instead of slapping one onto Apollo’s head she just offers one to him and Athena. “So we can’t let her down!”

Kay sits on the carpet in the foyer with three boxes of pizza and one of breadsticks. “Ms Teak let me and Sebby take some coupons!” she chirps. “I thought it’s important that we all get some food in us before we head out! Sebby’s on his way over, but I flew out here ahead of time to get us food. You’re welcome!” She waves a breadstick at them and Athena enthusiastically flings herself to the floor, Jinxie sinking down with a bit more grace. 

Out the window, the sun is no longer visible, its last vestiges of light barely illuminating the horizon, but the sky is still the light blue of early dusk, nothing that Apollo would yet be worried about roaming around in. Sebastian arrives, with Phoenix and Trucy trailing him, in the blue-black, when several stars are visible along with the moon. “Papa’s up in the Fox Chamber,” Jinxie tells Phoenix. “Trying to get the Forbidden Chamber back in order, make sure it’s all set up.” She offers all three of them warding charms, as she had before. “And he’s talking to the woman who showed up earlier.”

“What woman?” Phoenix asks through a mouthful of pizza.

Jinxie shrugs. “I slapped her with a warding charm when she came in - not one of the protective charms I’ve given you, but one to keep a demon in and stop it from using its powers. And she didn’t mind that so I guessed she can’t be that evil, and Papa has the Nine-Tails to protect him. She’s very pretty - um, she has black hair and was wearing a kimono.”

Oh. That is very unfortunately familiar, too. Phoenix presses a hand over his face and sighs. “Did I do something wrong?” Jinxie asks. “Do you know her?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Phoenix assures her, and after the initial moment has passed, he looks more concerned with whether he wants to finish his slice of pizza. “I know both of the likely options, and there are - there could be worse things. Or people.”

“Mr Wright, do you know how to say things that aren’t cryptic and ominous?” Kay asks. Apollo’s glad he’s not the only one left wondering that question, and that Kay is secure enough to say it out loud, too. Maybe sooner or later Phoenix will get the point, will get tired of hearing it and adapt. Or maybe sooner than that they’ll all be eaten by a yokai.

Jinxie springs to her feet and races up the stairs, calling for her father. She returns two minutes later with Mayor Tenma and a woman who Apollo recognizes, her straight black hair as glassy as ice and her dark, sad eyes. Jinxie was right to take a precaution against her - stuck right in the center of her forehead is a paper charm. “Well, this is a surprise,” Phoenix says lightly, but his posture shifts the moment he sees her, contracting, tightening up from the loose ease he held himself with. When he finishes speaking his mouth has a plastic quality to it, the corner frozen in a lopsided and failed smile. “What are you doing here, Iris?”

He looks so much less comfortable with her here than he did in the office last year, but there’s more people here, more than just Apollo and Trucy to wonder what it is about them, between them. Iris appears no more confident, bowing to Phoenix and never quite straightening up, her hands folded in front of herself, her shoulders turning slightly inward with them. “Since you consulted the Mystic on this matter of Tenma Taro, she was concerned about what may happen to you attempting to reimprison it yourself. Or even with assistance.”

“And I assured Miss… Iris,” Mayor Tenma says, his pronunciation of her name slow and doubtful, like he knows what she is, knows this name is not entirely true to her, “that with the power of the Nine-Tailed Fox, there is little to fear.”

“As I understand.” Iris inclines her head up and to the side, and when her hair swings down and catches the light, as Apollo remembers, it has an auburn sheen. “Understand me, Mayor, that I am not here to tread on your authority, nor to doubt the power of your village’s guardian. When I say that the Fox is weaker than it was when Tenma Taro was first imprisoned, I do not mean that it and you are weak - simply weaker. And there is a ritual to prepare in the Chamber to bind the demon again, and a vast swath of forest to search through. Are we to wait for you to be finished with the Chamber to begin? The Mystic requested of me to keep our friends safe, and that is what I intend to do.”

“I’m surprised Maya didn’t come down here herself,” Phoenix says. “I think I’m overdue for her yelling at me.” He says it tonelessly, with a roll of his eyes, though the implication is obvious, that Maya is one of the fae, and Apollo would never be so casual about having one of the fae angry with him. 

“Oh, don’t worry.” Iris smiles with lips pressed tight together. “She will not forget that she has criticisms of your handling of the past eight years. But we all agreed for this situation that both she and my sweet little sister bear a worrying lack of subtlety that could have unfortunate repercussions.”

“Right,” Phoenix agrees. “Pearls would slap a yokai straight through a house. Take care of that situation but level half the town in the process.”

“Indeed. And I was already in the area, over at Hazakurain, and it was not too far to come over. Sister Bikini’s back has been bothering her more lately and I had thought to offer some assistance to the temple.” Iris’ smile gets a little wider, a little less forced. “She still asks after your well-being, and that of a certain handsome prosecutor as well.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Phoenix’s mouth quirks into an equally small smile, and then he claps his hands together and brings them up in front of his mouth. “All right,” he says. “What’s our plan? Iris? Mr Tenma?”

“I have spent these past two weeks, with the assistance of the Nine-Tails, seeking out Tenma Taro, but he has avoided me,” the mayor explains. “It is my hope that you would be able to assist in flushing him out and driving him to a place that I would be able to finish dragging him back into the Forbidden Chamber.”

“So we are gonna be bait!” Athena says. 

“No,” Phoenix says. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sort of. Tenma Taro’s weak after being locked up for so long - not weak enough to not be a threat, but enough that it’s going to stay the hell away from its old enemy.” A wave of his hand in the direction of Mayor Tenma. “It’s not going to be so cautious when you kids go tromping into the woods. You’d just smell and seem like - people. Traces of magic, yeah, sure, but none of you are foxes.”

“So it’ll just think we’re tasty snacks and not expect us to kick its butt?” Athena asks.

“Tasty,” Trucy repeats. “Magically delicious, you mean.”

Iris giggles. Phoenix sighs and says, “Sebastian, you’re in charge.”

Sebastian freezes, eyes wide and shoulders hunched, his hands twisting around each other. He wears different gloves now than he did earlier; these have the fingers missing, for whatever reason. “Mr Wright, are you sure?”

A witch against a yokai. Apollo doesn’t really know what witches can do, in the abstract, and he certainly doesn’t know what powers Sebastian has - or the when, why, how, of him becoming a witch - but Phoenix must. Enough to have an expectation. “I’m not asking - or suggesting - that you try and fight it singlehandedly, but I think you’d be a big help in keeping it distracted.”

Neither Sebastian’s face nor his posture suggests that he agrees with this assessment. “And, Iris?” Phoenix asks. She doesn’t look surprised, turns her eyes on Phoenix slowly and blinks, waiting. “I’m sure whatever Maya told you was about me, but I’m pretty sure I’d be a liability if I was trying to keep up with everyone else through the woods, and—” 

“Your back pain is and always has been because you sit like a gargoyle,” Iris says. “But you would like me to keep your children from being killed.”

“Well.” Phoenix runs his hand through his hair all the way down to rub the back of his neck. “I wasn’t going to phrase it exactly like that. Those two” - he gestures at Kay and Sebastian - “are Edgeworth’s, not mine.”

“What?” Kay asks. “Mr Edgeworth’s my other dad, but you’re my other other dad! Are you disowning me? Have I been disowned? Why can’t you both be my dads?” She grins. Apollo remembers the conversation he had with Klavier about a particular betting pool.

“I do believe it’s been decided on your behalf,” Iris says to Phoenix. “But, yes, I will make sure none of them come to harm. If—” She frowns, her eyes narrowing, and she rolls them up toward the center of her forehead, as though trying to see Jinxie’s charm still left there. She raises a hand to it and falters, her fingers an inch from the paper. 

“Right,” Phoenix says, and he reaches over and peels the charm off of her head. 

“You can’t take it off yourself?” Trucy asks.

“There would hardly be a point to such a charm if any monster can just remove the bindings from herself,” Iris says. “Perhaps we use that charm ourselves, slap it upon Tenma Taro when we find him.”

“Ooh! I volunteer for that!” Kay bounces up and down and snatches the charm from Phoenix’s hand when he holds it out to her. “I’ll sneak up on him and whack him with it! And then, Seb, you chase it out into the open where the Amazing Nine-Tails can wrestle it back to prison!”

“You should all take some more charms,” Jinxie says, grabbing Trucy’s hands and dealing the paper slips into her palm like a card dealer setting up a game. “Make sure as soon as you see something strange, hit it!” 

“That’s sound advice,” Athena says, nodding sagely.

“That could get you arrested,” Sebastian says.

Athena raises her eyebrows and grins at Apollo. He has to suppress a groan. Somehow, in the madness of everything after, he’d almost forgotten about Athena flinging a police officer through the air. Between that, manipulating information from Fulbright, and Sebastian and Kay being plenty friendly (no matter how Kay tried to pretend she wasn’t giving out information), she’s going to get a very strange idea of what she can get away with.

Iris eyes the pizza crusts that someone left behind in the box, but seeing Apollo watching her, she quickly turns her head away, lifting her chin to feign regal posture.

Tenma Taro is going to kill them all, no question.

[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!

[mxchellesworld]

Discuss!

Spencer Reid x Reader

Synopsis; Where the team discusses the question ‘do you kiss after head’, you find out Spencer has too little experience to answer the question so you help him out

Warnings; smut, oral (male receiving), sub!spencer, praise, slight degradation 

a/n; LMAO im so sorry for disappearing again life has been actually kicking my ass but anyways lately i’ve been thinking about subby early season spence so here we go,, hope you enjoy!

***

Another Friday night and the team was out bar crawling after an easy case. But this time all members were there as it reached 11pm which was rare. Usually Hotch and JJ would have been home by 10:30 and Spencer wouldn’t have been there at all. But there was something light in the air which had all parties concerned sitting packed in a booth, laughing after each sip of their drinks. 

Since it wasn’t your first rodeo together you knew how the night went. It started off with Rossi offering to buy the first few rounds, always whiskey but he made an exception for Penelope. Then again who would deny her anything. 

Once the drinks were flowing and lips got a little loose, the questions would start popping in at the top of your heads. However these were not your run of the mill, ‘hows so and so doing?’ ‘done your taxes yet?’ oh no. The name of the game was discuss where you would all think of a question which would help you dig just a tiny bit deeper into your coworkers sex lives. 

Maybe if you were all sober then you’d avoid thinking of each other in such positions, pun intended, yet in this state your prying minds were open and your stomachs were ready to grow abs from bending over in laughter. 

You raised the margarita glass up clinking it with a fork to get the tables attention. Everyone including Aaron had a smile on their face, ready to hear the intrusive question for the night. 

“Ok my fellow profilers, doctor, and tech genius,” you added pointing at Spencer then Pen, “Do you kiss your partner after they give you head? Discuss!” you finished in your most formal voice. 

Right as you took a swig of your drink the mixed responses of yes and no filled your small space. 

“Why wouldn’t you? You guys especially, if someones willingly trying to swallow then you damn well owe them a kiss,” Emily finished earning nods and ‘exactly’s from JJ, Pen, and yourself. 

“Ok but thats weird. I just can’t explain it but its a no go for me,” Morgan finished. This only gained him a scoff and raised voices, “Hotch man help me out here,” he said looking over to the man hiding his smirk behind the amber liquid. 

“I have to agree with the ladies here Derek,” he said curtly. 

The girls yelped and hooted at Hotch for siding with them while Morgan sat with his arms crossed being the singular person left out as even Rossi agreed. Meanwhile you noticed the presence next to you had shrunk back and wasn’t too active in the conversation. 

“So Spence do you kiss your partner after they,” you trailed off shaking your fist by your cheek and poking your tongue in the side. 

He coughed as he instantly sat up quicker. Even under the dim lights of the bar you could still see the blush creeping up from his neck to his ears and the slightest tint on his cheeks. 

“Oh I uh- I never-” he said looking anywhere but your eyes. 

“You don’t kiss them?” you said raising your brows. 

“No! I-i mean yes. I would I think b-but I haven’t had the chance to actually partake in such.. activities,” he finished finally taking a look into your eyes. 

You could tell he was waiting for you to laugh in his face for being so inexperienced but you felt far from it. If anything you wished you could be the one to show him things. 

That sweet boy had you wrapped around his finger and he didn’t even know it. Maybe it was his naivety considering how exceptionally smart he was. Or maybe it was the cute sweater vests he wore and now he nervously tucked his hair behind his ears. All you knew was that you wanted Spencer Reid and tonight was your night to make it happen. 

You hummed taking in the information, “Well that’s not a bad thing Spence. Everything takes time,” you said putting your hand on his arm for comfort and giving him a smile. 

Going to turn back to face the table you almost didn’t hear Spencer go to speak again, “Do you?” 

Got him.

“Why don’t you find out pretty boy,” you said with a wink as you downed the rest of your marg. In the corner of your eye you could see Spencer shifting in his seat, subtly moving his bag to cover the slowly growing tent in his slacks. 

As the night went by you couldn’t help but really give him a show. You had popped open a button or two on the long sleeve you had on, since it was getting stuffy in the booth. Though when you leaned forward and jutted your chest out, the soft inhale of a breath from the man next to you was just serving as motivation to get bolder. 

For the last hour you called it quits on the alcohol and drank a few glasses of water before you drove home. Spencer had been uncharacteristically quiet ever since your little interactions. 

The team had all gotten up to say their goodbyes. Rossi going by and giving everyone a kiss on each cheek. Derek having to quite literally rangle Penelope from talking to passing by groups on their way out. Then there were two. 

You turned to the side where Spencer was nursing on his coke, “Hey pretty boy, it’s late, let me give you a ride home,” you said grabbing your belongings. 

“Y-yeah ok. Thanks Y/n,” he said getting up. You’d noticed how he still had the burnt orange bag over his crotch. He couldn’t still be hard could he? Well you’d love to find out. 

As gentlemanly as he was, Spencer opened the door for you to exit the building first. The whip of fresh night air cooling on your exposed chest and legs under your skirt. 

You unlocked your car and stepped in, Spencer waiting to hear the little beep signaling his side was open. As he sat down you heard him let out a little whimper. Your head shot over to look at him, you could tell from the flush on his cheeks he didn’t mean to let the noise out. 

Holding in your chuckle you started the ignition and pulled out of the lot, “Can I put on some music?” 

“Yeah I don’t mind,” he said looking over at you with his lips in a line. If it was anyone else, they’d probably think he was uncomfortable but you loved his tiny awkward smiles. 

The ride to his apartment was mostly silent besides a rare quip from Spencer about paper work or fact about an older building you had passed by. It fascinated you to no end hearing him talk. Spencer was a hand speaker, meaning he always used his hands waving them around and making gestures. The pale digits had you captivated. Probably a driving hazard but you couldn’t help but let your mind wander. 

You pulled up into one of the visitor spots and put the car in park. You looked over to see Spencer almost contemplating something. You’d seen the look on his face before when he was looking over puzzles. 

“Somethin on your mind Doc?” you said with a small smile. As cute as he looked when he was nervous, you’d never want him to feel uncomfortable around you. 

“Would you-,” he cleared his throat, “Wo- Would you maybe want to c-come inside?” 

“Of course Spence I’d love to,” you finished with a reassuring nod. 

As he led you upstairs you were giddy with anticipation. So what if nothing happened. He was your friend first and you were glad he was letting you into his personal space. Even if you wanted nothing more than to have him writhi-

“Y/n?” 

The door closing snapped you out of your thoughts. You didn’t even realize you were in his living room. The dark green walls and shelves bursting with books put a grin on your face, “Sorry Doc, just caught up in my thoughts. What did you say hun?” 

His brows practically raised to his hairline from hearing the pet name. While he was used to the names coming from Garcia they took a whole different light coming from your lips. 

“I was asking if you wanted water or something,” he said fiddling with the keys in his hands. Eyes darting everywhere but your face so you wouldn’t be able to see the flush rising on his cheeks. 

“No I’m fine thanks for asking though,” you said taking a seat on the worn leather couch. 

You reached for the tv remote making a face at Spencer to ask for permission. He nodded and you settled back turning on an old sitcom that played late at night. 

As the episode ended you both sat in silence. Again you didn’t mind but you could practically hear the cogs moving in Spencer’s brain. 

You were about to speak when he cut you off before you could even get a word out, “What did you mean by ‘why don’t you find out’.”

Gaining confidence you moved closer to where he was on the couch, slow enough for him to stop you in case he wanted to back out. 

“Well you have options pretty boy,” you said moving a leg to straddle him. Your hands instinctively going to his brown locks. You could’ve sworn you heard a little moan leave his chapped lips. Noted. 

“W-what are the options,” lust blown eyes looked up to yours. 

“One, you can put that mouth to good use on me,” you said trailing your finger over his bottom lip, “and let me cum over that pretty face.” 

His eyes shut hearing your words and you weren’t having it, “Nuh uh eyes on me honey,” instantly they were back on yours. 

“Or number two. I can suck you off and let you cum down my throat, but,” you paused making sure to roll your hips on his growing length, “ you have to give me a nice big smooch after.” 

The hands on your hips pulled you closer as he bucked his hips into you as you finished the sentence. It was clear which option was preferred. 

You moved to slide down in between his legs. You let your hands trail down his clothed thighs, causing him to jump. 

“Tsk such a needy boy,” you said mockingly, “Am I not going fast enough baby?”

“Please Y/n,” he all but whimpered. It was like music to your ears. 

Your hands went to his belt, looking up in his eyes for a final sign of permission. Once he nodded you quickly undid it and he lifted his hips to help get his pants down. You palmed him over his boxers, feeling the wet patch where he was already leaking pre cum. 

“Is this all for me Spence? Does the thought of my lips around you make you this hard,” you said taking him out of the striped confines. 

“Oh god please just,” he cut himself off. You could see his hands curling fists besides his legs. 

“Please what baby? I can’t give you anything unless you ask.” Your hands continued their task of leisurely stroking his length. 

“Fuck please put your mouth on me,” he rushed out, hips bucking to prove his point. 

The answer was good enough for you so you wasted no time in leaning forward and taking him in your mouth. Both of you let out content sighs as you tried to take him further. 

You looked up to see him with his head leaned back, eyes scrunched closes in pleasure. 

You pulled off with a pop, letting your hand work him over. “Better keep those pretty eyes on me before I decide you can’t finish.”

He looked down with a flash of worry, that was quickly replaced by a loud moan as you spit down on his cock before taking him in your mouth again. 

For a germaphobe, Spencer loved how nasty it was. He was thanking god or whatever higher being there was for giving him his eidetic memory because the sight below him was something he’d never wanna forget. 

Your eyes were teary and you had spit dribbling down your chin but he wanted nothing more than to give you more than just a kiss after you finished. Or well after he finishes. 

You could tell he was close by the way he was throbbing on your tongue. Again taking him out of your mouth you used both hands to jerk him off. 

“You’re doing such a good job baby. So good for me. You wanna cum in my mouth pretty boy?”

“God Y/n I’m so close please please please,” he whimpered out. 

“Cum for me baby, be my good boy Spence,”  you said before taking him down your throat. He was big, not girthy but long and it was a struggle but you’d be damned if you didn’t try to take him all. 

Hollowing your cheeks you bobbed your head quickly, egging on his release further. His hands finally found a place in the back of your head. Pushing you down further as he came. 

“F-fuck Y/n I’m gonna”

His moans and whines were a symphony of sounds you’d have on repeat in your head forever. 

You swallowed the salty release but before you could even wipe your lips you were being pulled up by Spencer placing his lips on yours. You moaned into the kiss, his hands gripped the sides of your face not wanting to let you go. 

The need for air made you both pull back. You looked at one another, chests heaving and looking like you ran a marathon. 

Then a sad look came across his face. 

“Spencer what’s wrong?” 

“You didn’t get any pleasure,�� he said looking like a hurt puppy. Oh your sweet boy. 

“It’s ok baby, I can take care of myself,” you tried to shrug off.

He was quick to push you back on the couch, taking the spot you were previously in. His warm lips trailing down your exposed thighs. 

“I wanna do it, but only if you kiss me after.” 

[bump1nthen1ght]

I’m Still Hurting (Orc x Reader) Part 2

Pairings: Fem!Reader/Male!Orc

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Angst

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2107 words

Summary: You and your boyfriend establish a new normal

A/N: At long last, the highly requested part two! I had a bit of struggle coming up with a proper followup to the first part (which was part of why I left it with an open-ended ending in the first place lol). Little less angst this time, I felt these two deserved a little sweetness after the last chapter. Hope y'all enjoy!

Part 1

The first thing that caught your eye when you walked by the music store was the Grand Piano. It was gorgeous: Polished mahogany, a nice velvet seat, and keys that looked like they had never seen the sticky fingers of a curious 8 year old.

“Wow, is that new?”

You nod, admiring the old-fashioned air of the instrument. You knew jack shit about music, but even you could tell that this piano was an antique, one probably worth a good chunk of change.

“Must be. I’ve never seen it before and this place is on my way to work.”

Waruck hmms, pressing his hands up against the glass. His eyes sparkle when he sees the “Free to Play” sign right next to the piano. It probably reminds him of his Grandpa’s, the one he played when you guys visited his family for Christmas.

That was a long time ago.

“Want to go in?”

Waruck pulls away from the glass, eyebrows raised. He rubs the back of his neck and steps a couple feet back, trying to curb his enthusiasm.

“Uh, we don’t have to-”

“I don’t mind. It's been a while-” You pause, the slight-anxiety in the air making every casual word difficult, “It’s been a while since I’ve heard you play.”

Waruck smiles, small and polite, and opens the door of the shop for you. Before, he might have done a little bow and said “Ladies First” in a British accent.

But that was before, and this is now. Now, every comment is walking on eggshells, whispered tentatively and under your breath. Testing the waters for how comfortable you two could get around each other.

Still, it was exponential growth from two months ago.

--------

After your meeting at the coffee shop, you had asked Waruck for a month; A month of privacy, for you to collect your thoughts and feelings, to be alone for a bit. He had agreed immediately, shuffling out of the cafe with a hunched back and a melancholy air, but he had kept his promise. You took the time to focus on other things, shifting your relationship to the back of your mind and enjoying the day-to-day.

But a part of you felt a little bad, like maybe you were stringing Waruck along for an inevitable breakup. Getting his hopes up for an extra tortuous punishment that left a sour taste in your mouth. So on one brave Saturday night, you sent him a meme you saw on Instagram, one that reminded you of him.

That second month saw the two of you texting more and more frequently, sending little jokes, asking how your day was, so and so. Each week rebuilt a little bit more of that familiarity, that comfortableness. It finally got to the point where Waruck asked if you were free one weekend. He just wanted to get some lunch and stroll around the neighborhood for a bit. For the first time in a while, that idea didn’t seem too bad.

--------

The air is considerably cooler inside the store, a tiny bell ringing as a rush of air-conditioned air hits both of you. Waruck makes a beeline for the piano, his footsteps short and quick. You feel a smile crawl on your face; He always acted like an excited kid when it came to music.

Waruck plops down in the center of the stool, fingers lightly brushing over the keys in awe. You walk up the piano’s side, laying your hand on the wood and admiring the lack of smudge marks on the polished wood. Waruck tests out a G note and although the sound is short, it’s extremely pleasant. Waruck’s smile grows even larger.

“When I was a young boy…”

You mutter under your breath. Waruck chuckles, quickly continuing onto a G flat.

“My father took me into the city,” Waruck hums

“To see a marching band.” The two of you sing together, laughing a little bit too loudly and gaining a sharp look from the tired sales clerk. Waruck waves a little apology, but that playful grin stays on his face.

“Wow, that brings back some repressed Hot Topic memories.”

“Seriously. I can almost feel the book my band teacher used to thwack me with. Me and my buddies would sneak into the choir room and play that all the time.” Waruck’s fingers dance over a couple more notes, aimless.

You’ve always liked watching Waruck play. His fingers were so dextrous and controlled,  not to mention long and nicely articulated. He’d probably make good money from a hand-model side-gig.

“Want to take a seat?”

You shift your focus away from Waruck’s hands. He’s made space on the bench and pats the open space next to him.

“Yeah, sure.” You say, despite the fast pace your heart is now beating.

You keep a solid two inches of distance between your bodies, keeping your thighs together as to not brush your legs with his. It felt like a middle school dance, keeping a bible length away from your partner to avoid the disapproving stare of the chaperones.

Waruck nods, absentmindedly running his fingers up the scale. “Any requests?”

Immediately, all non-love songs depart from your brain. One of your favorite pieces sits on the tip of your tongue and your brain refuses to let it go. You shake your head.

“Nope. It’s all yours, music man.”

Waruck chuckles, a little louder and a lot more comfortable, as he sits deeper in his seat.

“Prepare,” Waruck cracks his knuckles, “to be amazed.”

You bite back a laugh. He’s still such a dork.

He starts to play, his hands easily finding the right keys, moving like a well-oiled machine. Your heart nearly skips a beat before it melts into a puddle of sentiment.

It’s your favorite.

The song brings back memories of your childhood, a rainy day in, and delicious food. It’s like chicken soup for the soul and you can feel any of the left over tension leave your body.

Waruck’s eyebrows furrow with concentration, but he has a large smile on his face, his large tusks peeking out from his lips. His arm stretches across the piano as the song hits its most fast-paced part. His biceps and shoulders lean more into your space, but the feeling isn’t unwelcome. It feels natural, as if his presence and yours is part of the piece itself.

Waruck’s thigh brushes against yours, but his pace doesn’t falter and neither does yours. You stay enraptured, watching how easily he slips into the music. You barely even notice how you have begun to lean closer to his side; Your mind says it’s to give his arms plenty of space to play, but it’s still far more comfortable than you are willing to admit.

How easy it feels, in the moment, to fall back into routine.

The song begins slowing to a stop, only a couple seconds left, when the sounds of the music shop return to you. A giggle from not too far rings discordant with Waruck’s piano.

Three girls stand not too far from you, watching with fascination as Waruck plays.

“Wow, he is so good!” One whispers to her friends.

There is nothing even remotely lascivious in their eyes or in their words, but a knife still twists in your gut. Your throat constricts as flashes of your bedroom, of unanswered texts, and a picture of a bar corner booth send needles down your spine and into your heart.

Is this wrong? Is this giddy feeling you have only distracting you from reality? Is it like this song, Waruck’s playing, beautiful but temporary?

“Ugh, I want what they have.”

“I know, right? How romantic.”

They’re wrong, you’re wrong, this is wrong; It’s fake, fake, fa-

Your eyes dart to and fro, trying to desperately avoid Waruck’s quickly overwhelming body heat and your audience, before it catches on the distorted shape of your reflection in the window.

The glass is old, slightly drooping, even the golden lettering of the music shop’s name looks dusty and sun-bleached.

But what is unmistakable is you and Waruck. Waruck, playing piano, and looking at you. Looking at you with the love in his eyes you thought had died, or had never been there at all. The group of girls stands in the background, small and out of focus.

And Waruck is staring at you.

“Are you okay?” Waruck asks, his warm hand on your shoulder.

You whip your neck around, almost getting whiplash.

You’re here, in the music store, with your boyfriend. He looks at you, brow slightly puzzled from your wild eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I,” You suck in a deep breath, “Sorry, I guess I got lost in my own head. That song gets me kind of nostalgic.”

Waruck pats your shoulder and you miss it’s heat when he pulls it back to his side. He smiles, but you can tell he is still slightly worried.

“No problem, I get it.”

You notice now how much closer Waruck is to you. His chest has shifted towards yours, the fabric of his shirt sleeve pressing against the skin of your bicep. Waruck’s knee absentmindedly knocks into yours, but the contact doesn’t sting or jolt you. Not even the continuing silence makes the situation awkward.

It’s nice.

“Do you want to check out the record aisle? They might actually have that piece on vinyl.”

Waruck gestures with his thumb to the piles of CD’s and records not too far from you two. You nod

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

--------

The two of you spend about an hour in the music store, pointing out hilarious cover art and admiring some vintage finds. Waruck even gets you to chuckle a couple of times, slowly bringing out his old cheesy puns.

Waruck’s missed this.

You two walk out of the music store at the tail end of one of Waruck’s jokes, you playfully punching his shoulder.

The two of you wander, in the opposite direction of your cars, for a little while. But Waruck hasn’t lost track of time; No, he’s soaking in every moment he can, every smile and lingering look you give him. Every reminder that this is real.

He spent a week agonizing over what he did. Stuck in silence as he gave you your space. His friends (His real friends, not those assholes from the bar) had offered to come by and keep him company, but he turned it down.

When Waruck got back into routine, it was slow-rolling. It was difficult to fight the instinct to check his phone for a good-morning text, or check your Instagram for any ‘post-breakup’ partying.

No, he had already broken your trust once. The least he could do was give you some time. Spend some hour not wallowing in self-pity, but actively make a change.

Waruck began to accept those invites to a chill hang out, playing some poker and sipping on beer with the gang. He played his keyboard when the thoughts got too loud and went jogging when the music wasn’t loud enough. He called his mom a couple of times, even sent his sister a  couple of texts to catch up. They hadn’t spoken outside of holidays for almost three years.

Maybe he was the one that needed time.

God, why did you have to be so smart?

“Oh shit, how long have we been walking?” You mutter, checking your watch for the time. Waruck turns around you, already knowing the answer was 27 minutes, exactly. The both of you were nearing the edge of the neighborhood, cafes and shops turning into residential suburbs. “Dang, time really flies, huh?”

Waruck smiles.

“With you? It always does.”

You give him a half smile, patting his bicep. “Oh my god, you’re such a cheeseball.”

Waruck winks and shoots you some finger guns.

“You know it babe.”

You giggle, checking your watch once more, face turning just a little bit.

“I should probably head back, I’m getting dinner with some friends tonight.”

A small part of Waruck yearns for more time, but he lets it go.

Space, this was about establishing space.

“I had a lot of fun today, Waruck.” You step a little closer, Waruck’s heart skips a beat.

“Me too.” He whispers, his breath catching as your fingers brush against his.

It’s a simple gesture, one you’ve down a million times. But when your palm slips into his, your finger’s interlocking, it’s like fireworks have gone off.

“Same time, next week?”

Waruck nods, not trusting himself to speak without a voice crack.

That’s all he needed, all you wanted; The promise of the future.

“Yes, I would love that.”

[daughter-of-prospero]

WHAT I'm the first to notice how cool that line is??? If you don't mind, I'd really love to hear about more little tidbits you threw in your songs that you're proud of that kind of stuff is so interesting to me and it blows my mind whenever I find another one!!!

IF I DON'T MIND!?!?!?!?! YOU HAVE OPENED A PANDORA'S BOX OF MIRANDA'S-IMAGINARY-TED-TALKS.

Here are some things that aren’t in the video descriptions but still made me do a self-satisfied shoulder shimmy:

- There is at least one avatar's name/part of their name in the corresponding song to the entity they serve. So you, kind stranger - no pun intended - found the 'stoke' in 'Tim Stoker'. Other people have caught Daisy, Jane, and Jude ("through the days eager only...", "become our new apprentice...", "no enemy martyr can parry..."). Not counting the direct listing of names in Under the Big Top, there are 19 more hidden names over the album. - Speaking of Under the Big Top's list of names though: The names are divided into two sets. Ira - Ursula, and Gregor - Nikola. There is a reason for the names I chose in each set. The second one is fairly in-your-face. Not sure if anyone's found the reason for the first. - One more Under the Big Top tidbit: The bridge references Tim in three ways, one of which is - I will admit - particularly cruel.

- I'm still absurdly pleased with how the last verse of Arcane Knots came out. Maybe because I wrote in alphabetical order so by the time I got to writing about The Web I had a better idea of how to fit stuff in? Which is kind of where it really counted. There are more references in that last verse (~11) than there are in the entirety of the song for the Buried (~7) - the first one I wrote. Turns out it's a long way from B to W.

- In Patience I edited out all my breaths to make it sound a little less human/alive. If there’s one thing I know about dead people? They don’t breathe.

- There’s a very quiet track in Song of The Hive (Or, What Jane Might Have Heard) that is just me whispering the lyrics underneath the melody and trying to be as gross-sounding as possible about it. Like cursed pianissimo ASMR. - The trail-off at the very end into humming is supposed to emulate the buzzing of insects. 

- I only wrote full sheet music arrangements for three songs: Mr. Pitch, because it was one of the easiest and earliest tunes, though I don’t think I ended up using it exactly. Patience, because I was always singing in harmony with myself except for the last note and wanted it to be as cohesive as possible - also because I REALLY wanted a steady percussion under it. Of all the things I could change, I really, really wish I could have had a measured ticking sound or heartbeat that slowed down and stopped at the end of the song, but it was hard enough to record and edit the voices. Coronation, I similarly wanted to know what I would be singing going in because it was going to be complicated, and The Eye is sort of the mascot of the show, and Jonah’s the big bad, and I wanted to stick the landing. Mr. Pitch was written for a glockenspiel, Patience was written for a piano, wooden block, and harpsichord (even though I think of it as Jonah’s instrument), and Coronation was written for a string quartet (violin, viola - natch, cello, double bass).

- Coronation is intentionally in the key of TMA's theme song and bits of that melody are incorporated three ways. Most obviously is probably right before the last chorus where it is literally JUST one voice singing the spoopy viola progression of the F, F#, D, F sequence. That progression also underscores the second half of the bridge. The institute's Latin motto (plus one other word) in the pre-chorus is also sung using this sequence, which is why there's a fourth word. ('Vigilo' drones on F, 'opperior' drones on F# etc.)

Bless you for asking; I’m always happy to spout off.

[ordinaryschmuck]

Evolution of Lumity (So Far): Amity’s Side

Once upon a time, I did a look back on how Luz and Amity’s relationship evolved over the series so far, focusing on Luz’s side of the relationship. Which you can see by clicking here.

And with Season 2B coming in two weeks, I figured that I’d celebrate by finally showing Amity’s side.

I’m not the first one to do this, and odds are I won’t be the last, but I figured that I should at least be fair and balance things out. But I swear to everything that is holy, if this post ends up getting more notes because it focusses more on Amity, I might just blow a gasket. LUZ DESERVES JUST AS MUCH LOVE AS AMITY, IF NOT MORE!

...With that said, let’s get this started!

If Amity started as an antagonist to Luz, Luz started as a nuisance to Amity. Someone that got in her way and caused so much strife and annoyance that Amity would rather have Luz out of her life.

So, when they meet again, of course, Amity’s first instinct is to bare her fangs and tell Luz to buzz off. Even if Luz is putting the best foot forward, looking for peace, Amity doesn’t care. Luz ruined her day and reputation. All Amity wants to do is just get as far away from Luz as possible.

But she just had to take a step too far (Ha! Puns).

Amity squashing King’s cupcake was a statement. She doesn’t care about Luz and her friends, because they give witches like her, witches who worked their hardest to get to where they are now, a bad name. Might as well state that they’re enemies and nothing.

And when you’re enemies, you can’t just say no to a fight. Especially with everyone watching you both.

So, Amity accepts Luz’s witches’ duel, making a bet that stops Luz from learning magic. An outcome that could cut Luz out of Amity’s life permanently if Amity wins.

But Amity doesn’t win.

Even worse, through actions that weren’t even her own, Amity was competing unfairly. And who does she blame in this situation?

Yup. It’s not Amity’s fault for accepting the contest or Lilith’s fault for cheating on Amity’s behalf. Surely, it’s the human girl who ruined her reputation once again, after the second time they’ve met.

At this point, Amity is convinced that Luz is a curse, and she wants out. But Luz?

She wants peace. And Luz tries to offer it again, attempting to prove that she works as hard as Amity does to be a great witch, if not harder.

Amity brushes it off at first, saying that while Luz’s spell is an accomplishment to her, it’s still nothing to the rest of the Boiling Isles.

And yet, a part of Amity is still curious. Curious enough to ask further, leading to Luz explaining exactly what her spell represents: Luz’s own struggle to being a witch.

It’s that very struggle that makes Amity decide to call a truce. She does play it off as nothing, sure, but here’s the thing: Amity has a wall built around her heart, keeping anything from getting through.

Luz formed a crack in that wall, making Amity perform an act of kindness that she didn’t really need to do. She could have kept the bet as is and Luz would be out of her life forever. But Amity doesn’t do that. Instead, she performs this small act of kindness, leaving the potential for Luz to see her again wide open.

However, just because that option exists, it doesn’t mean Amity wants Luz to take it. She’s STILL convinced that Luz is nothing but trouble and would much rather prefer to not have to deal with her.

And when Luz does leave, clearly hurt by Amity’s outburst, you see this moment when Amity almost reaches out as if she wanted to apologize. Almost being the key word, there. A part of her still remembers that moment after the duel, but it’s not enough to believe it’s worth apologizing for. Because Amity still has no clue what type of person Luz is.

Something we get confirmation to. Amity doesn’t want to be mean to Luz, but Amity also has no idea what Luz’s deal is. Does she deserve to be yelled at? Well, after thinking that Luz was trying to steal Amity’s diary, Amity starts to think that Luz does, claiming that she’s a bully.

This then leads to Luz proving that idea wrong all in one night.

Starting by attempting to save Amity from Otabin.

Making Amity’s walls crack further by getting Amity to laugh.

And give Amity another peace offering. An offering that Amity accepts this time, admitting that her actions haven’t been the best either and that she’d be willing to think on acting better.

And Amity keeps to her word, treating Luz more respectfully the next time they meet. Amity calmly explains that Luz needs to learn a second spell and even politely waves during training.

Even when Luz put Eda, Edric, and Emira, and is one hundred percent in the wrong, Amity doesn’t go too far in her outburst towards Luz. She’s still miffed for sure, but instead of saying “You’ll only make things worse” to get Luz to stay put, Amity instead says, “You’ll only get hurt.” The effect is still the same, but the words show that Amity cares about Luz enough to make sure she stays safe.

But when Luz proves her capabilities with a second spell and shows she can clean up a mess just as well as she can cause one, Amity starts seeing Luz as someone worthy of being friendly towards. To the point where she seems genuinely excited to share the same class as Luz.

Perhaps even a bit too excited.

Now, there are people who speculate that this is the moment Amity realized she had a crush on Luz. And I wouldn’t go that far.

Oh, she’s definitely still feeling something, don’t get me wrong. But at this stage, I’d say it’s safe to assume that Amity’s still questioning what her feelings for Luz mean. Dana Terrace herself has confirmed that Luz is the first major crush Amity has ever had. So, naturally, she’s both inexperienced and unsure of what it means to have one. Which leads to Amity still assuming that she and Luz are still friends and that won’t change, even if they do see each other everyday.

But they do change.

And this? This is when I’d say Amity realizes she has a crush on Luz. Despite Amity causing so much damage to Willow’s brain and is so sure that she’s a horrible person for it, Luz is there to offer nothing but support, understanding, and respect. Something that Amity has never really experienced before. When she messes up in front of Alador or Odalia, Amity gets punished for it. But when she messes up in front of Luz? It’s a different story. And it leads to Amity realizing that her feelings for Luz are a lot more complicated.

Unfortunately, Amity has aa new problem. She has a crush on the first good relationship she’s had in years, and is afraid to lose it.

Like, literally afraid to lose it.

People say it’s lame that Amity’s worst fear is getting rejected by a crush, but I think they’re missing the point. Luz is the first person that has ever treated Amity with mutual respect and understanding, even when Amity thinks she doesn’t deserve it. It’s more than getting rejected by a crush. It’s straining the best relationship Amity’s had with another person, risk losing it forever.

But Luz does something special.

She gives Amity hope.

After stopping Grom, becoming Grom Queens, and offering to go to Grom with Amity (as friends, but still), Luz showed Amity that she’d always be there for her. Even if Amity’s feelings conflicts things, it will take more than a one-sided crush to tear them apart.

Even if that crush can make Amity act a little silly.

But, to be fair, she had what was probably the best night of her life with the person she was crushing hard on. You can’t blame her for having more...intense feelings towards Luz, afterwards.

Still, feelings for Luz aside, it doesn’t stop Amity from being on Luz’s side.

She looks about ready to storm the Emperor’s castle the second Luz says she needs Amity’s help.

Amity is there to lend an ear after Luz feels like she pushed Willow and Gus too far.

And it’s Luz (and Willow) that Amity stands by when facing Boscha.

Amity proves that she is one hundred percent on Luz’s side no matter what.

Which is why it hurts when she turns her back on Luz.

Throughout “Escaping Expulsion,” you can tell that Amity wants to help. She wants to say, “Screw my mom, I’m with you guys.”

But she can’t. No matter how badly she wants to help, Amity is too afraid to stand up to Odalia.

But Odalia made a mistake.

Because Amity loves Luz more than she fears her own mom. So, when Luz throws herself into a situation where she fights a literal killing machine, Amity leaps at the rescue, being the hero Luz needed.

Receiving an unexpected bonus in the process.

Yup, after Amity saved Luz’s life, it’s enough for Luz to realize her own feelings for Amity.

And Amity had no idea!

It’s almost frustrating in a way. Despite the fact that they’re both disasters, Amity is clueless about Luz’s feelings as Luz is about Amity’s.

But I can kind of get it. Amity’s own crush on Luz kind of distracts her from what’s right in front of her own face.

Just like how her crush distracts Amity from logic.

Yeah, maybe stealing a book in a part of the library that her boss says is restricted wasn’t the best idea. But, like Amity said, being around Luz makes her do stupid things. No matter how badly she wished it didn’t.

And she probably shouldn’t have had voiced that frustration out loud.

Luz has admitted to the echo rat of all things that she’s had bad experiences of getting rejected by crushes. So, to have Amity, one of the closest relationships Luz had in years...broke her.

And Amity realizes her mistake pretty quick.

Thus leading her to head home and do what she should have done in the first place:

Talking about what her crush on Luz means.

Amity knows that she’s changed, but she doesn’t know if it’s a good thing.

With some helpful words from Emira, Amity realizes that it is. Luz changed her for the better.

And Amity embraces it.

Because Luz is literally the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

Luz would did so much to make Amity a happier person, going so far as to go through literal trials to help make her happy. And Amity, so full of love for everything Luz has done--

--makes a bit of an oopsie.

Now, while our hearts were filled with glee at that kiss (and rightfully so. It was f**king precious), Amity’s was filled with instant regret.

Not only does she actively avoid Luz, but Amity would rather have it where they’d pretend the kiss never happened and that she and Luz could go back to the way things were. Because Luz is the best thing that’s ever happened to her, and Amity’s still afraid to risk losing it. So, might as well ask if they could just ignore the whole thing.

Unfortunately, Hooty had different plans.

At first, Amity was all for it.

She was confused, sure.

But the second it clicks what is happening--

--she becomes ecstatic. Finally--Finally--Amity realizes that the odds of Luz liking her back are stacked in her favor.

And she straight up fixes her hair to look presentable for what could be the best day of her life.

Only for things to take a turn for the ‘Ouch.’

And I mean...ouch.

We all knew why Luz tore the tunnel of love apart...but Amity didn’t.

To her, this looks like her worst nightmare come true.

At this moment, it doesn’t just look like Luz is rejecting the idea of dating Amity, but it shows that Luz would rather tear down everything that looked like she liked Amity, rather than confess. And it stung.

Amity tries to put on a brave face, attempting to keep their relationship as is, but no fake smile can hide a single tear. One she quickly wipes away.

This then leads to the big moment.

Luz and Amity are outside, standing in the crater that Hooty made.

Luz, scared of rejection herself, is stalling. She knows what she needs to say, and even Amity finally clues in what words Luz is trying to spit out.

To the point where she gets impatient.

This is more than just Amity beating Luz to the punch. This is Amity conquering her fear. After spending so long of keeping her feelings in, too worried of ruining their relationship, Amity decides to take a big risk and spit out the words she must have been dying to say.

And look at her face when Luz finally asks her.

I want to bottle and sell the pure, unbridled joy and excitement radiating off of that girl’s smile.

And joy and excitement are the best ways to describe Amity with Luz from then on.

She finally gets to look at Luz with all the love she had stored inside.

She calls herself Luz’s girlfriend at any opportunity she can get.

And she would hold Luz as tight as physically possible.

A part of her was scared that the other shoe might drop--

--but that fear just as quickly went away.

Because now, Amity knows the person that Luz is.

She may have been a nuisance.

But Luz quickly became a peacekeeper,

to a person to rely on,

to someone Amity would do anything for,

to the person that gives Amity all the love she deserves.

And Amity would never let go of someone that important.

(Unless Dana Terrace says otherwise)

[everysongineverykey]

I'M DONE. HERE. TAKE THESE CHAPTER 2 THOUGHTS AND RUN, BABY.

so i'll try to go in order here. uhhhh... there's a LOT i have to say. first: toriel giggling sprite my beloved

on that note, ALL THE NEW SUSIE SPRITES MY BELOVEDS

NOELLE YOU'RE SO GAY. I THINK THIS IS PROBABLY JUST BECAUSE I TOLD HER TO IN CHAPTER ONE BUT SHE GAVE SUSIE THE LUNCHBOX FULL OF CHALK!! I LOVE ITTTT

ralsei's, uh... kinda sus. the whole "recruiting" thing REALLY sketches me out. and he looks kinda... smug, all the time, like he knows what's going on.

LANCER JOINED! ROUXLS JOINED EVEN THOUGH NO ONE WANTED THAT! STARWALKER JOINED, TO EVERYONE'S JOY!

LIBRARY PORTALLLL

so before i entered the city there was that pre-city area? that looked very much like the city? except it had different music? and i thought they'd cut welcome to the city and i was SEVERELY disappointed. but then they didn't! just something i wanted to mention

NOELLE!!

throughout this game i went from despising berdly to feeling bad for him to not really liking him again, but not hating him as much as before. he'd better stay the fuck away from susie though

the queen is the best villain. she's the kind you love to hate! she's literally so funny AND her boss battle is actually tough (rip to the king but he just. wasn't a formidable enemy at all lol)

THE GANG CHARLIE BROWN DANCING TO WIN A FIGHT! SUSIE GAINING THE POWER TO ACT THROUGH SHEER FORCE OF WILL! SUSIE FORCING RALSEI TO LEARN TO ACT EVEN THOUGH HE DIDN'T WANT TO! THAT ENTIRE BATTLE WAS AMAZING! THE "BATTLE WON" END DANCING SEQUENCE! GOING INSANE GOING INSANE

the puzzles in this chapter were genuinely really impressive! i especially loved the word search puzzles and the ice-ee undertale word search reference💙

that being said. the mouse puzzles were SO fucking infuriating. i caused poor noelle a LOT of grief with those and i feel bad.

SPEAKING OF NOELLE!! the scene where she and kris are walking through the puzzle, the one that spells "december", and she's talking about when they were kids, how she loved sneaking out? beautiful. the cinnamon tography <3 also i guessed dess's full name was december a while ago and while i guess it was obvious, it's nice to have that confirmed!

also, i love that susie and ralsei are real friends in this chapter! he taught her a healing spell!!

ugh. fucking berdly. so smug and pretentious. i love queen's desire to be as far away from him as possible though

i also like his backstory. it gives his behavior, even if it's still annoying, at least some context. i get the feeling of feeling like if you're not smart, people will forget about you, and that's scary.

ALSO ALSO. GAMER BERDLY. LITERALLY EVERYTHING ABOUT THAT IS PERFECT. "I THOUGHT YOU WERE A GAMER!" "i only play mobile games, berdly." "NOOOOOO!" like i ADORE that

anyways. time for me to talk about the only thing that matters in this world: suselle. i mean, did the gays win in this chapter or DID THE GAYS WIN IN THIS CHAPTER?? THEY RODE A HEART-COVERED FERRIS WHEEL AND HAD A HEARTFELT, TENSION-FILLED CONVERSATION!

"did you ever wonder why the real susie never picked on you? well, maybe it's because... when you were both new to class, you lent her one of your pencils, like... maybe a dumb one with candy canes on it or something, and... even though it didn't actually taste like candy, she... remembered your smile." okay god thanks toby it's not like i needed my heart or anything

SERIOUSLY. TOBY "i'm gonna give the gays everything they want" FOX IS BACK WITH ANOTHER BANGER LADS

QUEEN'S BOSS BATTLE! ACTUALLY TOUGH, UNLIKE KING'S! AND GIGA QUEEN! I'M GOING INSANE THAT WAS SO SICK AND SO HARD

the way my heart BROKE when lancer turned to stone good god thank GOD our boy's okay

AND ROUXLS KAARD IN HIS PIRATE DUCK!! WITH HIS LITTLE HAT! DEMANDING THE QUEEN MAKE HIM BUTLER SUPREMETH! I LOVE HIM MORE THAN LIFE ITSELF

also!! kris and ralsei's little moment on the swan boat💙 i wasn't a kralsei shipper before but uh... that may be starting to change

it's hard because ralsei's still suspicious but at the same time i love him and want him to be happy. i don't know how to feel

also, if darkners outside of their dark worlds turn to stone after a while, why didn't ralsei? that's, uhhh... VERY sus. very weird. mr fox i need ANSWERS

WE FINALLY HAVE A WAY TO SAVE AFTER WE'VE FINISHED MOST OF THE EPILOGUE LADS. REJOICE!!

seriously the thing that peeved me about ch1 was that the last save point was on the battle stage and if i wanted to play the epilogue again, i had to. do that entire battle all over. BUT NOW THAT'S BEEN FIXED!!

UNDYNE AND ALPHYS HAVE MET UNDYNE AND ALPHYS HAVE MET THIS IS NOT A DRILL UNDYNE GAVE HER A BOX OF CANDIES EVERYBODY SHUT UP THEY'RE IN LOVE ALL IS RIGHT WITH THE WORLD

ALSO! NEAR THE BEGINNING! I FORGOT TO MENTION THE LITTLE WHITE DOG DOING DONUTS IN A TOY RACE CAR AND BACKING UP TRAFFIC! THANK YOU LITTLE WHITE DOG!

on that note: "looks like a car. this one has a man in it. he waves at you happily." AND THEN THE MAN'S GONE??? HEY TOBY???

ALSO. THE SEGMENT WHERE THE ANNOYING DOG HELPS US FIND THE KEY THROUGH THE POWER OF WANTON DESTRUCTION. THE BEST PLOT DEVICE!

TORIEL TEACHING SUSIE TO MAKE PIE STOP ITTTTT

and yes yes i KNOW kris slashed toriel's tires. that was extremely troubling. but THEY MADE PIE TOGETHER!!

"leave the chalk alone, kris" TORIEL!!

sans and toriel making egg puns and asgore running in and going "don't forget me, your eggs-husband!" is the FUNNIEST sitcom moment type thing ever. GOD.

on the other hand sans let me meet your brother god dammit i'll kill you

METTATONNNNNNN

RUDY... "who got you these flowers?" "is it weird for a married man to get flowers?" "so your wife did?" "oh, no! kris's dad did!" "...not even gonna try to understand this..." TOBY STOP ITTTT YOU'RE GIVING THE ASGORUDY SHIPPERS FALSE HOPE. YOU KNOW YOU'RE JUST GONNA KILL RUDY. YOU'RE JUST RUBBING SALT IN THE WOUND!

NUBERT! MY MAN!

seeing kris repeatedly they-themmed by multiple characters makes me so happy <3 poor kid... "college summer vacation when" "you opened the door with your eyes closed. you saw nothing" kris....

KRIS...

fucking. BLACK FOG STORM IN THE LIVING ROOM KRIS STOP IT. HOW'RE THEY GONNA REVEAL THIS WAS INNOCENT? THE KNIFE IN CHAPTER ONE WAS EASY BUT HOW WILL THEY EXPLAIN THIS

the staticy tv appearing in the dark and a toothy smile slowly fading into view in the center and lingering there ominously for far too long >>>>>>> every hollywood horror movie ever god. GOD

snowy and monster kid checking out the red door. implying there's something in there. something that kris knows about. knowing we won't get any more deltarune content for 5+ years does NOT fill me with determination

also. gaster's symbolic theme being mus_smile. and the final image in the game being a smile. god. gaster's COMING lads.

onionsan hears a song at night... a familiar song... memory, perhaps? or maybe a certain... four-note arpeggio that's hidden in a sound test room in undertale? who knows? guess we'll just have to wait for chapters 3/4/5.

this concludes my ramblings for now, but don't get it twisted- this is FAR from the last post i'll make about ch2. this whole chapter was absolutely amazing! brilliant! showstopping!! i'm genuinely soooo super impressed and excited for the chapter 3/4/5 bundle!!!

[musings-of-a-rose]

Christmas Writing Challenge 2021

Pairing: Agent Whiskey/Jack Daniels x reader

Word Count: 600

Warnings: language (1 swear word), mentions of alcohol and drinking, Agent Whiskey comes with his own warning

Prompt: Silly Dancing // “Feliz Navidad”

Notes: I’ve never done a writing challenge before, being so new to writing in general, so I thought this would be fun! Thanks to @marvelousmermaid for sharing the list with me and @toomanystoriessolittletime for creating the list!

I used a random name picker with character names I put in, otherwise I know I would write every single one for Frankie.

My personal challenge for this is to write for people other than Frankie AND to keep it short!

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

Steph’s Christmas Writing Challenge December 2021 Masterlist

Having no real families of your own, you and Agent Whiskey decided to celebrate the holidays together. You weren’t partners but had worked with Whiskey on occasion on various missions. To say you had a crush would be an understatement. He was charming, a great agent, and the most attractive man you’d ever seen (and you didn’t typically fall for yee-honk).

You and Whiskey got along very well and bounced off each other, which worked well for any missions you were assigned together but it also made the time you spent not as agents a lot of fun. One holiday, he attempted to bake cookies with you and you ended up with flour and sugar all over your apartment. Another one, he made you hot coco “Whiskey style”, which you didn’t realize contained actual whiskey and you had spit your first gulp, a large one, all over his shirt and had to wash it while he wore one of your shirts (which you admittedly gave him a smaller size just to watch his biceps flex and strain under it).

This year was no different. You were at your place (“Much nicer than my old bachelor pad.” Whiskey had said) and had had some terrible but strong eggnog and were laughing at some bad pun Jack had made. Neither of you were drunk, but a pleasant buzz filled your moods as Christmas music played on the radio. All of a sudden, “Feliz Navidad” came on and Jack’s whole face lit up.

“My mamá and I used to dance to this when I was a lil’ colt,” he stared off for a moment, lost in a memory. Then he shook his head and stood up, shaking out his limbs and started to spin around the room, singing slightly off key and out of breath to the song. He flailed his arms and legs around and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Jack stop!” you manage out as tears of laughter are streaming down your face.

Jack turns to you, locking eyes, and slinks up to you, offering his hand.

“Oh no sir. I don’t think so.”

“Come on. Be a good girl and dance with ol’ Jack.”

“Good girl”..fuck me.

You hesitate, smile on your face, and when you let out a sigh he knows he has you. You grab his hand and he pulls you up flush to his body, placing one arm around his back and holding the other in his hand. He twirls you around the room and you both laugh, especially when he bumps into the side table. The song comes to an end and Jack dips you, staring into your eyes, just inches from your face. The mood shifts quickly and you can feel your heartbeat through your chest, hoping that he doesn’t hear or feel it. You can feel the heat between you, but you assume it’s from all of the dancing. Jack’s eyes flick down to your lips and before you can do anything, he pulls you close and places a chaste kiss to your lips before pulling back to look at you, slight fear in his eyes, worried he’s crossed a line in your friendship.

You smile up at him as you move your free hand around the back of his head and pull him in for another kiss. He wasn’t expecting this and the force of it has you falling backwards, landing on the floor with an oomph, Jack on top of you. Neither of you seem to mind as you deepen the kiss that both of you had wanted for so long.

—----

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @astoryisaloveaffair @softpedropascal @marvelousmermaid @icanbeyourjedi @livingmydreams13 @theewokingdead @f0rever15elf @mesmorales @sarahmilesbendrix @swol-bear @mrsudontknowme @lovesbiggerthanpride @gallowsjoker @booksarekindaneat @charlispersonallyhell @sunnshineeexoxo @sara-alonso @giggly-otter @dirtytissuebox @diaryofkali @adventures-of-a-noodle @punkerthanpascal

Pedro Characters Only:

@beskarprincessjenny

[h50europe]

Why the ending of the series finale felt off for many of us (and what PL could have had really in mind) - Aphorisms

As you can easily see from the photos, season 11 was a safe bet, as was a new team member, McCole. What could have been, it says, written by Justin, the wife of Alex stunt/stand-in double. I'm going to play the advocatus diaboli.

In the penultimate episode of H50, Lenkov created a new character. He was sort of based on Steve, but also not. As it turned out in the last episode, Cole and Steve also had a mutual friend: Catherine. Why does that not really surprise us? The rumor mill was really churning, and it was a given that PL was definitely going to bring her on board. So, without further ado, he made her a key person. She was the one who cracked the ominous code that Doris had left for her son. Question, couldn't Jerry have done that just as well?

Anyway, PL set up Cole and Steve. But the chemistry - for us - wasn't really there. They could have just as easily put anyone next to Steve. PL built on the military past of the two (what else) and finally the common denominator: Catherine. Oh, how original. NOT. If you look at this constellation, you can already guess where this was going. But there remained this one obstacle: Danny.

Well, no problem, Lenkov thought and had him kidnapped without further ado. All planned because of all the great McDanno moments we got to see in season 10. So appropriately for lulling, even if these moments did not have nearly as much heart as in previous seasons, but hey, the fans would swallow and relish it, PL thought.

Then came the obligatory threatening call from Daiyu Mei (note the clever pun ala Yoda: die you may...), and the drama unfolded. The whole thing was further clarified by the words of Wo Fat's ex: "I have the person you care about most in the world." Bummer, as she is not talking about Catherine but Danny. Queerbaiting at its worst. Then comes the usual. And during the escape attempt, Danny, who is already half-dead, gets shot. So far, so good, or not.

Danny's injuries could have easily been fatal. So now I'm going off the premise and just claiming that this was PL's original plan. Why? PL did mention at one point that he could imagine H50 without Steve or Danny, but he certainly wasn't stupid enough to believe that. It was nothing more than a smoke grenade. But what PL had wanted for a long time was the end of McDanno. He preferred another ship. But while McDanno sailed blithely across the seven seas, PL's fav ship never left the harbor. But now, he had the ultimate opportunity with a new, equal partner at Steve's side (Book'em Cole), who also pulled Catherine out of a hat.

PL's heart did somersaults. What a great plan that was. Alex didn't say anything about really wanting to quit, even after the series ended. While he had been open about his departure after season 7, there was no need to hide this fact now in season 10. And as you can easily see, all signs were pointing toward season 11. What PL didn't count on was the massive resistance from CBS.

In contrast to PL, they had no problems with Scott/Danny or McDanno. They knew that this was the heart and soul of the show. And PL's protector Moonves was no longer available because he had been kicked out of the network. So PL's back was against the wall. And nothing and nobody could change that. Too bad, because actually, PL had everything perfectly planned.

Danny would either die on the way to the hospital or later in the hospital. This would lead Steve to a massive revenge attack, which should have ended in a brilliant showdown (brilliant for PL, not necessarily for the fans), but Daiyu Mei escapes eventually. Then, Steve would have been driving around aimlessly. We were possibly shown some flashbacks, only to end up at Casa McGarrett, where Catherine would have already been waiting for him. Nice reversal of the goodbye scene from season 6.

The conversation between Steve and her would have been similar to Danny's, except that it wouldn't have been about his parents, but about Danny and that he just can't take it in Hawaii any longer. Too much reminds him of his dead friend. Steve also wanted to pay his final respect and bring him back home to Jersey. Of course, Catherine suggests joining him. What else? Now that one ship sunk, PL could easily replace it with HIS fav ship. And because Cole has done so well, Steve also entrusts him with the task force's leadership. Before Steve leaves to accompany Danny on his last journey, he hands Cole his credentials.

Steve and Cath stand next to each other at the airport and watch as Danny's coffin is loaded onto the plane. Then they board the plane together, ending with them holding hands as we know it. Fade out, season 10 ends.

How would it have continued in season 10? Danny's funeral would have happened off-screen, like so many other pivotal scenes. Steve would have maybe spent an episode or two mulling it over and then returned to Hawaii to hunt down Daiyu Mei with Cole and the team, which now included Catherine.

So much for Lenkov's wet dream, um, plan. However, because CBS knew that McDanno was the heart and soul of the series, they found this idea more than lousy and turned PL down. We could imagine that Alex also threw in that he would certainly not continue without Scott. There was a short back and forth, and it was decided to cancel the show. So we've come full circle to the sloppy, heartless execution of the last episode and the absolutely meaningless words PL put in Steve's mouth as a result. Due to lack of creativity and apparent lack of time, the deadline seemed to be predetermined, considering how quickly the soundstages at Diamond Studios were obliterated.

The crew was equally surprised when PL succinctly informed them that there would be no season 11. See the post from an angry crew member on IG.

Can we prove any of this? Nope, but it's the only reasonable explanation for why the show ended the way it did. Namely, completely illogical, with a Steve who was more than just off the rails. At the very beginning of the series, Steve gives completely different reasons for staying. If you do a rewatch, you'll see.

Everybody knows that you don't solve problems by running away. You don't get rid of the weight that you carry around with you. Steve may be a stubborn mule, but one thing he has never been: self-centered. And if Danny was really the most important thing in the world to him, as Mei said, then he wouldn't have dumped him in the end. Because that's what you do when you really love someone, you stay and fight against all odds. Especially when someone is in a bad place, like Danny, who has just jumped from the brink of death.

You don't suddenly go on a self-realization trip and kick the person who's already lying on the ground. But that's exactly what Steve did. At least the way PL wrote the part. The man must have really lost it when he wrote those lines. I'm sure he was enjoying pure schadenfreude.

And if you take a close look at the two protagonists, you can clearly see the reluctance with which they shared it all with the audience. There was no more room for any affectionate ad-lib actions that we knew from before. They could only stubbornly reel off what was in the script. PL would have done well to sit down with Scott and Alex and find a common solution instead of imposing his version on them and the audience. That's what people with integrity do, but the man never any.

In our opinion, the show's ending ranks among the dumbest and most unimaginative of all time. Rarely a person manages to drive a show against the wall in such a way and at the same time assassinated the main characters. PL shouldn't be proud of it. He should rather stand in a corner and be ashamed of himself.

And now you can go ahead and bash us, or just ignore the whole thing and keep on scrolling. Thank you for your time and for letting us share our thoughts with you.

[keepthyfaithandthylight]

Going off of my previous post, have another one (I say, forcing you all to look at the monstrosities of my own mind) (I accidentally posted this in my rush to get into the car in the rain so we’re redoing this.) you all know what is about to happen.

How everyone in frev that I can remember might be as… modern students…

Danton: l o u d. He’s the kid who fights and argues with the teacher, is disrespectful all of that. Copies other kids’ homework because despite the fact that he is a terrible student he doesn’t want to miss the credits for the class. You know the type I’m describing. Fights in the hallways, essentially the main crowd in public school. The loud class clown, if you will. That’s all I can say. His notes would most likely look like a kindergartener vomited up any nonsense that came to mind. Does not believe in studying, uses the “if I sleep on my book the knowledge will seep into my mind and therefore I will pass the test” logic. Sits in the back and eats hot Cheetos. Flirts with all of the girls, especially popular girls but he will go for literally any. Luckily I don’t think he would go so far as to have his pants down at his knees walking through the hallway but who knows (that was definitely not a direct jab at the kids in my school). Maybe he would play football, but probably to get with some of the girls.

Desmoulins: he probably takes decent notes, sometimes participates in class but not constantly. Sometimes he will sit with Danton, other times he will sit elsewhere. Either way he is known amongst almost everyone in class. Exceptionally good in English and writes the school paper, also part of yearbook club. Sits with his girlfriend at lunch, they’re nearly attached at the hip it’s almost terrifying. Studies sometimes, but not always, yet either way he somehow passes each test every time. Has Danton convinced he’s psychic or that he’s pulling a sneaky trick with the teacher (I.e. “I’ll pay you a lot of money to give me an A”). Doesn’t really play sports. Wears things that you might find in stores like vans and zumiez, isn’t really bad at dressing well on most occasions (unlike some cough). Wears vans too. Can charm his way out of an argument with classmates and teachers, but will cry over math homework or a bad grade, then his girlfriend has to come over and bring him ice cream. It’s fine.

Robespierre: takes very good notes, always answers questions if Camille doesn’t first. Very organized, color codes everything, his notes are very easy to navigate and almost everyone borrows them. He doesn’t mind in most cases, but starts to get annoyed with Danton about it as it is a daily thing. Can and will argue with the teacher on occasion (I know I don’t need to describe the situation I’m talking about) has a reputation for this. He’s polite most of the time but if the teacher gets sassy so will he. Studies a lot, sometimes too much and he will end up pulling an all-nighter. All of the girls love him, Danton can not figure out why. He walks in the room and the girls swoon, Danton is entirely perplexed by this. Is also very good at English, though he goes over the word limit for essays quite frequently and can get points taken off for this. The teacher will still give him a pat on the back however. Dresses in pastel colors, but will dress in knit sweaters as well (gen-z fashion icon am I right.) in the colder weather. Doesn’t do sports but will audition for the school musical. Will bring snacks for his friends sometimes, but not all of the time. Sits in the front.

Saint Just: his notes aren’t bad, but no one will go running up to him to borrow them. Mostly just sits in the back corner and listens to music, still does his work though. Will glare at Danton and Camille from across the classroom, does so on a daily basis. Brought Robespierre a pastry on his birthday, tried to make it from scratch at first, key word tried. It’s the thought that counts. Also brings coffee for Robespierre when he pulls all-nighters followed by a “why do you do this to yourself??” And an exasperated sigh. The teachers have marked him absent on multiple occasions because he’s just… in the back. Silently. Studies frequently, but not as much as Robespierre, though they do study together sometimes. Might do some really obscure sport that the others didn’t even know the school had, Robespierre got him to join in on the musical performance wise once, and sure he’s all about supporting Max in his theatrical endeavors but he’d probably rather be in charge of the background jobs, giving Robespierre a thumbs up from the catwalk during practice. Sometimes eats lunch with Robespierre.

Marat: when I say science “is his jam” as well as English. Argues with teachers almost daily but they can’t really do anything about it because every single time he makes good points. Gets along with no one. Will use his backpack as a weapon in a fight (everyone remember that one vine?) has no idea what Charlotte has against him but doesn’t really talk about it much. Just gives really uncomfortable looks when she glares at him and snaps a pencil in half in pure rage. President of the science club and the school newspaper. Camille hates this but doesn’t really question it, and tries to get along. Known for being absent a lot but only due to his skin so the school can’t really say anything about it. His writing is… aggressive. No one can really read it. Don’t even start on his notes. An absolute mess that really only makes sense to him. He dresses like a rat (pun intended) but.. in the “appeal to the gen-z gays” kind of way.

Charlotte Corday: teacher’s pet to the maximum level. As in, to the point where it’s actually a problem. Aside from that just copy and paste my previous post and you’ll get what I’m talking about.

Marie Antoinette: exchange student, you either love her or hate her. Queen bee prom Queen, wears nothing but name brand designer clothing. The “it” girl shall we say. Like Regina George but slightly less bitchy, I suppose.

Louis XVI: kind of a shy nerd kid who got absorbed into the popular crowd because of his girlfriend (and because his.. relative.. is the principal.) again you either love him or hate him.

[magicalgirlsandcerulean]

There's a lot of love for Juka this time. The images are from a genga (key frame) artist (there doesn't seem to be a source confirming the reading of their name, but it's written "程 玉芬" in Japanese), Shoko Nagasawa and Andgy respectively.

Here's the YouTube video for episode 4's insert song (Enka), Otokogi de Tango. Balletta even makes a pun about it (tango ni suki ni nattango).

Notes from Balletta's Bar F entry (dated 19th April 2021) below. Balletta quotes a lot more than the others do, so expect spoilers for episode 3, down to the quote level!

The top of each entry, just before the title of the blog post, says "Today's customer" in line with the "Menu" for the navigation.

[The reason I keep linking the Bar F page is...well, not only does that allow easy access to the original text, but there's a bunch of coloured bits I'm not able to convey in Tumblr without wrangling HTML, which I could have done with the old editor...but I'm using the new editor and don't want to break anything by switching between them.]

Balletta starts with greeting everyone in various ways: "皆さんおはようございます！こんにちは！こんばんは！Hello！" - "Everyone, good morning! Good afternoon! Good evening! Hello!"

Balletta then goes on to discuss Uruu's English. He panicked a bit because he can't speak English but he thinks the scene went well.

Balletta becomes envious of Uruu because Uruu is popular at school, despite his attitude of being proper all the time.

Balletta notes Uruu looks like a woman at times when he has his hair up in the bath. (He calls the hairstyle "odango hair".) He calls Uruu "beautiful", but Homura's hair-down style "stylish/cool". "そして蘭丸くん、お風呂の時くらい眼鏡を外しなさい" - "Also, Ranmaru-kun, please take your glasses off while in the bath."

Balletta notes you could see Uruu's butt when he left and thanks whoever was responsible for the "[fan]service shot".

Balletta liked some of the callouts Souji has during his event and wants to use that for an event. He explicitly cites the line 「俺も皆のこと大好きでーす??」 (Ore mo minna no koto daisuki de-su??, CR translation: "I love you guys", because in the context of the episode it's used as a response rather than a question), as well as 「よっ！ワビサビ！」 (Yo, wabisabi!), 「結構な��手前で！」 (Kekkou na otemae de!).

Balletta calls Homura's blushing face "cute". He liked Hori's delivery of the line 「かっこえぇなぁ?」 (CR translation: "Very cool!") and calls Ranmaru and Bakkun playing with marshmallows "a cute pair".

A bit further down the post, Balletta says they achieved the curry quota for episode 3. He notes Homura and Uruu's relationship is full of mysteries and the water and fire clans don't get along - he wonders if this is foreshadowing and whether Takara knows something about this.

Balletta notes Ranmaru has a small goat with him and the school anthem quota is also filled for the episode during the scene between Ranmaru and Uruu. He specifically quotes Uruu's line which is representative of his way of living: 「正しい心を持っていれば、世界はそれに応えてくれる。」 (The CR translation of the line is "When one maintains internal propriety, the world comes to reflect that.") Balletta calls Uruu's way of thinking and even his heart "like a clear and transparent crystal".

"This is 100% foreshadowing!" Balletta declares about the shot reflected in Uruu's eyes.

Balletta says cheering someone on is good but hoarding goods like Iyo does is bad and you should leave some for other people.

Balletta likes Houjou's line: 「お戯れを」. (CR translation: "Your Majesty teases me.") Balletta also became interested in what sort of fairy Houjou was in his youth.

[From this point forward, the post becomes a lot more descriptive of the events that happen in the episode.]

There's also apparently a 「違うか！？」 (Chigauka?!) quota.

Balletta calls the water clan the strongest because they're capable of ice and snow attacks too and he calls Uruu's wings "pretty".

"「オン　マヤルタ　ハリキラ」 夭聖界の言葉ですね。決してカビキラーではありませんよ！笑" - "'On miyalta harikira.' They're words from the fairy world. They're not mould killer (kabi kiraa), LOL." (Kabi kiraa seems to be this mould killer specifically.)

The song from the "On miyalta harikira" scene was also used during Otasuke Heaven (the mini show the voice actors do on the YouTube channel).

Apparently the director says to make the "go to heaven" delivery different each time.

Even Balletta is surprised when the queen says Uruu wanted the punishment. Balletta calls Homura "kind" because he (Homura) cares about his friends.

At the end, Balletta thanks 5 to Heaven, the staff, illustrators, directors, composer etc. He explicitly asks Hishida (the main director of the anime) for a celebration after all the events are over. [He uses a lot of exclamation marks around this part, so you can tell he's passionate about his work even if you can't read the Japanese.]

Takara's comment: "Looks like he took up 22 sheets of genkou youshi..." (Genkou youshi = writing paper.)

[angryinternetduck]

Masterlist

harry styles x reader: 

Bet On It - 5.9k You and Harry are friends; you’re betting he wants more. It takes a few joking confessions of love, a no-show date, a yellow flower, and charming forms of communication to determine a winner. 

a ghost of a chance - 600 You just don’t have a ghost of a chance with Harry Styles.

oh to stay - 4.9k a friends with benefits situation featuring rules, tennis balls, and crumby bread puns. 

Lucky - 6.7k 🎃 The house is haunted, the cat is lucky, and the neighbor is not, in fact, a ghost. A halloween fic published in August!  Cocoa - 4.5k 🎄 A Christmas party at James Corden’s house turns into a hot chocolate excursion with Harry Styles. You’re supposed to call, he’s supposed to text, you look cute and in love... And according to Harry, you’ve got a nice voice. Harry Styles x famous!reader; a Christmas fic published in August <3 

sleepover - 1.5k Pure fluff. You and Harry have a sleepover, he does a gecko impression, and wow, he sure does love you a lot.  yellow & blue - 2.7k Pure angst. Harry reminiscing, regretting, despairing you and his relationship with you at the 2020 Brits. 

a mutual feeling - 9.5k You’re antsy, Harry’s not your friend, and the answer - is yes. Harry doesn’t do relationships but he does do sex. a boxerry au of sorts where Harry’s dad is your trainer but you’re a better fighter. 

When All Feels Lost - 30k Three chapters of you, a struggling actress, and Harry Styles, a has-been producer, trying to find a play just terrible enough to be perfect.  

Pickpocket - 1.5k Stolen rings, a far away Harry, and lots of ice cream. You moonlight as a pickpocket, and Harry’s proper entertaining.

‘twas the night before tour - 925 Quiet dinners, sweet singing, and clumsy dancing. When he comes back, he’ll bring you a wedding ring. 

goodnight n go - 5k Harry’s gotta go. He’s always gotta go, always just about to miss his train, and your apartment feels emptiest right after Harry leaves. Your heating’s down, Harry can’t cook, and it’s disorienting to wake up in Harry’s arms. A game of Go Fish and some not-so-cool moments later, and, well, Harry’s goodnight n go is pretty much out the window. Based off Ariana Grande’s goodnight n go! 

Key - 4.3k Harry’s a cute barista, he wore some atrocious neon green crocs, and his sole purpose in life is flattering you. You’ve got to quarantine, so you consider buying a monkey and painting the cafe. Two proposals and several cookie deliveries later, and still nobody knows what’s happening with quarantine. But you and Harry will figure it out together. Written for the Quarantine Challenge!

Questions - 855 He’s missing out on all the fun, you’re less subtle than you think you are, and Harry stole a telescope. Plus a shooting star. For the amazing Fic Slam!

A Clean Break - 1.9k  You said you wouldn’t cry, and he said it would be a clean break, but the “want” is present tense. Harry’s got a dog named Noodle.  Noodle - 2.2k The before and after of A Clean Break. Harry gets a dog, eats some ramen, and then takes a detour on his way to a double date. 

Sweet Creature - 1.2k It starts with a few notes, and ends in a kiss, and Harry’s written a new song.

I Guess So - ~400 You want to drive, but it’s just so hard to argue with Harry Styles. 

Sunshine - 4.6k Harry calls you Sunshine and you light up his world like nobody else. Only problem is that you’re both involved with other people. Then, suddenly, you’re not, and he’s not either, and Harry still compares you to a star. 

Cheers - a little under 1.5k  A college au kinda thing where you’re a bit tipsy, very rambly, and not a fan of the Christmas in July party you’re at. Written for the 20k fic celebration! 

Like a Fool - just under 2k A college au of a reader insert featuring a coffee discussion, some rom coms, and a bad Grease reference. Also, there’s a party, and there’s a kiss, and there’s just a bit of heartbreak.  ...In Love - 2.5k A little while later, and there’s a double date. Harry has a thing against pencil tapping, and this wasn’t his plan at all. One more double date, and a little switcheroo, and you’re a fool in love. [part two of Like a Fool]

Meant to Be - 1.5k It’s cheesy, but true: you and Harry were meant to be. You just hope your first fight won’t ruin everything. Written for the Boyfriendathon!

fireworks - 2.5k A reader insert featuring lots of fireworks, a lack of wine, and a New Year’s Eve party. Harry doesn’t like fireworks, but he gets them anyway. He should dye his hair pink. Some failed dates, a birthday surprise, a summer wedding.

Ice Cream - 1.5k Maybe you work at an ice cream shop. Maybe Harry Styles comes in one night, pissed off his face, and maybe he throws up all over you and figures he’s got to take you out to dinner to make up for it.

Brit Awards 2014 - 415 words He was having a wee. The toilets were ages away. Really.

harry styles x original female characters:

Kiwi - 2.3k

She’s crazy, she has a cactus, and she smells like caramel; Harry Styles is into it and gets a song out of it.

Carolina - 2.7k She’s got a family in Carolina, and she’s at a bar, and Harry Styles sees her, and they click, and then she’s gone, and Harry writes a song.

Canyon Moon - 3.2k She’s got a yellow guitar, and a rabbit named Rabbit, and Harry Styles keeps thinking back to that time under the canyon moon.

Only Angel - 2.3k She loves old rom coms, and she used to play piano, and she’s got Harry Styles wrapped around her little finger. She’s pandemonium, and there’s nothing she can do about it. Meet Me in the Hallway - 1.8k  She’s still pandemonium, but she’s breaking his heart. Over and over, but Harry can’t let her go, because she may be the pain, but she’s also the antidote. Arabella’s gotta get better, Harry needs his morphine, and purple is the color of royalty. [part two of Only Angel]

~ fic rec ~

[resident-fungi-fren]

Rainy Gays

Summary: Virgil hosts a radio station with Janus, and since it’s the only station that runs in their small town, just about everyone listens to it. 

He still didn't expect one of those people to be his soulmate.

Ships: Intruxiety (Virgil and Remus) and hints at Roceit (Roman and Janus)

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Good morning gaybies and gentlethems, you’re listening to Rainy Gays Radio, and we’re your hosts, I’m Janus,”

“And I’m Virgil, clearly the superior host, and that’s why it’s my turn to talk about the weather. Let’s see, looking outside, there’s some clouds, oh shit is that a bird? Nope, false alarm, it’s just another cloud. Rude little shits, pretending to be birds. That’s false advertising. Anygay, it’s supposed to rain later this week, so we really will be rainy gays then.”

“Wow, what an original joke Virgil, you totally don’t use that one every time it rains.”

“Nope, never in my life, shove off Janus.”

“Why Virgil, I’m wounded. I thought we were friends, and now you betray me? I never thought you’d be the one to stab me in the back, my dearest friend, how can I go on without you?”

“Perish.”

“Well, just for that, I’m not paying for coffee later. You can buy your own latte.”

“Rude, how dare you revoke my caffeine privileges, and on today of all days!”

“Wow, what a subtle transition into today’s caller topic, you’re a master of subtlety.”

“Shut-“

“No. Today’s topic is what everyone’s talking about. The new drink over at [INSERT COFFEE SHOP NAME HERE], the only coffee shop in town, and therefore the lifeblood of said town.”

“What would we do without it?”

“Perish.”

“Bite me, you’re not allowed to use my tactics against me.”

“I just did darling~. Now listeners, here’s your chance to burn no more than ten minutes and call in, tell us all about your thoughts on the new drink, Virgil dear, remind me of the name?”

“Black Hole Latte, I think it’s supposed to be blackberry or somethin? I haven’t had my coffee yet today, is it showing?”

“Yes dear, you look like shit.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“Anytime darling. You know the drill by now, we’re taking callers starting, now.”

“Here’s our first caller, that’s quick, people must be extra bored today. You’re on air now, spill the tea. Or the latte.”

“Hey, it’s Thomas, have either of you tried the latte?”

“Not yet”

“Negative Thom-a-roony.”

“Well, it’s not bad, it’s definite blackberry, but honestly I’ll be sticking with my usual, I’m not a huge fan of branching out.”

“You gotta mix it up sometimes, keeps things exciting.”

“Indeed, variety is the spice of life.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind, but for now me and my regular coffee are going to chill in the nice safe bubble.”

“You know man, that’s such a mood.”

“Thank you for calling Thomas, lovely to hear from you again.”

“Anything to burn a little more time away from work. Speaking of which, I’ve gotta go there now. Later!”

“See ya. Say, we’ve known Thomas for a few years now, does anyone know what he does for work?”

“Of course we do, he’s uh, hmm, actually, I don’t think we do. A real enigma, that man.”

“Yeah, he’s a real tough walnut to crack.”

“Here’s our next caller, you’re on air now.”

“Hey kiddos!”

“Hey Pat”

“Hello Patton, aren’t you at work right now?”

“Yeah I am, but I just wanted to let you both know how proud I am, you’re doing great! And I tried the new latte on my way to work, it’s super yummy! I think you’d like it, Virge, it’s got some nice fruity notes! Just make sure you don’t drink it too late or you’ll never sleep!”

“Will do Popstar.”

“That’s all, love you both!”

“Love you too Pat”

“I do as well.”

“See you both later tonight!”

“And that was our resident puffball, Patton.”

“At least she didn’t drop another pun, I’m not sure how many more Logan can take.”

“Yes,  we might have been in need of a new soundboard tech had Patton not resisted the temptation to pun.”

“Oh shit there’s been another caller waiting.”

“Oh dear, sorry for the wait, you’re on air now.”

“Really babe, keeping the sole provider of coffee waiting?”

“Oh it’s just Remy.”

“Just Remy? Careful Virgil, or you’ll be getting decaf for the next week.”

“Please forgive my sins, oh merciful coffee god.”

“Relax, I didn’t call just to blackmail you. I just wanted everyone listening, which we all know is pretty much anyone, that if I hear any shit about my new latte I have no qualms about putting you all on decaf for the next two weeks, so think carefully before you call.”

“Remy, I do think that’s considered censorship, which is in fact, illegal.”

“So is fishing off a giraffe in Idaho, that didn’t stop me then, and this won’t now.”

“Wait, you went fishing off a giraffe? In Idaho? When exactly did that happen?”

“A story for another time, I’ve got a coffee shop to run, later babes.”

“Alright, later-“

“Oh, one more thing, some weirdo came in and ordered it and poured in half a bottle of green Gatorade, and it was the most interesting thing that’s happened all day.”

“Did you say Gatorade?”

“I did, and now I’m saying bye, see ya, sianara, farewell, later bitch.”

“Wait who- and they’re already gone. Well, now I know there’s someone new in town, no one here would ever add anything to one of Remy’s coffee.”

“Excellent deduction Virgil, you should start a true crime radio.”

“You’re right, I should.”

“That was sarcasm, you’re not allowed to quit on me now.”

“Yeah yeah I know, but a guy can dream.”

“Dreaming is for the weak and the innocent, and you are neither.”

“I’d get mad but you’re right.”

“Did you just admit that I was right?”

“Oh look a new caller, how convenient-“

“Virgil answer me damnit- hello you’re on air now.”

“You know, I thought the coffee was good and all, but it was much better once I added my usual shot of Gatorade.”

“Did you just say- oh dear I think Virgil might need a trashcan.”

“Wow Virgil, do always make that wonderful gagging noise? I’d like to see what other noises you can make, with that lovely voice~”

“Dear random stranger, I think you broke my co-host, and possibly my back as well, seeing as I just fell out of it”

“Is that what that thump was? I was almost concerned for a moment.”

“Who the hell puts Gatorade in their coffee?!?!”

“Oh Virgil, glad to see you’ve recovered.”

“Don’t you play innocent, I will end you on air.”

“Wow, the sexual tension between the two of you is reeling right now.”

“Uhh, no thanks. Janus and I go way back, there’s no romance there, plus, we’re not soulmates.”

“Yes, Virgil is a dear friend, and while I love him, it’s purely platonic, and we’re happy with that.”

“Cool cool, does that mean Virgil’s single?”

“That’s what you got from that?”

“Yeah, you sound like you’re pretty hot.”

“I think you broke Virgil again, Gatorade stranger.”

“Oh, my name’s Remus! Though Virgil can call me whatever he wants, lover, dear, daddy, all acceptable.”

“Dude, you’re on the radio.”

“Oh, I’m very aware of that fact emo.”

“How do you know I’m emo?”

“You sound like it Gerard Gay.”

“Fair point.”

“As riveting as this conversation is, I think my brother is gonna stab me if I keep talking, so bye for now!”

“Why is your brother- and he’s gone, okay.”

“Final caller, you’re on air now, please don’t flirt with Virgil again”

“Is that what he did? I’m so sorry about my brother, Remus has zero filter.”

“Dude it’s fine, surprisingly we’ve gotten weirder calls.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, one time we got a telemarketer for a lingerie company.”

“That is weird, but trust me, doesn’t even touch on what Remus is capable of.”

“Good to know.”

“If he turns out to be a frequent caller, will you keep calling to apologize? You do have a lovely voice, so I wouldn’t be disappointed with the arrangement~”

“Oh I, um,”

“Stop flirting with the callers.”

“Callers? Do you do this often?”

“Only when they sound like a sunrise personified.”

“I’m hardly a sunrise, but yes, I wouldn’t be opposed to calling in again, Remus’s contributions aside.”

“Oh my god, I know the show is called Rainy Gays, but please stop flirting before I vomit again.”

“Apologies Virgil, we’re almost out of time anyway. Any chance I can get a name before we have to go, my dear?”

“Oh, Roman, my name is Roman.”

“A name fit for royalty~”

“Janus I swear to god-“

“And that’s all the time we have, for now, tune in later for your daily traffic report and water cooler conversation.”

“We’re not done talking about this-“

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Virgil glared at Janus as he packed up, the smug bastard smirking every time their eyes met. They had no right, looking so self-satisfied, how dare they flirt so smooth when Virgil was cursed to be an eternal gay disaster?

He huffed, and Janus snorted, and he threw them a glare.

“You could at least pretend to be sorry.”

“But Virgil, that would be a lie, and I would never lie, it’s a blatant mark on my character!”

“We both know that’s a load of bullshit.”

Logan walked out of the sound room, rolling his eyes. “With the way you two carry on, it’s no wonder the listeners think you’re romantically involved.”

They both gasped and spluttered, grievously offended. “How dare-”

“Just try not to flirt with the callers so much? You’re both incorrigible.” He straightened his tie, and slung his bag over his shoulder, heading out. “Don’t forget to lock up, we don’t want another raccoon breaking in.”

“Logan, don’t say such things about Virgil, his eyebags and crummy food choices don’t warrant name-calling!”

Janus just smirked when Virgil hissed at them.

“Plus, his hissing is distinctly cat-like.”

“You little-” was all he got out before he threw his balled-up scarf at them, which they caught with ease. Smug bastard.

He ruffled through his bag, then his coat pockets, then his bag again. He sighed, and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Have you seen my keys? I can’t find them, and Joan will skin my alive if I lose another set.”

Janus sighed and pinched the bridge of their nose. “Virgil, have you ever considered getting a keyring? Or something to keep track of them?”

“Hey, I do! I got the stormcloud one, remember!” He protested sheepishly, “but then I lost that too. It’s with my keys, wherever those are.”

“Virgil, you are a disater, how are you still allowed to live on our own?”

“I have you and Pat as neighbors.”

“Fair enough, your keys are hanging on the key rack, right where you hung them up when you got here.”

“Oh.” He sheepishly proccured his keys, and then held the door open for Janus once they were ready, and the two headed home together.

“You taking the bus?”

“Not today, it’s quite nice out and I have the energy for it, a walk will be good for me, and for you too, a little vitamin D won’t kill you ya know.”

Virgil gasped dramatically, feigning offense. “Exxxxxcccuuussseee you! That bright motherf***er,” he pointed to the sun, “is absolutley trying to kill me. Skin cancer, sunburns, heatstroke, cataracts? All from the sun!”

“Virgil the sun doesn’t have an vendetta against you, it has one against all of humanity.”

“Bold of you to assume he’s human!”

The voice came from behind them, making them both jump, and Virgil couldn’t help what blurted out of his mouth, truly it wasn’t his fault.

“MOTHMANS LITTLE HOE! WHo the F*** STILL SNEAKS UP ON ME!?!?!”

He spun around, and dropped his jaw as he layed eyes on the most drop-dead gorgeous man he’d ever seen. Was showing that much skin even legal?

The man gasped and looked down at his wrist, and his eyes widened before he looked back up at Virgil, grinning. “Well well well, looks like you’re my soulmate, Gerard Gay!”

Virgil sighed, “f*** me and my big mouth.”

[murasaki-murasame]

Thoughts on Higurashi Sotsu Ep13

The true mystery of this show is trying to figure out how to even talk about each episode without just repeating myself or talking about other parts of the franchise, lmao.

Anyway, thoughts under the cut. Plus probably spoilers for both Umineko and Ciconia.

I’m not even sure where to begin talking about the fundamental issues this show has at this point, lol. It’s easy to just say that Sotsu on it’s own is bad, but I feel like it’s highlighting the fact that right from day one there were problems with the show’s structure and it’s intentions that have just become more and more of an issue as time’s gone on.

At the very least, I think that it was a huge mistake for them to have the gun cliffhanger happen midway through Gou, and to then spend so much time on backstory stuff and answer arcs. That just cast a negative shadow over all of those arcs because everyone was just impatient to get back to the cliffhanger. At this point I think they shouldn’t have even had Nekodamashi be in Gou to begin with. If they transitioned straight from Tataridamashi to Satokowashi then you could keep the general cliffhanger of revealing that Satoko’s the culprit without making people so impatient to go back to it and see what happens afterward.

But there’s also the issues like how Satokowashi revealed everything we needed to know about the howdunnit of the mystery, or how the whole gimmick of reusing the same scenarios as the VN in order to play both sides and make it technically accessible to new fans really wrote them into a corner and forced them to spend more time on the answer arcs than they needed to.

If we at least assume that the whole story ends in this arc, I think you easily could have condensed it all into one 2-cour season if they’d just committed to aiming this at old fans.

I guess there’s still a chance we’ll get some sort of continuation, but at this point I feel like the only way to get that much more content is if it ends up mostly retreading Satokowashi from a different perspective, which might actually drive me insane, lol.

In general it just feels like we’re already at the climax of the story one way or another, and there’s not many ways to keep it going for much longer without it seeming super forced. Like, Eua and Hanyuu are having their big confrontation with each other, and now Rika and Satoko are both on the same page, so they’re going to basically be stuck in a stalemate until one of them gives up. There isn’t really any mystery left to answer aside from giving more info about what’s going on between Eua and Hanyuu, so I’d rather they just cut to the chase and not drag this out.

We also know from TV listings that a different show is going to taking over Sotsu’s time slot next season, so unless it changes time slot for some reason, we’d probably have to wait until at least January to get a continuation, and I just dunno if that’d even be worth it.

I’ve already gone over my general ideas for how I think this will end, but I still think it’s entirely possible to wrap things up in just two more episodes. At the very least, if we get another full cour out of this then that’d probably just end up only having a few more episodes of actually new content, so my point still stands, lol.

I don’t think this episode did much to change my mind about where this is going, but it did at least clarify a couple of things. Like how Eua explicitly calls Hanyuu a ‘part of her’, which means that I’m probably right about my interpretation of them being two halves of the same being. There’s still a lot of different ways they could explain it, but at this point it’d basically still just boil down to the same idea of them being two parts of the same person.

It’s also more clear now that Rika more or less didn’t really know about Satoko being the culprit until the last minute, and was starting to get flashbacks to the end of Tataridamashi. I’m not entirely sure how to feel about that. It’s kinda hard to believe that Rika wasn’t at least suspecting Satoko by that point, but I do like the implication that Rika wasn’t fully dead when Satoko arrived, since that at least feels like pay-off for Satoko being so cocky and openly monologuing about how evil she is when she thinks Rika’s dead and can’t hear her.

I guess this episode also shows that there wasn’t anything particularly special going on with how Takano decided to confess to Rika in this one specific loop, which is also kinda underwhelming. Basically it seems like it just boils down to her feeling guilty about all of the stuff she remembers doing, but it’s still kinda weird that she didn’t confess to her in any previous loops. One of the weird issues with Gou/Sotsu’s storytelling is that Rika seemingly put no real effort into trying to investigate Takano even though she remembered her being the culprit, and I think that could have been really easily resolved if there was a scene like this in Onidamashi where Takano confesses her sins to Rika and leaves the village, since that would at least give a reason for her to not try and investigate them, and to assume that somebody else is behind these new loops. They could have even just had that happen off-screen and only be shown in Oniakashi if they didn’t want to spoil new fans. It just seems like a really easy change to make that would have made Rika’s passivity and hopelessness in this series way more understandable.

I think we’re also meant to assume that Satoko reacting to the box in this episode was just her faking it, since there’s no real indication that her conscience has returned or anything. But I’m not really sure why Satoko would go out of her way to fake that, when the trap box hadn’t even come up in that timeline. Maybe it would have made more sense if we saw her inner thoughts in that scene, but it kinda feels like they had to come up with some sort of scenario where Satoko would accidentally display knowledge that only a looper would know. Compared to how she’s been almost overpowered and hyper-competent in this series compared to Rika, it has a weird vibe of her being stupid because the plot demands it, lol. Either way it just seems kinda weird and contrived.

We also ended this episode on the gun cliffhanger again, which I saw coming, but it still kinda stings, lol. Hopefully the payoff is worth it. Realistically I think Satoko will just immediately shoot Rika, and we’ll cut to them having a proper confrontation in the meta world. With how they compared it to the ‘miracle’ scene with Takano in Matsuribayashi, it’s possible that they’ll somehow stop Satoko from shooting her, but I dunno. The stuff Hanyuu said about how this ‘isn’t the world that Rika fought for’ makes me think we’re probably not gonna stick with this loop for very long anyway, so I’d rather they just cut to the chase and get to the part where the two of them fight it out in the fragment world once and for all. Which at least seems to be what that one part of the OP is teasing at.

On that note, the only other mysterious part of the OP [and the key visual] left is the older club members in new outfits, which still feels like a bit of a loose thread, but it’s entirely possible that it doesn’t really mean much. For one thing, it could be as simple as it being related to an epilogue scene back in the Matsuribayashi timeline where they’re in different outfits to the ones we saw them wear last time we saw them. Either way I don’t really think the other club members are going to be super relevant to how this all ends, so one way or another whatever that stuff is related to could still just come up in the next two episodes.

Basically the question is just how exactly the big conflicts are gonna get resolved, and what note we’ll end things on. Which also ties into the larger question of whether or not this is genuinely meant to tie into Umineko [and maybe Ciconia] like they’re indicating, or if that’s some kind of elaborate troll.

I know i’m biased, but I think all the Umineko and Ciconia stuff is totally sincere, and Ryukishi really is using this as a way to start tying the wider WTC-verse together in a more concrete way, so that’s what I’m basing my theories off of.

With that in mind, I still think this will end with Rika and Satoko officially abandoning their humanity and becoming witches together, with the sword maybe being an in-universe plot device to depict that process. And with the reveal that Eua and Hanyuu are for all intents and purposes two parts of the same person, I feel like their side of things will probably end with them merging together in a way that creates Featherine, which would at least explain why Featherine’s personality is more mild than Eua’s, and also why Bernkastel is her miko, and why Featherine’s whole name is a giant pun about Hanyuu. It’d also fit with the whole religious motif that Hanyuu has going on if she basically ‘sacrifices’ herself to neutralize Eua. It’s at least the closest I think we’ll get to seeing Eua be ‘defeated’.

And on that note, I don’t really think this will end with anyone like Eua or Satoko being used as a villain who everyone else defeats so they can go back to their happy ending, since that’s the exact sort of thing that Ryuukishi regrets doing originally, and is why we’ve gotten so many redemption arcs for people in Gou/Sotsu. So I think at most we’ll see Eua get turned into Featherine so she’s less actively hostile towards everyone else, but I think this will ultimately end with Rika and Satoko reconciling and mending their relationship.

Over on the Matsuribayashi timeline side of things, I feel like this is gonna end up paralleling Nekodamashi a bit, and we’ll find out that Satoko ended up planning to kill herself in the Saiguden, but Rika and the club will show up at the last minute and she’ll choose not to. Then we’ll probably see her and Rika talk things out properly, and maybe Satoko will find out that Satoshi woke up from his coma or whatever, and that way they’ll all still get their happy ending, while also simultaneously we can still have Rika and Satoko split off their witch selves into separate entities that become the Bern and Lambda we know in Umineko.

It’s possible they’ll do something with the idea of Satoko losing her game and being sent to a world without Rika, but that also might just not happen at all. So who knows.

If they really lean into the idea of this directly setting up for Umineko, then it’d be neat if we also see Satoko and Rika meet Ikuko in the future of the Matsuribayashi timeline.

There’s also the Ciconia teases to think about, but they seem to be going in the direction of Ciconia taking place before all this even happened, so I think that’ll be kept kinda nebulous and unexplored until Ciconia itself finishes. Ryukishi might announce a release date for phase 2 after Sotsu ends, but I think it’s way too early for anything like an anime adaptation of it. I’d rather they wait until at least after it’s finished before they do something like that.

On the other hand, Umineko’s been over for like ten years, so it’d be much easier to do something like a remake for it after this. I have a lot of thoughts about how that might go if they do that, but I’m gonna wait until Sotsu ends and then make a separate post about it.

Anyway I guess now I just have to wait and see what happens next week, lol.