#no amount of au's and “hes aged up” is gonna save you from being a freak about him im just saying!!!

[ouellette]

thinking abt how there's still so many ppl in this godforsaken fandom that ship ben with anyone at all has got me heated. like why is he not treated the same as sally was when all those creeps were shipping HER with jeff likeee........ it's only a 4 year age difference but everyone just loves to forget that ben is eternally 12 no matter which way you look at it

[helyft]

Shenbro au where, Shen Yuan wakes up inside the body of the scum villain's little brother. Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan join the Qing Jing peak togather. Shen Jiu is way more popular than SY, even if it's not really a good thing. SY doesn't really leave the peak unless he must, so not many people know that SJ has a brother, let alone one who is a fucking saint.

After fixing and healing sqq like bob the builder, (transmigrator) SY is finally sure that SQQ isn't gonna fuck up his future even if he is left to his own device. But that doesn't mean SY will leave his big bro though, nope, He is just gonna go on his own little adventures while SJ is doing what-head-disiple-usually-do. Just temporarily yeah

It takes a lot to convince SJ, but with the help of YQY and their Shizun, SY manages to leave after promising SJ that he'll come back more often than not. It's not like he is planning on leaving forever, he will be back in time for the original to begin! Just to make sure his brother doesn't dig his own grave.

it's mighty fun, seeing monsters he had only ever read about with his own eyes, observing the wild life and noting down his adventures, if he didn't have SJ waiting for him back in the sect, SY might have just settled as a rogue cultivator.

SY is curious about how people in this day and age live. When he first came to this world, he was too busy trying to not die and keep his brother from pissing people off left and right. Now that SJ has calmed down a bit (he is still a little bitch but a likeable bitch atleast.) and canon is still a few years away, it's definitely the right time to enjoy the mundane activities and savoury street food!

But you know who else also leaves the sect to hunt down monsters for indefinite amount of time?

SY totally doesn't expect to run into future Bai Zhan lord while out in the wild (Wellll, not that he knows this is LQQ. ) but he is so glad he did! Otherwise he would have been mauled alive by a poisonous-clawed bear!

The amount of times they coincidentally meet eachother is actually suspicious. But SY doesn't mind. Who would mind being saved by a heavenly beauty (even if it's a man)? Sure, this guy might not talk alot, stare at him like he has grown another head and leave instantly after killing the beast that was about to attack SY, he sure is a eye-candy!

They get close soon enough. It can't be helped since they run into eachother every other week. SY even managed to fish out his surname! Which happens to be the same as Liu Mingyan's!

Liu-gongzi is actually nicer than he looks, turns out the reason he looked at SY as if he had grown a second head isn't because he dislikes him but because he looks identical to an unsavoury person Liu-gongzi knows!

SY learned quite a bit about him, like how he is part of a sect, how he only goes back to his sect once a month to show his face to his shizun, and how he even has a little sister. Liu-gongzi's company is a delight to have! He even lets SY observe a beast before killing it.

(if there is a slight voice whispering in the back of his head about the similarities Liu-gongzi has to a certain war god, he ignores it)

They don't really stick together, SY isn't really here to fight fight and fight, he is here to learn about the behind the scenes of PIDW, and enjoy his life the fullest before canon inevitably comes. Liu-gongzi on the other hand likes to mindlessly charge into battle. SY suspects that his head is somewhat empty other than thoughts about brawling with monsters.

Spending time with Liu-gongzi is...fun. It feels like he has finally made a friend who isn't mentioned by the original story. He is a little sad inside everytime they have to go their own way but somehow, they end up meeting always so he can just think that they are meant to be together right? In a platonic way ofc.

Time passes by in a flash, and before SY realises it, Canon is already looming over.

It's about time he heads back to Cang Qiong.

(and if he catches sight of a very, very familiar man, who has become even more beautiful since the last time SY saw him, wellll, that's a sorry for another day.)

[fem-the-artist]

Magic Future au

Some of the basics:

Usually when I’m drawing an older Timmy unless specified otherwise it’s probably for this au

This entire a use, basically my own personal headcanons of what I think Timmy’s future should be also in know that anything past season six that happened in the show is not canon

So no Chloe , no sparky , no foop (there is a version of an anti-poof. It just doesn’t align with what the show portrayed.)

Wishology is also on thin ice. I am going to pick and choose what I do and do not want from that special. 

 There’s also gonna be quite a sprinkle of Nicktoons unite in here because universal travel is silly 

The for main ages that I focus on for Timmy are 10 (really more like 11) 14, 19 and 32  I’m gonna post a visual aid later to show where he’s at on those four points later 

But there’s a reason for each of these ages being focused on 10 11 is focused on potential episodes I thought of as well as for those of you who know my OC Cinnamon who is Tootie’s godparent  so this age is mostly used to explore new relationship dynamics between the cast, with is such a change 

14 is really used to explore that awkward teenage phase and is right before Timmy has his gender epiphany. Also, a lot of relationship drama is 14 and figuring things out. There are going to be a lot of ups and downs. 

19 is the one you’ve seen the most of on my page, he’s confident he’s shameless he’s Timmy! interacts the most with the Nicktoons gang currently dating Jimmy. I wanted to skip ahead to 19 instead of 18, because 18 would be dealing with the no fairies memory issues drama. 19 however, they were essentially cut a small deal. Cosmo and Wanda are temporarily suspended from being godparents. Timmy doesn’t lose his memories however, he also doesn’t get to keep Cosmo and Wanda as god parents, but he gets the small bottle of fairy dust that he keeps around his neck at all times for emergencies 

It’s also an indicator that he’s essentially part of the magical world. Timmy was allowed to keep his memories and magic in his life for 3 reasons

Reason 1 saving fairy world countless times  is one of them

Reason number 2 really just amounts to poof’s existence because I’m doing his wishes and memories under does poof 

And reason number 3 Timmy is just far too ingrained into fairy culture, everyone in fairy world knows him. He’s a minor celebrity. He spent holidays there, he invented, and is the announcer for the Fairy Olympics. And to put it simply the people there know him and no other God kid has ever gotten that much notoriety in fairy world. He is one of them. 

Anyway, back to the ages 32 seems like a jump, but that’s because it takes place during ‘new wish’  with Hazel. Ok hear me out for this one. I love the ending of channel chasers everyone does, but I’m also want Timmy to keep the magic in his life so a compromise.

Fairy warden Timmy you know him you love him I’ve always believed that if Timmy was gonna be anything, he was gonna be a goddamn lawyer, with the amount of times that boy has gone to court 

In the episode, a wish to far Timmy makes a series of selfish wishes, and Jorgen takes him to court saying ‘hey, you don’t get your fairies anymore you suck’. Essentially, Timmy had no real defense outside of Cosmo and Wanda, who are a biased party and who Jorgan never listens to so in theory

If this is a thing that Jorgan regularly does, I feel like the kids who get called on like this should get a defense lawyer, a.k.a. Timmy! Being a fellow fairy warden means he has just as much authority as Jorgen as well as previously being a human means he understands where the kids are coming from because fairies have been shown to not fully understand how humans work so tend to be biased, which is why Timmy would be the perfect lawyer on the kids side!

Anyway, Timmy is a fairy warden/lawyer 

As for how channel chasers plays into this, we’ve got a double life situation going on here  we’re technically, while he still works as a fairy he lives as a human (also, he’s not a full fairy just stating that since fairies are born, not made he technically qualifies as a separate species. Most people call him a pseudo- fairy. Jorgen called him a demon, and because he called him a demon. That’s technically his species name now lol)

But anyway, Tommy and Tammy exist and are still Timmy’s kids  who don’t know their dad is a fairy so it’s like a gravity falls trying to figure out the mystery situation where they’re pretty sure their dad isn’t human but they don’t know what he is 

Also, Cosmo and Wanda are Hazel’s godparents since they’re no longer on suspension at this point 

Poof is probably like in whatever the equivalent of fairy high school is 

[mlwritersguild]

Adrinette roommates AU with "there was only one bed" please (ily mia)

Fervor Lullaby, by @chy-tea93

AO3 link; Just One Bed, Roommates AU, Aged-Up Characters, Post-Reveal Pre-Relationship, Mutual Pining, Reverse Love Square AU, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Summary:

It really should have come as no surprise. They’d gotten a small place to keep rent costs down after all. But the listing had said two bedrooms. What it really should have said was one-bedroom and extra closet.

“So… looks like we’re sharing a room then.”

Marinette nodded in agreement. “And a bed.”

---

It really should have come as no surprise. They’d gotten a small place to keep rent costs down after all. But the listing had said two bedrooms. What it really should have said was one-bedroom and extra closet. If it could even be considered a closet, there was hardly room for one twin bed and a small dresser and that was if you didn’t like seeing the floor.

Gabriel’s accounts had all been frozen post-defeat and Adrien had only the funds made when modeling – before he decided to quit. Marinette had a little in savings as well from working at the bakery. They both had just enough to pitch in on the security deposit. Whoever had taken the photos of this place did an impressive job, the ‘second’ bedroom looked at the very least, useable online. It was the only available apartment on a top floor in their price range, so they had taken it sight-unseen.

“So… looks like we’re sharing a room then.”

Marinette nodded in agreement. “And a bed.”

Not like they could back out now anyways, money had been paid and they needed this – to be independent. Even if it was going to be more awkward than ever before.

“Don’t worry, I don’t wiggle too much and at least the bed is larger than either of us are used to.”

“It’s quite large, yeah.” She was worried, but not because of him.

Her nights usually ended with the blanket somewhere down on the bottom of her room back at the bakery, head hanging off the side and more often than not, there was drool. And that was when she didn’t have nightmares, she was ten-times worse after one. How on earth was she going to make it through one night without embarrassing herself?

“Honestly, I’m kind of excited. It will be like having a sleepover every night.”

“Heh. Yeah. A sleepover! I sleep love-overs!”

Adrien gave her a quizzical look and dang-it if that signature chat-like glint in his eyes didn’t make her weak in the knees.

“Ookay then. Um… I’m going to go unload my suitcase and then take a shower. We can figure out dinner afterwards?”

“Sure. Yeah. Okay. I’ll unpack the food my parents sent.”

Marinette felt his arms wrap around from behind and pull her into him, his breath tickling as he nuzzled her neck. “Thank you for moving in with me, Mari.”

She stiffened, willing the goosebumps to back down. They didn’t. Adrien hummed behind her before pulling away and heading into the bedroom. Their bedroom. She was doomed. Completely doomed.

---

“It was so nice of your parents to send cookies!”

“And cheese croissants!”

“You two are insatiable.”

Tikki and Plagg had quickly made themselves at home in the middle of the kitchen table, both munching on the aforementioned treats. Marinette could tell how much they absolutely loved being able to be around each other out in the open. Despite the strange atmosphere that had hung around her and Adrien ever since finding everything out, seeing the two Kwamis happy had been worth it.

“So, Pigtails, Tikki here says you are in love with a certain cat boy I know.”

“Shhh Plagg! I told you that in confidence!” Tikki all but yelled.

“I thought there were no more secrets! I’m going to need an extensive amount of camembert if this is how it’s gonna be.”

“Would both of you quiet down? This apartment is small!”

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Kitten gets really into his shower routine.”

“I… didn’t need to know that. And yes. To answer your question, I am and kind of always have been… but it won’t be an issue! He made it clear that in love with someone else and I want him to be happy. Once we both get better jobs, we can find a bigger place with our own rooms.”

The two Kwami stared at each other with knowing looks.

“Right. Like I said. Camembert, stat!”

“Plagg! Be nice!” Tikki tossed a crumb towards the tiny cat that he easily dodged.

Marinette opened the fridge and grabbed a wheel, popping the container open and placing it on the table, much to Plagg’s delight.

She decided she might as well start unpacking her suitcase (they would slowly move the rest of their things over the weekend) and made her way into the bedroom. The one thing this place had going for it at least was the sheer number of pillows stocked in the closet. Those would make a nice barrier to prevent Adrien from being kicked off of the bed. Maybe.

Foregoing her bag for the moment, Marinette collected every last pillow she could find, including a couple from the tiny not-a-bedroom bedroom across the hall, and began creating a wall down the middle of the bed. Getting it right took some wrangling as some of the pillows were just too soft to really create much of a barrier, but after a few tries it looked – decent.

Surveying her work, Marinette leaned against the dresser opposite the foot of the bed. She could do this. Sharing a bed with her best friend who turned out to be her other best friend that she was most definitely not in love with (she totally was) would be easy, especially with the pillows to prevent any sort of contact.

“Wow Mari, your work rivals the great wall of China.”

Adrien’s voice caused her to squeak and look towards him. Her arms flailed as she felt herself tip backwards from the momentum of her turn only to be caught by her partner’s arms.

“Sorry, Mar. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Psh. Me? Scared? Nah. Just felt like flying!”

He raised a brow. She was truly on a roll tonight.

“Well maybe save the flying for the suit, no?”

“Good idea.”

“So, what’s with the pillow wall?”

She felt her cheeks flush, which was just absolutely lovely. “I, uh, kick a lot so I thought it might be safer for you this way.”

“Oh.”

Why did he look so disappointed? She needed a distraction, or the kicked kitten look he suddenly had was going to break her.

“Dinner! We need to have dinner! Otherwise, we won’t sleep well!”

He looked surprised at her sudden change of subject but thankfully didn’t comment on it, instead following her train of thought. “Want to order some takeout? I’m not really good at cooking at the moment and it’s been a long day with signing paperwork and everything.”

“Takeout would be great.”

🗝️🗝️🗝️

Adrien was used to Marinette’s usual quirkiness, but tonight she seemed more on edge. He figured it had to do with the fact that they were unexpectedly sharing a room and a bed. In all honesty, he was excited at the notion. With everything that had gone down after his father had been defeated there hadn’t been much time for them to just be together and he missed the way they used to just hang out and relax.

They had put on a movie to watch during dinner and though things had mostly been comfortable, tonight was more strained, both eating in silence rather than engaging in their usual banter. Hopefully the jitters of moving into their first apartment away from their parents for the first time would wear off quickly.

He was incredibly grateful to Marinette. Before they’d officially revealed themselves, she had supported him after Gabriel was publicly outed. She never once made him feel like he was less of a person for being related to the tyrant. That’s why, when he accidentally saw her detransform on her balcony one night shortly after a now non-eventful patrol, he didn’t hesitate to leap down and reveal himself. This amazing woman who had remained by his side, no matter how bad it could possibly look for her future career or what other people said, turned out to be the savoir of Paris. It made him love her all the more.

“I love this movie.”

“Can we get three kittens? Please? Marie can be yours!”

“Don’t let Plagg hear you say that he might be offended.”

“I’ll just get him more cheese.”

Her laugh rang out and oh how he loved that sound. It was more addictive than any drug in his mind and he quickly decided he needed more of it. Leaning across the couch he reached for her sides and began tickling. It worked like the luckiest of charms. Lured in by the melody of her laughter, Adrien scooted closer to her, reaching up to get her underarms and neck. She squirmed and giggled as he drew closer, until he had her completely pinned underneath him.

Marinette looked stunning with rosy cheeks, eyes alight and a smile on her face. This was how he always loved to see her, something that he hadn’t experienced in months. So caught up in the moment, he let his guard down long enough to allow her to tickle him in return and make him go tumbling to the floor, laughing all the way.

“Crap! I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

“I’m good!”

“Stinker. You play dirty.”

“Nah. All’s fair.”

He chuckled as she rolled her eyes.

“I’m going to go get ready for bed, you okay cleaning up?”

“Absolutely.”

She didn’t move from her spot, both of them sharing a look that felt more intimate than most. He should just pull her to him and kiss her. Really, what was stopping him from doing just that? It had been a few years, but she’d once said she loved him as Chat. He had told her he was in love with someone else, having fallen for Marinette all those years ago on his very first day of public school. There was a chance she still felt the same way, right? She hadn’t dated anyone in all their years as friends, of this he was certain.

Right as he gathered up the courage and began to sit up, she rose. Try as he might, the disappointment was sure to show.

“I’ll be in soon, just let me know when you’re decent.”

“Will do.”

He watched somberly as she softly closed the bedroom door behind her.

🗝️🗝️🗝️

Heart racing, Marinette sat on the bed for a moment attempting to collect her thoughts. Every point of contact he’d made on her had left lingering flames. She needed to dial it back because there was no way in hell she was losing her best friend over her stupid feelings. No way at all.

Her mind wandered back to that night on her balcony, mere months ago. She had landed after an outing with Chat, something she was worried would become less and less now that their main enemy had been defeated, and quickly detransformed. The thud of his boots on the deck behind her had made her jump, but as his detransformation fell she could only smile in pure adoration. Her two favorite people in all the world had turned out to be the same person and she had never loved him more.

Unfortunately for her, she knew Adrien was in love with someone, and that someone was not her. They’d managed to make it through, even if things were more awkward and, with her parents’ blessing, had decided on renting the apartment together.

Adrien could hardly afford to rent even a studio by himself and without hesitation she had suggested they be roommates. Would it absolutely destroy her when he finally brought that special girl home? Yes. Was she going to go through with it anyways? Yes. The whole ‘just one bed’ thing really was a curveball she hadn’t seen coming.

Sighing, mostly to herself, but partially in hopes that Tikki would hear (she didn’t), Marinette changed into her pj’s and did the rest of her nightly routine in the small two-piece bathroom attached to the bedroom. Time for the strangest sleepover she’d ever had.

---

“You’re really sticking with the pillow wall, then?”

“It’s for your safety, trust me.”

“You can’t be that bad.”

“I assure you; she is!” Of course, Tikki made an appearance now.

“Oh?”

“I have a habit of kicking and ending up in odd places on the bed.”

“I mean… I could just hold you so you can’t go anywhere.” He winked. She blushed.

“Ha! Funny one.” She climbed into her side of the bed, forgetting the comforter that was still on the floor from her earlier construction.

“You, uh, gonna be warm enough, Mari?”

“Mmhmm!”

An involuntary shiver gave her away and Adrien laughed softly as he brought the blanket up and over her, tucking it in around her shoulders.

“There. Snug as a bug in a rug.”

A snort escaped her.

“You know you love me.”

He had no idea.

Adrien turned off the light, though the city lights illuminated the room enough that she could still see everything clearly. They would definitely need to invest in some black-out curtains. The bed dipped as he climbed into the bed, causing her to tense as she kept herself from rolling towards the center and into the makeshift barrier.

“Huh. The pillows are quite supportive when I’m on my side.”

“Mmhmm.”

She felt one push into her back a little.

“Squishy too.”

“Goofball.”

“But I’m your goofball.”

“Goodnight, Adrien.”

“Goodnight, Mari.”

---

That morning she woke up by some miracle in relatively the same spot as she had fallen asleep in. It would seem that the pillow wall had remained largely intact as well… except for the arm that had made its way through it and was currently wrapped around her waist. That would explain why she hadn’t moved.

Gently, she lifted said arm and slid out of bed placing her personal pillow underneath, so she didn’t wake him. After gathering some clothes for the day, she stole a glance at him before heading to the main bathroom to shower. Adrien was smooshed up against the barrier, golden locks hanging in his face, mouth partly open as he slept. He looked so incredibly peaceful, something he had long deserved.

She could get used to waking up to this every day.

---

And she did.

A week had gone by with her waking before Adrien, his arm breaking the barrier to snuggle her. Somehow, she had managed not to completely karate kick him off the bed yet, though there had been a few mornings where the blankets were a complete mess.

Today had been long, the bakery busier than usual due to an influx of tourists for the season. Marinette was a walking zombie at this point, wanting nothing more than to curl up and sleep.

“Welcome home!” Adrien stood over the stove, cooking what looked to be a box of pasta and something else, with a large grin on his face. He wore the light pink ‘life is what you bake it’ apron that he had gotten her on their friendiversary last year.

“Hey. Thanks.”

“I watched a video on how to make pasta. Tikki helped me with the marinara so it’s a little bit on the sweet side. But I haven’t burned the place down yet!”

She walked over and dipped her finger in the sauce to taste. It was on the sweeter side for sure, but in a good way.

“Thanks, Adri.”

“You’ve been working hard lately, and I wanted to try and do something nice.”

“Well, I am certainly not complaining. And lucky for us, my parents sent home some bread!”

“I might have called and asked them to set some aside…”

“You’re too sweet. I’m going to go get cleaned up and then I’ll join you.”

His smile did nothing but melt her heart. If only he realized what it was he was truly doing to her.

🗝️🗝️🗝️

Adrien had been super excited to make dinner but watching Marinette actually enjoy what he had prepared made him giddy. She’d been putting in extra hours at the bakery, trying to save up money for when they were in school next year and couldn’t work as much. He’d been trying to find somewhere to work but didn’t have many qualifications at the moment, aside from modeling. His dream was to teach le primaire music. Not to mention, it was hard to find someone who would hire him, being the son of a former magical terrorist and all.

Much to his delight, the one bed thing hadn’t turned out to be much of an issue. The first night he had tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable spot until he’d finally decided to snuggle the makeshift wall. He’d awoken that first morning with his arm shoved through and holding Marinette’s Pillow. He could only conclude that he had snuggled her throughout the night and that she hadn’t wanted to wake him or make him feel bad. After that he had tried his hardest to fall asleep facing the edge of the bed but always woke up in the same position.

He was surprised at the fact that she hadn’t been as violent in her sleep as she and Tikki had tried to get him to believe. There had been a couple of mornings that she had yoinked the covers right off of him and wiggled around but nothing near as crazy as he had imagined. Tonight, however, she seemed to be thrashing more than she had been the last week.

“N-no. Cht. Pllse dnt do ths.”

Her mumble startled him, more-so because she had mentioned him than her voice itself.

“Mari?”

“Please, no!” Her voice came out as a strangled yell.

Facing away from him, she lunged backwards, nearly knocking him off the bed as she began to kick and knock both the covers and bottom half of the pillow-wall off the bed. Righting himself, he leaned up to look over the leftover pillow. Her arms were wound around her chest as her feet continued to kick, almost as if she was running from something.

Out of the corner of his eye, watched Tikki as she flew over and rested atop Marinette’s head, gently stroking her chosen’s hair.

“Nightmare?”

“She has them about once a week. It only gets worse from here.”

“Oh Jeeze.” His heart was racing. “Is there anything I can do?”

“She’s going to hate me for this, but I think it would help if you held her. She’ll begin to call out for you soon and sometimes will sleepwalk in search of you.”

His heart sank at that. He’d had no idea.

Tossing the rest of the pillows to the floor, Adrien sat up slightly before moving closer to her, cautiously reaching out and rubbing up and down her exposed arm. Marinette stiffened before quickly turning to face him and wrapping her arms around his torso. Thankfully her kicking seemed to have slowed down.

“Kitty. You came back.”

“Always, love. Always.”

He held her tight as her dream seemingly played out, listening as she mumbled incoherently. After what felt like hours, she finally stilled and began breathing evenly once again.

“That was amazing Adrien. She has never calmed down that fast.”

“No?”

The little red kwami shook her head. “No. You remember when she told you about you being akumitized as Chat Blanc?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s what her nightmares are usually about. First you destroy the world, then, sparing her, you destroy yourself. She always tries to stop you but never makes it in time.”

“Oh wow. I never knew it had affected her so much.” He lightly brushed the hairs that had collected around her face away, tucking them behind her ear.

“I think having you here is going to be a really good thing. You both need each other, she’s just too scared to do anything about it.”

Scared? Marinette? He had never known her to be too terribly scared of anything. Nervous, sure, but never scared. Even when she had told him the story of his akumatization, she’d been calm and levelheaded. Marinette began to stir in his arms, pushing against him slightly, her brows arched in confusion, seemingly unsure of where she was.

“Mari?”

Her eyes slowly blinked open.

“Adrien?”

“Yeah, its me. You had a nightmare.”

“Oh. OH.”

“You alright?”

“I… I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Not at all, love.”

She looked up at him, confusion written in her eyes.

“Tikki filled me in. She thought that my holding you might help, and she was right.”

“Love?”

“A new nickname I thought I’d try… if you like?”

She frowned and looked away for a moment before locking her gaze back on his.

“Love. But… what about…”

“Mari, there’s no one else. It’s always been you. From the moment we met.”

Her eyes widened as the information sank in.

“M-me?”

“You. I love you Marinette.”

Though he didn’t expect what came next, he would forever be grateful it had. Marinette’s arms wrapped around his neck as her lips crashed into his, desire and longing coursing through her. His hands reached up to cup her face, pulling her closer as he deepened their kiss. It was everything he had ever dreamed of and more, the woman of his dreams here in his arms holding him like she never wanted to let go. Deep down he knew she never would.

🗝️🗝️🗝️

Life so far had been a whirlwind of emotions and crazy clichés, but lying in Adrien’s arms, knowing he loved her just as much as she loved him, Marinette had never been more thankful for this little home they’d quickly made, complete with ‘just one bed’.

[sonicasura]

Once again your right Sonic. This is Kafka we are talking about and yeah he would hunt down kaijus when getting his powers early on. Not only because he can but also to in some part keep his promise to Mina. Even more so after aging out the DF exams.

Granted he had to be very steathly and creative about it. Even with the heart core managing to keep him hidden from the DF's radars, scanners and whatnot, it did not mean there wasn't any danger involved to doing it. Beside, thanks to all this hidden fighting against kaijus and Kafka keeping up with the self-defense training he's gotten over the years, he is a very talented close combat fighters as a result with his own style of fighting.

Which is quickly proven to be quite the combination when the Soshiro vs Kafka fight in the main events happens. In this world, Soshiro is dealing with a well experianced fighter No 8 thats going to give him a run for his money. And excite him in a way thats quite frankly worrying for many and himself. And he likes it too much for his own good too, even if he hates the fact that Kafka tazed him to get away at the end.

No 10 and Soshiro actually gets to fight against Kafka some time in the future in a match, after of course the whole save the world event is over. Both battle manicas are going to have some quite the fun with Kafka.

And you can just imagien how Mina feels that in some aspects Kafka had not been a liar to her. Sure he was not right beside her when she needed him nor part of Df with her. But in the shadows he was keeping watching her back and helping her whereever he could. Wether it be reducing the numbers of kaijus that was currently attacking or weaking them enough that the third had an easier time dealing with. Or whatever else Kafka did to support her and the rest of the third.

Though the higher ups don't take these news well. Given how they iffy they are to begin with in canon, these kind of news are not gonna ease many them on how they feel about Kafka. And you can just imagine how Isao would feel about these news too.

In some ways, the late general feels a deep sense of wasted potential in the fact that Kafka did not become part of the DF much eariler. And he is not alone in this matter.

However there are other reasons as to why Kafka hunts kaijus as well. One of which is because he can't stay human 24/7, years on end. He has to fully transform a few times a month to avoid disaster from happening and thanks to his instinct he hunt smaller and medium sized kaijus biweekly to keep them incheck. Or when he has the time for it as sometimes his work at the Monster Sweppers keeps him a lot more occupide than you'd think.

And yes, Hotaru would indeed keep a tally on how many times his nephew has tackled him thanks to the fireflies. And Kafka is indeed too kaiju lizard brain for his own good at times. No matter if it in the canon or au version.

I'm surprised no one has experimented with the fact that Kafka took and failed the Defense Force exams so many times. This is the kind of determination nobody on the force has ever seen before. It could go two ways. Someone picking him up for an internship or a permanent ban from applying.

I can only imagine how intense those battles with Soshiro and No.10 would be. Kafka is much more experienced here so he knows what amount of strength to use than being fully afraid that he'll kill someone. Mina's gonna grill him for details on what he has been doing during his vigilante days.

I'm not surprised that Kafka has to go kaiju every now and then. This is the kind of stipulation I tend to include when it involves characters who aren't fully human or are cursed. Sometimes the monster inside has to come out and play.

[innytoes]

"girl help I already have so much headcanons for this au I'm never gonna write" .... show us the dystopian headcanons, Inny

Okay so this dystopia was percolating in my brain for a day or two before I could get it out. It's inspired by a lot of different sci-fi things, the biggest being Neal Stephenson's The Diamond Age and that lovely tumblr story about the 100 point children.

It's set on a big-ass space ship colony, and you need credits for everything. Like, your basic needs will technically be met (large dormitories in your assigned work department/orphanage, fabricated Nutritionally Perfect food but not very tasty food, standard issue clothing, etc.) but if you want more, it costs credits. Credits are earned by working and possibly citizenship points, like that creepy Black Mirror episode.

So having your own place costs credits, but so does having kids, like a child tax. Don't think about the horrifying implications of that if you're not able to pay, don't do it, it's a dystopia remember.

Reggie's parents were just barely keeping their head above water, possibly due to spending their credits unwisely, possibly due to it being a fucking dystopia and they need to keep a bunch of people in poverty for the system to run. You know... like capitalism.

It’s not like spaces are officially segregated and all, but if you try to go to a park in a richer area as a kid in the standard issue (free) gray uniform... you’re gonna get picked on. Reggie learns early on where he’s ‘allowed’ to be and where he isn’t. Besides, after he starts going to work with his dad it doesn’t matter much anyway. Sometimes he sneaks out to the parks in the evenings or mornings (when normal kids are at school or in bed and his dad’s shift hasn’t started yet) so he can play on the Good Swings and stuff.

Rose and Ray both have pretty well-paying jobs (Ray watches the radar for asteroids and stuff on the bridge, as well as being a photographer, and Rose reviews and translates station-wide communications as well as being a private music teacher). Their kids want for nothing, they have a nice house, they have enough credits in savings that they’re ready for pretty much anything.

So at the end of the month Rose browses the internal logs, looking for places to donate credits. Regular donations go to the orphaned kids, so they can go to school, and she’s been known to pay off bullshit fines (“a teenager played their music too loud in the park and now the parents are facing downsizing their unit size to pay for it? That’s bullshit!”)

She kind of stumbles on Reggie by accident, thinking someone messed up the age from 31 to 13 on Reassignment Job Board. (She’s a reviewer after all, she can send a quick message through Internal Comms and get it fixed before someone is reprimanded and loses credits for a typo.) Until she reads his profile and his answers and is horrified. She talks to Ray, and then to Julie and Carlos, and oops, guess they have a new son.

Carlos is stoked to have an older brother. Julie is kind of horrified to learn there are kids who don’t get to go to school at all because their parents don’t have the credits for it, so of course she says yes. 

-As soon as Rose and Ray have convinced Reggie that no, they did not take him in as some kind of live-in butler or cleaning service, but as a kid, they sit him down with a Pad and get him to pick out some stuff that costs actual credits for the fabricator to make. Reggie is very concerned, so he sorts from lowest-price and works his way up until he balks at the amount of credits. (Which is... pretty much anything that isn’t the standard issue uniform but in like a nice colour.)

When Rose catches on, she tells the Pad to hide the prices, take out the ‘sort by price’ option, and take out anything that doesn’t fit into ‘budget - kids’. Then she hands the Pad back to Reggie and tells him to try again. He can still sort by colour and style and stuff, but he can’t see prices. If he hits his budget, the things that cost too much turn red.

(He only figures that out because he adds something he knows is really expensive, like a hoverboard, to his basket, just to see where the limits of this ‘budget’ lie. And is then very flustered because hoverboards are very very expensive, so he’s allowed to pick out a hoverboard plus like, seven sets of pants worth of stuff?)

In the end, he picks out a lot of black. Because it hides stains, unless you’re cleaning with bleach, and also it’s what the pilots wear as their uniform and pilots are really cool. Black jeans (Ray and Carlos are wearing jeans.) Black shirts. Black shoes. But then he stumbles on a very soft looking red plaid shirt, and there’s an option to have the fabricator make a square inch of test fabric for free. And it’s so very, very soft. He rubs the fabric between his fingers while he selects that shirt, and follows the ‘more like this’ links to several more items. A hoodie. Some pairs of thick socks. A little black leather bracelet, which feels like the height of luxury.

His room already has a non-standard issue bed, desk, and dresser,  but Ray reassures him that he can pick something else and they can feed these to the fabricator to get back some of the credits if he doesn’t like them. (He does like them. They look like wood, and the mattress on the bed is so comfortable.) He picks out a thick blanket that’s fuzzy on the inside, and a lamp that looks like a floating moon, and then, because there’s still budget left, a little statue of a horse, just to have something to put on the dresser.

He picks out a nice soft green for his walls, with a picture of rolling plains with long grass and a forest to cover one wall. He and Carlos sit on his bed and watch as the nanobots convert the boring gray walls, and that’s pretty cool too.

-Yes he gets his own stocking and it’s full of fun things (Carlos is mad at his parents they got Reggie socks, but Reggie loves his new socks. They have little pizzas on them!). His favourite is the little cube that projects stars on his ceiling, though.

-Of course Rose and Ray get him a dog for Christmas. It’s been haunting Rose ever since she read his answer on the questionnaire. It’s the last present of the day, and when Reggie opens his eyes, he immediately starts crying.

Carlos is very worried that he picked the wrong puppy, but Reggie assures him these are good tears, even though he can’t stop crying. They end up in a family group hug for like an hour, the puppy crawling from lap to lap.

Reggie names him Cosmo and he’s all ready to get a part-time job to make sure he has enough credits to feed him until Rose says no, the dog is family too, you don’t need to worry about that, Reggie.

-Reggie gets to go to school and it’s kind of terrifying but also really interesting. His reading and writing classes are mostly with adults and older teens who are going through apprenticeships, so thankfully he’s not stuck with the four and five year olds like he was worried he’d be. His math classes are with other freshmen, since he’s needed numbers for his job and he already knows basic math.

He meets Luke and Alex and Bobby in math class, and Luke immediately grabs him to be their fourth on the little pod of tables, because he’s new and thus interesting and otherwise Nick might have asked to join their group.

-Reggie has no idea what’s supposed to be wrong with Nick. He seems nice. Later, Bobby whispers it’s because Luke is jealous of Nick because his crush likes Nick more than she likes Luke. Luke threatens to stab him with a stylus while Alex rolls his eyes and discusses the next question with Reggie.

-Reggie likes his new friends, even if he doesn’t always understand their references.

-Julie introduces Reggie to her friends as well. He and Flynn get along great, since she takes everything he knows and doesn’t know and says in stride. Flynn only sees Cool Opportunities to introduce him to stuff like ‘mixing 4 soda powders together before putting them in the hydrator’ and ‘hiphop’.

Carrie kind of scares him. She’s one of those people who has enough credits to shoot Reggie out of an airlock and still get away scot free, and sometimes she looks like she’s contemplating just that. She sometimes scoffs when he doesn’t know something or says something ignorant (or poor), but usually a glare for Julie or Flynn mellows her out. 

But she’s also the first to absolutely destroy some jerk who tries to make fun of Reggie for not knowing how to read. And when she learns that the clothes Reggie is wearing are his first non-free fabricator clothes, she drags him and Julie and Flynn to something called a ‘thrift store’. It has stuff that either wasn’t fabricated at all, but was brought here from colonies or even Earth. It had stuff that was limited edition and thus couldn’t be fed back into the fabricator. And stuff that was donated by people who either didn’t need to feed stuff back into the fabricator, or for some reason didn’t want to. Lots of designers apparently donated their collections to the Thrift Store.

And yeah, Rose and Ray gave Reggie an allowance but it wasn’t like he had a lot saved up. And what he did, some part of him still thought he should hold on to, even though he was pretty convinced Rose and Ray weren’t sending him back.

To which Carrie scoffed and was like ‘please my dad won’t even notice if I buy out this whole store, we are getting you a statement piece and that is final’.

They have a great time trying on all kinds of weird and wonderful and silly clothes, though. Flynn and Julie make him wear a fuzzy neon orange bucket hat and try to convince Carrie that This Is It This Is His Statement Piece, until she threatens to buy it for him and he scrambles to convince her he was just joking. The way she laughs at him doesn’t feel mean, and he lets himself laugh too.

He ends up falling in love with an actual, real, non-fabricator leather jacket that fits him like a glove. He even loves the smell of it, real and earthy. Carrie refuses to let him see the price as she scans the tag and pays for it, and he thanks her over and over. He even, in his best penmanship, writes her a thank you note (which he’s seen Carlos and Julie do to their grandparents on a colony when they sent Christmas presents) and gives it to her at school the next day.

He pretends not to see her tear up, and she pretends not to notice he spelled her name wrong.

-Reggie tries to contact his mom through the messaging system but all his messages get denied. He’s worried she’s maybe in trouble, so one day he puts on his old standard issue uniform and sneaks into the kitchens, only to find that his mom doesn’t work there anymore. She got a better job, one of her old coworkers says, and has a nice unit for herself now. Last time he saw her, she was eating out wearing some nice non-standard issue clothing, having cocktails with her new friends.

He doesn’t try and find her after that. He goes to his room and uses some of his pocket money to make the room soundproof and cries and cries until he can’t cry anymore. And then lies to Rose when she comes home and says he just had a frustrating homework assignment.

Ray sits with him that night and helps him sound out his reading, and doesn’t comment when Reggie maybe leans in a little. He even wraps his arm around him, giving him a little squeeze and a ‘proud of you, mijo’ when he finishes the chapter.

-Rose teaches him piano, and in his music class, he learns guitar. Luke is incredibly excited about that, and will let him practice on Luke’s guitar for hours, helping him adjust his fingers and showing him chords.

-Later he switches to bass, because Luke has talked about wanting to start a band, and they don’t have a bass player yet. He likes the deep tones, and Rose and Ray get him a bass guitar for his birthday.

-Birthdays! Who knew there was more to them than a little free cupcake from the fabricator? Not Reggie!

[mik-mania]

hi :3 soooooo which character(s) do you have the most muse/thoughts for and what do you like writing abt them the most?

THATS A GOOD QUESTION! i havent had a lot of time to think abt my characters in a while (´ー｀)

HOWEVER.

i think i end up having a muse for brusli, antemh, or dadevu most of the time. brusli and dadevu more for actual writing, whereas antemh has always just kind of been. a brainworm. hes just kind of always there.

i can see a lot of myself in brusli, antemh, and dadevu. there's a lot of coping mechanisms that have gone into them.

in hindsight, writing antemh was a huge coping mechanism for me growing up (made him ~2013? maybe even 2012), but as ive gotten older and left the environment i was in, hes kind of just turned into a silly lil guy for me. i guess maybe he's still somewhat a reflection of me even now--a guy who, despite having every reason to be bitter and miserable, still persists and stays silly.

to answer the second question, that's what my favorite part of writing him is. i think most people would assume he's pretty much a comic relief character, which wouldnt be wrong, but its easy to see happy-go-lucky characters and assume theyre more two-dimensional than characters who wear their troubles on their sleeve.

this also kind of (realizing as i write) reflects my own experience with being autistic. theres an unintentional assumption on others' parts where they assume, because i'm playful and choose to put on a happy face, that those are my only qualities. it's kind of hard to articulate to non-autistic people, so it's more IYKYK. a common complaint from adult autistic ppl though is we have a hard time getting people to take/treat us seriously like the adults we are, or at least treat us like our age.

brusli has a little bit of my middle school self in her. she's a bit more of a tomboy and she likes girls (which is more of a defining trait in an AU human brusli than troll brusli). a large amount of my brain power is dedicated to brusli/sarlla (sarlla belonging to @beantrolls) ship content because im obsessed w/ their relationship. i'm not sure why, but if i generally had to describe the nature of their relationship (again, this is moreso human au-specific, but there's elements of it in their troll relationship), it's sort of a trans&lesbian inversion of the manic pixie dream girl trope.

what i like about writing brusli is the emotions. when i'm emotionally struggling, she and antemh are usually the characters i turn to, depending on the mood. brusli is a little more visibly Sadgirl on this blog than she is in the comic, mostly because i kind of have her on that Tumblr Truth Serum here, where its assumed that an asker already has a somewhat established relationship with her. otherwise, she would kind of be boring to roleplay here, because canonly, she's alienated herself from most people and doesnt socialize much

*I ANSWERED THIS FOREVER AGO THEN TRIED TO SAVE IT AS A DRAFT AND TUMBLR ATE IT. BUT NOW ITS BACK. GOD DAMN. i think i was gonna say something about dadevu but its been forever so idk anyumore.

[raisunii]

80s kids SBI AU where Tommy, Techno, and Wilbur are the weirdest freaks Sapnap, Dream, and George have ever seen. That mansion definitely wasn't there yesterday, and neither was the kid with the sickle.

It’s Kansas, 1984. Sapnap and Dream swore that mansion wasn’t there yesterday- they would’ve used it for paintball if it was. The mansion was creepy, with three “tower things” and a stone wall which looked to be about seven feet tall. Just as they’re about to leave, a face appears in the window. 

The boy is about their age, with round glasses and a sweater embroidered with sunflowers and hydrangea that are sure to get him bullied at school. Sapnap yells at him to come play, so he comes down with haste- Dream tries to ignore the sound of something heavy falling in the mansion when the boy leaves the window. When they come face-to-face, Sapnap eagerly ignores the sickle the boy clutches in his all-too-pale hand, simply desperate for another friend.

It's harder to ignore the sharp, pointed teeth he bares when he forms a grotesque attempt at a smile, or the way his eyes unnervingly lack life.

His name is Wilbur, and the boys don't come back to the house.

"He's weird," Dream says, scrunching his nose.

"He had a knife," Sapnap agrees, after the initial thrill of meeting a new person was long gone. "His house is freaky, too."

They bring George into the woods with them the next Thursday. They're out looking for sticks that would make good slingshots, a feat harder than they had expected. The boys don't notice how close they've wandered to the- now declared to be ugly- mansion until a boy tackles Dream, shaking him with his fists and yelling something almost unintelligible from how fast he's speaking.

"You told Wilbur you'd come back, then you didn't!" The boy all but spits, clutching at Dream's collar. He looks exactly like Wilbur- save for his hair, which is a bright pink.

Sapnap and George lunge forward to try to pull the boy off of Dream, but he sweeps a medieval looking scalpel in their vicinity, his teeth bared in a growl, as if he were a dog. When you're ten, scalpels seem more threatening than they are. Especially when you've never seen one before. Sapnap and George stumble back, away from the scalpel, which is quickly pressed under Dream's chin.

Wilbur is ecstatic when they return to the house. They find out the more threatening twin is Techno. It's a dumb name. No one expresses this opinion.

George meets Tommy by accident-- not that anyone would meet any of the Crafts on purpose. The boy is in the river he goes to to skip rocks. As terrible as George prides himself on being, he's not the type of person who would ignore a six year old eating mud on the side of a river. As soon as George kneels to speak to him, the boy throws dirt at his face.

George quickly finds he'd be better off leaving the kid to fend for himself.

"Where are your parents?" George asks, unbelievingly.

"Fuck's it to you?" Tommy asks, narrowing his eyes as he continues to shovel mud into his mouth with his pudgy fists.

George splutters, taken aback by the audacity of this child to be swearing at him. Who had taught this kid curses? Did his parents not beat him?

"It's a lot to me," George finally says. "You're alone. You're too small to be alone."

"I'm not too small, prick!" Tommy yells, waving his arms. Mud flies up and splatters over George's shirt, a small amount hitting his cheek. His mom wasn't gonna be happy about that.

Tommy ended up throwing himself in the river, once he had insisted George had taken up too much of his time, and that his voice had become "too grating to bear". George, against all better judgement, throws himself in the river after him, frantically grasping for the kid until Tommy climbs onto his head, yelling curses. George can hardly stay afloat, frantically kicking his legs in an attempt to keep both of them alive in the ever-flowing water.

"What're you doing with my brother?" Techno asks, suddenly stood suspiciously at the edge of the water, glaring harsh daggers at George.

"He threw himself in!" George yells, kicking his legs. "He was alone!"

"Yeah," Technoblade scoffed. "He can swim."

Technoblade steps into the water, and George realizes in chagrin that it's only hip deep. He doesn't get a "thank you".

The boys don't see much of the freaks, all in all. Granted, there was that time where Sapnap woke up to Wilbur in his bedroom, but they didn't really see the freaks unless they purposefully visited the mansion, which was happening more and more often.

"They have a pool," Dream argues. "And a theater. In their house."

"They also have knives," George says, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. "And fangs. And a toddler."

"You think they have autism?" Sapnap asks, looking up from his sneakers, which he was dutifully drawing on in gel pen.

"What?" George asks, blinking a few times. "Probably."

Dream nods in thought. "Why does it matter?" He asks, finally, struggling to comprehend how this was relevant to whether they'd go to the mansion later today.

"I don't want to play with autistics. What am I gonna tell my dad?" Sapnap inquires, his eyebrows furrowing.

The boys are silent for a long moment.

"Good point."

They go to the mansion anyways. They could excuse autism when their friends had The NeverEnding Story on DVD. The movie had hardly even come out in theater!

The next Monday, the boys return once more to the mansion. Or at least- what used to be the mansion. Once more, the terrain is nothing but grass and sparsely distributed red oak. Sapnap blinked in disbelief. A silence stretches between the boys, longer than the I-70.

"Paintball?"

"... Sure."

[okamiprincess15]

I’ve got this idea bouncing around in my head for a ROTTMNT separated AU that I need to get out. Basically, it started with the question of ‘What would happen if one of the boys was found by someone from the Hidden City who was able to give them a pretty normal-ish life? Someone who just so happened to be in the area when the lab was destroyed, and rushed over to check to see if anyone was still alive, and found a very distressed baby mutant turtle?’

I’m thinking a female soft shell turtle yokai who was visiting family in the area finds baby Donnie who was separated from the others. She takes him in as her own and lets everyone else come to the (false) conclusion that Donnie was her half human biological son (even if it gets her quite a bit of grief from yokai anti human bigots). This unknowingly helps hide Donnie from the likes of Draxum and Big Mama, but it also ends up hiding Donnie from Splinter.

She ends up moving with Donnie to the part of the Hidden City where there is a higher population of half yokai half humans (real life Japanese folklore calls these beings ‘hanyou’, so I’m gonna go with that), along with plenty of human and yokai couples, where for the next decade and a few years Donnie lives a pretty normal life. He has a few close (OC, neurodivergent) school friends, one of them being a love interest. He goes to a private school (school uniforms, yay!) in the Hidden City, be they yokai or hanyou (mostly yokai), while his mom works from home. Donnie and his mom live in a middle class neighborhood.

Then at the age of fourteen on his way home from school with his friends, Donnie’s life starts to get turned upside down one day when a ornate box turtle hanyou shows up along with a human girl of all things claiming to be his younger brother (Mikey and April find Donnie through a spell they found in Witch Town, in a way it wasn’t originally designed for, so Draxum never thought to use it). And not long afterwards, after Donnie rebuffs him insisting he’s got the wrong guy (mostly because Donnie is pretty attached to his normal life, and he’s not too thrilled about the idea of anything disrupting that. Plus he isn’t happy about the idea of his biological human father possibly being a weirdo playboy with a thing for turtle yokai, since Mikey didn’t get much of a chance to explain anything before Donnie ditched him.), Donnie and his school friends are attacked by a massive alligator snapping turtle hanyou. (Unbeknownst to Mikey he was being followed by Draxum’s spies)

Mikey and April end up saving their bacons, and after driving Raph off, Donnie is a bit more willing to hear Mikey out, and invites them (after calling his mom for permission) back to the apartment where he and his mother live so they can talk, at least after they make sure his friends get home safe first. Let’s just say Donnie is NOT too happy to find out his mom had lied to him by omission his whole life until then about being his biological mother when his mother confesses after Mikey and April explain things. But he eventually forgives her for it. Mikey offers to convince his father to come visit them so he can meet Donnie and his mother. Donnie’s mom, after finding out Mikey has NEVER gone to school, is pretty insistent on it (since she wants to try to convince Splinter to send Mikey to school in the Hidden City, possibly even to the same school as Donnie so Mikey can watch Donnie’s back in case Draxum sends Raph after Donnie again to try to kidnap him again. Donnie ends up confessing that he’s got a large amount of money squirreled away for emergencies that he’s earned from…not so legal digital activities, much to his mother’s dismay. So they could pay for Mikey’s tuition if Splinter can’t.).

After this you guys can do what you want, cause I have no idea where to go from here.

(I’m thinking in this AU, Mikey was the only one Splinter managed to save, with Mikey being determined to find his older brothers when he’s older after Splinter gives up after years of searching. Leo ends up being raised by Big Mama as her son to become a future Champion of the Battle Nexus that would hopefully surpass Lou Jitsu in terms of profitability, and Leo finds out as a kid after secretly overhearing a conversation she has about her conditional love. This leaves him with some major mommy issues that’s he’s pretty careful to hide, for fear of Big Mama finding out that he knew. He’s treated pretty well otherwise. And Raph ends up in Draxum’s clutches.).

[linelpisffxiv]

Men who were missed, but if this is done again, here’s my flippant jokes:

Estinien: Growly voice. May have fucked Aymeric in the past cuz they were friends beforehand. People say he’s notoriously bad with money, but it’s also a bit of a kindness thing, at least one time (He likes to help those in need knowing he’s being scammed). Once got possessed by a dragon. We saved him. Fandom is generally close to Aymeric’s due to their friendship, Haurchefant’s due to both being Ishgardian Knights, and now the Scions’ fandoms since he joined them, but that last one isn’t as close except for the Twins’ and G’raha’s fandoms. (And more specifically Alphie’s the most, other two somewhat tangentially due to a few scenes and a high school au)

Zenos: You cannot convince me he isn’t a sex-repulsed aroace, but I am *very much* in the minority here. He likes battle. Only battle. And even then not all the time, only the rarest of times where someone can challenge him. So far, that’s only been the WoL. Lets us ride him in the final battle of base Endwalker. Also turned into a dragon. Cannot die. Fandom is generally close to Emet-Selch’s, but also I know many who have it overlap with various heroic NPCs’ due to the same devotion (or “Devotion”) to the WoL.

Thancred: This is Thancred. May or may not be in a thing with Urianger post-Shadowbringers. Started off as a pretty boy flirt, but as of now is an adult spy who could actually get some if he wanted but is too busy worrying about his daughter in a parallel universe. Is very well-liked in fandom, with a decent amount shipping their WoL with him. Generally not very controversial even if everyone was sick of his shit during Shadowbringers, but he gets over it.

Alphinaud: Is 16. We do not touch this.

Raubahn: Leader of Ala Mhigo, former general of Ul’Dah. Big and burly. Clearly a bear. Pretty well-liked, but I don’t know many people who would choose him above others in the game.

Hien: King of “China” that is really Japan cuz it has samurai and ninja. There’s also another Japan that’s more Meiji Japan but that one we don’t learn as much about. Is literally Cyan’s (well, Kaien’s) son. Is... decently popular, but also has people who hate him either jokingly or for serious because of certain things he’s said and done. (I say both, I know people in both camps of hatedom.)

Midgardsormr: Is a space dragon from the planet dragon. They can reproduce both sexually and asexually. It is unknown which version his 7 kids are (He escaped Planet Dragon with their eggs). Is the WoL’s best friend and I will hear no arguments.

Vrtra: One of Midgardsormr’s sons. He’s a baby boy and it’s his birthday. Is a valuable ally to the main characters through Endwalker and is currently part of a party investigating the Void cuz he has a giant siscon (platonic, maybe? But not sure... I’m not gonna get into dragon biology here) and she disappeared into the Void 3k years ago. Has two dolls (one a kid, one an adult) he can control to wander around in a humanoid form. But LBR, he’s trying to seduce Estinien too cuz the big one only came out after Estinien started working for him. Generally well-liked by the fandom.

Vauthry: Is the hottest character in XIV. Okay, no, but yes. I don’t wanna talk about it too much, but he is a beautiful butterfly.

Elidibus/Themis: Is... borderline. While the word “youth” is used for him twice in english, in every other language, it’s more a term meaning “Young man” (which Youth can also mean, though more in the “College age barely legal” kind of way). May or may not have a boyfriend. Ends up becoming a god who gets sliced in 14 but only after his consciousness was ejected. Has memory problems in the present.

Erichthonios: Elidibus’s maybe boyfriend. Son of one of Elidibus’s coworkers, and works in Hell, which is just a containment unit for dangerous monsters made up by these people.

Lahabrea: Erichthonios’s dad and Themis’s coworker. Also Emet-Selch’s coworker. Is grumpy and has fucked at least once and had Ancient Secret Super Sex once. We’ve seen the latter on-screen. Was once a reasonable-if-grumpy guy, but the way we meet him (Cuz time travel) is a man who’s lost most of his personality into becoming a giggling evil ghost wizard from hell.

Fandaniel: Will kill you, the world, and everything and then himself. Because he hates living. I don’t think he fucks anymore, but who knows, maybe he did when he was Amon. Even if he regretted it.

Hermes: The Past life of Fandaniel and also kinda him? Ascians are weird. I generally hold they’re functionally the same, but this version is more openly sad. Made a bunch of bird daughters out of dark energy and sent them into space. Found out space was hella dead and decided to kill everyone and then himself. Then wiped his memory of that decision so he can test the people of his world.

Thordan: Has canonically fucked. Unfortunately. Is Elf Pope and Aymeric’s dad. Looks hella old. Keeps the secret that the elves started the war with the dragons.

Nidhogg: Has also canonically fucked, probably. Another son of Midgardsormr. Hates the Elf Papal States cuz they killed his sister 1000 years ago and has been trying to kill them ever since. Gets killed. Comes back, and then killed again. I like him. He’s fun.

Hythlodaeus: Does not have a made-up name. It means “Dispenser of nonsense” and is from “Utopia.” Or so I’m told. Is a fucking troll for the most part. Says he’s incredibly weak except for his magic sight, but he’s comparing himself to Emet-Selch and another friend. Works for the creation approval department of the Ancient DMV. Hates getting all the shark ideas. Keeps approving all the shark ideas. Wao Sugoi. Generally shipped with Emet-Selch (and sometimes their third) in fandom, extremely popular. Has the dead mom hairdo, which is fitting, cuz he died 12k years ago.

Nero: Cid G’s constantly divorced and remarried husband. Constantly trying to one-up him because Cid G comes from privilege and Nero “had to work his way up to the top” and kept  getting outshone. They aren’t actually married, but people often interpret it that way cuz there’s a five minute cutscene we have to watch every time we do a dungeon where he’s on call complaining to Cid and the WoL just... stands there.

Gaius: My BEC character who can do no right. Used to be believed to be fucking his adoptive daughter, but after he was given five more adoptive kids, not only was it revealed he wasn’t fucking her, but also that he thought it was creepy she was pursuing him and was his least favorite kid and subordinate and he totally hated that he adopted her. I hate him, but he’s generally well-liked. Has some funny lines that people don’t pay attention to the meaning of because haha guy says funny line in a funny way. One has been deleted from the game and people are still mad about it. Hates the evil laughing wizards from hell known as Ascians because one used him to try and destroy the world when he only wanted to rule the savages.

Ardbert: Is a bro. Ghost bro. Killed himself and his friends to cross parallel universes to save their world by causing a rejoining. Urianger managed to broker a way for their world to stay around without a rejoining. We later run into him again. He was a bro. Had at least one person who wanted to fuck him.

[freakinflipflop]

I can absolutely give a simple outline avoiding spoilers for both PD and ISAT :D (some minor spoilers for ISAT regarding information found in act 4 thats kinda unavoidable but that's it!)

So! Vyncent as Siffrin. Knife, from another world that he can never return to, traditions and habits that are foreign to the land that he now calls home. He also kinda shares Siffrin's attitude of "I care about my friends so much I would never do anything to hurt them so I can figure this out and get through it on my own if I have to" (him being like yeah I'm going home now, see you all later if I have to with the portal where Dakota and William have to go after him) Scissors craft for knife :)

William as Mirabelle! With some things shifted. For one he gets to have the isabeau style giggly crush on Vyncent that he never says anything about bc. Ghostknife. And also he has a much more nihilistic outlook on the house than Mirabelle. He saw himself as an outsider even when he lived in the house, and by being the only survivor he feels more like a dead man walking than a chosen savior. He goes back to save the house partially bc what else is he gonna do and partially bc meeting Dakota!! Combination paper/scissors craft I think? Not sure what we decided on for him

Dakota as Isabeau- first person William ran into after leaving the House, Dakota is determined to set things right and save people. He is kinda the main driving force of the party, to the point where he gets kinda intense, but he tends to be optimistic about their outlook. He also gets the Mirabelle aroace trait (because yay)! Rock type!

Tide as Odile- after everything that went down with the Elementals and losing Shockwave, he left home to re-evaluate himself and figure out what it means to have family. He doesn't want to get too attached at first in case he loses these kids like he lost his brother, but he finds himself admiring their resilience and finding it in himself to care for them. (And starts writing a familytale for all of them!! In private (until act 3 stuff)). Combined rock/paper type; rock for physical attacks superhero style, paper for having learned how to do craft stuff with water and use crafted water to attack

Ashe as Bonnie! Their mom was from Siffrin's homeland, so Ashe studied both the forgotten Language and wish/time craft from a young age, and never fully forgot them. Smth happens to their mom when they're young so they grow up with their dad, and study Craft as their main pastime. After the King shows up, Ashe accidentally channels wish and/or time craft and freezes their dad in time; the massive amount of power usage stunts their own craft abilities and their physical capabilities. They meet the party last, but travel along with them bc 1 they're all alone with their dad frozen, 2 they have more knowledge on the King than a lot of other people, and 3 they're cool and fun to hang out with!!

Yeah that's the very basic rundown but there is. So much at this point. Been talking with @ohmigoshiloveu , @fishcop and @sproutastronaut about it and we keep coming up with more ideas it's very fun. OMG also wrote a fic! Of the AU! That's extremely good at both capturing the vibe of the writing in ISAT while also integrating the PD cast seamlessly

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54849613

I love both of these pieces of media so much they live in my brain forever and always

HI HI HI!!!! I see you reblogged Odile art :D (<- is sooooo not normal about ISAT) would you like to know about an in stars and time prime defenders au I've been working on with some friends

Hell yeah!!!! I love me some combined brainrots!!

[darkwingphoenix]

Small plans for my @loominggaia AU

I'm prolly gonna go on a semi-hiatus. I'll be focusing on making 3 fics at once: Formations of a Kingdom (Current AU fic rn), Scoria (My Saraia Backstory fic), and a as-of-now unnamed JW cartoon/Looming Gaia Modern AU crossover fic. Because fuck it.

Here's a link to a playlist to catch up on the JW cartoon stuff I'm using, because this has a surprising amount of fanfiction for this kinda stuff (And RAID Shadow Legends, despite being everywhere, has not much more (13 to the JW cartoon's 8, or barely over 50% more, despite RAID's insane advertisements and the cartoons' audience not usually making fanfiction, it's all ExJWs).

Anyway, I wanted to pop out a couple chapters of Scoria and the JW/LG fanfic, and give an outline of each.

Note that these are mild spoilers, but like the pre-surgery spoilers LG dropped there's prolly gonna be subplots and smaller details that didn't make it in.

Scoria

One night before she got to Folkvar Capital, Skylie decides to ask Saraia her side of her villainy towards Evangeline.

Saraia tells of a young woman killed to save her parents, only to find they had died in slavery. Enraged, she vows to never let Evangeline forget her rage until slaves were gone from the nascent kingdom, and the Scourge of Evangeline was born.

This fic will go deep into the lore of Evangeline, with the origin of slavery, the crowded politics of pre-Evangeline Noalen (It's a crowded muthafucka), and Saraia's trauma.

This video is essentially the climax of the story:

The JW/LG Crossover Modern AU

Context for the JW cartoons: Sophia, the titular girl in the cartoons, is a JW (If you couldn't tell), as is her brother Caleb (Titular boy), and her unnamed mom and dad (Literally just called Mom and Dad, I think). For some odd reason, her dad has this thick as all hell accent. No one else in the family has this accent. It's some sorta, IDK, East European accent? It's thick, tho. Like his biceps before ExJW Panda (The creator of the videos linked above, not the dragon one) said he got nerfed (IDK, a meme?)

Anyway, ExJWs (And their non-JW friendos) love to meme on the cult, and there's two major sources of inspo for the fanfics: Caleb and Sophia (The one I'm using for my fic) and Experience the Joy of Disciple Making (Which, I agree, would make one hell of a yuri/lesbian show if it weren't literal JW propaganda).

The comments of those videos do yearn for a brave soul to make the fics, never mind the existence of 14 total (8 of Caleb and Sophia, and 6 for the other one). Soon, there'll be 15, one being of my own penmanship (Boardmanship? Typemanship? What's the word for good writing on a keyboard?)

Anyway, basic plot! Uh, I don't have much right now beyond a few points:

It's in the future of the Caleb/Sophia cartoons, in like early-mid high school (For exact ages I'mma say Sophia's maybe 15-16 and Caleb's a couple years younger, like 14-15, or they're Irish Twins or actual twins, IDK yet, they both go to high school)

Sophia will be questioning at some point in the fic, and eventually become a lesbian. For whom? Well:

Fuck it, poly yuri! Alaine and one of the Evangeline Royal Cousins, fuck it! Which ERC? IDK, one of the chicks (Which is easily most of em: I have 3 out of maybe 13?)

If I do Amber or Citrine, they'd replace Carrie as the kid with two moms Sophia's mom torches for the entire video here:

The FGG will all be roughly high school age (Varied, but they'd all be 14-19, with Alaine, Elska and Isaac being the youngest and Evan, Jeimos and Linde as the oldest)

Mr. Ocean and Solveig will be the gang's mentors/Former sitters they still hang out with and have a Discord with. They'll be in their maybe 30s-40s. I might make Solveig an ExJW herself, why not? Could make a very easy replacement for her original escape plan in canon.

I'm prolly gonna make th Evangeline Royals and Sovereign noticeably less fucked up (Sovereign doesn't drug his brother and take over half the ocean and pull a Genghis Khan and make so many kids half of the ocean's cecaelia in a few millennia are his, and he's only married to Jewel, and Machine's Champ's wife and they had Vex, who's also in the FGG because fuck it, and the Evangeline Royals are just sorta strict but not terrible, and saints compared to canon for several)

If I don't have Amber of Citrine as Sophia's love interest, Carrie exists still, and the other JW propaganda (Not gonna repeat that shit again, it's Jade/Neeta now) are her moms (No reason, just because)

No matter what happens, Amber will be paralyzed and need a wheelchair, and Maui's a monitor lizard (Maybe a service animal so he has an excuse to show up, IDK what for tho)

Justinia and the rest of Amber's family will be there too, and have various mobility issues (Justinia might be an amputee from the Gulf War, Jet was born without legs, Clarity got a snakebite that required her leg removed, one of em has multiple sclerosis, etc), and Amber was adopted for reasons IDK yet (Might not even have her adopted and just have her know the ERCs as family friends, like Cyana or Angie knew Justinia from the Gulf War or something)(IDK what it is with me today and the Gulf War)

Might have Nicole and Jecka from Class of '09 show up too, IDK (I'm being an oddly obsessive slut with smaller fandoms today, IDK why that is), and have them just be there or as some sorta reference

I'll fill out much of the teaching roles in the school Sophia, the ERCs, the Jetinia kiddos (Jetinia being my ship name for Jet and Justinia) and the FGG go to:

As I noted Cerulea and Rodrig look like teachers sans hat and makeup, I might have them be teachers (Maybe Cerulea's the principal or something, IDK). Might not do both, but IDK

Mr. Ocean or Solveig might be a teacher, likely for biology or history (And if I do Solveig as a teacher and ExJW, I'd likely have her as a sorta mentor for Sophia to help the gal break free from her JW brainwashing)

Saraia's definitely gonna be a teacher, and maybe be the biology teacher? Either way, King's gonna be her leucistic pet reptile (Maybe a large snake or crocodilian, IDK yet), and she also has various reptiles, amphibians and birds as pets (Replacing the Saraians)

The other High Rulers are prolly gonna be teachers too: Sovereign as a health/gym teacher (Might give him a dad bod and not the 600 Pound Life bod he has now), Titania as a depressed art teacher, Oberon as the music teacher, Gultopp for gym (Why not?), Hethor prolly for a foreign language (IDK for her), Chua as a religion teacher (How it's done normally, just tellin' them facts about the religions and not pressing beliefs on kiddos)(And she has pet snakes named after her canon siblings), Okatogg and Hulushka as subs (Because goofy haha), Serafeen as a chemistry/astronomy teacher (Or just a general science teacher), Qara as the finance/Life Skills teacher (And be way less bitchy than in canon), Roz as an English Teacher, and Marghan as a cool ASF homeroom teacher (And he's not the psycho he is canonically, and he has a pet parrot named Pidi!)

None of the larger issues with the canon High Rulers really exists here (Sovereign's not fat and tryna be Genghis Khan of the Sea, Serafeen's not obsessed with Project Starlight but is in love with space, Oberon has a way better married life and isn't cheating with Qara and Titania, Marghan is just a cool, hip young teacher, Qara isn't a greedy hyper-capitalist, and Gultopp isn't ashamed of Sygbarne)

Roz will have lost Tep to a cult, prolly the JWs, and Tep's referenced at a JW meeting

May add the Hoyoverse games too, likely just to throw around names for convenience (That's 3 games I have names to steal from), but I might have the remaining main characters (Aether from Genshin (I have Lumine already), Stelle and Caelus from HSR and Belle and Wise from ZZZ) be more major, but IDK yet

Beyond these, Zoe (A girl Sophia converts in the cartoons) will feature aplenty, the High Rulers kids might show up (Likely Blomi, Sygbarne, Naduna, Kobi, Keatto, Thetos, Winnie, OJ, and Kast), Drifter's Hollow characters may also appear (Maybe Flora's also a teacher, maybe a math teacher?), Karenza and Darshaan may appear (As Isaac's parents), maybe some unnamed from the cartoons, Carrie (Two moms kid) may also show up too.

I might have Sophia join an extracurricular GSA (Gender/Sexuality Alliance) club, and maybe join an attached Discord (She'll also join an FGG Discord once she starts getting buddy buddy with Alaine, the ERC I choose once they get into the throuple)

The latter chapters may have Sophia becoming PIMO (ExJW code for Physically In, Mentally Out, AKA she's doing the motions but not really dedicated anymore as compared to a PIMI, or Physically In, Mentally In but still dedicated more than a POMO, or Physically Out, Mentally Out) and eventually fade from the JWs, maybe taking Caleb with her

Once Sophia joins one of the two aforementioned Discords (FGG or GSA Discords), I'll be shoving in some Discord chat chapters, where most or all of the chapter will be Discord chatting). May have more once she joins both

[arc-misadventures]

I know I got another ask open for Swapped AU, but hear me out in the meantime?

Jeanne is out answers (and blood) from Beacon faculty. Instead of there being a being a f!Ozpin, have Selma, the umpteenth reincarnation of Salem who's stuck in an ages old shadow war with the immortal Grimm King Ozma.

The rest is still genderbent. For example, Gideon Goodwizard might want to duck and cover when Jeanne rips through the elevator doors of Selma's tower office.

You're free to ignore this, but I had to put this out here for you to see.

I’m gonna stop you on some of these, Since Glynda is stated as Jeanne’s aunt, so yeah. I can use the other bits however.

An Innocent Prisoner

The door to Headmistresses, Selma’s door opens. And, Jeanne Arc enters.

Selma: Oh, Ms. Arc, your back.

Glynda: Jeanne! Jeanne are you okay, where were you?

Jeanne: I’m fine, Glynda. Headmistress, Selma, is it true, is it true that you threw, Jaune into a jail cell?

Selma: Jaune? Oh, that boy who took over your place; Yes we threw him into a jail cell.

Jeanne: W-Why?

Selma: Well, for starters it was to protect him.

Jeanne: Protect him, protect him from what?

Selma: Your fellow classmates.

Jeanne: My classmates?

Glynda: After, Team RWBY attacked him, other members of the student body tried, and did attack him. Locking him up in a cell was the safest option we had for him.

Selma: Not to mention we had several questions we needed to ask him: Who was he, why was he here, and how did he know the things he knew.

Jeanne: What things?

Selma: How did he know your teammates, or at least ‘knew’ them. How did he get here, where did you go. Questions such as those. We didn’t get many answers out of him since he himself didn’t know.

Jeanne: So to protect him, you locked him up.

Selma: Indeed we did.

Jeanne: Did you at least give him some cookies, a glass of water, anything?

Selma: Oobaleck was watching him, did she give him anything?

Glynda: Not to my knowledge.

Jeanne: Great… I get tea, and cookies, and he got thrown in a jail cell… His life is terrible…

Selma: I see, you went to his world, while he came to yours. What was it like there?

Jeanne: Well, Team RWBY was a bunch of girls, so was Pyrros, and, Rin was a boy. They seemed pretty nice. I even met you, Glynda, you, and Nora were still both girls. So only a few people changed genders. But, you Headmistresses, you were a completely different person.

Selma: I was a, Headmaster Ozpin, wasn’t I?

Jeanne: Yeah, you were. That admittedly was the weirdest thing about all of… this.

Selma: Do you have any idea how any of this happened?

Jeanne: No, I don’t know how this all happened, just that it did. Jaune didn’t have any idea how it happened either.

Glynda: You met, Jaune?

Jeanne: Yeah, I did. He was a really nice guy… I wish everyone wasn’t so mean to him. He didn’t deserve any of this.

Glynda: Where did you meet him?

Jeanne: It was in this white room. There was nothing but a couple of white blocks, and we just sat there, exchanged pleasantries, and made me really, really angry.

Glynda: What did he do to upset you?

Jeanne: He didn’t do anything to upset me, you guys did! You attacked him on the spot, interrogated him, and threw him in a jail cell, all because he wasn’t me! Why would you guys do that to him!

Glynda: We didn’t decided to do that, Jeanne. We had no idea, Jaune was here until, Port, informed us she threw an intruder in a jail cell. By the time we got there, Jaune was bruised, and battered.

Jeanne: He was what?! When I saw him he was completely fine!

Selma: He has an impressive amount of, Aura. He lacks training in how to use it, but it did help him overall.

Jeanne: That makes sense… He wasn’t properly trained, so he doesn’t know nearly as much as I do when it comes to being a, Hunter.

Glynda: How did he get in then?

Jeanne: Fake transcripts. Why, because we both have the same dream; Become a Hunter the become the hero who saves the day… I got training, he was ignored. I got in properly, he fake his way in. I am loved by all, he is hated by all. Haa… I wish I never met him though…

Glynda: Why is that?

Jeanne: Because I learned how horrible my friends could be, and how easily they became like that. And, that hurts me in so many way that I…I thought you were all better than this… Now… Now I just don’t know anymore…

Selma: Is there anything we could do for you, Ms. Arc?

Jeanne: Did you do anything for him?

Selma: …

Jeanne: Yeah, I thought so…

[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!

[candlecoo]

What do you think about a Peacock Izuku AU? The nephew of Hawks, with a tail that’s three times his size AT LEAST-

Okay so I had alot of ideas for this one, but for them I'm gonna need to change a few things. I'm gonna make them brothers instead.

- Keigo and his baby brother Izuku were forced to stay in solitude in there home for all of their childhood.

- which affected Keigo more since his brother was only two. But living alone with an abusive father who never let you outside could affect a two year old alot.

- so to save Izuku from their old man's wrath Keigo took all the punishment from their father.

- the only solace the two kids had were the TV shows about what they thought were fictional heros.

- until Keigo found out they weren't fictional.

- on one of the rare occasions Keigo and Izuku are able to escape the house, Keigo ends up using his quirk to save civilians from an accident, catching the attention of the HPSC.

- originally the HPSC were only interested in taking in the oldest brother, since two year old Izuku's only sign of a quirk were the few tail feathers starting to grow, but Keigo refuses to leave his brother.

- to keep the boy happy and willing to join them without force

- when drawing up his contract Keigo puts in the stipulation that Izuku can not be forced into heroics by the commission or any government facility and can make his own choices.

- from that point on the two are separated, Keigo to train to be a hero and Izuku to his new keeper.

- Izuku is basically the HPSC's leverage over Keigo.

- Izuku is given the best tutors and lessons that the HPSC can provide. He learns anything from arts and music to martial arts.

- Izuku's quirk is peafowl. He has a trailing tail the resembles a peacocks tail, when in full display can momentarily throw viewers into a daze. Like his brother each feather can separate from his tail, be mentally moved and harden/sharpen. He can also seem to levitate or fly for a short amount of time(usually lest than three minutes).

- being a hero(through the HPSC) isn't an option not would he want to Izuku is pushed by the HPSC into a new career path that just as influencial as heroing, which is how Izuku becomes a teen idol!!!

- since Izuku was taught by the government he has already completed high school and some college. He also live in a apartment owned by the government.

- by age fourteen Izuku has been a top music artist for two years and has pretending to be complacent with the HPSC, but he's not.

- his isn't how heros are supposed to be, and he wants his brother back.

- Keigo hasn't been able to visit Izuku as much in years and the only time he hears or see's him is when he listens to his brothers music or on billboards/TV.

- Izuku only see's Keigo on the news, and he will tear down HPSC if him and Keigo could be like a family again.

- maybe someone at UA could help....

[starlightxsvt]

3 dates | c.sc

pairing ➳ badboy!Seungcheol x female!reader

genre ➳ badboy au, romance, some fluff, angst, bad attempt at humour, gets spicy at the end.

word count ➳ 12.4k+ (i have NO idea how this became so long so strap in for a ride)

warnings ➳ cursing, mentions of killing, mentions criminal activities, slight violence(non explicit), smoking, ma man Seungcheol ain't your typical badboy, self doubt, blackmailing, reader does all sorts of risky things cuz she's a SIMP, blood(nothing explicit), kissing, marking, some breast worshipping, grinding, reader is horny lol. (Please lemme know if I forgot anything.)

synopsis ➳ after one fateful encounter with him you cannot get him out of your head. so you opt to do some crazy things to catch his attention and even snag a few dates with him. only trouble is he isn't the type to stay after the whole disposition is over.

Swirling the third drink in your hand you heave yet another depressed sigh. You are so tired that you feel like you can just slump on the counter and pass out. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to stop for a drink, you alcohol riddled brain thinks.

The plans you had with Katelyn was cancelled last moment; she called to tell you that her thesis submission date was moved forward and so she couldn't hang out with you tonight. You're in the middle of an existential crisis quite literally, the too many part time jobs yet still lack of money and copious amounts of study getting to you. Staring hard at your drink you contemplate if it is worth giving up on college and your dream of becoming an arts major. It sure feels tempting right now, the long hours at the diner and not enough sleep at night proving to be the worst nuisance.

Sighing you put down your drink. It's still early, you should go home and try to catch up on the much needed sleep. You really had no intention of grabbing a drink tonight; you have morning classes tomorrow but you made a last moment decision to stop for a drink on your way back home. You didn't take your usual route to home today, and while trudging through the streets tiredly you came across this bar called Seventeen's. You've heard stories about this place, how it is the home to local gangs and how it's bad people's turf and what not. Your curiosity, probably too much of that made you get inside for a drink even though all the bones in your body ached. The inside is what you expected, nowhere near fancy but dingy, just decent enough. The people inside didn't look friendly and if the chains and tattoos on them gave any indication you'd say the rumours are true; this is the turf of gangs. The drinks taste decent, not the best but not the worst and from the overall look of this place you don't really have a reason to come back.

You're about to stand up from your stool when a large, clammy hand grabs your wrist out of nowhere, making you jump. "Hey sexy, sit down. Let me buy you a drink," the owner of the hand, a large, tattooed middle aged man slurs making your nose scrunch out of disgust. You're wearing nothing that can be called sexy; a plain cardigan and jeans and the way he looks you up and down makes you want to poke his eyes out.

You really shouldn't have come here. Clenching your jaw, you meet his eyes, "What makes you think I'm interested to have a drink with you?"

"Oh come on, why would you be here then, lookin' all nice? Just sit down," the man drawls, an ugly smile on his face. He still hasn't let go of your wrist and it's making you impatient. Looks like you're gonna have to kick his balls tonight. Maybe the self defense classes didn't completely go to waste.

"Get your disgusting hands off me while I'm being nice, sleazeball," you hiss at him, trying to get his hand off. The man stands up growling, "What did you say you bitch?" You're preparing to break his nose when out of nowhere a punch lands on his face that sends him tumbling to the ground. The attacker gets on top of him and twists his arm and you can literally hear a bone snap.

Shit.

"I think she said she is not interested," the man hisses, landing yet another another hit on his face before kicking his groin and getting up. When he turns around and his eyes meet yours, your heart skips a few beats and you almost The man is drop dead gorgeous, someone you would not expect to see here but probably on the cover of a high end magazine. His blond hair is long, crossing the nape of his neck as well as some covering his forehead. What takes your breath away the most is his eyes, the most beautiful pair you've ever seen. They seem to have their own galaxies in them, so deep and mesmerising and decorated with lashes long enough to make you jealous. His dress up, black jacket and jeans, immediately tells you what he is; a gang member.

"You should get home, lady," He speaks in a no nonsense tone, his face cold as ice. But you're offended. "Excuse me? Who are you calling lady? You make it sound like I'm old." You puff your cheeks and cross your arms, trying to appear intimidating. "Besides I had the situation under control, you didn't need to butt in." The man keeps looking at you with that no nonsense look, his features displaying annoyance if you are right and he's clearly not intimidated. The dude on the floor grunts and makes an effort to get up, only to be kicked by your saviour once more. "Hey Mingyu, get him out of here. What was this piece of trash doing here anyway?" The man orders to someone before turning to look at you, "Do you live far?"

"Uh- no, a ten minutes walk from here maybe," you reply unsurely, surprised at his question. The blond haired man nods before grabbing your wrist, "I'll walk you home. Hurry up, lady." You have a feeling he's purposely calling you that and though you start following him out of the bar, you make grunts of protest.

"Oh yeah, why? Trying to find out my address? So you can come later and hurt me like that guy?" You would not be this brazen if it wasn't for the alcohol in your system, after all the man next you isn't a friendly one if the rumours are true. The man raises a brow at you, "Did you do something that requires me to beat you up?" You hiccup at his serious tone. Does he not get a joke? He lets go of your hand now that you're at a safe distance from the bar but still stays close enough to you as your steps are rather stumbling and messy. You aren't fully drunk but your body is tired and feels like will shut down any second.

You really need some sleep.

"You know I'm not that drunk. You don't have to walk me home." You complain. "I'm walking you home because this isn't a nice place you should be alone at night. What happened earlier could happen again." He says not looking at you. "Mhmm," you keep on trudging behind him, "Thank you so much for your kind gesture, sir." You mock him but he doesn't reply, staring straight ahead, completely ignoring you as he walks quietly. In silence you two walk the rest of the path, before finally stopping as your apartment comes into view. At this point it feels like your bones will break and you will plop down on the concrete any second, but you manage to keep standing. "Well, thanks for walking me home." You shift your weight from one foot to another. "And for helping me back there." He shrugs coolly, a bored expression on his face. He's turning to walk away when you call, "Hey- I didn't get your name."

"What do you need it for?" He side glances at you. You shrug, "I don't know. You helped me so I thought it'd be nice to know your name." "You don't need to. Go inside, lady." He says, his tone final and starts marching away. You wait a couple moments before yelling, "Asshole!" and quickly rushing inside your building, partly afraid he's gonna come back.

You won't be surprised if you get killed tonight.

-

"So you are telling me Choi Seungcheol walked you home?" Katelyn screams in your ear, jolting up from her seat, earning glares from other people at the library in the process. "That's his name?" You whisper-yell, grabbing her hand to pull her back down. "I'm guessing from the blond hair you said," Katelyn shrugs. "Uh huh." You mean back in your chair, "He was hot though."

"Is that seriously all you have to say?" Katelyn whines exasperatedly. "No, I mean, if it wasn't for the way he dresses or talks I would have thought he's a model or something." You murmur.

"Are you sure he didn't hurt you?" Katelyn questions. "Hell no!" You frown. "He saved me from that creepy old dude. I was surprised too. I wish I didn't drink so much, I could have gotten a better look at his face," you sigh. "Seriously?" Katelyn raises a brow at you.

"Girl, you should have seen him. His aura and the way he carried himself was...so hot." You grin to yourself. Katelyn watches you like you've grown two heads. "Are you trying to tell me you have a crush on that gangster?" You smile sheepishly, "Maybe, I mean it's harmless. He was broody yet charming and I'm a girl so.... Also, it's not like he likes me too and is gonna come running whenever I ask him to bang me." You mutter.

"Oh he's gonna break your bones and bang your skull against a wall. That's what he's gonna do."

"Come on! Maybe he isn't so bad. Maybe the rumours are just rumours. Maybe he just looks intimidating and dresses up like that and people thinks he's a gangster." "Really? His name is on every bad thing that happens around here. From illegal racing to murders. Do you know that people say he has killed too?" "Like I said, rumours," you shrug being your stubborn self. Katelyn holds her hands up in surrender, "You know what? It doesn't matter. I'm glad you're alive so let's just put this behind us, shall we?" You don't reply but wiggle your brows at her, a conspirational look on your face. "Oh no, don't look at me like that," Katelyn warns. "Let's go to that bar tonight. Please?" You give her your best puppy eyes. "What are you? Fucking crazy? You wanna get killed?" She whisper-yells, scowling at you. "No. I just wanna take another look at him. Without the alcohol in my system you know. Besides, the place isn't that bad." You reply.

"Well then get killed by yourself. I'm not coming with you."

"I'll help you with your papers for the rest of the semester."

"Shit."

-

"Well, looks like your wish won't be coming true," Katelyn muses chugging down her fourth glass as you keep playing with your first one. It's nearing an hour since you've come to the bar and there has been no sign of the man you desperately seek. The place is exactly like it was the other day, filled with people who you wouldn't want to mess with.

Yet here you are.

"Let's call it a night," Katelyn sighs. "We're just wasting our time." You know that too but you don't want to leave; not just yet. You are well aware that this is just pathetic but you've this crazy urge to see that man once again. You don't know why you feel this way; you never felt like this before. Why are thinking yourself to death about a complete stranger? Has some kind of spell been casted on you?

"Yeah, let's get going," you murmur half heartedly. You help your friend stand up as she's a little wobbly on her feet and together you make your way through the door. "Should we call a cab?" You ask Katelyn. She shakes her head no and you nod, you arms wrapped around hers to support her in case she looses her balance. You start stepping away from the bar and towards the road to her place until a noise from behind makes you stop in your tracks.

"Did you hear that?" You ask, whipping your head behind. There's no one around and the street is mostly dark other than the light flashing from the name of the bar. You hear the sound once again and this time you can locate where it's coming from. There's an abandoned playground at the back of the bar and you've a feeling that's the source.

Katelyn hisses as she sees you step towards there. "What are you doing!"

"Didn't you hear that?"

"Yes I did. That's why I say we leave!" You ignore her and cautiously keep on stepping forward, mentally cursing yourself for wearing heels. Katelyn follows behind you murmuring all kinds of warnings. "You know curiosity killed the cat, right?" She whispers.

You roll your eyes, "Well I'm not a cat. Just- be quiet. It can be nothing." You both move past the bar gingerly and towards the playground at the back. There are old gallons of oil and abandoned materials just around the corner and you two quickly hide among them. It takes you a while to get adjusted to the low light after you poke your head up from the hiding spot.

You're eyes fix on him immediately. His blond hair makes him easily recognisable amid the darkness. There is a few more people around him, all kicking something in the ground. Not something, but someone. The man lying on the ground groans in pain and you realize this is what you both heard. "Shit," You hear Katelyn curse from beside you. "We need to get going." Instead of replying, you keep your eyes trained on the scene unfolding, holding your breath. You're tranced. Seungcheol lands continuous punched on the guy laying below him and after a moment his writhing frame seems to stop moving as it falls limp.

Fuck.

"You know in movies this is the part where people get caught." Katelyn whispers, her voice hoarse and her hand clutching yours in a tugging motion. "Uh-huh. But I can't seem to move. I wonder if he's... really dead." You whisper back. "Are you fucking crazy!" She hisses. "You wanna witness murder?"

Before you can reply you hear a sound that echoes through the empty field and it takes a second for you two to realise that it came from any one of you two. You don't have the time to figure out who made it as you both are crawling away from the playground without looking back, head crouched low to avoid being seen. You don't know if they heard that or if they're coming behind you, you both just keep scrambling, moving until you're past the corner. As soon as possible you both get on your feet and run like the grim reaper is chasing you, stopping only when you are far enough from the bar.

"I am never listening to you again!" Katelyn yells.

-

It's been a good few days since your near death experience and you somehow find yourself in front of that bar once again. You and Katelyn have not brought up that incident after that night. You made yourself believe that it was over and came to a conclusion that it is better to forget that man and leave all of it behind, no matter how much your heart disagreed. But it's easier said than done; you may not mention him out loud but in the back of your mind you think of him. He's like a ghost, haunting you all the time, plagueing your thoughts when you go to bed at night. It felt like he was ever existent and there was an itch in your heart that drove you insane.

Maybe that's why your subconscious brought you here, in front of Seventeen's, once again. You were on your way back home from library and you thought you took your usual route, until you realized you were standing in front of that place. But what is even terrifying is that the man haunting your mind stands in front of the entrance of the bar and you blink a few times to make sure you are not hallucinating. He's leaned against the entrance door, cigarette between his lips and from his pocket he fetches a lighter to light the poison in his mouth.

Damn, lighting up a cigarette never looked this sexy.

He hasn't seen you yet and you contemplate running the other way. That's the sensible thing to do but you, not being a sensible person, start walking towards him. Your footsteps make him look up and notice you and like the last time, there is no expression on his face. It's the same bored yet handsome face except now in daylight you can take a better look at him and this time, you notice a little mole on the left of his face, by his nose. Realising he's gonna stay silent you decide to speak, "Hi... It's me... Do you remember me?" Wow. That's such an intelligent thing to ask.

With the monotoned yet serious expression on his face, he goes, "Why won't I? I don't have Alzheimer's."

So he can joke.

You laugh, an awkward, probably exaggerated laugh. "What are you doing here? Did you not learn your lesson last time?" He cuts to the chase, his voice brassy and deep, almost threatening. You want to roll your eyes. "Who are you to say? I can be wherever I want whenever I want, thank you very much." "Well then, have fun getting in trouble like last time." He's nonchalant as he blows a smoke right past you and stands up straight, turning away. "Wait!" You almost grab his hand, desperate to stop him.

What is wrong with you? Your subconscious slaps her forehead. What are you holding him back for? To say 'hello sir, I think you're hot, can you please put your dick inside me'? Seungcheol turns his head back, his eyebrow cocked up.

Why do you find everything about him so attractive?

"Um...I know your name, Seungcheol." You speak, trying to sound intimidating, like knowing his name gives you some power over him. There's something definitely wrong with you which is why you don't want him to leave just yet and which is why you're stalling time. But it seems to have done the job as he pulls the cigarette out of his mouth and turns towards you, an annoyed look on his face. "How do you know that?" The timbre of his tone is deep and it rakes shivers down your spine. "Well, you've built quite a reputation for yourself so it isn't hard to get your name." You shrug coolly. "Well, if you know so much about my reputation, you should know what I'm capable of." His lone is low, almost threating as he starts to take slow steps towards you making you step back out of reflex.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Maybe you will also end up like the curious cat.

"Oh yes, I know. People have got a lot to say about you," you try to sound unfazed, not meeting his eyes that you feel are burning holes on your face. "What are you doing here, lady?" he asks slowly, pausing between each word and glaring at you as he continues to step forward. You can feel his patience thinning.

"I swear to God if you call me that-"

"What are you doing here?" This time his tone is scary, too scary. It makes you lose the ability to speak for a second as his dark gaze bores into you. He has backed you up against the wall behind you and you swallow. Right, what are you doing here? It probably has something to do with a very hot individual and his insanely attractive aura. Scratch that you are a hundred percent sure it has something to do with the blond haired, enticing man in front of you. He's driving you mad and you need to get your fill of him.

"Go out with me," you state and you are sure you've never spoken words more stupid than that. Internally, you cringe and pray that the ground below you would open and take you straight to the fiery pits.

This is the first time you see some sort of expression come across his face; surprise. He looks utterly shocked and somewhat confused. His mouth opens just a little and he squints at you, "What?"

There's no going back now.

"Go out with me. Let's go on three dates." you say once more, looking him in the eye. He seems to appear even more surprised, a dumbstruck look sitting on his face. He observes you quietly for a while and you can feel the gears in his head shifting. You wonder what he's gonna say next. Or maybe he won't say anything but bang your head on the wall and leave you to die alone. "I'm sorry I'm not following," he looks genuinely perplexed. "I want to go on three dates with you. They say after three dates you can figure out whether you like that person or not and I think I like you so..."

I think I like you.

The biggest understatement of the year.

Seungcheol tilts his head, an amused expression on his face as he studies you, those sharp eyes of his settling on yours, "What is your deal, sweetheart?" He crosses his arms, a brow raised. Sweetheart? That's new. And definitely better than lady. You can't deny how hearing him call you that makes your insides melt. "Nothing. I just want to date you," you shrug, trying to keep your wits together. His proximity is driving you wild; you can sniff a faint smell of cologne and cigarette, him being inches away from you. This time he laughs loudly, a mocking laugh you'd say. "Who sent you?"

Oh my god.

You roll your eyes. "Nobody sent me! Do I look like I'm a gang member or something?" "Then I don't see a reason why you'd want to date me," He states, throwing a challenging look at you.

"What if I said I have a thing for bad boys?"

He snorts. "You don't look the type to date bad boys," he mocks. "Who are you to say that?" You cross your arms. "I want to date you because I think you're hot, okay?" You can not believe you just said that. Looks like you don't have control over your mouth anymore. Warmth spreads throughout your face like a forest fire.

Seungcheol narrows his eyes on you, his tongue poking his cheek as he stands in front of you as if trying to read your mind. After a beat he sighs before looking at you, his eyes becoming darker than usual and his gaze unforgiving. "Hey. Does it look like I'm playing house here? Do you have any idea about the shit I do? The dirty work I do? I don't care if you have a fucking fetish or whatever but this is the last time I'm warning you. I don't want to see you around again. If I see you here once more, you're in fucking trouble," he spits and starts stomping away. His tone is serious and you know very well he is not joking, which is why you use your last resort. You're embarrassed at yourself for being so desperate but at the same time you feel shameless. It has almost turned into a game at this point, you want to make him surrender. That's right, you want him to give in. "You shouldn't be like that with me. I saw you, a few days ago. That night, when you and your friends were beating up that guy...in the playground," you casually stroll to come stand right behind him.

You can't believe you are blackmailing a gangster. Your death must be near.

Seungcheol whips his head back, his eyes glaring at you and you can almost see fire in them. Finally, you got his attention.

"My friend also saw it, we both did. You killed him, didn't you? Me and my friend witnessed a murder. What do you say? Should we go to the station?" You can see his jaw clench and you can't hold back a victorious smirk. Moments pass by as your words hang in the air and the tension between you gets thicker. Yet once more he surprises you, breaking the silence with a chuckle, "Well I killed one person, what makes you think I can't take care of another?"

You swallow.

"Well, my friend already knows so if I go missing you can be sure that the cops will come to you first." You throw back at him.

When did you get so wreckless?

Seungcheol stares at you for a few more seconds before shrugging and moving his hand dismissively, "Well then go tell the cops. I don't give a shit." He starts walking back to the bar leaving you starstruck. He stops and turns towards you before opening the door, "Also, I meant it. I hope I don't see you around. Otherwise I may just have to hurt that pretty face."

-

You don't show up after that.

Mostly because you are embarasssed.

It's been a good while after your last encounter with Seungcheol and you didn't go to the police, obviously. Because you don't have evidence and from what you've heard Seungcheol is pretty influential around here and you don't need to go to an extent to get on his bad side. You're definitely gonna end up dead if you do so, which you don't want just yet.

Classes have just finished and you and Katelyn step out of the classroom together, walking through the hallways and into the main campus. She rambles on about some bad sushi she ate yesterday while your mind remains preoccupied. Maybe you need to get laid. Maybe that'll make you forget about Seungcheol. You just need good dick that's probably why you were so desperate for him.

That's just a stupid lie.

You don't realise Katelyn is calling you until she shakes you by the shoulder and you snap back into reality. You notice her face is as pale as a ghost and following her line of sight your eyes stop on him.

Him. Seungcheol.

What?

You double take, blinking furiously to confirm your vision. He's standing there, in the parking area of your uni, leaned against a convertible Ferrari, a cigarette between his lips. He looks relaxed, like he does this regularly. Students whisper in each others ear while gawking at him curiously. "What did you do!" Katelyn yells. "Nothing!" You hiss back.

"Then why is he here!"

"I don't know!"

Your eyes meet with Seungcheol's and a smirk spreads across his face making you shiver. He stands up straight and tilts his head, an indication for you to come closer to him. "Fuck, he's here for me," you mumble. "Of course he's here for you, dumbass," Katelyn snaps. "Well, if I don't return, you know who killed me." You sigh starting to walk towards him. "Wait- you're going with him?" She asks incredulously.

"Don't worry. I'll keep my phone on. I don't think he's gonna murder me, I mean there are so many witnesses." You inhale deeply, leaving behind a lost looking Katelyn.

Seungcheol says nothing as you stand right in front of him raising an inquisitive brow but he only holds open the door for you to get in. Deciding to follow him you enter the car quietly and a wave of gasps go through the crowd.

There's gonna be talk about this tomorrow.

Seungcheol, still smirking victoriously for some reason rounds the car and gets inside and within seconds you're hitting the road. There's a thick silence for a while, which feels like ages to you. You're overwhelmed, bewildered to say anything; your poor brain still processing what is happening. You're nervous, jittery as you fiddle with you bag and look out on your side, for some reason scared to look at him.

What if he really kills you? He wouldn't, right?

"You're awfully quiet," Seungcheol says matter of factly as he spares you a glance while driving.

"I'm... processing."

"What are you, a robot?"

"Why are you doing this?" You question instead.

"Doing what?"

"Okay, you know very well what I mean. Why are you picking me up from uni all of a sudden? How do you even know I'm a student there?" "I have resources and...you didn't protest at all. You came along nicely," Seungcheol raised a brow at you, a cocky smile on his lips. You don't answer but continue to stare at him, trying to pin him down with your gaze. He finally sighs and pulls the car to a stop by the side of the road, the sudden brake making you slightly jerk in your seat. "I've decided to give you those 3 dates. That's why," He is calm, unreadable and you wonder if this is a prank. Then again, he has no reason to prank you, does he? "Really?" Your voice comes out breathy. "Yes. I thought I'd give you a taste of how it feels to be with someone like me. I can scare people without physically hurting them you know," He says in a menacing tone.

"So what? You're taking me to an underground fight or something?" You question. "Nah, we're keeping it simple today." He smirks as he starts the car again and turns on the radio, an indication that he doesn't want to converse anymore.

Shamelessly you take a good look at Seungcheol; he's dressed in another jacket today paired with a black tee underneath. Today, you notice he has upped his accessory game, his fingers full of rings and chains dangling from his neck. But what catches your attention is a tattoo, something like a dragon and words written in a language you don't understand, peeking from underneath his sleeve. You almost ask about it but decide it'll probably be too much and he wouldn't answer you anyway.

As you do so, in the back of your mind you think you should have dressed better, something cuter, more appropriate for a date rather than a plain blouse and jeans. But then again who knew Choi Seungcheol was gonna show up out of the blue. You're gnawing at your lower lip, lost in your thoughts when the car is pulled to a halt and you realize your ride is over. You're parked in front of a diner called Lacy's and from the vibe that the place is giving, you can tell that this is place where people like him hang out. You raise a questioning brow at Seungcheol who says, "I know it doesn't look fancy but trust me I has some of the best food I've ever eaten." Taking his words for now you quickly type out a text to Katelyn letting her know you're in one piece and get out of the car.

Once you're seated you look around the place which is relatively empty except some men playing pool at the far end. You watch Seungcheol who has gone to the reception booth to place your orders; his posture relaxed as he leans against the counter and talks to the girl standing there. They seem to know each other because their chat takes longer than it should and the girl has a shy, almost flirty smile on her face.

He probably fucks her.

You shake the thought off your head as the gangster comes back and sits in front of you. There's silence for a second as you wonder if you should just ask the questions that run free around your mind. "Are the rumours true?" You blurt out. He's raises a brow.

"About you. You know..."

"Do you want them to be true?" He asks back. "I don't...know," you reply. "Well, I think it depends on each person. If you want it to be true it is true, if you don't it isn't," he shrugs, leaning back in his chair. "Why don't you just give me a straight answer?" you snap. He smirks as if he's having fun but doesn't reply, watching you with his arms crossed. You roll your your eyes, blowing out an exasperated breath. "You know, I haven't seen one like you. Willingly hanging out with dangerous people, going to dangerous places. You say you saw me kill someone yet you're here. You're almost desperate to get in trouble," he observes. "I'm not desperate to get in trouble. I just...I'm just- attracted to you alright?" This is so embarrassing. You need to shut your mouth. "You've been on my mind ever since that night. I wanna see exactly how deep I'm into you." You bite your lip.

That's enough. You will boost his ego through the roof like this.

Seungcheol studies you for a bit before grinning cockily, "Well, if you didn't know, I am trouble baby. Just you being with me might end you up in a mess." Before you can reply, your food is served, that same girl from the booth setting down your plates and looking at Seungcheol for a bit too long with that same stupid smile which he returns. You don't know why but you feel jealous, jealous of whatever these two share, whatever she has with him.

You've lost your mind at this point. You're on a high that is Seungcheol. He has made you forget your morals, made you completely lose your mind. Or maybe you've been too good all your life and seeing him brought out that crazy, thrill seeking part of yourself.

Silently you dig into your food and as Seungcheol said, the food is really good. This is one of the best meatloaf you've ever had and you can't help but moan. Seungcheol watches you with an amused smile before popping a fry in his mouth.

"What's your major?" Seungcheol asks out of the blue.

"Uh- sociology."

"Mmhmm."

You're about to ask him what he studied in college but you assume he probably never went to one so you seal your lips. You wonder what his background is and who his parents are but you don't want to get too personal on the first day. So you ask something else, "How old are you?" He laughs out loud before he deadpans, "Thirty five." "What!" You almost choke.

There's no way he's-

"Why? What did you expect?"

"I... I don't know! A few years older than me? You're kidding right? You don't look thirty five." He has to be bluffing. "And how old would you be?" "You shouldn't ask a woman her age," you try to make a point. "Don't you have any manners?" He smirks,"I don't, sweetheart. To answer your question, I'm twenty eight."

Uh huh.

"Well, I'm twenty one," you mutter under your breath. You don't know if he hears it because he doesn't give any reaction, busy twirling a fry in sauce. The rest of your meal is full of silence as you wonder if your date will end like this; dry and boring. He's awfully silent and seems to be lost in thoughts as he doesn't engage in a conversation. You're about to take your last bite when the silence is broken by him.

"What did you see that night?" He leans over, his elbows resting on the table as he suddenly regards you with a sombre look, his earlier cockiness vanished. His eyes have once again gone dark and his demeanor says he's not being superficial right now. You're caught off guard as you cough loudly, reaching for your glass to take a sip of water. "What?"

"You heard me. What did you see that night? Exactly how much did you see?" He repeats. You're confused. You thought he didn't care about it. He said it didn't matter. So why is he bringing it up now? You've worked hard to push that night in the deepest part of your brain, pretending it didn't happen.

And then suddenly it clicks.

"You!" You point an accusatory finger at him as you catch on to his plan. "You've agreed to go out with me so that you can find out what I saw that night!" Seungcheol groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Ugh, just fucking tell me!" He snaps, annoyed that you've found out his little scheme. You scoff, "I thought you said you didn't care? Besides it's not like I'm going to tell the police." He rolls his eyes and leans back into the couch. "Just tell me and let me go."

You're baffled. His actions didn't make any sense and you actually thought he had no other intentions behind dating you but holy shit this sneaky bastard. "You sly little asshole!" You hiss at him. "Call me that once more and you'll regret it." He threatens. You roll your eyes sagging back into your seat, "Whatever." Then an idea hits you. "You know what, I'll tell you exactly how much I saw that night." You have Seungcheol's full attention now as he stares intensely at you, waiting for your next words. "On our third date. When this whole deal is over, I'll tell you. But in return you'll have to keep your promise and take me out on two more dates."

"Oh fucking hell," he groans rubbing his face in frustration. His state makes you smirk and you feel accomplished.

Choi Seungcheol is stressed because of you.

What a day to be alive.

You murmur, "Besides this isn't even a proper date. This was more like an interrogation. But I'll go easy on you and won't make you redo this date." You give him a sweet smile and he sees red. You can literally see fury blaze in his eyes. "Whatever!" He yells and abruptly stands up. "I don't have time for this. Your stupid play date is over. I'm dropping you home."

Before you can reply, he's marching towards the door. You've to admit this wasn't the best date but at least you've trapped Choi Seungcheol.

-

It has been a good week after your so called date at the diner and you haven't heard from him. You expected him to call or text you since he was gracious enough to ask for your number but he didn't. You now realize it was a mistake to not get his number; you had asked him for his when he took yours but being the prick he is he denied to hand over his number to you. You should have forced him to, you sigh. As you sit in the library the ping of your mobile distracts you from your racing thoughts as you realize you have a message. Picking the device up you tap on the notification. Even though it was from an unknown number, you have no trouble figuring out who it is from. A smile graces your lips as you read the words over again.

I'll pick you up from your house tomorrow evening at six.

That's all it says and that is good enough to send a thrum of excitement throughout your body.

-

You have not held back in dressing up today and you realize it's been a long time since you've dolled up yourself. A long before the clock strikes 6 you are ready; dressed in a cute pastel top and a matching skirt. You've also went ahead and applied makeup, not too much but just enough to maybe catch his eye. Maybe.

You wonder what he has planned for today.

A text from Seungcheol saying he's here has you flying out of your apartment as fast as your feet can carry your desperate self to see him. He stands in front of your apartment with his convertible, dressed in a white jacket that matched his pants. You take a deep breath before walking towards him, trying to calm all your nerves down.

"You know I expected to hear from you earlier. I've been waiting all week," you voice makes his head turn around to meet your eyes as you are skipping towards him with a teasing smile in your face. "I've been busy," he shrugs coolly, his eyes going over your whole body, from your legs to your face. He doesn't hide that he's taking a good look at you, in fact does it unashamedly.

You wonder if he likes what he sees.

Someone dressed up today," he comments. "Too bad we aren't going to a place where you can show off your pretty clothes." You frown, "Where are we going?" Seungcheol holds open the door, a mischievous smile on his face. "I've decided to grant your wish." With a confused face you get inside the car, the gears in your head running. What does he mean?

"I'm taking you to an underground fighting ring," he says with smirk as he reaches for something behind his seat. He pulls out a large hoodie and tosses it towards you, "Put this on. Otherwise you are going to attract a lot of attention and you don't want that." You gulp, taking the hoodie and putting it on you. You're slightly embarrassed. You were so excited to try this outfit but it's not like you knew he was taking you to a fight club. Hell you would have dressed like a guy if you knew. You shrug on the hoodie and it falls almost to your knees but it's huge and comfy and most importantly it smells like him. There's a hint of cologne, nothing too strong; a subtle, expensive scent that makes you want to take a deeper sniff. You wonder if you can keep this with you.

Stop it, pervert.

Seungcheol's voice pulls you out of your haze, "You can take it off later. Just wear it until we're out of there," he says and brings the engine to life.

Then you actually think about it. Underground fighting ring? Holy shit. You were only kidding when you mentioned it. Admittedly, you're shocked, somewhat horrified. Everyone knows it isn't the best place to be at especially for someone like you who never had such an experience. Seungcheol must have seen your expression because the smile on his face gets bigger, "Why? You not up for it?" His voice is teasing.

He's challenging you.

Oh well.

"Of course I'm up for it," you square your shoulders, keeping your voice cool. "Bring it on."

-

Seungcheol leads you into a bar and then through a door at the back that leads down to a lot of stairs, reaching a place similar to an underground parking lot. Quietly you follow Seungcheol, staying as close to him as possible, your bodies occasionally touching. He leads you to a pair of double doors and from the other side you can hear men shouting and chanting.

This is it, I guess.

Seungcheol throws one more smile at you before pushing open the doors as you scramble to follow him closely. The sight that greets you something you only see in movies. There's a boxing ring where two people are throwing punches at each other and surrounding them from all sides is a wild, loud and excited crowd. They continue to cheer loudly as the two men in the ring continue to box and you hear their grunts and groans.

Holy shit.

Swallowing your eyes meet Seungcheol's who is regarding you with curiosity. "What do you think?" He has to speak loudly for you to hear over the screaming throng. "Uh... It's loud," you say dumbly as you try to think of a reply. But it's too loud for you to even think properly as you take in your unfamiliar surroundings. You see a tall man approaching towards you and out of reflex you shuffle closer to Seungcheol until you realize it's his friend. The guy from the first night. He and Seungcheol grin at each other, patting their backs as they talk close to each others ears. You gawk at them curiously and realize they must be talking about you because his friend takes curious glances at you occasionally. His friend is tall, really tall and well built but unlike his body his face is sweet and puppy like, almost cute. When he grins his canines pop up just like a puppy and you wonder if all his friends are good looking.

After he's done chatting with his friend Seungcheol pulls you close and says, "This is my friend. Mingyu. Always stay near him, you hear me? Don't stray away unless you wanna get hurt." His eyes are stern as he pins you down with his stare but you have other thoughts running in your head.

"What do you mean? Where are you going?" You yell over the noise.

He just smirks at you and starts taking his jacket off. "About time you see how we do it around here." His tone is cocky as he hands his jacket to you, "Hold this for me. And stay close to him."

Giving a look at Mingyu Seungcheol starts walking away towards a door that you're guessing is the changing room.

He's gonna fight.

"Wait- but-" Mingyu stops you with a hand on your shoulder and offers you a kind smile. "It's fine. Just stay with me." He then ushers you towards the crowd, spotting a place where you can get a good look at the ring. "Do you guys do this often?" You look up at Mingyu. He smiles sheepishly, "Not me. I tried a few times and I always end up beaten to a pulp. But hyung does this often, he's really good."

"Uh huh, I'm sure he is," you smile dryly. "This is your first time watching a fight, no?" "Definitely." He grins, "Watch carefully then. It's really fun."

You have your doubts on how watching people beat each other up can be fun but you don't comment anything, instead chew on your lip anxiously. Seungcheol really didn't have to go this far? What if he gets hurt badly? Is he trying to impress you?

Don't flatter yourself, your subconscious rolls her eyes.

As the loud cheering that had died down ensues again, your train of thoughts are halted as you see Seungcheol in shorts and his hands covered in boxing gloves, step into the ring. You can't help but ogle at his naked torso, his finely defined and chiseled muscles. He has the perfect body, not too bulky, not too lean just the right amount that gives you a hard time taking your eyes off him. He seems to have noticed your gaze because the second your eyes meet, he throws a haughty, knowing smirk at you. Embarrassed you avert your gaze elsewhere.

His opponent is a muscular man who's growling and banging his chest with his fists, a gesture of intimidation, you suppose. You are definitely intimidated and you wonder if Seungcheol can actually win against him.

The fight starts with a whistle and in mere seconds they are on to each other, throwing punches left and right. Your eyes have a hard time keeping up with them and their fast reflexes and your hands fly to your mouth as a punch lands on Seungcheol's face, followed by repeated blows as Seungcheol falls back. There's a moment of silence as he wipes his bottom lip and you realize there's a cut.

He tilts his neck, popping the bones and glaring at the other man before launching himself on top of his opponent. The next moments are a blurry mess, Seungcheol beating the guy repeatedly until he ends up on the floor but he doesn't stop there. Seungcheol ends it with a sharp jab to his spine and you have no doubt the other man has broken bones with the ways he howls in pain. The match comes to an end like that as the people cheer wildly while Seungcheol steps down from the stage. Mingyu grins at you happily as if what you witnessed was just a regular occurrence, something you should be cheerful about. Shaking your head at the situation, you let out a deflated sigh.

Their life is really so different than yours.

-

Seungcheol seems to be in a very good mood after the fight as he buys you both some sandwiches and drinks from a deli after you both step out of the bar. You both sit down at a park nearby to eat and watch the night sky. "You know, I thought you were gonna lose," you speak after taking a few bites of the sandwich. Seungcheol scoffs, "You underestimate me, sweetheart. I've been doing this for a long time."

"Do you enjoy it?" You ask quietly, focused on peeling the wrapper from your food. You feel Seungcheol's stare on you. "Yes. Why? Are you scared already?"

"No. I was just... curious. Your definition and my definition of fun is totally different." You murmur. "Of course. What did you think? I go to the mall and shop and watch movies with my friends when I'm bored?" His tone is sarcastic. You bite your lip. "No I didn't. It's just...I feels different now that I have experienced it first hand." Seungcheol offers nothing more, taking a sip of his coke and leaning back into the bench. A silence stretches between the both of except the rustling of the wrapper of your food. "How long have you been doing this?" You blurt out. He frowns at you and you don't expect him to answer but he surprises you.

"For a long time."

He doesn't offer anymore and you don't have the heart to prod him for an actual answer. "And how long do you plan on doing this?"

"What?"

"I mean... don't you have any other plans. Like...do you wanna keep doing what you are doing for the rest of your life? Don't you wanna like... settle down maybe?" Your voice is soft as if you are talking to a child. Seungcheol looks annoyed. He doesn't speak for a while as he stares at the ground, a frown etched to his face. You're about to take back your question when he replies, "I really don't think you understand. I've been trying to tell you that my life is completely disparate to yours. So I don't think like you. I don't have plans like you but neither am I expected to follow a certain pattern like you. I can do whatever the fuck I want, ___. So don't look at me like you pity me. I'm the last person here that should be pitied. " His tone is sharp and it makes you feel bad, like a sensation of needles pricking your heart. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry," You whisper, feeling timid as you look down at your lap. He mutters, "Don't go poking your nose in other people's business. Specially people like me."

He's right. You shouldn't have asked that. You are not close enough to ask things like that. After that there is a silence, this time, an awkward one. There's palpable tension in the air and you feel jittery. Should you just ask him to take you home?

It's still early and truth be told, you don't want to leave him just yet. You only have one more date to go and judging by his reaction, he is in no way interested in a relationship. You heave out a long sigh. You knew very well what you were getting into, yet you couldn't stop yourself. Seungcheol is like a poison, the sweetest one, the one that has you addicted and unable to let go, no matter how much it hurts.

This is a fucking mess.

"Let's get going. I have plans," Seungcheol announces, standing up. You want to protest but you feel like you have ruined the mood, so you follow him mutely to his car.

The drive to your house is awfully quiet, to the point you want to scream out of frustration. Seungcheol seems to be lost in his head as he makes no move to talk. It's like you are alone, but you're not and it's worse, the air full of tension. Soon you have reached your house and he stops the car but keeps the engine rolling, indicating his rush. He keeps still and stares ahead while gripping the steering wheel as you step out of the car in silence. "Thanks for dropping me home," you say lamely, your voice meek. You turn around to walk away but his voice stops you in your tracks.

"I promised you three dates and I will keep my word. I expect you to keep yours, ___. I hope you will tell me what I want to hear when we meet next time." His tone is sharp with an edge of threat and you barely get to nod before he drives away.

It's not until you're inside your apartment that you realize you still have his hoodie on. Quickly fishing out your phone you type out a text.

I'm sorry, I forgot to return your hoodie.

After a while, his reply comes.

Keep it.

-

You watch Katelyn as she fills her lunch tray with food before walking over and taking a seat opposite to you. She looks extra radiant today, which probably has something to do with the way she's dressed; a bright colourful outfit which undoubtedly she put a lot of time into considering. She has a date, with a guy she has been talking to for the last few weeks. It reminds you of your pitiful situation and you sigh, trying to shrug off those thoughts.

It has been a good couple weeks since you last saw Seungcheol and you have not exchanged a word after that night. In the back of your mind you wonder if he is even alive. You want to message him, you really want to because you are going crazy but after how your last date ended, you can't bring yourself to. You are scared, exactly of what, you can't put your finger into.

The entire situation you have put yourself into is fucking scary. They say you become sure of your feelings after three dates but it did not take that much for you. You already are very certain about your feelings for him and how deep they run exactly and you also know that in the end you will be left scarred. He would never be yours. He has probably forgotten about you or decided that it is not worth another date to figure out what you saw that night.

You let a desperate, pitiable sigh.

"I know you are hiding things from me but I understand that you are not ready to talk yet. But I want you to know I am here for you okay?" Katelyn's voice makes you blink your way out of your thoughts. She squeezes your hand tightly and gives you a reassuring smile and you're left feeling guilty.

"I ...I will tell you. Soon. Just give me a bit more time," you whisper. She nods in understanding. A grateful smile touches your lips as her words make you emotional. Then there's a ping from your phone letting you know there's a message. Without giving it much thought you open the device and your eyes go wide.

I'll take you out for dinner tomorrow night. Wear something formal.

-

You wait outside your apartment for Seungcheol. Your day has passed by in a flurry of excitement and nerves as you carefully picked your outfit and did your hair and makeup. A soft baby pink dress that stopped just above you knees adorns you as your hair rests just above your neck in a loose bun.

You are fiddling with your fingers as you think about how this night is gonna end and wether you will ever see him again when a car screech that grabs your attention.

Seungcheol's convertible has taken a stop in front of you and you see the man getting out the vehicle and take big steps towards you.

You're mesmerized.

Perhaps there is not enough word in this world to describe his looks or perhaps you've simple lost the ability to speak; either way, you just stand and stare, drinking the godly man that stands in front of you. He looks delectable, completely flawless and agonizingly gorgeous in his sharp black suit and pants, with a silk black shirt underneath, the top couple buttons undone that reveals a beautiful porcelain skin. His hairstyle completes the look, parted to one side in a sleek way and showing his forehead and oh god is it sexy. You realize you have a forehead kink, if there is anything as such.

If you weren't in love with him before you are now.

He looks ravishing, and you wonder why it isn't illegal to look this good. It should be because you have completely lost control over yourself. Nothing exists in your world except for him and you feel paralyzed, unable to do anything but drink him in. You wonder if you are even worthy to stand beside him.

"____?" Seungcheol calls you, snapping his fingers in front of your eyes. He must have been calling you while you were eye fucking him. "Oh! Um, hi." You're flustered. "You- you look really, really nice." It isn't enough but it's what you can get past your lips. A knowing smirk kisses his lips before he teases, "Well, you look really, really nice too." Motioning you to his car he says, "Shall we? We'll be late for our reservation."

"Yeah, of course," you say, hurrying over to his car, embarasssed at your foolery. Seungcheol must have noticed you ogling him like that. But you don't really care when he looks like that. It is his fault for looking so devilishly handsome and idly you wonder if he did that on purpose. If he's deliberately teasing with, trying to make you the most miserable before letting you go with a slap of reality to your face. Pushing away those plagueing thoughts, you sit up straight and clear your throat as Seungcheol comes to sit beside you and brings the engine to life.

A decently long and quiet (except for the music from the radio) but not quite uncomfortable car ride later, Seungcheol stops in front of a really fancy and expensive looking restaurant just by the sea. You did not except him to take you to a high end restaurant, otherwise you would have put some more effort in your looks.

Feeling slightly out of place you quietly follow Seungcheol into the beautiful European styled building after he hands his keys to a valet. The interior is dripping with polished furnitures and extravagant chandeliers and marble floors as guests dressed elegantly have their dinner. As you look around the place in awe Seungcheol talks to the receptionist who then guides you towards a staircase that leads to a pair of large double doors decorated with gold which then, opens to a large balcony. In the middle of it sits a table with two chairs and an unceremonious gasp escapes your mouth as you realize this is where you will be having dinner.

The man from earlier takes his leave as Seungcheol helps you sit down before taking a seat for himself while you take in everything, overwhelmed with all your surroundings. Why did he put so much effort for a lousy and fake date?

"What do you think?" He asks with a smirk as he rests one of his elbows on the table.

"I'm overwhelmed," you reply quietly, honestly. He chuckles, "Well this place has really good food and a fantastic view so I thought it wouldn't bad for our last date."

Last date.

"It's really beautiful. I don't know why you did this but thank you, really," you murmur, eyes on the satin table cloth with intricate golden lining. Everything about this place is so pretty.

"Well, I decided it would be beneficial for me to extract words from you if you are wooed," his words have a teasing tone to it and his demeanor is completely different from last time, giving you a whiplash but you are not sure if he's fully joking. Before you can say that you are definitely wooed, a waiter appears to take your order and you leave the duty of ordering to Seungcheol since he seems to frequent this place. Prior to his leave, the waiter pours you Seungcheol's champagne of choice and then, you two are alone once more.

Reaching for the flute, you quickly gulp down the champagne to soothe your dry throat and to calm all your nerves.

Over dinner you talk about your uni and your parents back home and the farm they own. While Seungcheol mostly keeps quiet he doesn't ignore you but listens carefully, occasionally passing glances your way or commenting. He does not offer anything about him, which you expected and you don't ask any questions about him either. Instead you try your best to keep his interest in your words despite the lack of it from his side.

After a hearty meal of poached lobsters and wagyu beefs and creamy soups comes dessert; a chocolate orange mousse with spiced fruits and yogurt sorbet. You start eating your dessert in silence, the occasional crashing of waves filling the complete lack of sounds.

This location is truly magnificent and breathtaking, almost having a feel like you're in a fancy resort in a luxurious tropical island. It is undoubtedly the most beautiful place you have ever been, let alone have dinner at and you wonder if you would ever have the chance to visit some place like this had you not met Seungcheol. The man in question, continues eating quietly, seemingly lost in his thoughts. He looks lovely as always, if not more and you try to burn this image in your mind for you to look back at later. You want to ask him so many question, you want to tell him so many things but you're scared. Sacred if you do so this moment will break, scared it will annoy him and end your final date all too early. So you bite your tongue and finish your food as he does and after your plates are cleared away, you are served another expensive champagne as an end to your luxurious dinner.

Even though Seungcheol doesn't say anything, you assume it is time to spill the beans, to say what he has been wanting to hear from the beginning. You have teased him enough and it is time you give him what he deserves. Taking a deep breath, you open your mouth. "Me and Katelyn heard noises from the playground that night so we decided to check. It was pretty dark and we were tipsy but I recognized you and you were... beating someone up. We stayed there and watched until one of us accidentally made some noise. We were scared that you heard us so we ran. That's all that happened."

You have Seungcheol's full attention now as he listens cautiously, his sharp eyes trained on you. Gulping, you clench your hands together underneath the table, waiting for his reaction. There seems to be an eternity of silence as Seungcheol simply stares at you as if he's debating whether your words are true or not. It's torturous, awfully agonizing and when you can't bear it anymore you're about to speak but he beats you to it.

"I didn't kill him." His voice is quiet. You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. Somewhere in the back of your mind you believed it, you believed he wouldn't be cruel enough to kill someone just like that and as soon as he speaks those words you believe him, without a doubt, without a second of delay.

"I believe you." You whisper, holding his gaze. "That asshole deserved what he got. He shouldn't even be alive but I let him go. He's in a hospital now, if you are wondering." You nod quietly. It's scary how much you believe him, how much you trust him even though he is pretty much a stranger.

There's a moment of silence as you bask in his presence before he speaks, "____, men like me, we aren't the nicest people. But we are needed, the cops need us around. People like me do the dirty works for people like you so y'all don't face troubles. We do things in an unconventional way but that's just who we are. We aren't as bad as the rumours say but we definitely aren't someone you should be with." You open your mouth to protest but his sharp gaze makes you stop. "If you have not understood it yet, let me say it out loud. I am trouble. People like me is always bad news. Whatever we did until now, I hope you forget. That's the best, ____ trust me. I think we both got what we wanted so let's call it a night." Just like that, he stands up, not waiting for your reply.

You gawk at him, baffled as he pays the bill and starts walking away. Tears burn the back of your eyes and you bite your lip to hold them back. The ending that you had expected has taken place but you are having a hard time accepting it. Your subconscious reminds you that you deliberately got yourself into this even though you saw this coming. So there is no one to blame for it but you. Grabbing your purse, you stomp your way out of the restaurant and towards Seungcheol's car.

Seungcheol barely acknowledges you as you both get in the car and he presses the key to the ignition. You are fuming in your seat, his words and the way he dismissed you cutting you deep. His words come to you, I think we both got what we wanted. You want to laugh. How can he possibly think that? Is he really so stupid or is he deliberately ignoring your interest in him? You want to smack his perfect face, curse and scream at him but all you can do is sit still with your arms crossed as steam comes out of your head. Is he really not curious about your feelings? Does he possess none for you? Does these few days with you mean nothing to him? You have so many unanswered questions. Leaning back into your seat, you close your eyes and let out a frustrated sigh.

It feels like in the blink of an eye the drive to your place is over as Seungcheol halts his car in front of your apartment. He does not utter a single word, doesn't even spare a glance at you while patiently waiting for you to get out of the car.

Asshole.

You inhale deeply, trying your best to gather yourself together as you take off your seatbelt and turn towards him.

"Seungcheol?" Few seconds pass before he looks at you. Words are stuck in your throat. When your eyes meet his, you become mute, overwhelmed with emotions as your words die in your tongue. He keeps staring at you, not opening his mouth but waiting for you to speak. "Is this goodbye?" Your voice breaks.

"I believe we don't have any reason to see each other. We both got what we wanted," He says without batting an eye. You're left bemused, one step away from landing a slap on his face. How dare he say that?

"Do you really believe that?" Your words come out as an accusation. "I wanted to go out with you because I thought I have feelings for you! And I do! And my feelings have only increased since I first saw you. I want to see you again, Seungcheol. You may have gotten what you wanted but I didn't." Your fades into a whisper as tears burn the back of your eyes.

Seungcheol stays quiet, staring ahead, his brows knitted as if he's annoyed. "I promised you three dates, ____. And I gave you that. It's over. Your feelings? You'll get over them. It's better to be in pain for a while that be with someone like me."

"You can't say that! I get to decide for myself!"

"____," he sighs, rubbing his temples. "I'm a bad man. You should leave while you still have a good image of me. You'll get hurt because of me and I've caused enough pain to enough people. Just...go. Just forget me." You stare at him as frustrated tears roll down your cheeks. He doesn't meet your gaze but turns his head the other way. You are angry, infuriated and heart broken all at a time. Clenching your fists you inhale a shaky breath before reaching for him.

Before you can chicken out, you tilt his face towards you and quickly press your lips against his. Seungcheol seems to be shocked as a small gasp leaves his mouth but you don't let him push you away. Instead one of your hands come to rest on his thigh as he other cups his face to keep his mouth against yours. You kiss him with all you have left, pouring in every bit of passion and love for him as your tongues intertwine. By the time you are both breathless, Seungcheol gently pushes you back and peers into your eyes. "That's all I can give you, ____." He says, his voice the softest you have heard. You are broken into a million pieces and as much as your heart wants to cling to him, you suddenly feel tired, deflated like a popped balloon. Your emotions have drained you out and left nothing and right now, breathing almost seems too painful for you. Taciturnly, you grab your purse and step out the convertible. You hear another door shut behind you but you don't look back as your heavy steps carry you to the entrance of your building. When you are about to enter your apartment, you accumulate all your strength and courage to spare one final glance at him.

Turning around you see Seungcheol standing by his car, hands in his pockets, simply watching you. Even though your eyes are locked on each other, you don't see any emotion in them. He looks like the same expressionless, mysterious man you saw the first day. The man you fell in love with. Taking in his gorgeous features one last time, you bite your lip and turn away, forcing yourself to walk inside your apartment building.

Your chapter with Seungcheol ends here.

Epilogue

A/N : Okay so idk why this fucking app is being like this but it says I reached the maximum of 250 blocks but I thought tum1r didn't have a word limit?? Anyway so I've decided to break it up and put the rest of the fic in another post. Please click epilogue to read that.

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