#the timing means i have something to focus on besides being sad and scared

[likedbyuarmyhope]

i've been feeling so emotional in like every regard lately so i'm not surprised by this but jungkook's album has really been stuck in my head in a way new releases rarely are for me... like i obviously love listening to new bts music it's one of my favorite feelings ever but usually after the first couple times i need a few days to process before i can really start going crazy. but i just cannot stop listening to golden and thinking about it all the time

[kyotosworld]

just confess already!

pairing: steve rogers x fem!reader 

summary: the team is sick of seeing how in love Steve and you are while you both pretend you’re just friends. 

(the office au: moments when the teams talks to the camera, like in the office)

warning: language, very cute confession at the end

word count: 1.3k

—

“..andd they’re doing it again,” bucky smirks at the camera before motioning it towards you and steve who were sitting way too closely for “friends”

you were both giggling and whispering about something he was showing you on his phone, before you noticed the camera and very badly tried to act normal by clearing your throat and refocusing on your computer.

steve’s brows furrowed for a second as he watched you leave, worried that he might have done something to upset you. before also realizing that the cameras were directed toward you both. leading him to return to his work in a similar clumsy manner as you.

steve could only hope that the camera didn’t catch how long and how longingly he looked at you after you left.

meanwhile, bucky was still smirking at the camera, “ you see what i mean?”

bucky of course was referring to the ongoing belief of everyone in the office—but you and steve—that you guys were dating.

—

“they need to confess already. i'm sick of the heart eyes,” natasha says before fake gagging. “but seriously, the only people they’re fooling are themselves.”

while natasha was talking to the camera, you and steve were in the office kitchen proving her exactly right. 

“have you heard the…rumors floating around the office?” you ask nervously, while holding a cold water bottle, and standing beside steve as he looks into the fridge for a snack.

at that, he froze because yeah he had heard them but he was also too scared to talk about it with you. then in an attempt to act normal, he hit the top of his head on the ceiling of the fridge. 

“shit!” he exclaimed.

“omg, are you okay?” you wince before putting down your water bottle and checking his head. 

he has his hands on the spot he hit like that’ll help ease the pain, which of course it doesn’t. so, in an attempt to do something other than just watch him in pain, you pick up your cold water, gently move his hands from his injury, and place the bottle against it. 

“there, that should help.” you say softly while still holding the bottle against his head. you’re too focused on easing his pain to notice the way steve is looking at you.

—

“oh those two? we’re still talking about them?” tony asks, “that’s old news. instead, lets focus on me–”

— 

“aww they’re soo cute i cant wait for them to realize!” wanda says excitedly with the biggest smile on her face. she’s a sweetheart.

—

“what, when did this happen? why did no one tell me?!” thor asked with a frown, being the clueless himbo that he was ♡. 

his smile reforms as an idea forms in head, “i must congratulate them!” he exclaims while getting up.

the camera follows thor out of the room and into the main office where steve and you were actually focused on your work for once. 

“CONGRATULATIONS ON THE RELATIONSHIP DEAR MORTALS!” thor yells as he pulls you two into a tight hug. drawing the attention of the rest of the team.

“what?” you ask, gasping but laughing when thor finally lets you out of the bone crushing hug. 

“you and steve! you know i always suspected, but wasn’t a hundred percent sure. why didn’t you tell me?” he questions, getting a bit sad again.

 this time steve pipes up, “you ‘always suspected’ what?” he asks in confusion.

honestly he was getting a bit nervous. you both were, thinking somehow your crush for the other got out and that’s what thor knew.  

but the truth surprised you guys even more, “that you’re dating of course!”

at this, you and steve look at eachother wide eyed and flushed for a moment before looking back at thor. 

“where did you get that information from, thor?” you ask. 

“well apparently, everyone knew but me.” he looks down, “no one ever tells me anything.” 

you guys look around at the rest of the team with surprised looks on your faces, “really?” steve asks, perplexed.

a collection of nods and “yeah”s spread around the room.

clint speaks up, “i honestly thought you guys were engaged already.”

—

after all of that, you and steve kind of avoided each other for a bit. feeling too awkward after the news you both had heard.

but that only lasted for about an hour before you both ended up in the break room at the same time. 

you walked in, distracted, looking down and counting the coins in your hand to see if you had enough for the chips you were craving. due to this, you failed to notice that someone else was in the room with you.

“oh, hi.” steve spoke up, surprised to see you. 

you jump and look up to find steve sitting at a table across the room.

“hi,” you stop in your tracks, surprised and suddenly nervous at the sight of him.

you both stood there for a bit, staring at each other, not knowing what to say.  

“soo–”

“umm–” 

“you go first!”

“no you!” you insist.

“i was just going to ask if uh we’re okay?” steve asks nervously. 

“yeah.” you reply quickly, “why wouldn't we be?” you ask, trying really hard to act normal and like you weren't affected by today's news in the slightest.

but of course steve saw right through it, right through you as he stared at you for a moment before responding, “i'm sorry that things are weird now, and it's all my fault and i totally understand if you don't wanna be friends anymore–” 

“what?!” you interrupt immediately, “steve, of course i don't want to stop being friends.” you say sincerely looking deep into his eyes. 

“and if anything, it's both our faults for being together all the time, no wonder they thought we were together.” you finish while pulling up a chair next to him. 

steve chuckles and shakes his head at that before getting serious again, “so we're good?”

“yes. we’re good.” you smile, causing him to do the same, “plus their assumption didn’t bother me too much…” you looked down as you said the last part.

“what.” steve’s head turns towards you swiftly, he couldn't have heard you correctly, right?

“what? it's not like you’re the worst guy ever. and i guess it's not the worst thing that they saw us as a couple.” you try to answer nonchalantly but are still avoiding his eyes. 

this time, steve’s lips upturned a little, noticing your nervousness, “so you think i'm ‘not the worst guy ever’ huh?” 

you look up and notice he looks a bit amused. “oh shut up, you know what i mean.” you playfully shove his side with your shoulder. 

“no no, i really don't. please. explain it to me.” he jokingly but also somehow convincingly insisted. 

figuring that you weren’t gonna be able to leave this place if you didn’t just admit it, you very speedily say, “fine. you’re an attractive guy and you’re funny and really kind and anyone would be lucky to have you.” at the end of that you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding in. 

it’s quiet for a moment and when you finally look back at steve he’s smiling softly at you. “i feel the same.”

“you think i’m an attractive guy?” you tease.

“you know what i mean.” he whispers, still smiling.

“i think i do.” you say softly while leaning closer towards him.

but of course thor had to walk by right when steve closed the gap between you two. 

“i knew it! they are dating!!” thor yells as he runs towards the main office. 

[iwantacoolusernameman]

Akaashi Keiji x Reader

.𖥔˚Late Night Talks.𖥔˚

"Do you ever regret being with me?" Your boyfriend's voice quietly asks you in the dark. You're laying on his bed beside him, staring at his ceiling, wearing one of his old T-shirts. It has a slightly washed off real life photo of a setter dog printed on the back.

"What makes you think that?" You ask him, ignoring the ache in your heart caused by his question.

"Because.. there's so much better out there," he spills his thoughts to your trustful presence. "I'm pretty.. boring, don't you think? And I feel bad that I don't have much time for you because I often work late into the night."

"I know you make time for me whenever you can." You don't know whether your reassurance gets through to him but you mean it.

"But don't you get bored?" He's persistent in his doubt, it's nothing new.

"Of you? No. No, how could I?" Your hand blindly taps the mattress until you find his hand and gently take it.

"You're overthinking Keiji," you tell him. It's not an accusation, just an observation.

"I know. I can't help it. I'm so scared of losing you," he admits and squeezes your hand. "Isn't that natural? To fear losing what's dear to you? Aren't you scared of something like that?"

"I'd be terribly sad if I ever lost you.." you admit. "But I try not to focus on that. I'm holding your hand right now and that's all I want to focus on."

He responds with a low hum, as if saying I understand.

"Although," you break the silence between you, "I do sometimes worry that you'll get sick of me.."

"Sick of you?" He asks and sounds genuinely surprised.

"Because I can be.. too much sometimes."

"No, you're never too much for me. You won't ever be too much for me." He sounds almost offended you would ever even entertain an idea like that.

"Guess we all have our silly troubling thoughts," you utter, receiving another hum of approval from Akaashi. Despite the worries spoken aloud there isn't an ounce of uneasiness in the air, just relief, and there seems to be an unspoken agreement that this topic is closed now so you pull him closer to your chest. He lets you and burries his face in the comfort of your neck, the tip of his cold nose brushing against your skin. You exhale in relief and let your fingers brush through the strands of his dark hair until you both drift into a peaceful sleep.

[cheeseceli]

When you're rejected by your crush

Pairing: BTS ot7 × Gn!Reader (individually)

Genre: fluff, headcanons, just a bit of angst because you were rejected

Request: Hello! Can you please write headcanons for BTS (they have a crush on the reader) reacting to the reader being sad after finding out that her crush (a coworker or a friend) is in a relationship with someone else?

Warnings: none?

A/n: this was inspired by the "secret crush" series by @7ndipity a bit. If you do not allow this, please let me know and I'll delete this post right away!

Jin

Your friend

That's all Jin wants to be for you right now

Of course, he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel at least an ounce of hope when you said that your friend, your crush, was now dating someone else

But at the same time, he'd hate to show interest in you when you're so vulnerable

So he settles in being only what you need right now: a shoulder to cry on

I believe he'd be the one to wait the longest to tell you how he feels, scared you're not on the same page just yet

Suga

His mind is a mess right now

Nothing breaks him more than seeing your eyes without its usual shine

But he had been praying for the day where you fall out of love with your co-worker

So he really doesn't know how to react right now

He chooses to listen to you talk about how you found out everything and about how you're feeling

Will try to forget his feelings and focus on being the best friend you could ask for now

But as soon as you feel better and your feelings for your past crush start to fade, he might try to make subtle moves on you, scared someone else could catch your attention again

J-hope

I see this going on a slightly different way

He found out about your crush's relationship before you

He just knew you'd be heartbroken

So he tries to let you down gently, saying that maybe the guy wasn't this big of a deal

But when the time comes and you're inevitably sad after finding out, he tries to comfort you as much as possible

Is very hesitant on being flirty right now though

Besides being sad, he'd hate for you to be confused because of him

Namjoon

Honestly, for a second he even forgot he liked you

His mind went blank the moment you texted him about how you were in need of comfort right now

Will fulfill his role as your friend and, before you even notice, you were already laughing through your tears at something he said

Just later that day that he realises what this can mean for your relationship

He finally had a chance now!

Waits for a while though, planning exactly what he wants to do

Jimin

He feels so bloody guilty and selfish right now

Because he's your friend! And you're sad right now!

He should be only focusing on how to make you happy again

But knowing that this means you'll have to eventually move on from your current crush just gives him so much hope

Obviously, he will try to hype you up

But as soon as he can, he will try to make you see him in a different light

Taehyung

Relief floods over him the moment you tell him the news

He was so scared of what could've happened if your crush were to reciprocate your feelings

He had to hold back his smile

Hangs out with you immediately to try to make you forget things for a while

Is already making a plan on how to confess

But for now he's focused on making you feel better

Even thanks your crush with literally no context at all

Jungkook

Deadass smiled when you told him about the situation 💀

Don't get him wrong, he's not happy because you're hurt!

He's happy because he might have a chance now

But he at least was able to hide (part of) his happiness in front of you lmao

And now he's 100% dedicated to make you smile again

He wasn't even that cool, you could find someone better than him anyways

Either way, he makes it his personal mission to distract you from that other guy and make you realise that maybe you're better off without him

And if he ends up being extra boyfriend material throughout it, it was purely a coincidence

Masterlist | you'll probably like: secret crush (by the author I mentioned in the a/n)

Thank you for reading <3

Taglist (open!): @yuyubeans

Credits for images 1 , 2 and 3

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[ayyyez]

Headcanons on shisui, minato, and Yamato on how they'd react to their s/o (civilian shinobi or otherwise:)) getting attacked and almost dying? 😭 need the agnst in my life rn I love ur work ur iconic uwu

A/N: the angsssst! but it's okay I love angst it's what I do haha but mostly as long as it has a happy ending because we deserve that as a treat as do they. And aw thanks sm!

TAGS: angst, reader attacked/almost dies, sad characters, mini scenarios rather than headcanons, mentions of hospitals, mentions of wounds, mentions of being impaled, no graphic injuries, characters blaming themselves, long post under cut

CHARACTERS: Shisui Uchiha, Minato Namikaze, Yamato

SHISUI UCHIHA

Shisui is usually the calm and collected one no matter the situation. He can take out any enemy. Always has a plan and can lighten any situation with a lighthearted quip should it call for it.

But this, oh god nothing can prepare him for this.

You're not supposed to be able to get hit. Your entire jutsu is supposed to be impenetrable. More so than that, he's supposed to be your eyes in case things go wrong, your back up.

The enemy found a weak spot though—pulled a thread in the seam everything falls apart right in front of him.

Shisui feels so powerless as he calls your name.

'I've got you.' He says, catching you just before you hit the ground.

He ducks for cover as kunai come at him from all sides. The rest of the squad focus on the guy who got you. Taking down the rest of the enemies is a sinch in comparison. He can't even think about anything else except getting you out and alive.

When he makes it through the thick of the trees he feels you tremble in his arms.

'Shisui.' You call his name, same as you have a thousand times before but this time it's so quiet, almost ghostly.

Shisui is terried to look down but he has to. He can't let you down by betraying his fears. He needs to make you feel safe.

'H-hey.' He doesn't mean to let his voice slip and tremble as he sees how you don't look so good. 'It's going to be alright. We're almost there.'

You manage a nod.

By the time he makes it to the medics you begin to fade and he panics. They take you off his hands and into the tent to tend to your wounds.

Shisui spends the whole time pacing outside pale as a ghost.

He can't sit or stand still. He's a jolting mess. He can barely accept the water or food offered to him by his comrades.

It's the longest wait of his life waiting for you to wake up.

'Shisui.' Is the first thing you say as you come to.

He cries he's so overcome with emotion. Takes your hand and drops his face against it. Poor Shisui is so exhausted and has been so scared he just loves you so much.

MINATO NAMIKAZE

Guilt overwhelms Minato as he sits in the hospital room waiting for you to wake up.

He wasn't there when you had been injured because he held so much faith in your ability to hold your own and now he can't help but blame himself for being so carless. He should have been there. He should have been with you.

It's not that now he believes you can't handle yourself, it's that he should have been there anyway. Anyone can slip up. Anything can happen. This is proof of that and he knows that now.

If he could go back and do things differently— 

No it's too late for that. He would do right and better by you now.

He stays by your side each day waiting for you to wake up. He speaks to you, tells you little things about each day that are trivial but also deep things like how much he cares for you.

'I'm sorry.' He whispers, stroking your hand. 'I love you, I'll be here when you wake up.'

He lets go of your hand and walks over to the window to look out onto the village below.

Everything seems smaller, holds less meaning without you here awake beside him. It's like something is missing. He's no longer quite whole.

There's a stiring behind him and Minato turns wide eyed to find you coming to.

He can't quite believe it when your eyes flutter open.

'Mmm.' You groan. 'Damn that hurts.'

A soft chuckle escapes him and then a few tears too. Just a flood of relief hits at the signs of you being there.

Then you turn to him, a little more awake.

'Hey.' You say. 'What are you doing all the way over there, huh?'

And that's all it takes for him to just crowd you in the tightest (but also careful) hug.

'I'm so glad you're awake.' He whispers. 'I'm so sorry.'

'Don't be sorry.' You assure him. 'I'm glad you're here though.'

He pulls away and looks you deep in the eyes. 'I love you.'

It's enough to take your breath away. 'I love you, too.'

YAMATO

The image of you jumping in front of him to protect him is something Yamato will never forget. He's not sure he can forgive you for it either if you don't wake up.

He knows neither of you had a choice but— 

Seeing you there impaled is just not something he can ever forgive.

You should have let it hit him. Village be damned he'd rather—okay he would not rather hundreds of other people die instead of you getting injured but that's besides the point! He should never of had to see you that way. If you didn't worm your way into his life and make him care then— 

Oh who is he kidding.

Yamato could never be mad at you.

He's mad at himself. He should never have agreed to put you in this situation in the first place. There should have been a better strategy. He should have thought up a better strategy.

'It was an impossible situation, stop beating yourself up over it and just be there instead.'

Yamato lifts his head.

'Kakashi.' He balls his fists against his pants then sighs unfurling them. 'I know it's just—'

'Just that you think you could have strategised yourself out of an impossible situation now that it's over.'

'This is different.'

'It's always different with the people we care about.' He gives him a knowing expression. 'With the people we love.'

'I don't need a pep talk right now.'

'No but you also don't need to sit here waiting for someone to scold you like you've done something wrong.'

Yamato gives him a doubtful look.

'You both did your duty and what you wanted to do so now you ought to both be together for the waking up part.' Kakashi sighs. 'Neither of you are dying today.'

Yamato takes a deep breath letting it settle in his lungs before he exhales again. Kakashi was right. He needs to be by your side.

'Okay.' Is all he says before he stands and heads to your room, leaving his senpai behind.

The tension is palpable as he enters your room. The machines beeping and your assisted breathing fill his ears. He sits beside you timid as he shifts closer.

'Sorry, I took so long.' Is all he whispers as he wakes for you to wake.

Your eyes flicker open a few moments later as if to let him know it's alright. He's not mad anymore, only relieved. Loved.

[rewh0re]

─LOVE? I FOUND THAT IN YOU ; MIKAGE REO

-1.4k words, SO much vulnerability from both Reo and reader, they kiss (🤮), smoking, little crying, exes to lovers, angst if you squint really hard tbh, mostly fluff, it was his birthday so I had to write something so here this is, whatever it is tbh. REBLOGS + INTERACTIONS ARE APPRECIATED!!

All Reo ever wanted was you, and to be fair all you ever wanted was him too.

"Since when did you indulge in that?" You knew the source of the voice well. A little too well for your own good.

"Reo," you stated his name as you felt his presence beside you, leaning on the balcony railing much like you had been doing. The only exception was that you held a lit cigarette between your index and middle fingers as you looked at the city below and he kept his gaze fixed on you, a lazy smile on his lips.

You knew you would come across him. It was Nagi's party at the end of the day and wherever Nagi went, Reo was bound to be seen. So you were not really surprised. You just didn't expect him to catch you smoking on the balcony alone, staring at the city lights and the zooming cars below.

"What? Not liking the party very much?" You heard him ask softly, not really earning the courage to look at him yet.

"I just needed a smoke and I needed some time alone. You know that crowds aren't my thing," you sighed, taking a drag off of the harmful stick.

"Yeah I guessed so," you saw him shake his head from your peripheral vision. "Cigarettes then? Really? After being dead against smoking?"

"You don't have to chastise me. I've already been chastised by enough people around," you finally got the courage to look at the man you once called your own. It hurt, truly, it did but you were not really the type to show your hurt. You were never really good at communication or expressing your feelings which led to the downfall of your two year relationship with Reo. Really, you could not even blame him. He tried his best but you were too scared to keep going.

"Oh no I am not chastising you. I don't have the right anymore y/n, I was simply a bit shocked is what," he smiled in a soft and sad manner. It was the same smile he gave you when you left him. You remembered it as clearly as a midsummer's day to be fair. It haunted you day and night.

"Nagi told me something about you that had me quite...well....for the lack of better words, stunned," you seemed nervous, fiddling with the dainty necklace on your neck. Playing with the pendant, you ignored his amused gaze as he hummed in response.

"He told me about a certain picture in your wallet," you tapped the ash of your cigarette and saw it float away with the chilly wind of the night.

"Ah, you mean this," Reo let out a slow chuckle as he reached for the back pocket of his trousers, taking out a leather Gucci wallet. He opened the wallet and took out a picture that was taken last year on his birthday.

You stared at it with something akin to nostalgia in your eyes. It was a Polaroid of the two of you. A cake kept on the table as he kissed your cheek, two widely smiling faces. Times were good back then, you thought.

"I swore I'd keep it with me didn't I?" He chuckled again, keeping the picture back as he put away his wallet to focus his eyes on your face. "I don't really mean to break it anytime soon."

"Why are you doing this to yourself Reo?" You closed your eyes, looking away.

You couldn't stand him. You couldn't stand his perfect self who loved you so perfectly. You couldn't stand how he embraced your flaws, flaws that even you couldn't embrace and always provided solace to you when you felt lost in your own mind. You couldn't stand how even when you left him, he didn't find it in himself to hate you. You never hated him either. All you ever wanted since the day you made the wretched decision to leave him, was to run back and into his arms. To hold onto him like your life depended on it and never let him go, ever again.

"That's a stupid question from someone as smart as you," he put your hair behind your ear, the same look of distinct adoration in his eyes that he had held before.

"Give me that," he took the cigarette from your hand and took a drag out of it bursting out into a fit of cough. His scrunched nose and disgusted look made you laugh. A genuine laugh, that he missed so much.

"God how the fuck do you smoke that, it's absolutely disgusting," he handed the stick back to you.

"Takes a bit of practice but it grows on you," you laughed again.

"You haven't changed a bit Reo," your hands trailed up to his collar, swatting away the bit of ash that had fallen on it. 

"I hope you mean that in a good way," he took a hold of your hand on his collar and brought it up to his lips, leaving a chaste kiss on it.

"I mean that in the best way," you glided your thumb across his lower lip before cupping his cheek. He leaned into it. At the end of the day, Mikage Reo would do anything to receive the slightest tinge of affection from you.

"Come back to me y/n. It's been hell for me these past couple of months and seeing that Marlboro between your lips, I know it has been for you too. Come back, please," he closed his eyes, keeping your hand in its place on his cheek. 

"I'm scared Reo," you finished your cigarette, crushing it under your foot as you pulled his face closer to yours and touched your forehead to his.

"I'm scared I'll ruin us again. I'm scared I'll mess it up for us yet again. I'm scared of hurting you," little tears rolled down your face and your voice turned into a hushed whisper. 

"You could never ever hurt me. You hear me? You complete me, baby. Nothing can ever change that. Whatever problems we'll have, we will sort through it, we will talk it through and whatever problems we have it'll be ours. Our problem y/n, not your or my individual problems, but ours. I want you, I want to go through all of this together with you. Every one of my achievements, I want to achieve them with you standing by my side," he pressed a gentle kiss on your lips, so soft that it could be mistaken for a touch of a feather.

"I want to share a drink with you on the balcony on moonlit nights, I want to laugh at all the cat videos together, I want to eat pizza with you on the kitchen floor when we're both too lazy to cook something. I want you to laugh like a maniac when my mother shows you my childhood pictures and tells the story attached to it as I get embarrassed. I want it all y/n and I want it with you," he finished and you didn't quite know what to say to all that. He always had that effect on you, rendering you speechless.

"Always the flatterer," you wrapped your arms around his neck as you giggled a bit. The night breeze brought a sense of comfort and it was the good old days back again. When you felt safe in his arms and it was just the both of you, basking in the tranquility of the love the both of you shared.

"I want it all Reo. I want it all and I want it with you," you nodded your head vigorously as you smiled at him. He returned a wet smile of his own and wiped away the tears from your eyes.

He kissed you then, in the quiet balcony, in the presence of the moon, the city lights and the zooming cars below, he kissed you slowly and passionately. He relaxed against your lips. How much he missed this, how much he missed you. You both let out hushed giggles in between the kiss just like you did when you had kissed for the first time ever.

You broke away and looked in his eyes, a smile on both of your faces.

They reminded you that you were not alone and that he would be with you. Every path you would travel, you would do it together, just like you had promised before. Every vulnerability of yours would be shared by him. No words were exchanged but the admiration in his face told you whatever you needed to know. They consoled the part of you that yearned to be understood. He would always understand you, he always did. Really, if you ever had to talk about love you would talk about Reo because love was wherever Mikage Reo was. Love would always be where Mikage Reo was.

[serial-serializednovelreader]

Nova's Notes - Dracula Daily - August 6

In which Mina is upset.....

"Another three days, and no news. This suspense is getting dreadful. If I only knew where to write to or where to go to, I should feel easier; but no one has heard a word of Jonathan since that last letter."

:(((((( it feels like she's clinging to Jonathan's last letter like a lifeline and it's not one she can even trust, since it's so different from how he normally writes. It's so sad!!

"Last night was very threatening, and the fishermen say that we are in for a storm. I must try to watch it and learn the weather signs. To-day is a grey day, and the sun as I write is hidden in thick clouds, high over Kettleness. Everything is grey—except the green grass, which seems like emerald amongst it; grey earthy rock; grey clouds, tinged with the sunburst at the far edge, hang over the grey sea, into which the sand-points stretch like grey fingers."

I highlight this for two reasons: 1) a storm usually means Dracula is not too far off and 2) while it makes sense everything would look "grey", I wonder if this is also a symbol for how the world looks to her without Jonathan: grey. It's even worse that the very creature who caused her to be without Jonathan is likely causing the change in the weather as well.

"'I have been quite touched by the change in the poor old man. When he sat down beside me, he said in a very gentle way:— "'I want to say something to you, miss.' I could see he was not at ease, so I took his poor old wrinkled hand in mine and asked him to speak fully..."

I love how compassionate Mina is for the Mr. Swales here. She immediately sees he's upset (she is very good at reading what others are thinking) and, rather than focus on her troubles, she takes his hand and lets him unburden himself to her. In turn, I commend Mr. Swales for taking the time to talk to Mina about this...

"'I'm afraid, my deary, that I must have shocked you by all the wicked things I've been sayin' about the dead, and such like, for weeks past; but I didn't mean them, and I want ye to remember that when I'm gone. We aud folks that be daffled, and with one foot abaft the krok-hooal, don't altogether like to think of it, and we don't want to feel scart of it; an' that's why I've took to makin' light of it, so that I'd cheer up my own heart a bit. But, Lord love ye, miss, I ain't afraid of dyin', not a bit; only I don't want to die if I can help it. My time must be nigh at hand now, for I be aud, and a hundred years is too much for any man to expect...'"

Mr. Swales 😭😭😭😭 this is actually such a sweet moment of introspection for him. He realizes he's using humor as a coping mechanism to get over his fear of death, but that doesn't excuse the fact he scared her in the process of doing so. It probably isn't the best apology by today's standards, but for an old curmudgeon, I think it's pretty good.

"'Some day soon the Angel of Death will sound his trumpet for me. But don't ye dooal an' greet, my deary!'—for he saw that I was crying—'if he should come this very night I'd not refuse to answer his call.'"

Nooooo Mina!!!! 🥺🥺🥺 Yeah, talking about dying isn't the best thing for her to hear right now.....not that she doesn't feel for the old man, but when you're worrying about your fiancé missing and possibly being dead, it's usually not great to hear about death from someone else....

"'There's something in that wind and in the hoast beyont that sounds, and looks, and tastes, and smells like death. It's in the air; I feel it comin'.'"

Oooo yep, definitely foreshadowing Dracula. 😬😬😬😬 I don't like that.

"After a few minutes' silence, he got up, shook hands with me, and blessed me, and said good-bye, and hobbled off. It all touched me, and upset me very much."

Awwww, someone needs to comfort Mina about Jonathan and if I could hug her, I would!

"I was glad when the coastguard came along, with his spy-glass under his arm. He stopped to talk with me, as he always does, but all the time kept looking at a strange ship."

Another person Mina has befriended!!! She's only been in Whitby for two weeks and has already talked to so many people. Love that for her!

"'I can't make her out,' he said; 'she's a Russian, by the look of her; but she's knocking about in the queerest way. She doesn't know her mind a bit; she seems to see the storm coming, but can't decide whether to run up north in the open, or to put in here. Look there again! She is steered mighty strangely, for she doesn't mind the hand on the wheel; changes about with every puff of wind. We'll hear more of her before this time tomorrow.'"

A Russian ship going to Whitby that seems confused...oh no, I think I know what ship this is...looks like by tomorrow we'll know what happened to our last friend on the Demeter (and I don't think it's a good update).

Until the next one, my friends!

[huckleberrykai]

hueningkai ~ here's to teenage memories

pairing: nonidol!hueningkai x reader summary: you meet a sweet boy on your vacation with your friends and neither of you want to leave. genre: strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, cutie hyuka warnings: kinda sad if u squint, mentions of alcohol/drinking notes: tysm for over 100 likes on my first post 🥹 this is my first full one shot so i hope u like it <3 inspired by kiss me kiss me by 5 seconds of summer word count: 1.3k click here for my masterlist!

being with him was warm. just like the air that surrounded you as you sat together under the sunset.

"i don't wanna leave." you unintentionally said in unison, breaking out into a fit of giggles right after.

it was the final day of your vacation with your friends, although you hadn't actually spent much time with them. instead, you favoured the presence of the fluffy brown-haired boy beside you over your friends getting drunk along with his friends every night.

you met at one of your holiday resort's pool parties where your friend groups had crossed paths and hit it off immediately. being the most introverted of your respected groups, you and kai stuck together and sipped grape juice and talked in the background while your friends partied the sweet summer nights away. this progressed to leaving the parties in search of somewhere quieter, and eventually no longer attending the parties altogether, ending up in one of your hotel rooms watching anime or taking a walk on the beach.

your favourite activity was when the two of you would hop in his car and drive a little ways away, grabbing some greasy takeout and screaming out your favourite songs with the windows down. even in the moment, it felt like a memory you wanted to treasure forever. you felt like you owned the town, wind in your hair, completely free as kai looked over at you with the biggest grin on his face, trying his best to focus on the road and not on you.

both of you were leaving on the same day to head back to your busy city lives, but spending almost all your hours with a cute boy for 3 weeks straight made leaving the luxurious comfort of your resort even more difficult. kai felt the same way, although he didn't care as much for being at the resort as he did for being in your company. his friends had been telling him to ask you out since the day you met when he couldn't help but stare at you with hearts in his eyes as you danced with your friends. his feelings only grew as he got to know you.

you and your love for video games.

you and all your favourite bands, which just so happened to also be his favourite bands.

you and your lavender shampoo. his favourite scent.

kai knew tonight would be his last chance. hell you'd been hanging out for weeks and he was still too scared to even ask for your number, or even bring up the possibility of staying in contact after what he could hardly describe as a summer fling.

so with the sun setting and a bottle of grape juice, he invited you down to the beach to sit with him and bask in the last bits of sun before you're gone. giggling together and watching the sun go down could only be described as romantic, and the two of you were longing for it to be just that.

you were still laughing at something he had said when the sun was only just still visible, the pink and purple hues of the sky reflecting in your eyes. kai thought you were breathtaking.

"kiss me."

it slipped out before he could stop it, and his eyes blew wide in the realisation of what he'd said. he was about to cover for himself and reassure you that he didn't mean it- well he did. he just.. could have said it in a smoother way? but he didn't have time to process an explanation thanks to your grin and your hand pressing against his cheek. you shuffled closer to him until the side of your hip was pressed to his.

"i've been waiting for you to say that all summer."

and with that, your lips were on his. the kiss was a little clumsy at first, considering kai was basically in shock, despite being the one to ask you to kiss him. he regained his composure and kissed you back quickly, placing his own hand on your belly, rubbing it soothingly as the kiss deepened.

you tried to pull away for air, but he didn't like that one bit. in a rush of adrenaline, he plucked you from your seat in the sand and placed you on his lap, earning a small squeal as he lifted you easily. he brought his lips back to yours and smiled softly into the kiss as your hands came to rest on his firm chest, his resting comfortably on your waist.

"please tell me i'll see you again," you breathed out as you both broke away in desperate need of oxygen. "i really don't want to let you go."

kai smiled with a blush adorning his cheeks, almost offended that you'd think he wouldn't want to see you. "i don't want to let you go either. our cities aren't too far... i'll come see you!" he declared, still a little out of breath. "you're the sweetest person i've ever met, i like you so much."

"are you confessing to me right now?" you teased.

"we've been making out for the past ten minutes, if you didn't already know i like you that's on you."

you broke out into giggles again, shoving your face into his neck shyly. you breathed in his scent, letting it calm you as he pulled you closer into a proper hug. your arms circled around his larger frame and you moved to rest your forehead against his, staring into his big pretty brown eyes.

"i like you too kai." <3

----------------- bonus ✧˖° -----------------

"okay that's everything!" you chimed, finally fitting all of your friends luggage into the back of your car. they went back into their rooms to double check they hadn't left anything and you were about to do the same until-

"Y/N!!!" a familiar voice yelled, making you spin on your heels. soon enough kai was crouched in front of you, his hands on his knees as he tried to get his breath back from running. "kai what's wrong? are you okay?"

"i.. forgot.. number.." he panted the words out, not quite getting a full sentence. he pulled his phone from his pocket and wafted it towards you to get his point across.

"OH MY PHONE NUMBER! i'm so sorry, give me your phone i'll put it in!" you laughed. you didn't realise kai had been followed until you heard a vaguely familiar voice.

"you romanced them all summer and made out with them on the beach and didn't get their phone number?? tch, idiot." the boy you later learned to be beomgyu chirped up with a teasing tone. "you were right though, they are pretty," yeonjun remarked.

"shut up you guys, they were having a moment!" soobin shushed them. kai recovered with a deep breath. "sorry about them..." he gave you a shy smile and rubbed the back of his neck as you added your contact in his phone and texted yourself so you'd have his number too. "don't worry about it!" you replied with a laugh. "nice to meet you guys again, but we really should go now."

a sad expression crossed kai's face.

"we'll give you some privacy to say goodbye, see you later Y/N!" kai's other friend taehyun said kindly, juxtaposing the way he dragged the other 3 boys away roughly. they shouted their goodbyes and you waved to them before turning back to give kai your full attention. you could hear your friends walking back to the car so you made your goodbyes quick with a promise to see each other again soon and text or call as much as you could in the meantime. he gave you a boyish smile and made you seal your promise with a link of pinkies and a sweet kiss.

it had hardly been 10 minutes since he left, one of your friends offered to drive so you snuggled into the passenger seat and pulled out your phone as you set out on the journey home. there was only one notification on your phone, and it was exactly the one you wanted.

unknown number: miss you already <3

[fullscoreshenanigans]

Hey if the GF kids + GP team were watching horror movies (the oldest because no horror movies for the youngest kiddos or they will not sleep because some horror movie ARE terrifying) What movie would scare the most at every child/teen?

Like i can see Emma being scared of IT, whatever which version, especially the first scene (you know what i mean, right?) for exemple.

Ayshe would be probably scared by White Dog or Cujo :/ but not scared by the movie but scared and sad because of the poor dog (who is a victim in both movies, infected by rabies in one and trained to attack in another). she would speak for the first time to Norman to ask him do find her an appointment to vaccinate her dogs (because it's real dogs, not demoniac dogs or it would be hard for her to feed them in the human world. I doubt that people would be happy to see their beloved pet dog "vanish" (and be eaten).

Barbara would play "the cool sister who isn't afraid" but would be afraid by Scream (for exemple and would be clingy to Cislo/Norman/Vincent's arm for all the movie XD

Have you other ideas? =)

Feel this comes down to semantics because I don't think they'd find mainstream horror scary but more so unsettling? Besides like a well-earned jump scare getting the best of them that's immediately, viscerally frightening and might result in a comedic reaction they tease each other over.

But given everything they confronted in the demon world—both the direct, palpable terror of almost being eaten alive by the grotesque

(Chapter 117)

to the existential horror of realizing everything you've come to understand about yourself and that your very humanity and the humanity of all the people you care about is systemically devalued in such a cold, detached, clinical way—

(Chapter 28)

it doesn't seem like it would result in an immediate bubbling up of palpable terror for them with both the barrier of the screen and their understanding of horror media and media in general often being used to communicate an idea between a creator and their audience (e.g., the possession scenes in Talk to Me being used to symbolically convey the silent brutality of drug addiction, the existential dread presented by pregnancy and STDs in It Follows, etc.). But the important thing with a lot of these pieces is that while horrific violence might be perpetrated, there's still an underlying upholding of human life as inherently valuable and something to be protected, so they can have fun with it and appreciate the works for what they are.

What I believe would be a sticking point for them would be abject, wanton cruelty with no purpose. So like, torture porn, purposefully edgy works that revel in the audacity of boundaries pushed and the shock value of the obscene, exploitation films. Hostel, Funny Games, A Serbian Film, 120 Days of Sodom, etc., I can't imagine them growing up and being fans of this subgenre after everything they experienced.

So I wouldn't say Emma is scared of King's It, but would perhaps be unsettled by a cosmic malevolent force preying on children for no purpose other than personal gratification, and how that servers as a metaphor for the underlying fear of stranger danger present in the 1980s in the US. The specifics might be inaccurate based on statistics (child abduction more often being committed by someone a child knows), but it's the possibility of harm being done by fellow human beings and that one can't immediately combat it with physical retaliation like they did in the demon world due to optics and laws in this world that could lead her to dislike it for her own personal entertainment.

I feel like works that involve medical horror could be triggering for Barbara, or scenes where there's gratuitous focus on flesh being violently bludgeoned into viscera mush with how it might bring back the smells of when she'd enact that on demons.

And I haven't seen Cujo or White Dog, but it does sound like something Ayshe would find disquieting with how she considers her dogs family. Same thing with The Thing, though the dogs being killed and impersonated don't last the whole film. None of these would compare to Cannibal Holocaust, though; I don't think she could watch a movie knowing animals were killed on set for the sole purpose of entertaining people. It would be too upsetting (and why I haven't watched it).

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

How do you feel about the magazine switch? Personally, I'm glad Tabata took this step. Having him focus on his health and his family, as well as having more time for his story and a better work evironnement, is more important than having chapters weekly.

Alrighty! I'm getting back to this as promised

We're on the same wavelength about this flamelet

If I'm completely honest (about my very personal opinion), I haven't been excited about BC for a long time. Even the movie did nothing for me, if not for the Vermillion scenes and how they contributed to Mereoleona's characterization as someone who isn't just a "violent woman" as I think she was described in the wikia in some point. She is a caring individual too. But that's beside the point of the ask.

And the manga hasn't been much better. Just one fight after another with no real character development. While I understand that BC is shounen, and a very heavy plot would make it something else, I think that it having been "nothing but flashy fight scenes" have evoked a "blah blah blah" reaction in me. I just haven't cared for it. Which is sad because I've known, I've known, that Tabs can do so much more. He's the master of foreshadowing and he has so much to put into the plot. He hid so many things in there, and even with the JuLu (JuliusLucius) reveal, pieces have fit together so well. So he very much has the ability to create such a plot that will bring new, intended, twists into light in a manner that can keep the reader on their toes in a good way! And not a mere death scare from a fight scene.

A part of me thinks that the reason why the plot has been lacking as of late, has been because of the pace at which he has been expected to work. Which is inhumane; the pace, that is. He has been just on a tunnel vision to "just get another chapter out", because "that's what they expect me to do". Which means that the quality suffers.

I know that 3 months is a long time for many, but I personally don't mind waiting at all, if the wait is worth it. And I think that the pace being slower with this, as the number of chapters per week will be less than it has been, will only have a positive affect on him. He doesn't need to be "in the zone" all the time, but he can get excited about his own work again.

And a part of being excited about your work, includes having time for yourself and your family, which I'm sure he wishes to have. He has a wonderful wife and a daughter who he adores, and who I'm sure want their husband and father to be around.

I personally wish nothing but good, and health and wealth for Tabs.

I've been sticking with the series because I have hopes for it, and I will have hopes for it after this change. Actually, my hopes have dared to lift their heads high again because of it.

Honestly, I see nothing but positives with this. And I hope other people will continue to support Tabs with this change as well ^^

[blurglesmurfklaine]

Stick Season (11/14)

Summary: After Finn dies, Kurt leaves everything he knows behind without a trace. His hometown, his family, his boyfriend. When his dad has a medical scare, he returns to Lima, one year after breaking Blaine’s heart with no explanation.

A non-chronological series of one shots and drabbles set in this universe

Tropes/Genres: Angst, Reconciliation, Grief, Alcoholism, Mentions of Major Character Death, Mental Health

Track 10. Growing Sideways // Day 11: Last Dance

A/N: listen the first time i heard this song I UGLY CRIED so... sorry lol

Words: 870

Sam is the first one to notice a change in Blaine.

He responds to something Sam says with a joke, something about Sam having seen enough boobs for the both of them, and Sam laughs for a minute straight. For months now, Blaine had given up on his sense of humor, knowing Kurt wouldn’t be there to respond with his beautiful laugh.

“It’s good to see you get back to yourself,” he says. Blaine cocks his head to the right.

“What do you mean?”

“You seem better. After everything. Lighter.”

“You can say no if you want to, but a few of the guys from work are going to the Paper Tiger’s open mic night if you’re interested. I’m gonna play a few songs, they’ll probably rag on me. It’ll be a total sausage fest of toxic masculinity.”

“And that just screams my scene to you?”

“No, but I think you’re finally in a good enough place to leave the house for yourself instead of someone else. Maybe even pick up music again.”

Bloaine hasn’t touched his guitar or piano in weeks. After Finn’s funeral and Kurt’s disappearance, he found it hard to even muster up the will to sing along to tunes playing over the radio. When he thought about it, though, Donna Summer had been playing on his way to his dad’s earlier that day, and Blaine realized he was singing along to the disco track.

As it turns out, taking his prescription antidepressants and pouring his trauma out on some sad-eyed middle aged guy’s overpriced new leather couch really was helping, despite it being the most cliche of cliches.

“You know what? I’ll be there,” Blaine says, feeling hopeful for the first time in ages. For what, he doesn’t even know. Maybe that there is life after Kurt. It’s a relief to know he can live without Kurt, despite the fact that he doesn’t want to.

He still ignores some things—his parents divorce, the effect Kurt’s leaving has had on him—things that would probably take more effort and energy to unpack than he truthfully has to give. But he’s here, he’s healing, and he’s alive. 

He hopes Kurt is, too, wherever he is. 

That���s about all he could hope for.

***

Before Kurt’s fuzzy vision comes into focus, he feels the sheets of some cheap motel that probably have a thread count in the single digits slide against his bare leg. Last Dance plays through the cheap alarm clock radio standing on the bedside table.

With a groan, he attempts to sit up, before the splitting headache reminds him why that’s a terrible idea.

He nearly tells Donna Summer to fuck off before deciding that’s some bad Karma he doesn’t want to accrue. Instead, he just lets himself fall back onto the cheap motel room sheets that have a thread count of about seven, if he’s being generous.

There had definitely been someone else next to him when he’d fallen asleep last night, though Kurt can’t quite remember who. It doesn’t matter. He’ll never see the man again, and they’ll never try to find each other again. Kurt was drunk and lonely, and the guy whose name he can’t even remember was there.

Besides, he much prefers the self imposed solitary confinement he’s crafted for himself. There’s no one to disappoint.

No one to hold you when you start freaking out either.

That’s all it takes for the everpresent unpleasant buzzing in his chest to return. Some days he can just ignore it—power through it until he can get home and make some tea, get on social media or watch hours of reality tv to distract himself from it.

Blaine wouldn’t have left like that stranger.

Other days, it grows. It festers, growing louder and louder until it’s roaring in Kurt’s ears and shooting up static into his brain that makes it impossible to do anything except cry until he passes out from exhaustion. 

Yeah, that’s the problem. He doesn’t know he deserves better than you.

It seems today is one of the latter.

No, no, no. Not today.

 He needs to have a good day today. He’s up for a promotion at work at the print shop. Granted, the other option for manager is Margie, an elderly lady who only works there because she’s bored of retirement and likes to talk to the customers, but Kurt needs that raise. He needs it to move out of this shitty motel and get a shitty apartment instead.

A shitty apartment that he’ll have to keep clean, pay rent on, sign a lease for, go apartment hunting for… God, it’s all so overwhelming. Staying in place, moving on. Life is so fucking overwhelming.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, and downs the remaining vodka in the glass by his nightstand. “By the hair of the dog.”

It settles in his stomach, warm against the cold and humid air of the room, and the shards of anxiety prickling at him begin to melt away. 

It’s a vicious, never ending cycle of drinking, waking up hungover and anxious, and drinking to alleviate the symptoms he’d created. At the end of the day, though, numbing himself is the lesser of two evils. If his engine is running perfect on empty, there's no sense in refilling it.

There are worse ways to stay alive.

[mo0dy-succubus]

I'm still working on request so please bare with me, the fact that I have been getting alot of requests while working on other stories is wild I'm getting there pls I just need to focus before people send to much

Anyway to save my mental health from shattering from request and burning myself out I want to do something

Things abt me that literally Noone asked for:

1. I am short for my height like really really REALLY short(guess me height and you will get something from me idk I refuse to pay tho)

2. Eating gluten makes my stomach hurt I don't have celiac disease or wheat allergy, just gluten sensitive which is sad bc I love intalian food

3. I have 3 sisters and no brothers

4. One of them (besides me) likes kpop too

5. I won a math trophy, despite sucking ass at math,like VERY BADLY

6. I like cats

7. I have some very unpopular opinions on kpop that might get me canceled (anyone interested in hearing them???? 👀)

8. I like anime!

9. I cosplay and I have always been interested in the hobby (AAHHHH MY COSPLAY IS BAD AFFFF)(guess who I cosplay if you can ill drop hints if you want)

10. I'm a big flirt

11. Despite being one I catch feelings to fast

12. I also lose feelings too fast it's not you I swear it's me

13. Apparently I must have been so fruity that my mom and sister knew I was gay even before I came out (I came out as gay in 4th grade ik ik very young) look idk what gay ass things I did in my childhood for her to expect that 😭😭😭

14. I love stuffed animals.

15. I own 2 squishmallows but I want more.

16.❤🌌 I LOVE SPACE AND LEARNING ABT IT🌌❤

17. I watch educational videos for fun and entertainment

18. I also go to sleep with educational videos on(Ted ed, minuteearth,kurzgesagt etc)

19. I'm interested abt black holes

20. TMI, TMI,TMIIIII, when I was in middle school I was jealous of my sister who got her period before me (I'm the 2nd oldest)

21. I jinxed myself and got my first ever period when I was in 7th grade (funny story)

22. when I start my period the first day of it is utter HELL the cramps awesome shitty, but the 2nd day till I end I have nothing at all, I was blessed to not have period cramps😌😌😌

(Ok enough tmi...)

23. Did gymnastics

24. Since I did gymnastics I have very muscular arms and legs.

25. I'm losing it tho in my arms haha but my legs are thick compared to how I look and I feel like it looks weird

26. I'm a Capricorn I'm not into astrology bc idk much abt it lolllll

27. I had long hair before I cut it to my shoulders (my mom thinks I have long hair do to native Americans genes)

28. I love video games

29. I love legend of Zelda and animal crossing<3

30. I'm a little kid at heart if you can't tell

31. I like dancing!

32. Am I good at it? No absolutely not.

33. Dream pet is a hedgehog

34. Nobody knows how to say my middle name

35. For the longest time I never knew how to spell my middle name

36. I suck at holding pencils, my hand writing is crappy now bc my mom gave up on trying to teach me bc I apparently was THAT BAD

37. im single 🥲🥲🥲

28. SOME MEN, NOT ALL, scare me to death

39. I like to tell ppl my cousin is famous

40. (Last one for tonight!!!) I like graphic novels

This was fun I was wondering if I should do another soon 🤔🤔🤔

Well in the mean time I'm gonna try to finish these requests all at once wish me luck and pray I don't die 🤚😔

[cebwrites]

Haunted House Reactions (Yamato, Ace, Sabo)

gn reader word count: 0.8k

Yamato

He wants nothing but to impress you as your Certified™ Big Strong Boyfriend - but at the same time Yams is also a little bit of a chicken

Yamato’s stoked to be here and fascinated by all the decorations and attractions because he’s never had the freedom to really explore what common interests would be, so it makes him come off as a little naïve 

He’s an overgrown, excited puppy that gets spooked and jumps almost as high as the ceiling, but he plays it off quite well (or at least he thinks he does, be nice to the poor baby)

Yams isn’t really the ‘cool, suave’ type anyway, so you find that endearing about him; it’s cute when he claims he’ll protect you from any monster that blocks your way but screams when something brushes against his arm

Another target that the interactive staff likes to antagonize, but with you there at the very least there’s someone to keep him level

If you ever got separated, you’d likely hear his sad little whimpers before anything else, you could just imagine his poor little ears pressed flat against his head already

If you show even a drop of distress or get spooked by something while separated, though, Yams is at your side in an instant - he’ll sniff you out like the big bad wolf in shining armor and cradle you near

He’ll treat you to snacks and a walk down the pier after, too

Ace

He’s smug and casual almost the whole way through, an arm around your shoulder while he points out how ‘cute’ the whole setup is, poking and prodding at decorations, putting on masks laying around to pretend scare you - even if you were nervous at first, Ace helps you relax with his antics

Ace is the ideal ‘calm, cool’ boyfriend on paper, if you ignore his regular traits and only focus on him here, he’ll crack jokes to ease your nervousness and halfway through you even find yourself laughing, entirely forgetting what you were so scared of in the first place

His hubris will be his downfall, though

Three quarters of the way through, when you’re comfortable enough to split away from Ace to explore the house a little more on your own, you hear a blood-curdling shriek and, peering into the hallway, you see your “lax, chill” boyfriend sprint pass you to immediately fumble with the lock on a door while someone in a monster costume lagged behind him

Ace was too panicked to open it properly and, having made eye contact with the “ghoul” beside you, helped him with the lock; monster guy gestured to the way out to you both once it was open and Ace looked like all his flabbers had been ghasted before he started running again, this time with you in tow

You wouldn’t let him live it down for at least a week afterwards, at which Ace could only pout, huff, attempt to tease you in return for something else, and then have it dissolve into a kissy battle as usual while the both of you attempted to tickle each other

Sabo

Sabo isn’t afraid of haunted houses, haunted houses are afraid of him - or at least, the staff is

Bobo’s the insufferable kind of person that comes to haunted houses to cause problems on purpose; it’s almost entirely down to the fact that he never intends to go but always gets dragged along anyway by Ace, Luffy, or Koala, so he decides to have fun on his own terms

By being an absolute menace

He never jumps at any of the scares, if an actor runs up to him in an attempted spook he’ll just politely shake their hand and be on his way

Going to a haunted house with Sabo almost makes everything less scary by proxy because of how he reacts to things, which is fine, but makes the experience kind of less fun, too? I mean what’s the point of going if you’re not gonna be scared, Ace would say, immediately getting into a slappy fight with Bobo after

Sabo holds your hand throughout the tour and keeps everyone else in line so they don’t go over whatever “schedule” he’s made up in his brain for how long it should take to make it out of here

Maybe on occasion he’ll be up for exploring things in further detail, but that also definitely means he’s fucking with the staff too, and those poor teenagers aren’t getting paid 10$ an hour to deal with your boyfriend’s petty nonsense

Bonus: If the three of them had to go into a haunted house together, Yamato and Ace would cling against Sabo for dear life and Bobo would be this 🤏 close to committing murder for it.

[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!

[saintlike78]

Hiii can you do a poly marauders x fem reader where girls are being mean to her like calling her ugly and saying she dosnt deserve them so she’s breaks up but they find out what’s been happening and they get back together . (I couldn’t see if your requests are closed) ❤️

Greedy [Poly Marauders]

A/N: Thank you so much for your request! You’re just fueling my addiction with writing poly Marauders fics… and I love it!!

Pairings: Poly! Marauders x Fem!reader

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: Fluff, polyamorous relationship, breakup, mentions of not eating, crying, reader being sad, mean girls. Lmk if I missed anything.

“Honestly you’re just being greedy!”

“They don’t even really like you; you were just the easiest.”

“You’re not even pretty enough for one of them, what makes you think you could have all three?”

“It’s only a matter of time before they get bored of you and trade you in for someone better and more deserving of their love.”

The words swarmed around your brain, a thick fog settling before your eyes as tears streamed down your face making everything blurry and wet. Your feet were clumsily transporting your body back to your dorm, trying your best to keep your head down avoiding the stares your fellow students were giving you.

You were trying to forget and ignore what those girls had said, but it kept playing on repeat in your mind. You knew that your three boys loved you, but the girl’s words filled your head with doubt. You knew that your boyfriends were too good for you, you didn’t deserve them, they would be better off without you or with somebody else. The thoughts were killing you; more tears escaped your eyes at the thought of them with somebody else tearing you apart, but it was necessary for their happiness. You could never make them happy; you could never be enough for them.

You ascended the stairs towards the girls’ dormitories but decided against it opting towards going to your boy’s dorm, wanting to feel the comfort of their room one last time.

You opened the wooden door but met by silence from the other side. The boys still had an hour of class left, leaving you to sit in sadness alone for a while longer before you would be breaking your own heart.

Walking across the room you stood in front of the mirror taking in your reflection, red puffy eyes, tear-stained cheeks. Looking at yourself you understood what the girls saw, you had no idea how Remus, Sirius, and James had stayed with you as long as they had, but it was time you finally put them out of their misery even though it was killing you. Thinking about what would happen in less than an hour the tears pooled in your eyes once more, but you quickly grabbed a tissue from the box on Remus’ desk beside the mirror and wiped your eyes and the falling tears. You made your way into the connected bathroom, wanting to at least look somewhat presentable before the boys returned. You washed your face with cold water, the cool water washing away any redness, but not concealing the sadness that still lingered in your eyes.

The book in front of you could not hold your attention, your focus solely on the door of the dorm, just waiting. James’ soft blanket comforting you slightly but never distracting enough.

The door burst open and the loud chatter between the boys filled the quiet room. Their laughs warmed your heart, momentarily causing you to forget what was going to happen.

“Bunny, you’re here!” Remus just about shouted, running to you and getting on top of you kissing you all over your face.

You couldn’t help the giggle that left your lips, but sadness bubbled up within you at the fact that you would never experience this again.

You softly pushed Remus off of you making him sit on his calves looking at you in a very confused manner.

“I need to talk with all of you,” you said trying to keep your voice steady, hoping they couldn’t tell how much you had been crying.

Sirius and James made their way to the bed as well, sitting beside Remus.

“That sounds so serious… you aren’t breaking up with us are you, pup?” Sirius joked, but your eyes widened, and you opened your mouth to reply, but no sound came out.

“Wait?! Are you?” James asked worriedly, noticing your face and lack of words.

You were fiddling with your hands, not looking in their eyes.

“Uhm… well… the thing is…. Uhm… y-yes.”

Tears filled your eyes when you finally muttered the words, not believing this was real, but you knew it needed to be done.

“What?! No! I was just kidding, you can’t break up with us, why would you say that?!” Sirius exclaimed, not believing his own ears. Tears gathered in all of their eyes, unbeknownst to you, since you still refused to meet their eyes.

“Bunny… you don’t mean that,” Remus tried, his voice breaking slightly at the effort of trying to contain his tears.

“I-I do, I’m s-sorry, I can’t be with you anymore,” you stammered, tears now leaking down your face once more. Your hands were shaking, and your limbs felt heavy, your heart shattering into a million pieces. You quickly got off of the bed facing the door wanting nothing more than to leave, not wanting to look at their faces because you knew if you did you would break even more.

They all stood from the bed as well walking towards you. James reached for your arm, but Sirius stopped him.

“Please, y/n, don’t do this… we love you; don’t you love us?” James tried, not trying to conceal his tears any longer, letting them fall freely down his cheeks.

“It’s f-for the b-best.”

“Y/n, don’t you love us anymore?” Sirius repeated James’ question since you chose to not answer, not wanting to lie.

A long silence ensued, you didn’t want to lie, but you knew that it was what you had to do for them to hate you.

“… n-no,” you whispered.

All of their hearts collectively shattered. Both Remus and James were freely crying, but Sirius was fuming, angry tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Fine! Then leave!” Sirius shouted causing you to jump slightly. Sirius felt his heartbreak and he felt guilty for scaring you, but he was just so angry and sad, he didn’t know how to handle it.

You quickly walked towards the door opening it, but before you left you turned around letting yourself cave and get one last look. Your breath caught in your throat when you took in their tear-covered faces, your already shattered heart turned to dust.

Whispering an almost inaudible ‘I’m sorry, you slid out the door, leaving the boys heartbroken and most of all confused as to when you suddenly stopped loving them.

You raced towards your own dorm, opening and slamming the door shut as soon as you had made it inside. As soon as the door was completely shut your legs failed you and you crumbled on the floor, loud sobs leaving your quivering lips. You had never felt pain like this before, it felt like someone had cut your heart out and ripped it apart in front of you, leaving you a bleeding broken mess.

Lily, who was laying in her bed, was startled by your sudden entrance but was quickly by your side as soon as you collapsed.

“Y/n/n, what’s wrong? What did they do?” she asked, clearly expecting the boys to be behind this, but also not quite believing they could hurt you to this point.

“I-I b-brok-e up w-w-with them!” you sobbed out, hiccups making it much harder to formulate a decent-sounding sentence.

“You did what?! Why? Just yesterday you were madly in love… what happened?” Lily’s confusion shone clearly through her tone, not understanding why you would do such a thing.

“P-please, I j-just want to sl-sleep,” there was nothing you wanted more than to lay in your bed and just disappear.

Lily just nodded and helped you towards your bed, helping you remove your shoes and grabbing your sleepshirt, which happened to be one of the boys’ shirts.

“Do you want to sleep in this?” Lily asked carefully.

You instantly nodded and grabbed the shirt from her grasp, wanting nothing more than to be comforted by your boys, but since that wasn’t an option, you opted for this.

Slipping into the warmth of your blanket the tears never ceased, but your eyes still fell shut, wanting to sleep the pain away.

“Do you want me to grab dinner for you later?” Lily asked softly, but already knowing the answer.

“No thanks… can you close the curtains around my bed?”

Lily sighed but did as you asked, knowing you just needed time.

In their dorm, Remus and James were pacing around the room whilst Sirius sat on Remus’ bed, trying to calm himself before dinner.

“I don’t understand, we were all fine yesterday,” James muttered loudly enough for the two others to hear him as well.

“What is it you don’t understand, Prongs? She loved us and now she doesn’t, ‘s as simple as that,” Sirius stated, his tone laced with bitterness, choosing to be angry instead of letting the sadness consume him.

Remus stopped his pacing and looked at Sirius’ seated form, “you don’t really believe that do you, Pads? … Prongs is right, we were all fine yesterday.”

Sirius just let out a ‘humph’ and crossed his arms, rising from the bed.

“Whatever, let’s just go to dinner… she’ll probably be there celebrating her freedom from us.”

This time James stopped to look at Sirius, “you know she would never do that and besides something doesn’t seem right… it’s too out of the blue.”

Remus nodded and let out an agreeing hum and they both followed Sirius towards the door.

Days passed; you hadn’t left your bed unless you had to use the bathroom. You were drowning in tears the pain in your heart not subsiding.

The teachers were informed that you were “sick” and that you needed some time to recover from your sudden illness.

The only time you had gotten any form of nutarians was when Lily basically forced you to consume something, anything. She was growing more worried each passing day, having talked to the boys and keeping them updated on your situation, since they all were worried as well and asked her to keep an eye on you for them since they hadn’t seen you since the day of the breakup.

The news of your breakup spread like wildfire; people not used to see the three boys without even a trace of you.

Remus was the first to experience a couple of the girls flirting very aggressively with him, but he brushed it off, knowing they could never replace you; it was you or nothing. Sirius was the next, he was less nice and told the girls to leave him alone. Lastly was James, he almost cried, wishing he could get you back, so he could be free from any other girls.

The girls were growing agitated by the lack of attention they were getting from the three Marauders, clearly not understanding why they were so upset by losing you.

It had been more than a week; Lily was studying in the library when she heard your name spoken behind one of the bookshelves. She stood from her seat, moving closer to listen to the girls on the other side.

“Ugh, it’s so frustrating! Sirius totally dismissed me the other day,” one of the girls complained.

“I know! I don’t understand, it’s been a week, they should be over her by now.”

“Don’t worry, they’ll soon realize that she wasn’t even that great and then they’ll be all over us,” the last girl said with a proud smirk.

The wheels in Lily’s head turned as she absorbed the conversation and as the last cog clicked into place realization struck – her legs couldn’t have moved faster out of the library if she tried, but she was on a mission to find the three heartbroken Marauders.

“REMUS!” Lily was sprinting towards the black lake where the three boys had been residing most of the week.

“Woah, Lily, calm down, love,” Remus chuckled and got up from his seated position to be level with Lily.

Lily sputtered, trying to catch her breath, bending so her hands were on her knees.

“Y/n… y/n,” Lily started, still struggling to get a word in between her gasping breaths.

“What’s wrong with y/n? is she okay?” Sirius said as he and James stood, panic flooding between the three of them at the thought that something had happened to you.

“She’s… fine… hhhh…” Lily drew a deep breath, regaining her ability to speak, “I don’t think she wanted to break up with you.”

“What do you mean?” Remus cocked an eyebrow, hope blossoming in the pit of his stomach at the prospect of getting their bunny back.

“She obviously did, she said she doesn’t love us anymore, so that’s it,” Sirius crossed his arms, his sadness still concealed by anger.

“She does love you, a lot actually… she’s been crying the whole week, she hasn’t left her bed… or dorm room for that matter,” Lily explained.

“I heard some girls talking about you three and y/n; they were speaking very ill of her and though I’m not sure, I think there’s a connection with them and y/n’s sudden need to end it with you three.”

“Are you sure? We don’t want to get our hopes up for nothing… we just really miss her,” James said sadly, all of them scared that their hearts would be broken all over again.

“I’m certain… she never shuts up about how much she loves you, which was the reason I was so shocked when she came in crying saying she had ended it.”

Lily hadn’t had the chance to properly finish her explanation before Sirius was bolting towards the castle and towards Gryffindor tower, with Remus and James close on his heel.

When three boys entered your dorm room, all out of breath and red in their faces, you were asleep curled up on your bed, still wearing what the boys recognized as Sirius’ t-shirt. They couldn’t ignore the dried tears that stained your cheeks, your face red from the crying, your lips turned down in a sad frown, even in sleep.

Remus was the first to walk towards your bed, seating himself beside you, slowly stroking your cheek as to wake you. James and Sirius placed themselves on the bed as well, waiting for you to open your beautiful eyes.

“Puppy… you gotta wake up now,” Sirius spoke softly, rubbing your back gently.

You stirred and slowly opened your eyes, focusing on the three boys on your bed; instantly deciding that you were dreaming, not believing that they could really be there.

“Hi… Remmy, Siri, and Jamsie,” you grogged out, voice hoarse from the constant crying.

“I wish you were here in real life.”

“Baby, we are here, this is real life,” James chuckled softly, still scared that you really didn’t love them.

You quickly sat up, reaching out and touching Remus’ face, only to just as quickly retract your hand when you felt the very real Remus sitting in front of you.

“What are you doing here?” You breathed quickly, not wanting them to see you in your broken state.

“Lily was worried about you… and she overheard something interesting in the library from some girls… so we want you to tell us what happened,” Remus spoke slowly and reached out to take your fiddling hands in his.

“What do you mean?” you played dumb, not wanting to answer their question, knowing you would break again if you did.

“We want you to tell us why you broke up with us, and not to lie this time,” Sirius was trying to conceal his anger, not wanting to upset you even further.

You let out a shaky breath, not knowing where to start; you looked between them all, all of them eager to hear what you had to say and listening intently.

“I was talking to this group of girls, and they got into my head about how you're all too good for me I don't deserve you... I just feel like you guys deserve someone way better than me and more beautiful than me that's why I wanted to give you an opportunity to be free from me.”

The three boy’s eyes widened in shock at your words, all three of their jaws open wide almost hanging on the floor from pure disbelief.

“Bunny, you're the most beautiful girl we've ever known we love you so much more than you ever know... We are the ones who don't deserve you, you’re an absolute angel and you should never let any stupid lowlife girls tell you that you're not good enough,” Remus said reaching out and stroking your cheek softly, tears gathered in his eyes.

Sirius’s eyes flashed red, he was in two minds, keeping you company or going to murder the girls who made you believe such nonsense, but he chose the first option, scooting closer to you and engulfing you in his arms.

“Puppy, please never listen to those stupid girls again... This week without you has been pure agony I've been stuck with these two idiots for far too long,” Sirius whispered to you whilst stroking your hair.

“Does that mean that we can get back together,” James said with a shy grin.

“Of course, if you'll have me back,” you looked at all three of them hopefully knowing that they in no way were obligated to get back together with you after what you'd put them through.

“Of course, will have you, we can't imagine life without you… a week was way too long without you,” Sirius said, his fingers tilting your chin so that you're forced to look into his eyes, he leaned down and kissed your lips - a whole week's worth of passion translated into this kiss.

Remus and James both moved so that they could embrace both you and Sirius creating one big ball of love.

[plinkcat-gif]

HEY I TELL YOU WHAT I CAN PROVIDE MORE. also to answer ur reply to the og post :D they’re dreaming ab nsmap! it’s my fic that’s basically just a fix it kkobrin universe hehehe <333

here are some copy-paste msgs btwn me and levi (cocreator of all aus w me actually dwksjdksjdj)

cw: general angst, suicide, bad-ish ending

- ooohhggghhhh my god genjutsu au in my head rn so much. so angst ahead be warned <33

obito with the rinnegan he stole from madara’s corpse about a year after the rincident, long enough that he’s learned about what the infinite tsukuyomi is and how to modify it to fit his needs. kakashi with the sharingan after being woken up years later while sakura says, “you had every means to escape” and all he can see, feel, smell, is momo and mosu who are leaning against his legs. these hallucinations arent only his own, the sharingan is contributing every piece of memory it can to keep them up. a survival reflex, i think, because so soon after being woken he needs something to keep him grounded to the genjutsu.

obito, while they’re taking kkrin out of the genjutsu trying to break free from his detainees because you’re hurting them you’re hurting them you don’t understand and did you know that keeping people under a genjutsu for extended periods of time can cause brain damage? nothing so damaging that he can’t function, but there’s a distinct loss of focus, loss of control, and it’s not only the damage that’s made him so hell bent on getting kkrin back into the genjutsu, it’s this ugly sort of devotion that he’s had for so long.

obito who goes to kkrin’s graves and drops off flowers routinely, but he smiles because he’s not mourning, and he’s certainly not upset about their deaths. but what’s buried there is their old selves, who were unsatisfied and scared and just kids who had lost so much, and it didn’t have to be this way, it didn’t. and it’s not anymore.

minato says “you’ve gotten over their deaths far better than they got over yours.” not easier, obito still put on a show of grieving, not faster, he can still hold some grief with him. but better. and he says “yes, i did. it’s no way to live life seeking revenge because if i did, i would’ve hated kakashi for what he did to rin.” besides, he had a goal to work towards. he still does.

- also considering obt is put up for the death penalty bc he’s taking up space in the prison or smth/takes too much management. and rin’s like “i’ll do it but only if you let me kill us all”

AND NO!!! HE LITERALLY IS LIKE NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT. but also. i think he’s just. he’s tired. and i don’t think he wants to keep obt alive anymor. like i think he has wanted obito dead since he found out ab what happened but he can’t bc that’s the only thing keeping kakashi from dying. but it finally comes down to it like years down the line. and rin is like i’m doing this with your blessing or without and i think you know this. she doesn’t really let minato make the decision and i think minato’s also very grateful for that because if he had to choose to put all his children down he would go insane. minato wants to say goodbye to kks but like. obv he can’t, in or out of the genjutsu, and so rin asks obt to make it so minato says a farewell in the genjutsu

- it ends in rin just killing obkk and then herself (all three of them disappear into the ocean <3). this is both to put everyone out of their misery but also because obito’s long-term holding of the genjutsu without any additional power (juubito) is causing him brain damage.

- levi: he doesnt really remember why kks in a genjutsu or why rin looks so angry sad or why sensei wont talk to him or why he IS where he is but rin says this will make them happy and kks needs to be in the genjutsu to be happy so he can do it :) we're going on a vacation to the beach? sure! sounds fun :) thats where he wants to be and who he wants to be with

its so easy for rin to do a lethal injection because he remembers being 12 and her training to be a medic and wow its strange he forgot that much, but she must be super good now right? he's glad she got to achieve her dream. she needs to inject him with something? of course, she's their medic, he trusts her implicitly and rin feels Nothing.

kirpy: obt dies and kakashi is released but i don’t think he goes insane because i think he knows. i think there have been some signals to him thru the genjutsu and i think he comes out of it still broken, still not able to talk or feel, but he understands and he lets rin take his hand and hug him and then let him go

📓📓📓!!!!

i am going to give u. my super mega fucked up genjutsu au bc i see ur stsg angst and i think u will like it DKSKSKDKDK <333 but if these tws aren’t ur thing send me another and i’ll give u a better one <33

tw: genjutsu, technically torture but without the intent to torture, self harm and attempted suicide

cw: more angst :3 also bad-ish ending

so. this is an alternate end i plan to write to nsmap+the kids’ story. like not canon in any way to the au, but.

obito is a leaf shinobi, comes back after the rincident. however he is still insane and deranged and takes his knowledge about the infinite tsukuyomi and applies it to the two people he wanted to do it for in the first place: kakashi and rin.

he puts them in a genjutsu where they experience nsmap as a whole. they stay in rooms without windows in nice beds, separate but together in the genjutsu. obito keeps them fed and watered and cared for. they are like this for years, assumed kia in a mission where rin lost control is isobu. obito keeps up appearances in the meantime.

he’s found out of course, because he keeps slipping up about things that aren’t happening (he’s controlling the genjutsu so he knows what’s happening there and it’s affecting him too!) and an investigation is conducted. he is arrested after anbu find out where he’s keeping kkrin, and team 7 is the one leading the investigation. sasuke is the one who releases rin from the genjutsu first.

she doesnt even react at first. she and isobu are just waking up. she’s crying but they’re not her tears, they’re so salty and she is going to throw up. she does. she throws up saltwater onto the floor, and cries, and mourns and mourns and mourns. but she’s not trying to hurt herself, so they station a couple anbu with her to help her back.

kakashi is different. sasuke releases kakashi and despite how. i mean. malnourished and weak he is, kakashi still tries to kill himself. he is Gone. he rolls out of the bed and he is screaming and trying to tear his hair out and gouge his eyes out and bite his tongue off and sakura and naruto have to forcibly restrain him from hurting himself. obito is witnessing the whole thing, and he’s upset because he can help. if they would let him put kakashi back, everything would be normal again and kakashi would be happy again and so would rin, and he can fix this.

he is violently fighting between “i hurt them i did this to them” and “i can fix this i can fix them if they would just let me” but he is also. still very deranged. so obito is imprisoned. kakashi and rin are put through extensive therapy. rin takes it better because she’s always just been more grounded and she knows herself and she’s very. her.

kakashi doesn’t speak again. he barely even reacts to anything. he is so emotionally traumatized and gone and broken, and it is hopeless to get him to do anything. he wants to be dead all the time.

they finally let them visit obito, just once. rin wants to speak with him; they hope seeing obito will get kakashi to do something.

rin asks obito why. she thinks maybe that figuring out his intentions, knowing he was malicious will make her hate him. (she can’t hate him.)

kakashi stumbles to his knees immediately, asks to be put back. begs to be put back. it’s the first thing he’s said in months. he’s quickly taken away and is never allowed to see obito again.

he sneaks in soon after anyways, because he’s kakashi hatake and can do whatever he wants because he’s that good of a shinobi. and obito puts him back. because even after all this time, the war between the knowledge that he can help his special people but he’s hurting them too, the help always wins. he can do good for them in the end. he is doing good for them now.

rin doesn’t think kakashi should be taken out again. she does, she wants him back, she wants them normal. she wants the dream. but that’s all it was; a dream. and she hasn’t seen kakashi close his eyes so peacefully since he woke from the dream so maybe at least one of them can be happy.

additional:

- team seven hates obito. they hate him. they hate that he taught them teamwork and care and love and then treated his most special people like this.

- rin goes on to live. she’s not happy, she thinks, but she’s living. and she dedicates herself entirely to the medical field and becomes a legend there, because she wants to help somebody somehow.