#i was supposed to study because i have the last part of my exam tomorrow but i can't even move from the sofa without wanting to cry

[da-proti-toku-grem]

not feeling very juhuhu hahaha today :(

#i think my body hates me or something #i was supposed to get my period 16 FUCKING DAYS AGO #but i didn't get it until this morning #and it hurts so fucking bad i want to throw myself off the window #i was supposed to study because i have the last part of my exam tomorrow but i can't even move from the sofa without wanting to cry #so i'm here laying down scrolling through my camera roll looking at pics of JO (don't judge me) #at least they make me smile even if i still feel like shit #maca speaks #vent post #← i guess?

[fandomwritingbit]

I don't know about you, but tests and all that scary stuff is coming around for me next week, and all year I've been having horrible little thoughts about William lately.

So get this, lets say you actually study for that type of stuff (i know i don't) and you just can't get the information to stick in your head!

✨Magically!✨ You or Will, idrc comes up with the bright idea on how to get it to stick in your head by sitting on his dick and reading or going over whatever you've gotta remember

i might've read this somewhere butttttt, i'm a needy little whore at 1 am lets goooo

Before I forget, I love your fics and I have never submitted one before so...! As usual, drink your water, eat some food, and remember to get rest! unlike some of us Lastly, don't forget to sexualize your favorite old man/woman/other

Hi, thanks for the request, this one was an absolute joy to recieve, I love all your little asides lol. Please feel free to send others!

Exams season is a killer and I really hope you get what you want out of it, just remember that tests and numbers and shit don't define you as a person Xx

That being said, whilst this may not be the most optimal way to study, its certainly the most enjoyable...

william afton x (gn)reader

A/N- Reader's between 18 and early 20s. William is a neighbour, for my plot convenience lmao.

You're sitting at the kitchen table to do some studying today, rather than barricaded in your room as usual. You'd read something online about a change of scenery being good for remembering stuff and because your parents were out it seemed a good opportunity.

With each passing minute, you dawned to the conclusion that that post was bollocks because it wasn't working.

You had your laptop open in front of you, surrounded by a frankly obnoxious amount of papers, trying to wrap your head around content for an exam tomorrow. But each time you wrote a line it was like your mind was rubbed blank, Men in Black style. It was so frustrating, and you knew you should have done it earlier but, good god, why was it so hard to remember anything?

So engrossed in feeling inadequate, you flip the laptop shut angrily, tilting your head back so it touched the chair in anguish. Defeated. It was as you did this that you clocked a figure in the kitchen doorway, making your body jerk up-right and turn round in one fluid moment.

Keep reading

"Mr Afton, how long hav- what are you doing here?" you blurt out, quick to try and compose yourself, you weren't physically or mentally ready for guests, especially ones you'd been casually hooking up with since you moved back home.

"Just dropping this off for your dad. I didn't want to interrupt cos you seem to be... trying not to cry?" 

He laughed as he said the last part, moving over towards you and helping himself to a chair. Pushing all your papers to the side without asking. "What's wrong then, been missing me?"

Usually you'd laugh at that but you just shrug at him, half angry at his expression and half at your situation. "You know, I could fucking cry." You do manage a laugh, but its shaky, "Because I'm going to fucking fail this fucking exam because I can't drill any of this shit through my fucking thick fucking skull." You rattle off quickly, each use of 'fucking' harsher than the last.

...

You hadn't really meant to let any of that out. But frustration had taken hold a bit too strongly there.

Afton just stared at you for a few seconds, his lips pressed into a hard line and you could tell he was trying not to laugh at you. You were a bit unsure how you'd react if he did.

After a few moments of silence you place your forehead in your hands and mutter 'sorry'.

"You're alright. Though you shouldn't be studying whilst you're upset, no wonder nothings going in."

"...If you tell me to calm down, I'll lose it." you say, head still in hands, laughing a bit at how much this was bothering you, it was an exam, a booklet of paper, what kind of melt would be this upset. Literally everyone else, you suppose. You take a deep breath.

"Right. Uh when's the test?" he asks you, half looking at a sheet of notes, his interest quickly peaked.

You laugh shortly. "9am."

"Then you've got... What, 20 hours? You've got time to calm down and revise." He put his hand on your shoulder, "You, sweetheart, need to relax."

You swat his hand away, laughing at his cockiness you could tell where this was going, "That's why you came over then? Heard dad's car door shut and your shoes were half-on I'll bet?"

He flashed you a smarmy grin, "You're not far wrong." You shake your head, messing about with this prick was the last thing you should be doing, but the first thing you needed.

"You know, if this type of revision isn't working for you... I heard that associating information with a sense can help you remember things."

You could hardly believe him, seeing you upset and still vying for what he came for. A risky move, Really. You suppose it took cojones, could have made you want to grab a hold of his, or squash them under your shoe.

"Oh yeah?" you ask sarcastically, "What are you suggesting?"

~

You're not sure how long it took for fresh marks to appear on your neck and your pants to be around your ankles, but you quickly find yourself sitting on his lap and letting his cock slip inside you.

As familiar as the low grunt from behind your ear was becoming, the feeling of him stretching you open always surprised you.

You raise your hips up and press back down again, moaning slightly, he let you slowly ride him for a few moments before, just as your rhythm increased, he grabbed your hips.

"Easy," his voice was thick, brushing against your neck, "You're supposed to be fucking studying."

You groan your protest, a hair away from booing him. "What is it you study again?" His question makes you laugh and you lean back against him with your back arching, causing him to grunt. He gripped your hips harder now forcing you still.

"Fuck 's sake. History."

He hummed in your ear, thinking for a minute, whilst your body throbbed around him desperate for some kind of stimulation. "And what's this on?" He could tell you were aching for something so he pushed you forwards, dragging you back, the angle allowing him to press so fucking deep.

"Come on, sweetheart."

"Civil war. Spanish."

Your gruff answer mirrored his growing frustrations.

"And uh... I don't- who won that?" The fact he couldn't move inside your tight hole was making him white-knuckled with restraint.

"-Nationalists."

With your one word answer that was enough studying for the both of you. He started to move your hips along him, letting your eager pace take over.

You knew that you were going to be up all night doing this now, but you didn't really mind.

#fnaf smut #fnaf william afton #william afton x reader #william afton x you #william afton smut #fnaf 18+

[pensat-i-fet]

Wrong player, right time: Part 1 (Pablo Gavi, Pedri x Reader)

Part 2

**Hi! 😊 So...I was asked to write some sort of love triangle and while I liked the idea, I thought I could do something a bit different. Hopefully you like it. And because this ended up being so long, it’s divided in two. The next part will be posted tomorrow so not a lot of waiting 😉 Enjoy!! ❤️**

Word count: 5177

Masterlist

Wattpad

“I got a present for you”.

Your mum’s words made you look up. “Why?”

“For passing your exam. And it kind of is related to that”.

You frowned slightly, smiling at the same time. Last year, you decided to retake a few classes to get a higher grade and study the major you really wanted to study in university. It had been a crazy decision to many but you were sure of it and it paid off. You got the grade you needed and were accepted at the university in Barcelona.

“Ok, tell me!”

“You are going to Barcelona this weekend. I want you to be able to know the city better and to see the area where you’ll be living”.

“Mum! Oh my God!”

Getting up, you ran to hug your mum.

“And…I might have gotten a ticket for the football match too”.

“Stop! You’re the best! Thank you!”

“You’ve worked hard and deserve it. Once you start the uni year, there won’t be time for much fun”.

There was no time to waste. It was Wednesday and your flight was on Friday, so you needed to pack everything and start planning. You had been to Barcelona before but never for too long, so this was a great opportunity to familiarize yourself with the beautiful city.

The weather was supposed to be good, so you packed a lot of cute summery outfits. The sun didn’t bless you with its presence as often in your home city of Santander, so it was also something else you could enjoy during the weekend.

You barely got any sleep the night before your trip and after checking you had your boarding pass and your ID about seventy times, you made your way to the small airport.

The flight was quick and soon you found yourself on your way to the hotel you would stay at the next couple of days. You pretty much threw the suitcase on the floor and went out again to see the city.

And that was how you spent the Friday and Saturday in Barcelona, trying to see as much as you could and visiting the student residence where you were going to live once you moved there.

Sunday was going to be your last full day there but it was also the most exciting. Finally, you were going to visit the Camp Nou. Actually, you visited it as a kid but couldn’t remember being there. But now it was time to fully enjoy the experience.

The atmosphere was incredible. You usually went to watch matches when Racing de Santander played at home but your main team was Barça. And, funnily enough, a former Racing player was now playing for Barça. You had met him a few times but doubted he would remember you. Players met so many people every day.

“First time?”

“Pardon?”, you asked, turning to look at the man on the seat next to yours.

“You look like it’s your first time here. And like a kid in a toy store”.

“Yes”, you laughed. “I’ve been wanting to watch a match here my entire life”.

“Well, let’s hope it’s a good one”.

While it wasn’t the match of the century, it was quite entertaining. Barça went 2-0 up early and got to play a bit more relaxed after a couple of not-so-great results.

The second half meant a few players you didn’t get to see up close before were now playing near the area where you were sitting. One of those players was the famous Gavi. You couldn’t lie and pretend you weren’t one of those girls who thought he was really cute. But the one you liked the most, Pedri, was injured. So it was a bummer you didn’t get to see him play. Oh well, Gavi was a good substitute.

“Gavi! Look at all the space those defenders are leaving near the box. Use it!”

You didn’t even realise you were yelling. You never did. And it’s not as if the rest of the fans were quiet but Gavi was very close to your seat and heard your words.

“Ok, coach!”, he said, looking at you and smiling at your surprised face.

“I…”.

“You’re blushing”, laughed the man that had introduced himself as José. You had been chatting a bit during the match.

“I feel so silly. I never realise they can hear me. I’m too used to screaming at the tv”.

That only made him laugh more.

A couple of minutes later, the ball fell on Gavi’s feet again and the defenders left the same space you had warned him about before. And he took the chance to run to the box and give a pass to Lewandowski that gave Barça their third goal.

Everyone got up to cheer and when you finally sat down, you saw Gavi walking towards you, a big smile on his face.

“Thanks for the heads up!”

“Eh…you’re welcome?”

José’s laugh could probably be heard back at your parent’s house. God, you were so embarrassed.

The match ended with a 3-0 win for Barça and you couldn’t be happier with that result. It was the perfect ending to your weekend. But…there was more that was going to happen before you went back home.

“Someone wants to talk to you”, said José.

“Who?”

You looked at where he was pointing and saw Gavi walking towards you while taking his shirt off. He gestured for you to get closer so he could give you the shirt and you walked almost not believing what was happening.

“For me?”

“Yes. We wouldn’t have scored that third goal without your advice. I’ll tell Xavi that if he needs some help, I know the right person”.

You giggled, blushing. “I’m free for the next match if he needs me”.

“I would love to see you on the bench. You wouldn’t be as far from me then”.

Not knowing what to say, you extended your arm to get the shirt. And once you had it, Gavi left to join his teammates.

“He was flirting with you”, said Jóse, making you blush even more.

You put the shirt on your face, trying to hide. But it was too late. The cameras had seen it all.

                                   **

Gavi expected you to post something about getting his shirt on Instagram, so he kept checking the photos he was tagged in on social media…but nothing. You were nowhere to be found.

He was used to hearing things yelled at him at the matches. Often insults and usually it was men who did it. So when he heard your voice, it caught his attention a bit more. And what you said actually made sense. He had noticed what you pointed out and was thinking about telling his teammates to try and take advantage of that defensive weakness from the other team. But it was hearing you say it that made him do it before he even told the others. He wanted to impress you.

What he didn’t want was for the entire country to know about the interaction but he should have known better. All eyes were on him at matches and, of course, the cameras had picked up everything that happened.

“El día después”, a football programme that had been created before he was even born was very famous for their section “Lo que el ojo no ve” (What the eye doesn’t see). They usually caught funny moments of the matches and put them together in a video. People loved that. And this time, they found the best clips for it at the Barça match. They filmed all of your interactions with him and subtitled them.

Gavi was rewatching the video in the training ground with some of his teammates, and they all teased him when the guy who was next to you told you that Gavi had been flirting with you and you blushed and hid your face. He hadn’t seen that when it happened and it made him smile knowing you seemed to like him too. But still, no post on social media.

“She’s gorgeous”, said Pedri.

“I know”.

Gavi couldn’t stop smirking and daydreaming about you showing up at the next match.

“What are you all doing?”, asked the other Pablo, Torre, when he got to the dressing room.

“Watching a video of Gavi’s girlfriend”, said Ferrán.

“You have one? I didn’t know”.

“She’s not my girlfriend, Pablo. Don’t listen to them. But come watch the video”.

Gavi played the video again and when the camera showed you, Torre asked him to pause.

“I know her”.

“You do?”, Gavi couldn’t believe that. He might be able to find you after all.

“She’s from Santander, like me. I saw her at all the Racing matches”.

“Do you know her name?”

“No, but….”, he took his phone out and went on Instagram, “I took a lot of photos with her and she tagged me on Instagram when she posted them, so we should be able to find her”.

“I love you, Pablito”, said Gavi, kissing his teammate’s head.

“Save the kisses for her, bro”.

It took longer than they expected but there it was, a post you made on Torre’s final match for Racing. Gavi took a screenshot of it so he could send you a message later. But if you were from Santander…well, that complicated things a bit but it didn’t make anything impossible.

He spent some time looking at your posts and then had to go to training. There was time to keep stalking later. But when he finally got home and went to check your profile, it was private. That was odd.

                                  **

The last thing you expected after your trip to Barcelona was for a video of you to go viral. When you were sent the youtube clip, you couldn’t believe it. And the comments…they made you want to never check your social media again.

But then you noticed a lot of notifications on your Instagram. How on earth had Gavi’s fans found your profile? It was too much. So you privated your profile and removed all the new followers you got. You were just a normal girl and didn’t want to be involved in any drama.

Your mum found out what had happened and invited you to go out with her to stop overthinking. You turned the wifi and data off and forgot about all of it.

But then you got home and the wifi connected to your phone and one of the notifications caught your eye immediately. Why was Gavi sending you DM’s on Instagram?

[Pablogavi]: Hi! Sorry about all the drama that the video has caused. You ok?

How did he find your Instagram? But it was really nice to see he actually cared.

[You]: Hi! I’m alright, don’t worry. Thanks for asking.

[Pablogavi]: Let me know if you need me to say something on social media or whatever.

[You]: I will, thanks.

[You]: How did you find my Instagram?

[Pablogavi]: Torre recognised you on the video and helped me find you.

[Pablogavi]: Does it sound stalkerish? 😶

[You]: A bit 😂

[You]: But I’m glad you contacted me.

How had your life become so surreal so quickly? All because of a silly comment you couldn’t help but scream.

[Pablogavi]: Feel free to be the one who contacts me if you ever come back to Barcelona.

[You]: I’m moving there soon. For uni.

[Pablogavi]: Best news you could give me 😀

“Who are you talking to?”

Your mum’s voice startled you and made you almost drop the phone. “Nobody”.

“Right. Why were you blushing and smiling then?”

“Just watching some funny videos”.

You didn’t normally keep secrets from your parents but what were they going to think if, after what they saw on that video, you told them Gavi was flirting with you on Instagram?

So you didn’t tell them but kept on speaking with him. And you kept thinking about going to Barcelona before you had to move there…so you could see him. You had seen some comments online about how you had made your account private right before he started to follow you and that worried you. As exciting as talking to a cute football player was, you didn’t want people harassing you because of it. And now it seemed like so many people had already decided you were his girlfriend.

“Will it be ok for me to go to Barcelona this weekend?”, you asked in the middle of dinner three weeks after your previous trip.

“What for?”, asked your dad. “Do you need to do any uni stuff there? I thought you could do it all online”.

“Yes, it’s not uni related. I just wanted to go again and…meet some friends and stuff”.

“You have friends in Barcelona? Since when?”

Your mum was suspicious and for a reason. The way your face got all red while you were lying to them didn’t help.

“Honey, we might not use social media but we aren’t dumb. And when people talk about your daughter, you listen. Is it Gavi that’s invited you to go see him?”

“Yes, but it’s not what you think”, you rushed to say.

“We weren’t born yesterday. Of course it is what we think it is. But…you aren’t a kid anymore. We can’t forbid you from going and you’ll move there soon anyway. But please be careful”.

“I always am”.

“We know”, said your mum, holding your hand. “You are smart and we trust you. Do we trust a football player’s intentions?”

“We don’t”, answered your dad.

“Keep trusting me, then”.

                                    **

“Someone’s happy…and in a hurry”, said Pedri, sitting down next to an already dressed Gavi. “I’ve never seen you get ready so fast”.

“I’ve got plans”, smiled his friend.

“I can guess which type of plans”.

“My Santander girl is coming to Barcelona again”.

“I still think she’s too pretty for you”.

“Don’t be jealous, Pepi. She’s an only child but we might find a pretty cousin for you or something”.

“Is she staying with you?”

“No, she’s staying at a hotel but we have a couple of dates planned. And she might change her mind about where she stays after that”.

“Or she might run back to Santander after talking to you for more than 10 minutes”.

Gavi laughed and left the training centre to go find you. The taxi was waiting for him already.

Once at the train station, he tried not to be recognized but it was always a lost battle. It was while taking some photos with a kid that he saw you.

“Sorry guys, I have to go”.

You were looking around and smiled when you finally saw him.

“Hi”, you said, hugging him. “So good to finally see you in person”.

“Yeah, same. Should I take you to the hotel so you can leave your suitcase? Then we can go grab some food”.

“Sounds good”.

You did just that and soon found yourself walking around Barcelona, on your way to a restaurant that was great, according to Gavi. Well, at least you were learning about where to eat for when you moved there.

The food was great. The rest of the date…it wasn’t his fault. Or yours. But there was no spark. The excitement you had felt while you texted was gone. And he was feeling the same way. Well, that was disappointing.

Gavi had planned on trying to ask you to go to his place after dinner but what was the point? He wouldn’t be surprised if you actually ran away home like Pedri had said.

And when you got to the hotel, you buried your head in the pillow, feeling so stupid about how wrong it all went.

                                  **

“Someone isn’t looking so happy today”.

“Stop”, said Gavi, putting his hands on his face.

“What happened?”

“The date was a disaster, Pedri. A disaster!”

“What did you do?”

“Why does it have to be me?”

“You’re more likely to mess up”, he shrugged.

“It’s just…there was no connection. And it’s not as if she isn’t an interesting person”.

"Or gorgeous”.

“Yeah, that too. But we just felt so uncomfortable in each other’s company. It was so weird”.

“Are you seeing her today? Maybe things change”.

“Well, I have to see her. She is here because of me, I can’t just leave her alone. But…could you maybe come with us?”

“I don’t want to third wheel”.

“It wouldn’t be that. Just, I don’t know, maybe having someone else there helps”.

Pedri didn’t want to tell his friend but the only reason why he accepted was a very selfish one. He wanted to meet you. Every time Gavi mentioned you or showed the boys a photo of you, he cursed his back luck. Maybe if he hadn’t been injured, it would have been him who talked to you at the match.

You were waiting for your “date” to arrive, checking your phone nervously. Maybe the second date would be better than the first. There was some hope.

But then you saw he wasn’t alone and that confirmed he had a terrible time with you too. You tried to see who it was he was with and then realised it was Pedri. The player you actually had a crush on.

“Hi. Do you mind if Pedri comes with us today?”

“No, not all. Hi!”

You tried not to be too obvious but could tell Gavi was looking at you funny. And when Pedri smiled at you, you just knew you were blushing.

“Nice to finally meet you”.

“Nice to meet you too”.

Soon, it was Gavi that felt like he was third wheeling but he didn’t really mind. It wasn’t as if his friend was trying to steal a girl he had a chance with from him. It was clear you two were not meant for each other, but maybe Pedri could be a bit luckier.

“Sometimes I feel like I just signed for Barça because of the beach. I wouldn’t be able to live in Madrid or somewhere without a beach”.

“Same”, you laughed. “I can’t wait to visit all the beaches here. It’s going to make me feel less homesick”.

“Pedri can show you his favourite one”, said Gavi, making you both look at him. Had you forgotten he was there? Kinda.

“That’d be nice”, you said.

“The one near his house is really pretty. Why don’t you go today? The weather is great”.

Pedri looked at his friend, a bit confused. But when he saw the way he raised his eyebrows, he got it.

You quickly finished your dinner and made your way to Pedri’s house, where he parked his car so you could then walk to the beach.

“Sorry about today”.

“What are you apologizing for?”

“Well, Gavi sent you to babysit me and you probably had other plans. It’s just…I guess he could tell it wasn’t working between us or whatever. You didn’t have to look after me. It’s fine”.

“I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do”.

You looked down, biting your lip. And feeling all the butterflies you expected to feel with Gavi but that never showed up.

The silence that accompanied you while you walked on the beach wasn’t a bad one. It was nice.

“I like to sit there and just look around. It sounds a bit boring, I know”.

“We could do that”, you said quickly, not finding the idea boring at all.

“Come, I’ll let you sit on the comfiest stone”.

That made you laugh.

“It’s a shame you and Gavi didn’t work. He was very excited about seeing you”.

“Yeah. I guess it happens”.

“You could still be friends when you move here, though. He’s a good guy, he’ll be happy to help you with whatever you need”.

“Can I ask for your help too?”

“Of course”.

Sitting there with him was making you feel a bit more bold. Having a crush on someone you didn’t know personally could lead to disappointment when you got to spend some time with that person. But with Pedri…it was the complete opposite.

“You know. I had a crush on a Barça player but it wasn’t Gavi”.

Pedri looked at you after that comment, frowning.

“Torre?”

“What? No, why would you…”.

“Well, he’s the one who recognized you. And he mentioned you asked him for photos a lot. I just guessed”.

“Do you want to guess again?”

“Can I get a little hint? Blonde or brunette? Spaniard or from another country?”

“I’ll give you the best hint. No way you don’t guess right after that”.

He turned to look at you when you didn’t continue talking and you leaned to kiss him. You could tell he was surprised at first, but he responded to the kiss quickly.

“Can you guess now?”

“I might need another one of those hints…”.

You laughed, moving to kiss him again. Yeah, he didn’t disappoint.

"Does this count as stealing my friend's girl?"

"I don't think so".

"Good".

                                  **

Your final day in Barcelona was spent with Pedri and it was perfect. You kept making promises to each other but you weren’t stupid. The summer holidays were coming and you wouldn’t be with him. So you decided to not try and date until you moved to Barcelona in August. Mostly to save yourself the heartbreak if you opened Instagram one day to see him with another girl while on holiday.

Your parents didn’t buy that nothing had happened with Gavi when they saw the way you looked when you got back home. And after some pestering, you told them what really happened.

The holidays were pretty uneventful for you. And by the time they were almost over, you just spent your days packing your things and getting ready for the big move.

[Pedri ❤️]: will you be in Santander next week?

What an odd message. You had been texting non-stop but you didn’t expect that question now.

[You]: yes, why?

[Pedri ❤️]: I’m coming to see you 😉

He what?

[You]: you don’t have to. We’ll see each other in Barcelona soon.

[Pedri ❤️]: I want to see you. Is that ok?

[You]: of course. I just didn’t expect you to come to see me here.

[Pedri ❤️]: I’ve been dying to see you since the day you left.

And you had been dying to see him since that very same day too. So you planned his little trip, still not believing this was happening.

“Hey!”, you waved at him at the airport, feeling overwhelmed by his presence.

“Don’t go all shy on me now, mi amor”, he said, hugging you and not caring about the looks you were getting from people. “Missed me?”

“Maybe a little”.

“Liar”.

More people started to look at you, recognising Pedri. So you took him to your car to drive him to his hotel.

"My parents want to meet you", you blurted out, afraid of scaring him.

"Ok".

"You're ok with it? I mean, we aren't even dating officially but…you know, they just want to take the opportunity of having you here to talk".

"Yes, it makes sense. And you keep saying we are not dating but that's not how I see it".

You looked at him quickly before looking at the road again. "How do you see it?"

"To me, we started dating the day we met. We are just waiting until we live in the same city to see each other often and I guess do more couple stuff".

"So should I introduce you to my parents as my boyfriend?"

"It'll probably be nicer for them to hear that than calling me the guy you hooked up with once because you actually didn't like my friend".

The laugh that came out of you scared you and you gripped the steering wheel tighter while trying not to laugh more.

But on that first day, you didn't see your parents. You spent the whole day with your boyfriend and if that was an indication of how life was going to be in Barcelona, you couldn't move there fast enough.

Pedri charmed your parents too when he met them and you could tell they were a bit less worried about letting their daughter hang out with a football player.

"I'll see you in…10 days", you told Pedri when you took him to the airport. He started preseason the next day.

"10 loooong days. I might not survive".

"You'll be fine", you hugged him tightly, not ready to let go. "I'm the one who will struggle".

"We facetime every day, ok? I need to see your pretty face".

You nodded, kissing him before walking to the security area with him.

"See you soon".

                                  **

Your dad was helping you take the last box from the car to your room when you heard screaming in the hallway. Was this going to be a daily occurrence?

"It's Pedri! And Gavi!"

"Oh no…".

You got out of the room and saw your boyfriend walking towards your room. He had promised to help with the moving but ended up having to stay longer for training. But there he was, and Gavi was there too, making every girl in the building go insane.

"What are you doing here?"

Your dad told them to get inside the room and closed the door, so people wouldn't see you.

"No kiss?", he asked and then looked at your dad. "Sorry?"

But your dad just shook his head and Pedri gave you a quick kiss and hugged you.

"Did you bring Gavi here to see if I had changed my mind about who I liked?"

"So funny".

"I was brought here for my muscles", said Gavi, flexing said muscles.

"You are here because I have to drive you around and I didn't want to waste more time going all the way to your house".

"I can help anyway".

When everything was in place, you decided to leave. Your dad wanted to take you to dinner before leaving. And now both Pedri and Gavi were invited to that dinner.

On the way out, you tried to keep your distance from your boyfriend, not wanting to create rumours on your first day there. But the problem was that it was Gavi who walked by your side and that didn't create a rumour. It only made the one that already existed bigger.

Some of the girls took photos of you two walking together and laughing and posted them on Instagram.

"Ok then. You can't visit me if this is what's going to happen".

"You ok?"

You nodded, not feeling sure about being ok. You were dating one person while everyone seemed to think you were dating his best friend. It was…weird.

And it wasn't the last time something like that happened. You started to go to every Barça match at home, wearing your Barça shirt but not showing the back. So, of course, everyone assumed you were wearing Gavi's.

It got to the point where you didn't want to post about the matches. Your account was private but someone was clearly posting your photos with other accounts and you didn't know who it could be. So no posting was the solution. Every time you posted with Pedri, it was stories for your close friends. And those were never leaked, thankfully.

                                  **

"What happened?", you asked one of the girls that lived with you when you got there and saw all the people on your floor.

"A pipe burst and we have no water. And the water messed something up and half of us have no electricity".

"Huh…we can't stay here, then".

"Where are we supposed to go?", she asked. "Not all of us can go to our rich boyfriend's mansion like you will".

"Whatever", you rolled your eyes and went to your room to pick up some clothes and your books.

"Say hi to Gavi from me!"

You were still shaking your head when you closed your door.

"Hi! You're on speaker. I'm driving to the stadium".

"Sorry. I've got no water or electricity at my place. Can I stay with you until it's back?"

"Of course", said Pedri, not doubting his answer for a second, which made you smile. "And for the record, it wasn't me who did whatever it's that happened just so you stay with me".

"Don't believe him".

"Hi, Pablito! And don't worry, I don't believe him. I'll see you after the match, ok?"

"Looking forward to it".

"Good luck boys!"

                                    **

After the match, you waited for the boys near Pedri's car. They didn't take long to get there and you hugged both of them to congratulate them for the win. But your boyfriend got a longer hug.

"Sit behind him", said Pedri when you walked to sit behind the driver's seat, his seat.

"Why?"

"So I can see you while I drive".

"Oh my God", Gavi was rolling his eyes and Pedri glared at him.

But you did as he said and he started to drive. You could also see him better like this so you weren't going to complain.

When you were getting out of the stadium, you saw all the fans waiting. You put your hood on and tried to hide from all of them but they were surrounding the car.

Looking up from your phone for two seconds, you saw all the people trying to get a good look at you.

"It's her", you heard them say, "the girl Gavi is dating".

"See? I told you they were together".

You saw Pedri's jaw clenching and Gavi told him to drive so they wouldn't make you uncomfortable. He turned to see if you were ok and dozens of phones were out to film the interaction.

"Oh my God, he's so sweet looking after her", was the last thing you heard before Pedri drove past all the fans.

"Sorry about that", said Gavi.

"It's ok".

But you knew it wasn't ok. Because your boyfriend didn't say a word the whole drive to Gavi's and barely acknowledged him when he said goodbye.

You quickly moved to the passenger's seat and tried to get his attention but he wasn't in the mood.

"Are you ok?", you asked him when you got home.

"No, I'm really tired. Tired of everyone thinking my girlfriend is dating my friend".

"Who cares what they think? It's just because of that video. But you know the truth. We know the truth".

"What truth?", he said, raiding his voice. You had never heard him speak like that.

"What do you mean?"

"The truth about how you two spent weeks flirting and then you came here to be with him?"

"Are you for real?", you couldn't believe him. "You know how that ended. Why are you bringing that up now? I'm here with you, am l not?"

"Maybe you should just go with him. Everyone seems to think that".

"I don't think that".

But no matter what you said, he wouldn't look at you. It was breaking your heart. So you left…and there was only one place you could go to.

#pablo gavi #gavi #pedri #pedri gonzalez #pablo gavi imagine #pablo gavi one shot #pablo gavi fluff #pablo gavi angst #pedri imagine #pedri one shot #pedri fluff #pedri angst #footballer imagine #footballer one shot #footballer fluff #footballer angst

[maladaptivedaydreamers]

Get Better.

Summary: Exams are coming up, and Y/N asks help from her long-time bestfriend Iida. But it seems like Iida is taking this tutor help too seriously, too much that Y/N can’t take it. Can Iida run back to how things used to be? (Featuring Monoma)

Warning/s: Angst, fighting, unintentional condescension, unintentional bullying, jealousy

Word Count:

The bell rings and everyone sighs. Y/N cleans up her desk, her notebooks filled with everything she could fit, but even after all her listening and attentiveness, nothing has processed in her head. All her pencils are now dull and the pages of her notebook are crumpled with her failed attempts at erasing mistakes. The book rustles and crumples as she angrily stuffed them into her bag.

“Don’t torture the innocent trees for your stupidity, Y/N.” Monoma says as a joke. Easily replied with a middle finger, which made him shut up. “Good luck anyway, just call when you need it.” He winks. He’s smart, yes, he could be friendly too, but he just chooses to be an asshole. Dealing with him as a classmate is just as bad as dealing with a toddler. He slaps Y/N at the back on her neck, as he usually does as their way of annoying each other.

As soon as she steps out of your classroom, she spots the one and only top scorer, Tenya Iida. He’s smart, and Y/N is another story. Which makes them a good duo…before. Nowadays, it seems like they’re just neighbors. But time to make use of their relationship they used to have.

She walks up to him as he parts from his green-haired friend. “Iida!” She chants, giving him a small wave. They used to call each other by first names but Y/N felt like they weren’t close enough to talk that way anymore.

He looks a bit shocked and looks around, “L/N! How are you?” He smiles at her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. Haha…” Her eyes avoids his from both embarrassment and the beat in her heart. That’s right, even after growing apart ever since the last year of elementary school, her heart beats for her childhood playmate.

He looks at her with worry, “What’s wrong?”

“No! It’s not a big problem! It’s just…you know…the usual.” She clears her throat, sweat building up on her forehead and palms.

At first he’s confused, not remembering what “the usual” is. It isn’t until Y/N shows him her recent homework and mock tests that it clicks. “I couldn’t say I didn’t expect it from you, L/N.”

“Ouch.” Her heart cracks a little. “Is this what you think of me?”

He sighs, “How did it go this far? Why didn’t you tell me?” He folds up her paper and takes her by the shoulders. “I will tutor you! I will help you! Like I used to! It’s the weekend tomorrow, you can come by and we’ll study.”

Their walk home felt like old times, talking about their own loud, blonde, and aggressive classmate, or talking about how much they haven’t spoken in a while.

“Gosh L/N, how tall have you grown?” He laughs noticing the difference between them.

She gives him a look, “Are we supposed to talk about me, mister buff guy? What have they been feeding you?” she nudges him.

They laugh together, “No, I meant about how much you’ve changed. You used to be so lonely but now you’re so lively.”

“I didn’t change everything about me.” Y/N sighs. “But hey, I’m happy you have friends now. I remember when you and I-”

“Ah! Shush! Shush!” He covers her mouth as a way to keep her from talking about the most embarrassing things he used to do. “Anyway, this is me. Stay safe, and I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Your grades need my help for sure!” He waves to her as she disappears from his sight.

She gets home and sighs immediately, how did it end up this way? “It’s not a date, just a study date.” she tells her pillow. But how did it end up this way? How did her fairly average grades turn into a pot of steaming shit? No one knows, it was like a switch was flipped to make her mind just stop receiving studies. Was it her hero training? Was it because she was focusing more on her training? No, she was just an average hero.

It didn’t help that her parents constantly compared her to Iida. But no matter the amount of comparison between them, she still remembered how good of a listener he was. How good he was at pushing the swing when they played or how stupid he was when playing hide and seek. How cool piggyback rides were when he told her about his newly discovered quirk. Maybe it was the reason she couldn’t help but feel happy for him after every success he had, the reason she gives him a slight bow when they pass by at the hallway. Maybe their childhood relationship was the reason her chest beats like the bass during a concert when he smiles at her or messages her for her rare achievements.

“Just suck it up and get better!” She tells herself.

Tomorrow -

The doorbell rings, Iida’s mom opens the door and gleefully smiles at her. “Oh my god, Y/N?! How long has it been since I last saw you?! Come give me a hug!” She pulled her into a tight squeeze, much to the dismay of Iida, who was tending to his brother. As soon as Tensei heard her name, he wheeled himself to the front door and called out to her, much to the dismay of his younger brother once again.

“Are you really her? No, this can’t be little Y/N! You’ve grown!” he comments.

“You’re acting like you haven’t seen her in years.” Iida sighs.

The two Iida’s turn to him with a glare, “It’s cause we haven’t!” they said to him.

“Tell me you’re staying for dinner! I can’t wait for your father to-”

“That’s enough! L/N, come, let’s work on your studies.” He pulls her by the arm to his room. He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes, “I apologize for them, but let’s get started, shall we? There’s a lot to work on, afterall.” A smile appears on his lips, which Y/N replied the same with.

It’s been 3 hours, and the two seem like they’re just not getting along. Y/n’s head is on the table while Iida’s was on his hands. “L/N. It’s an easy question. What is the chemical composition of gold?” Iida says for the 100th time.

“Iida. I don’t know.” her voice muffled from the table.

“L/N, we can’t do this if you’re not even trying. Are you trying to fail this class?” He chuckles, almost condescendingly, placing his fists on the table. The papers are scattered, the mock tests Iida had prepared have X marks all over them.

“I’m trying, Iida. Sorry I don’t have a big brain.” Y/N tries to joke but deep inside, she just wants to get out of there. After all the half-hearted “jokes” Iida has been throwing at her throughout the 3 hours, she’s had enough.

“Maybe this is why you’re in 1-B instead of 1-A.”

“What?”

“If you tried harder, you would’ve been in the same class as me. This is why you didn’t get in Soumei, with me.” He sighs.

Y/N lifts her head up, “Thanks, Iida. For throwing that in. Really helpful.”

“Good. May that serve as an inspiration to you.” His hands turns a page on his book. “Now, let’s-”

“I think I’m done. I’ll try again tomorrow. Thanks.” Y/N scoops up her stuff and crumples them into her bag quickly, hiding her shame and the tears welling up in her eyes.

“Are you seriously giving up? Didn’t we used to say to never give up? You really have changed.” Iida tries to stop her, holding her bag.

“Yeah, and you haven’t! You’re still so egotistical and think so highly of yourself! When I say I’m done, I’m done! So I thank you for your help, but I don’t want it anymore!” She tugs on the sleeve he has his grip on.

“L/N! L/N!” His voice fades away as she shuts his door and heads downstairs.

“Y/N? Are you- Hey, what’s wrong?” Tensei tried to console her as the tears were already dripping down her angry and embarrassed face. “Y/N!” he pleads to her again, and so was their mother, but she was already out the door.

What people don’t know about Iida is that he was truthful, too much that it hurt. The way he would point out Y/N’s flaws when they would practice their quirks together when they were kids, or how much higher of a grade he got compared to hers. She would come back home with her self-esteem lower than before she left to go see her playmate. Maybe it was the reason she didn’t mind as much when Iida started coming to the playground less. Maybe the constant mention of his name when it came to her grades was the reason she didn’t feel the need to call out to him when they met eyes during the entrance exam.

Nevertheless, she’s done with trying to rekindle their…whatever it may be. She went home and stuffed all her notes down the trash, screaming at how frustrated she was at herself. Iida, in the meantime, was just mad at her for getting mad while he was just trying to help. Even after plenty of scolding and yells from his family that what he was saying was wrong, he finds no fault in only stating the harsh truth.

Monday comes again and they only have 1 week before their exams, Y/N has given up. Her notes were empty and her motivation is just as low as her ankles.

“Gosh, Y/N. You gave up in life or something?” Monoma chatters to her.

“Yeah.” she mutters, closing her empty notebook.

Monoma smiles but it drops noticing she was serious, he loudly scoots his seat next to her and opens it. “Sheesh, what is this? Your dignity? Listen, Y/N, the exams are coming up and now is not the time for your mind to go anywhere else. Here, take my notes, you’ll need it.” Monoma raises his arm to slap her at the back of his head but instead of a harsh playful hit, her hair is played with for a second. But as Y/N looks up, he’s already at the other side of the classroom, talking with the rest. When he spots her looking at him, he points to his notebook and ushers her to read, mouthing “Read, idiot!” to her. Y/N scoffs but does as told and studies. His notes were weirdly short but much more understandable, often having additional unnecessary stuff added it, which made it more rememberable.

When the bell rang, Y/N is met with a smack, “Give me back my notes, you must’ve remembered some stuff by now.” he rolls his eyes.

“Come on, let me keep it for longer!” Y/N pleads, gripping the notebook tightly.

“Hey! I need to study too!” He pretends to yell and get upset, they wrestle for it for a while.

Iida, in the meantime, walks out his classroom door, seeing the two fighting. He smiles, remembering how they used to playfight too. He’s happy to see her making…friends. They’re friends, right? Huh, why’s she making friends with a mean guy like Monoma?

Monoma sighs and gives up, “Fine, fine. How about we both study? Hm?” He smiles, pulling her bag and carries it for him.

“Are you serious?” she plays, stomping on his foot.

“Why would she get taught by you when she has me?” a deep voice called from behind. They turn around to see Iida. “You can come-”

“It’s fine, Iida. Come on, Mo, let’s see how good you really are in teaching.” Y/N loops her arm around his and he scoffs and boasts how good he is in everything. Like what they…used to do. Huh, why didn’t she do that when they were walking home the other day?

It continued continuously, day after day she would reject Iida’s offers and goes with someone else, most of the time Monoma, who would sling his arm around her shoulders.

“L/N, my mom-”

“Hold on, Iida. Monoma is trying to explain something.”

Or some other days, Y/N doesn’t even acknowledge his messages.

Iida Tenya: If you need help, I’m here.

Iida Tenya: My notes are also available here for you.

Iida Tenya: Just so you know.

L/N Y/N: Ok.

It seems like she’s found a new bestfriend, slash rival. Like Iida used to be. Iida comes home wrecked, his muscles are sore, his head is Y/N, her legs are tired and, his head is Y/N. It seems like her new relationship with Monoma is tipping him off his usual self. And it seems like he found a day to fix it. As he was heading home, he overheard a little conversation as he passed by.

“Gee, Monoma. I think I’m good on my own. Thanks, either way, man!” She patted Monoma on the back.

“Don’t fail the exams or else you’ll have to compensate me for the time I gave you. As your teacher, I will be very disappointed, Y/N.” He fake cries as he messes her hair up to make her look trashed.

“Eh?! Seriously?!” Her feet take a step back, Monoma laughs and shakes his head, telling her it was just a joke. “Well, I’ll be at the library. Bye!”

Iida watches as Y/N walks the other way, heading to the library. Monoma walks his way, and Iida takes him by the arm. “What is your relationship with L/N?” Iida blurts out.

Monoma smiles an evil grin, as he usually does, “Oh? What does the representative of 1-A have to say me? And why should you care about my own classmate. Y/N is my classmate, not yours. Shouldn’t I ask you why you’re even asking about her?”

“She’s a very important person to me. And I must know what your relationship with her is. For her safety.” His grip tightens, but loosens as he notices a few of their classmates looking at them.

Monoma laughs, pulling his grip away from him. “Important person, ha! My, my. You’re delusional, aren’t you? She may be important to you, but are you important to her? Clearly not because she’s treating you like a clingy speck of lint.” The blonde swings his bag to his bag and give him a look. “It’s none of your business. And if you must know, you should just forget about her.”

Iida watches as the blonde walks away, silently enraged. And now, Iida is laying on his bed, the night has set and he’s wondering what to do to get his friend back. He takes his phone and checks her page, where she would post daily about where she was. He has blocked her profile momentarily to avoid seeing pictures of them together in a cafe or library or any picture with both of them within 2 meters of each other. He unblocked her and looked at her page, she was at the library. Still at the library. He gets up, gets his coat and walks out the door, heading for the library.

Y/N slams her head onto her notebook, “Almost done. Almost done” she thought to herself, she flipped the next page over and started answering whatever questions were there.

“L/N.” she heard from above her, she looked up and saw a familiar blue haired man.

She sighed, rubbing her eyes, “Iida, it’s 9pm. I think you’re late for your curfew.” she continued her writing.

“What are you still doing here?” he panted.

“Guy with a running quirk is tired from running, gosh.” She thought, “I’m trying to finish something. I’ll be okay.”

Suddenly, her notebook was shut with a loud TWACK as it hit the table. “Go home, L/N. It’s late.” he instructed, putting her stuff inside her bag before swinging it behind him.

She stood up and pulled him out the library, away from anyone who could be there. “Why are you doing this, huh? Is this your way of showing me that I need you? Hm? Well, guess what, Tenya Iida. I don’t!” She retorted, pulling her bag from him.

“I’m only looking out for you, L/N.” He tells her.

“No, you’re not. You’re looking for someone to make yourself feel better. When you found out I was slipping on my grades, you wanted to be closer to me than ever before. But when we had almost equal grades when we were younger, you barely reached out. You forgot about me. You just want to be around someone who’s lower than you.” Y/N walks away from him but he holds her arm tight.

“You’re misunderstanding things, I care about you. And I want to help-”

“Help, Iida? By saying that I’m stupid and how I wasn’t smart enough to get into your school? How I’m lazy and ill-witted? Great help. Such great help, Iida. I get it, I’m pathetic, but I asked for help and you used it to dig it into my skin.”

“But I can help you! In a way Monoma never can!” Iida yells back.

Y/N takes a step back and laughs a little, “Is this what it’s all about? Are you mad that someone else is much more helpful than you? Are you mad that you’re no longer my only friend?”

“No, that’s not it! That’s not it at all!”

“Then, what?! What is it?!”

“I can’t stand seeing you with him!” He takes her by the shoulders, pulling her close. Y/N is confused, her eyes widening and her brows raising. But not for long, her brows furrowed and she pushed him away.

“I can’t do this right now, Iida. Let’s talk after the exams. I can’t have you as a distraction when I’m so close to actually succeeding.”

It’s now Friday of the next week since their fight, they haven’t spoken nor laid eyes on one another. She’s now at her home, alone since her parents have decided to have a date night, making you gag from their love. She laid on the couch, watching whatever may be on the television as she eats a biscuit. Too tired and lazy to cook dinner for herself. The couch vibrates which she feels, she reaches her phone with her leg, kicking it and catching it quickly.

She barely got a moment to say hello when she heard the familiar voice, “I’m at your gate, can we please talk?” Iida mutters by the phone. Y/N jumps from the couch and peeks at the window, where the boy is standing there, under the god damn rain. She shuts the phone off and opens the gate for him.

She pulls him into the umbrella she brought, “Let’s talk here, my house is a bit of a mess. This will be quick, right?” Y/N tells him.

He takes a deep breath, “I- I don’t- L/N, I-” He stutters, he plays a little with his fingers. “L/N, I’m sorry…for everything I’ve done since we were kids. I’ve been so selfish and shallow and I don’t think about what I say. I really thought I was helping but I didn’t stop to consider your feelings. I’ve been a terrible friend and I don’t deserve to even show my face in front of you.”

Y/N only looks down at the ground, thinking about what he was saying.

“I was so desperate for you to stay with me here at UA that I wanted to do everything for you to pass the exams. But my help just hurt you more, I realized that you being with me might just hurt you even more. I’m sorry, L/N.” She looks up at him and he looks at her.

“Iida, I don’t want to stop being friends with you. I never did. And I’m glad you understand my feelings. But you don’t get to decide how I’ll feel about you. Yes, I’m upset. So upset that I want to break all your glasses. But I won’t lie by saying I didn’t think about you for all these years, even after we grew apart. You don’t get to decide that you being with me will be so bad you won’t even try.” Y/N tells him sternly.

Iida’s breathing grows unsteady, “Does this mean-”

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you for what you’ve done. I’m just saying that…I want to be with you again.” She gives him a look, he immediately pulls her into a hug and tears fell onto her shoulder, her umbrella being knocked off her hand.

“Iida!”

“I’ll be better, I will. I’m so sorry, L/N. I’m so so sorry.” Y/N pats his back and hug him tighter. The rain showers them wet, she immediately turns the knob to the door and lets him in.

Immediately, she pulls him to the couch and leaves to go to the bathroom. When she comes back, his hands are on his face. She drapes a towel over his head and a blanket on his shoulders. “I can stay ‘til the rain passes. I’ll set up the ro-” He pulls her hand to stop her from leaving.

“I’m sorry.” he mutters under his breath.

“Yes, you’ve said that…many many times. I get it. And I said-”

“I like you, Y/N. I couldn’t bear seeing you with him cause I want you with me.” he mutters, his head still down. Y/N stands there in shock, her heart beating fast.

“I want you to stay in UA with me. Please stay. Stay.” Y/N senses how weird he’s speaking and tips his head up and presses her hand on his forehead.

“For god sake’s, Tenya! How long were you standing in the rain for?!” Y/N yells at him.

“For how long it’ll take.” he replies. Y/N rolls her eyes.

“I brought you some of my dad’s clothes, get dressed. Stay for the night so you’ll get better.”

He got dressed and you lay him down the sofa, spreading out a blanket for him and placed a towel on his head.

“Drink you medicine. Come on, Iida.”

“Call me, Tenya. Like we used to, Y/N. I want to be better for you. And when you’re ready, I want to start a relationship with you.” He blabbers, his face straight and serious but red and flushed.

“Okay, Tenya. But first, get better for me, okay? I like you, too.”

#tenya iida imagine #tenya iida #iida imagine #tenya x y/n #tenya iida angst #iida angst #iida x reader #iida tenya #iida x y/n #iida #iida argument #tenya iida argument #maladaptivedaydreamers #maladaptivedaydreamerspost

[maochira]

hey mao! Im not sure if you did this already, but could you maybe write something about Chris comforting reader after a mental breakdown or something like that? I'd really appreciate it <3

Haven't done this so far so here we go!! With dad!Chris, of course

Requests open! - masterlist

Tags: gn!Chris' kid!reader, reader is a teenager

Usually, you openly communicate your feelings with your father. Just recently, he hasn't been at home because he's been travelling and his busy schedule and the different time zones made it hard to find time to talk. You only found time for phone calls twice a week.

The worst part about it is that you don't even know when he'll return home. He was originally supposed to return two weeks ago but then another model agency hired him for some photoshoots and Chris just didn't want to decline that.

You always understood that his life as your father and his career as a professional soccer player with the occasional modelling job in between will always be unbalanced, no matter how much he tries. And usually, you're able to deal with that just fine.

Just recently, everything's been a bit hard. Studying for exams has been stressing you out and at the same time half of your friends started showing more and more toxic behaviour or straight up abandoned you. All of that in combination with missing your father has been anything else but good for your mental health.

It was only a matter of time until you'd break down in tears. But it only happened tonight. You couldn't hold back but cry into your pillow, finally letting out at least a bit of the pressure that you've been keeping inside.

You're still in the middle of crying when your phone rings. It's your father. For a moment, you think about declining the call and coming up with a bad excuse for why you couldn't pick up. But you just miss your father too much and lying to him would be wrong.

You decide to get yourself together to stop crying for a moment and pick up the call. "Hey..." Even from one short word, Chris can hear that you've been crying and immediately gets worried.

"What's wrong? Why are you crying?" The concern in his voice is obvious. "Did someone do anything to you? Did someone hurt my baby?"

His last question actually makes you giggle a bit. No matter how old you are, as soon as your father gets worried about you, in his mind you're back to being a little child he has to protect.

While you try to find the right words, you start crying again. "Everything's just been... too much recently. And I miss you."

Chris has always been an emotional father, so hearing you say that you miss him brings tears into his eyes as well. "I'm coming back home in two days, alright? Can you stay strong until then?"

"I'm really trying..." You sob into the phone.

Chris is a bit clueless about what to do right now. He's not used to comforting you over the phone at all. He only really knows how to comfort you when he's with you. Knowing he can't hug you right now to make you feel better actually hurts his heart a lot.

"Do you want to tell me what's dragging you down?" Chris continues talking, "I mean, besides that you miss me... You know I miss you a lot as well? I can't wait to see you again. Actually... I'll check if I can get a flight tomorrow, okay? Then I'll be with you sooner."

"You really don't have to if-"

"No no," your father interrupts you quickly, "You need your dad so I'll try to get home as soon as possible. Now go on, tell me what's been dragging you down. I'm here to listen, okay?"

Taglist: @starhrtz, @kaineedstherapy12, @zyuuuu, @luvcalico, @truegoist, @vanitasbrainrot, @deerangle3, @toruden - sign up for my taglist right here!

#💟 maochira writes #bllk #blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x you #blue lock x you #chris prince #chris prince x reader #chris prince x you

[0mcsheep0]

I'm here for you (part 2 )

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

DISCLAIMER: it is the continuation of the previous ''I'm here for you'', with the younger brothers. I had the idea to develop more about MC's point of view (to be more precise about what makes them feel sad). ( Part 1 below ) https://www.tumblr.com/0mcsheep0/711531618684289025/im-here-for-you?source=share

Warnings : sad topics in which the brothers would comfort you

Characters : Satan, Asmo, Beel, Belphie

GN!MC

-> The brothers when MC is feeling sad <-

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Satan (academic failure)

Satan is one of the most intelligent (if not the wisest) demons of Devildom; everyone knew it. He was also the closest of the seven brothers to you, the perfect sentimental and supportive guy. You often came into his room to study RAD for your future exams. He was patient and would explain any subject well. Last night, you were stressing out about that important math examen coming up the next day. You feel bad about it, even if you’ve been studying it for a week. As you were reading your notes laid on the bed, Satan checked up on you: « Hey there, MC. You’ve been quite academic for the past few days, and I noticed you’d neglected your health. When was the last time you had a consistent sleep schedule? Have you eaten this morning? You seem so tense; let me give you a shoulder massage ». How kind of Him! You got on your belly while Satan climbed on your back, his smooth but firm grip on your back muscles. « You think I will be good tomorrow? I’m afraid I will forget everything because of the stress. If so, I know I might get grounded by Lucifer… » you said with a sigh. ** The next day Even with Satan’s comforting words, you still couldn’t stay in place as you started your exam. It didn’t go as well as it was supposed to. Unfortunately, despite all your efforts, you still missed a few questions, which influenced your grade to lower at the bare minimum required. You felt empty after the test; you went home and locked yourself in your room. A few hours later, the blond demon knocked at your door, but even if it was locked, he used his magic to reach you. You were sobbing on your pillow. « Hey, kitten….. Levi told me you left RAD earlier. I know it was your exam this morning; I presume you are in this state because it didn’t go well, was it » he asked with a sad look. It didn’t go well? No, it was disastrous for both your final paper and your self-esteem. You were so confident about yourself; did you succumb to your anxiety? Even if you tried so, you could never be as good as the others. The worst part of it was that you tried! « Can I sit next to you »? You nodded. « Listen, MC; I’m aware of how frustrating you might have felt at the moment because, behind my look of the perfect student, I sometimes feel stressed too. You shouldn’t be ashamed of yourself. With practice, you will be able to perform under stress like a pro, I promise ». You smiled a bit; then Satan brought you into his arms for a loooong hug.

Asmo (bad image of your body)

Asmo always cheers you up when you are questioning how worthy you think you are. You are nothing but the perfection in his eyes, the little sunshine that brightens his days in this dark world of devils. We all know that Asmodeus is hiding behind his confident and cocky appearance, insecurities, and fears about others’ perceptions of him. When times like this happened, you comforted him by saying, Everyone has his thoughts about other people, some are bad, but some are flattering. You must always think good about yourself and not let others bring you down. You were always the one who comforted him; never would he have thought YOU would be the one who needed him. You were sitting on your bed, clothes scattered everywhere on the floor. There was a big party at Diavolo’s castle tonight, in which you should be present, and you wanted to wear something elegant for the event. The problem was that you needed to determine what to choose; all your clothes seemed too casual. You didn’t have the money to buy something beautiful, and anyways, those types of clothes were styles to fit demon figures (holes for wings/tail, large sized because I headcanon the demons to be naturally taller than humans). You were desperate, and tears were slowly filling your eyes because of the frustration you felt at the instant. You searched for something cool to wear for almost two hours, but nothing was good enough. You looked at yourself in the mirror, and intrusive yet exaggerated thoughts entered your mind. Could your silhouette be the problem? Maybe everything was looking wrong on you, and it was your fault. You could never look as great surrendered by demons; they all looked magnificent, and you are only a human.

*** knock knock ***

You recognized Asmo’s voice behind the door, announcing his upcoming in your room. He was also invited to the party, and you felt even worse when you saw how stunning he looked in his relevant outfit. « My, my MC… what is all this mess made for? Your beautiful clothes will be dusty and wrinkled! Have you found what you’ll be wearing tonight»? You looked at him, clearly looking exasperated. Asmo was now looking at you with a concerned expression. You? Crying over something as simple as a lack of items of clothing? That wasn’t like you, the MC he knew wouldn’t give up that easily over something unworthy. He thought about what could have made you feel that way; « Mc dear… you aren’t concerned about how you might look around everyone else, right»? The tears were now showing on your shameful face. « Listen now. You are the most pretty person I’ve ever seen in my life. You heard me right; I said the most pretty PERSON, which means I’m comparing you to every species I know. It would help if you didn’t even compare yourself to others ». Those words; you’ve heard them countless times from many people. As insignificant as they might have sounded, the comment went directly to your heart. Asmo, the one you loved the most in the three worlds, thought this much about you? You smiled, then stood up with a sudden burst of confidence: 

« Well, my clothes won’t get chosen if we stay in place. Would you mind helping me with that » you asked the fifth-born. 

Beel (guilt of eating)

Beel is the most thoughtful, generous, and loving demon of all the Devildom, and he shows it daily to his brothers and you. Constantly checking up on others, he is someone you can rely on every time for anything. You trusted him, so you told him about something that had made you sad for the past few weeks. To be exact, HE was the one who initiated the talk since he caught you doing something he would never understand; restricting yourself from eating. Last night, he sneaked to the kitchen for a midnight snack when he noticed your dinner still on the fridge shelf. How could you skip dinner? From Beel's point of view, dinner time is the most satisfying time of the day. He hesitated to eat it but finally decided to wait till tomorrow to ask you about it. The next day, you answered that you weren't hungry and that it was nothing to worry about since it wouldn't occur again. Beel smiled in relief and left but found your dinner again in the fridge a few hours later. The Lord of the Flies was surprised. He decided to bring the meal directly to your room to have an honest response to your weird behavior. Once he passed your door, the demon was surprised to see you on a weighing scale. You were startled by his arrival and started to cry. « MC? Do you feel ashamed about your weight? Is it why you skipped your meals? Taking such restrictions isn't good for your health; you might end up sick. Please, tell me what's wrong». You explained to him that, for the past few weeks, many lower demons had been mocking you for your weight. You weren't thinking badly about yourself initially, but the repetitive insults were getting to your head. You thought about it more often, starting to wonder if those imbeciles were, in fact, correct about you. Did you overeat? Was your figure pretty enough? Maybe occasionally skipping meals would change your looks, then those unkind demons would shut up. Beelzebub was shocked by everything you said. To his eyes, you are splendid, a perfect work of art. He never thought that stupidities like that would affect you that much. « My love, don't ever get influenced by nasty insults like that again. Those demons are jealous of how good-looking you are, so they try to put you down. Skipping meals won't bring any positive changes to you. If you want to change your appearance, we could work it out together with healthier measures. Please, eat the three meals you need daily; I don't want you to end up sick ». The red-haired demon then got closer to you and hugged you tightly. You are feeling a lot better now.

Belphie (sadness from leaving the Devildom)

It was supposed to be a casual day. Like every other morning, you woke up in your bed sheets, with Belphegor at your side, squatting the left side of your mattress. The weather outside sounded perfect for walking or organizing a picnic with the brothers. A tiny bat (I thought bats would be the ideal representation of ''birds'' down in Devildom since they are nocturnal) got closer to the window of your room as if it was calling for the morning. You straightened up on your bed, carefully resting your back on the wall to not wake the sleepyhead beside you. You reached your D.D.D. to look on Delvilgram; your post from the last day with Asmo on the beach might have gotten many likes! Unfortunately, the message that first popped on your screen faded your smile. Diavolo sent you the following statement: « Good morning MC! You have been staying in the Devildom for two years now; you must return to the human world for a while to see your family. I will pick you up at the front entrance in an hour ». You tilted your head down; time flies so fast when you enjoy your time with the ones you love. Like every time you leave the Devildom, a massive wave of sadness fills your heart. The memories of your good moments with Belphie, as he is the one you love, ran through your mind, and a few tears escaped your eyes and blurred your vision. At this moment, Belphie opened his eyes and frowned; « MC, why are you crying? Did you have another nightmare? Tell me everything ». You quickly announced your future leaving to the youngest brother, and he sighted of disagreement. Of course, he knew that day would come, but he hadn't acknowledged how quickly this day would come. « It sucks; I would have loved to keep you by my side every day, to wake up next to you every morning. I guess I understand that you have to go back to your family, but what about me? You will miss me, am I wrong? (…) Do you remember when we went camping outside the House of Lamentation to see the bright stars illuminating the sky? It was fun, wasn't it? (…) Listen, MC, I won't beat around the bush and will tell you how I feel about the situation. You know that I love you unconditionally and that I will always do. It won't change anything that you leave for another time; I will still love you once you return to me ». His words comforted you; you knew he was thinking everything he said. You smiled, then took him in your arms to enjoy your last moments together.

#obey me beelzebub #belphie my beloved #obey me satan #comforting thoughts #obey me asmodeus #sadness hours #obey me imagines #obey me shall we date #sad thoughts #obey me x reader #obey me mc

[changingplumbob]

York Household: Chapter 8, Part 6

Time to move in Paris! First up a look at the foster home she's been living in, and it's manager. Then back home Deanna finally finishes the robotics project she's been working on and Paris ages up.

Here we have Ms Gallheizer's Orphanage built by EA ID: Chronicll

Paris: Home sweet hell

Deanna: At least you're finally leaving

Paris: Hopefully everyone will be eating and we can slip in unnoticed

Aaron: We do have to tell the manager you're leaving though, legally speaking

Paris: She'll be thrilled

Deanna: Should we go find her

Paris: We'd better not disturb dinner

Ms G: Where have you been

Paris: I signed out for the afternoon

Ms G: But not the evening. Dinner is at 5:30 sharp and you are late. Again!

Paris: Sorry

Ms G: Don't say sorry, be better girl! You've been here long enough to know

Paris: It won't happen again Ms Gallheizer, because I'm leaving

Ms G: It's not your birthday yet so get upstairs and be glad I kept your dinner portion aside

Paris: I...

Ms G: No smart reply? Of course that would require being smart

Aaron: Perhaps I should introduce myself

Ms G: Why? You a cop?

Ms G: A social worker?

Aaron: Well no-

Ms G: Then you have no authority under my roof

Aaron: I'm a lawyer

Ms G: Sure you are

Aaron: Mr York, prosecutor in Tartosa

Ms G: We're not in Tartosa Mr York

Aaron: Perhaps we should talk in your office, Paris has things to do

Ms G: On that we agree

Deanna: She is exactly like you described, maybe a bit worse

Paris: You think your pa can sort it

Deanna: He can be your legal guardian for a day, no problem, promise

Paris: My room is this way

Deanna: I didn't hear much from the dining room

Paris: No talking allowed at dinner, one of the first rules we learn

Deanna: What a hag

Aaron: Her birthday is only tomorrow, she would have to leave then anyway

Ms G: Be that as it may this is highly irregular. I raise my kids to be independent dependable members of society, not run under their girlfriends skirts

Aaron: You certainly can turn a phrase

Ms G: Paris has no self discipline, give her an inch she will run a mile. How do I know you can provide a suitable environment

Aaron: It's just one day

Calista: Is this the right room

Aaron: This is my wife, Captain York

Ms G: Captain?

Calista: Is there a problem here amore

Aaron: Ms Gallheizer had some doubts about our parental skills

Calista: Did she now

Ms G: Well- Perhaps I jumped the gun

Aaron: So we can take her home

Ms G: Why you would want to is beyond me. But yes, I'll get you the forms

Paris: It's strange, these four walls have been my life for almost a decade

Deanna: No posters

Paris: *shrilly* no damaging the walls

Deanna: *laughs* feel free to coat our walls at home

Paris: Home sounds nice

Deanna: Ready to leave it behind

Paris: Babe, did you notice I already packed

Deanna: *laughs* I did

Kelly: My tooth still isn't out yet

Calista: It'll fall out, don't worry

Kelly: What if I accidentally eat it

Aaron: I did that once, I survived

Calista: Aaron! Chin up caro, you'll be okay

After dinner Kelly mopes to mantis for a while before deciding to just pull it out. Success! Evil laugh!

Paris gets her stuff moved in and Deanna welcomes her with a celebratory pillow fight.

Paris: Your pillows are so poofy

Deanna: All the better to hit you with

Paris: Oh two can play at that game babe

Deanna: I hope you enjoy losing

Paris: In your dreams. En garde!

In the end Paris concedes the fight. She does a quick bit of study for her exams tomorrow then happily climbs in to bed beside her favourite person.

Paris woke up early from a horrible nightmare so decides to polish off her homework until Deanna wakes up.

Deanna: Happy birthday baby

Paris: Thanks. I'm not looking forward to these exams, thank the watcher they're my last

Deanna: You'll be great

Paris: I average a c miss valedictorian but thanks

Deanna: And Joey helped me make you a cake

Paris: I don't suppose I could just age up now

Deanna: No way, you go crush those exams, then come home. We'll celebrate then baby

Paris: Okay, last day of high school, here I go!

Calista had another awful nightmare so works out early to try chase the scare away. She reaches level 10 fitness and discovers she is a perfectionist. I might need to make the skill gain even slower than it already is at this rate! Deanna finally finishes... whatever the heck this thing is.

Pictures of the quadcopter doing quad-copter things

To my complete surprise, but not Deanna's, Paris absolutely aced her final exams! It's finally age up time for her and as she makes a wish Deanna cheers her on. Deanna did a cute little song as well. Paris rolls Creative as her third trait which compliments her cuisine hobby that she rolled earlier.

Deanna: Want to go on a date

Paris: With you? Absolutely babe

Deanna: I'm thinking, beachside

Paris: Sounds perfect

The two head to central Tartosa and take some time to soak in the romantic atmosphere.

Paris: It's so lovely here, and no snow

Deanna: Snow can be good for snuggling

Paris: Maybe so

Paris: But we don't need snow to snuggle

Deanna: I love you baby

Paris: Right back at you babe

They share a kiss and a cuddle

Paris: That sunset is stunning

Deanna: You're stunning

Paris: De, we're in public

Deanna: What do you want to do then

Paris: Play in a g rated way, come on

Deanna: I haven't built a sandcastle in ages

Paris: I won't hold it against you. I've always loved making them. My parents...

Deanna: Did they help

Paris: Yeah, we made them as a family. Once we made one as big as me. I wasn't a tall toddler but still

Deanna: Do you have any photos

Paris: A couple

Paris: Photos of my parents that is, not the sandcastles. They only exist in my memory now

Deanna: I think we did a pretty good job with this one, a castle for my princess

Paris: You're sweet

Deanna: Sometimes

Paris: All times De, I know it

Deanna: And you're happy, with us?

Paris: I am babe

And this chapter wraps up back home with everyone in their right beds. I had to take some shots of the house again as I love property pictures, and sleeping pictures, to bookend my chapters.

Previous Part ... Next Part (New Goth)

#sims 4 #the sims 4 #the sims #Rotation8 #ChangingPlumbobStorytime #YorkHousehold #DeannaYork #ParisPearl #AaronYork #CalistaYork #KellyYork #simblr #R0801

[nhstadler]

A/N: Another short insight into the enigma that is James Potter to tide you guys over until the new chapter is up. This is after the bathroom incident. Hope you enjoy :)

I T M E A N S N O T H I N G

The flames sputter like they are about to die. It’s late and Gryffindor common room has become considerably more empty since I’ve claimed the space in front of the fireplace, my notes spread around me like some absurd artwork. The exam tomorrow is going to be savage and I’m nowhere near understanding any of this.

Woodley probably thinks I’m an idiot. 

She explained Hephadore’s Theorem to me. More than once. I distinctly remember it: How she bit her bottom lip when I showed her my shitty class notes riddled with mistakes and mediocre doodles of broomsticks. There was also some nose-wrinkling and a few exasperated looks that I fully deserved, but the rest is a bit fuzzy. 

The image of her in my Quidditch jersey comes up, unbidden, and I drag a hand down my face, groaning into my palm. It’s happened before and I don’t know how to stop it; how to get her out of my thoughts.

It’s nothing, of course. It means nothing. I find her attractive - I can admit that - but that’s it. 

“James?” 

“What?” My voice comes out harsher than I meant it to. I know it as I look up at Athena and the smile on her face falters like a wilting flower. 

“I just - I thought…” She trails off, playing with the hem of her crop top as she sits down next to me. “My dorm is empty.”

“Great,” I say absently, only half-listening as I bend over Woodley’s book again, studying the diagram that covers two entire pages. There are handwritten annotations next to the printed script and the whole thing finally starts to make a bit more sense. Maybe I can still salvage my Potions grade after all.

“We’d be alone. Or we could go to your room if you -”

“I really have to study.” I cut Athena off before she can say it; before I have to be even more of an arsehole than I already am. The worst part is that I told her - I told her that I don’t feel the same way; that I’m not in love with her. I broke her heart and she still wants me. And I swore to myself that this would be it; that I won’t do this to her. Not like this. 

But it’s so easy to fall back into those familiar patterns; into Athena’s bed. It’s become a habit - those nights that I stumble into her dorm room in the darkness, telling myself that it’s OK. Because it’s easy and convenient and because it feels good for a moment. Because there is safety in using people before they can use you.

She doesn’t deserve that. Nobody does.

“Oh.” She blinks, then tries to smile as she pushes her hand into my hair, her nails scratching along the nape of my neck. It feels like she’s going to bury them into my skin. “But, maybe later -”

“Thena.” I jerk my head away from her so that her hand lingers awkwardly between us for a moment before she drops it into her lap. “I don’t - shit. Last week was a mistake.” The words sound too hard, too cold; like they are meant to wound. But I don’t know how to do this. 

I never knew how to do this. 

I’m not like Dad or Al who wear their hearts on their sleeves - proudly, like flashy targets for the entire world to see. Like there is nothing to be scared of.

“I’m sorry.” I mean it, but it sounds empty - generic, like something you’re supposed to say in a situation like this. 

Athena nods and then gets up from the couch, her hands clenched into fists at her side. “Fuck you, James.” Her voice breaks and her eyes are glassy and there is nothing I can do to make this less awful.

#hntbaw #hpfanfiction #fanfiction #nextgen #jamessiriuspotter #hownottobeawoodley #james pov #aesthetics #aesthetic

[babytowntm]

Life update ! I saved enough money!!!

After a bit of a slow drag these last few weeks, I finally have stuff to post here again.

Corona has been spreading like a wildfire again through my social circle. My boss, my boyfriend, my family even my friends all got it at one point. I still haven't caught it so I'm hoping it'll stay as far away from me as possible.

My boyfriend, despite his sickness, is currently working on the last part of his exam season. Uni has been especially tough on him and ever since enrolling he's been struggling ever since. He's studying computer science I suppose it's called and as such you have to be able to use a lot of mathematics. He always succeeded at math but unfortunately no one really prepares you for how much harder Uni-Math will be. He only has two courses about mathematics and he's been struggling hard. It's heartbreaking to watch because he's been trying so hard to improve but it barely shows or even works out.

These are the only two courses he's failing in and right now he's in his 4th semester. The courses he's still struggling with are from the first semester. He promised himself he'd try these courses one last time this month and if he fails again, he'll look for another way to work in the IT Industry. I don't know what to feel. On one hand I really want him to succeed because he's been working so hard and I wish for him to continue his dream, but on the other hand he's been working on these courses for a year and a half now and still hasn't succeeded. Maybe he should try something else.

It's a bit conflicting. Aside from that though, work for me has been fine. Mostly. My boss is very nice and understanding but ultimately very scatter brained most of the time. She forgets a lot of stuff, stuff she hasn't told me about, and then we're both lost on what to do. She tries her best though and I appreciate it a lot.

but on the most important of important notes... I DID IT!!!!! I finally saved enough money to start my driver's license. I already signed up for it and cannot wait for my first lesson to start. Unfortunately the driving instructor still hasn't replied. I'm giving him until tomorrow. The only days you can talk to the people in charge is during tuesdays and thursdays and I've already waited a week. Thursday is the day I'll visit his office.

#driving #driverslicense #saving #boyfriend #life #blogentry #diaryentry #digitaldiary #diary #writing

[iread-studies]

day 1/100

14.11.2022 || Hello again, it's been a while. Things have gotten a little out of hand in the last few weeks so I've decided to start another 100 days of productivity challenge because stuff is happening in my life and I neeeeeeed to focus.

I was doing pretty well until I decided to take a break from studying for a couple of days to finish knitting my hat, which turned into two weeks (such a stupid idea) (at least it's a very nice hat). Then I got a cold (not covid) and wasn't able to attend lectures for a week. So I'm VERY behind on almost everything.

Right now I'm about to take a Germanic Philology exam. Considering how I prepared for it, I'm either going to ace or epically bomb, no in between. If I don't pass, I will be able to retake it in January. So it's important that I pass but otherwise, there is always January.

And that's today. After I'm done with the exam, I will spend the rest of the week editing a video for my sis' birthday. It's her present and, dog, it's going to take a bunch of time to finish it but I will.

Once that's done, I will need to start prepping for the German exam I'll take Jan/Feb/still unclear (I have a bunch of exercise sheets to do + write an essay about I don't even know what).

Once I'm done with that, it will be time to prepare for all my other exams, which for this semester are going to be: Germanic Philology (the oral part), Italian Literature, German 2, and then...

????

Ah, right, Modern History. I forgot the name of the course I'm supposed to be attending, that's peachy.

I need to buy the manuals for Italian Lit and Modern History and ask a friend to pass me her notes for Italian Lit.

Then I'll take my exams and hopefully pass all 4 of them. Then I'll need to start working on my dissertation.

Yes, I asked a professor if she would please be my supervisor (it was SO nerve-wracking) and she agreed! We won't start working on it together until May but I want to start researching on my own before that. The subject is going to be... Drum roll, please... Pride and Prejudice fanfictions. Which is bonkers, I didn't expect any professor would take me seriously but she actually agreed!

During the second semester, I will also need to write another essay for German 3 and I think another one for Portuguese? From what I've heard about the professor? There is no point in worrying about it until after my exams are finished so let's put a lid on that.

And in March I'm supposed to look for an internship.

Oh and in the middle of all this, I'm supposed to enrol in driving school and write various short stories and knit 2 frogs before Christmas and practice German and Portuguese every day.

BUT. KEEP CALM AND DRINK TEA. Most of this stuff is very far away in the future. Let's focus on today's exam and editing that birthday video.

Well, thanks for reading, I'll see you tomorrow, I guess.

#studyblr #100 dop #to do list #life update #long term projects

[skinni-girls-eat-books]

Sunday, April 14th, 2024! Pt 2 (one day NC 🥳)

10:03am: I went back and reread some posts from earlier in the week and remembered that I was doing really good! I think last night was a one off and a little step backwards, but nothing that can't be overcome again. Things happen. People disappoint us and let us down, doesn't mean we have to become hard and cold to the world.

I'm gonna stay positive and know that

1) fake positivity does turn into real positivity after a while 2) positivity attracts people, friends and that's what I would like.

Stay positive! Definitely still process your trauma, but there's so much good in life! Like that awesome feeling when you have a good day with someone new ❤️ I guess I understand wanting to start fresh with someone because it's exciting! Plus be confident knowing that you were never the problem and omg there's so many guys out there that want a chance with you, honestly things will probably get better with age.

Don't be like the boss, a whole ass pharmacist going back n forth with someone beneath him, petty drama, stress and emotional turmoil. I don't want that life, it's bad for your physical body. When I think about the positive feelings I've been having for about the past two weeks, the tension lifts from my body. I have so much to look forward to. And I can't control anyone else's actions, I can only control my actions and my emotions and how I react to things.

This door closing is just opening up a bunch new ones :) and what one man won't do, another man will ❤️ let's work on me so I can find my forever guy ❤️

I love you

6:53pm: Got home from work and I'm bleeding like crazy. Longest month of my life. New homie sounded like he was gonna come over but I think he chickened out? Lmao that's crazy 😂 Had a nice day at work, ranted to the boss and it helped me a lot. He told me to make a pros and cons list and I said that con side would look crazy 🤣 he said he does the same thing and it helps him, also he said the no contact thing is helping him a lot PLUS this man is wildin OUT like every night is a bachelor party or something and I want to be like him haha. So crazy tho he's just like yeah and then I might get back with his gf after a few months like ???? Guys are insane lmao.

Weirdest thing I have thought about today is how prude he* is. 🤔 I really don't have to explain myself but like, he has the two biggest ho friends I've ever seen and acts like I'm just supposed to be some untouchable angel is WACK. Tbh I wouldn't get back together with him for that alone, it's a major rift in our morals. He thinks he/ his friends can just do whatever but then judges girls for doing the same? Icky, double standard ass mf 🤢 this man belongs in the looney bin after last night. Weird ass said he hopes the guy I end up with has wack dick and he hopes nobody is better than him 🤣 who tf says that

I literally had to lie to this man on facetime so he wouldn't have a meltdown if I told him what I really did, getting piped in our bed by a great guy 😂 crazyyyyy flex bro, but yeah keep doing it in y'all's parents house 🥴 literally just gave me icky goosebumps thinking about that.

Who cares lol I'm glad that part of my life is over. I'm tired of looking stupid tbh. Hesitant to do a # days no contact tracker on here because ik it can be counterintuitive to think about him technically, but shit I already think about him anyway, so I think it'll be a good idea to *try* and if it sucks I'll stop.

1:10am: Going to sleep now, didn't do anything after work today but that's ok :) had yogurt and cereal for dinner and both cats are on my bed ❤️ Spent too much time on my phone but it's ok, too. I think I'm gonna do a beginning of the day and end of the day, then I can kinda track triggers that make me want to reach out to him. Ik it's stress but also ik this will help. Distractions are great, but I want better distractions than just being on my phone lol.

Goals for tomorrow: Last OSCE! Study for exam! Study MOA! I know you hate it but that doesn't matter right now, you gotta grind before you party 🎉 Study for Jesse McCartney ❤️ He doesn't want you to fail your exam 😂

Goodnight, I love you so much I hope you had a good Sunday. I'm listening to crime podcasts while I fall asleep, something I couldn't do with you here lol. Perks of being a bachelorette 🤪 Hella peaceful and everything is easy going.

Day 1 NC complete! ❤️🥳

[bittersweettweet]

8

I haven't looked at my diary or written in it for such a long time. Last Monday, I had a sore throat, and the doctor said I needed two days of rest. When I woke up the next day and rubbed my face like I always do, my lips felt funny and really big. It was weird! So, I went to the bathroom to check it out in the mirror. But guess what? Not only were my lips swollen, but my left eye was super puffy too! I looked like a scary monster!

I ran across the street and rang Sherry's doorbell to tell her I couldn't go to school. The doctor said it was an allergic reaction, and I had to be careful about what I eat. I was supposed to go back to school on Thursday, but I changed the date on the doctor's note so I could miss my exams.

My mom was okay with it. They never give me a hard time about school, except for a few times. It's like they trust that I'll do well! But the truth is, I barely ever study. I go to school half an hour early just to do my homework, and sometimes I copy it from other kids. But somehow, I still do okay on my exams. I think it's because I pay attention in class. I sit in the front row because the mischievous kids always sit in the back, and it's hard to focus back there. The classes are so crowded too. Sometimes, our benches meant for three kids have to fit four. It's really hard to move around. At any rate, my teachers love me. They're always telling my parents how what a good kid I am ;)

There was this one time when the teacher moved me to the back of the class, and my grades started dropping really fast. I told the teacher that I couldn't see. And guess what? It was actually true! Ever since my eye test in 6th grade, I found out I'm super nearsighted and have a lazy eye. I was kind of excited to get glasses because I thought they would be cool. I wore them for a couple of days, but then I got tired of them and stopped wearing them altogether.

Yesterday, my cousin Tara, who we call cousin even though she's actually my dad's cousin's daughter, came over. She taught me how to knit the back part of the sweater I'm making. All my friends think my mom knitted it, but I swear I did it all by myself. Now I'm working on the front part.

Today, Shabnam was taking a shower, and suddenly the water turned cold. It turns out Behrooz went to take a shower too without telling us! Poor Shabnam, she got stuck with the cold water. I felt bad for her, and I was really mad at Behrooz for doing that. We need to tell each other when we're going to take a shower so the water doesn't get cold.

Oh yeah, I have a test tomorrow. I'll write more in my diary if anything interesting happens.

11/30/1982

#true story #diary #journal

[kode117]

entry 1

It’s 5am, I haven’t slept.

I have an exam tomorrow. Maybe two. Haven’t studied for either. 

Been browsing 4chan, on /wsg/ and /gif/ for feel threads. The feels won and made me create this. I might start posting here every other day.

If I had to give a name to this chapter of my life, it’d be void. null. There’s not much going on. And that’s how it’s been for a year or two. There’s things going on but in the end I always end up at the same place. Alone in my room, browsing 4chan, gaming, watching anime, watching youtube, whatever to make the time pass.

It’s weird, I’m not having any success with love. Never had, but now that I want it the most I’m starting to notice what not having it feels like. I’m blessed looks-wise, but that’s pretty much it. I can’t talk to people. There’s only a single person in this planet I can truly talk to. I can interact with people, but I can’t talk to them and they never talk to me. I always feel a certain level of alienation when talking with people, no matter where. Maybe it’s because I moved so much as a child. And not just moved neighborhoods, I moved between continents constantly. Constantly changing languages and cultures. Maybe that’s why, I don’t know. When I talk with people, it never feels like they get me and most of the time I don’t get them either. It always feels like a meaningless exchange, where they’re not learning anything from me and I’m not learning anything from them.

I started smoking quite a bit recently. As in, weed. I hate cigarettes. I love nicotine though, so I vape all day every day. Not very proud of that but whatever. It’s funny, someone once asked me about when I started vaping. I realized that it was right after my last (and only) breakup. Haven’t stopped ever since. That was some of the most amount of pain I’ve ever felt, and honestly I don’t think I’m completely over it even after 2 years. It was our first relationship for both of us. We were stupid to say the least. She was the only girl I was actually able to talk to, and that felt like she talked to me. I’ve gone around dating a lot of other girls these last 2 years but not a single one of them could come even close to what we had. We talked again recently and we swore we’d never talk again for some reason. I don’t remember, I was extremely drunk. 

Ever since that breakup I’ve been trying to find someone that could help me fill this void, but I just can’t find anybody. Socially I’m quite retarded so I went for dating apps where I can rely on my looks first. Technically it did what it was supposed to, I get a lot of matches. More than I need, really. But as soon as it gets to the talking part I fuck it up somehow. It has also become much harder for me to trust women after these 2 years of dating around. In 90% of the cases, I was getting played. One of them hurt a lot more than the rest but that’s a story for another time.

[thelei-kanenas-pasteli]

last night i stress reread three volumes of heartstopper

#heartstopper my beloved<3 #THE BOOKSTORE I LIKE BROUGHT IN PHYSICAL COPIES AND WHEN I TELL YOU I SCREAMED #im kind of trying to save up rn so i cant get all of them immediately #but i got the first one so yayyy #last night i slept at 5am and im supposed to be studying rn because i have an ancient greek exam tomorrow morning #but i dont wanna studyyyyy #at least i payed a tiny bit of attention i think when we were being taught the material #at least i hope #because sometimes during class i zone out i go many thoughts head scrambled egg and i just stare at the void #and like the aristotle biography part i've already read many times (not thoroughly like i did with socrates' biography bit because socrates' #biography bit is way more interesting and entertaining tbh #and like it's easier for me to remember stuff when they're funny that's why a bit i remember from the aristotle biography is the fact that #he was very judjy and stuff #) #i remember other bits as well and like i think with a quick reread i will hopefully be ok #anyways im rambling #i talk

[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!

#attack on titan #aot x reader #snk x reader #eren x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines #eren smut #eren fluff #levi x reader #I DONT WANNA TALK ABOUT IT

[malleux]

spell [2]. | corpse husband

part one ; part three

-> Pairing: Corpse Husband x Fem!Reader

-> Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst

-> Warnings: Hate Comments, Self Doubt, Anxiety, Cursing

-> A/N: thank you for 1k notes on part one! i’m so glad everyone likes my work. it’s really nice getting this much love after taking a hiatus on my fire emblem writing blog. i hope y’all enjoy it and stay on the lookout for part three!

corpse husband taglist is closed!

Two weeks.

It’s been two weeks since you joined Sean’s Among Us stream.

While that was your first public appearance, you had joined three others after that and already you were blowing up on almost every social media platform you had. The attention was kind of nice, you had to admit, but sometimes the anxiety of becoming a public figure weighed heavily on your shoulders.

During that time, you turned to your friends who were used to such scrutiny: Sean, Felix, and now Corpse, who you’ve been talking to every day for those two weeks.

It was another one of those nights where, at 1am, you were on Facetime with said man. His screen was dark, as usual. He hadn’t shown his face yet and you respected that. You didn’t need to see him to talk to him, or be his friend, or develop a slight crush on him. All of which you did.

The call was relatively silent on your end. Corpse was on Facetime with you, yes, but he was also on a call in Discord, once again playing Among Us.

You often wondered if playing that game was all your new friends did anymore.

You stayed quiet, letting Corpse play the game and avoiding his fans finding out about your call. You had college work to finish anyways, so the silence was rather helpful.

“We should ask Y/N if she wants to play. I wanna meet her.” Sykkuno’s voice rang out from the Discord call. He was right- you’d never met him. He and Corpse seemed extremely close, though, so you’d love to talk to him. A friend of your crush friend was a friend of yours.

“She’s busy tonight.” Corpse responded.

“Yeah, she’s got an exam coming up- wait, how do you know?” Sean joined in, questioning Corpse.

“Uh, I mean we’re on Facetime right now, I guess.” Your heart sped up- now his fans knew. “She’s studying. We’re just hanging out.”

“Didn’t you guys ‘hang out’ last night as well? It seems like you’re trying to take my best friend away from me.” Sean joked back.

“I mean, I definitely am.”

Your breath caught in your throat. What was that supposed to mean? Sean was obviously kidding, but the tone in Corpse’s voice wasn’t the one he used when he was joking as well.

Felix suddenly butted in. “Ooooh, I think Corpse-y has a little crush.”

“And if I do?”

Y/N.exe has stopped working.

꧁꧂

Three weeks, now, that you’ve been talking to Corpse daily.

One week since Corpse’s crush comment and one week that you’ve endured countless mentions and tags on Instagram and Twitter, constantly talking about #CorpseY/N.

You didn’t really mind the shipping, often losing yourself in daydreams about driving those two hours down from your apartment in Los Angeles down to San Diego and running into his arms. It didn’t help when he mentioned wanting you to come visit one day.

You just worried about how Corpse felt about them. He was still relatively new to blowing up on the internet as well, his fame suddenly skyrocketing in the past few months, so you weren’t sure if he was comfortable with them. You didn’t want to bring it up, either, fearing that the discussion would make things awkward between the two of you.

For now, you were rather content with just scrolling through the #CorpseY/N hashtag, looking at the pictures and nice things people had to say about you both.

“they’re so cute when they talk to each other, you can just tell Corpse meant it when he said he was trying to steal Y/N away.”

“#CorpseY/N is my new favorite thing. Everyone shut up this is all I’ll be talking about from now on.”

“God why can’t they just be together already? #CorpseY/N”

Everyone was so supportive and sweet, it almost made you feel like you already were Corpse’s girlfriend. Although your heart hurt when you were brought back to reality, you couldn’t help but love the comments that everyone left. They were amazing.

Until they weren’t.

There are always two sides of the same coin. Along from the supporters and their loving actions, there were also those who seethed at the idea of you and Corpse.

They scrutinized everything about you to the point that you made your Instagram account- already with 30k followers- private.

Haters talked about you. Your body, your personality, how you weren’t worthy to even talk to Corpse and the rest of the Youtubers, and so much more. You’ve spent many nights with your Facetime mic muted so that Corpse couldn’t hear the small sobs coming from you.

These thoughts were almost always on the back of your mind, but you were sometimes able to push them away.

Like now- as you focused on your exam. Well, tried to focus. There comes to be a time where one can only hear so many negative things about themselves before they can’t ignore it anymore.

But alas, you tried your hardest and finished your exam, before walking out of the room and pulling out your phone. Now, you had a break before your new classes started and you’ve never been more relieved. You pulled up a certain contact and clicked on the message icon, beginning to type.

you:

i’m finished! up next, a break.

corpse:

I hope you did well. How long is your break?

you:

two weeks!

corpse:

Come spend it in San Diego

You stopped in your tracks, taken aback by the offer. You really didn’t think that he’d invite you over, but you weren’t about to complain. Instead, you sent back an ‘I’ll pack tonight :)’ and rushed home to do just that.

Corpse called you as you packed, just like he calls every night. You were used to the routine now, often falling asleep around 3am as he stays on the phone, doing whatever he does with his ruined sleep schedule until you wake up and say good morning.

Tonight, however, you were too jittery to sleep. You stayed up all night with Corpse, talking about anything and everything, like usual.

What wasn’t usual, though, was how distracted he sounded. It made you nervous- was he having second thoughts about inviting you over? Was something wrong?

Your thoughts nearly overwhelmed you, forcing you to say something.

“Are you okay, Corpse?” You tried to hide the small shake in your voice.

“Hm? Uh, yeah, yeah, everything’s good. Why?”

“It doesn’t sound like it. What’s going on? You’re acting off.”

His side of the phone was silent for a moment, before he let out a sigh. “I’m just thinking about what I’ve got to do before you get here tomorrow. Like, cleaning and stuff.”

“Pshh, that doesn’t matter to me.” You waved your hand, even though he couldn’t see it in the darkness of your room.

“It’s just that, my apartment isn’t… the best. It’s small and there’s only one bedroom and it’s kind of shitty. I just don’t want it to be even more shitty.”

“Corpse, I’m coming there to spend time with you, not your apartment. I don’t care what any of that shit looks like. I’m going to be looking at you and hanging out with you. Not your apartment.” You didn’t mean to go on a tangent of reassurance, but you truly meant all of your words. “Hell, I might not even see the apartment because I already know I won’t be able to look away from you.”

“I- God, give me a minute. That took me off guard.” He laughed. “But thank you. I may not even be able to clean because I’ll be distracted too.”

“By what?”

“You, standing in front of me, in person.” You could hear the smile in his voice. “That’s a fucking dream come true.”

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taglist: @namjoons-crabssss @lookingforaplacetosleep @teenloves @princess00wifi @pillowjj @nvm-idgaf @creativedogs @wildflowerwhore @chillininahottub-withaghost @whyisquill @holosexualunicorn7000 @ourheavenlyemotions

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#fanfiction #x reader #fic blog #writing #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse husband #series #lay writes #youtubers #youtubers x reader