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idk who I love more plug Eren or fratboy Eren

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omg lol I just realized I hit 1k followers!! I’ve had this page for less than a year lol but now it has more than my main @starbabyg 😭😭 thank you for 1k bebecitas I love each and every one of yalllll 💘💘

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sigh…

plsss this has me so dead cause felt 😭

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you are missed 🪦💔

WELL GUESS WHAT IM BACK FROM THE DEAD HEYYYY 😜😜🧟‍♀️🪦 nony lmk what your cup of tea was on this page and i'll update so fast bc this had me so weak i was cryinggg laughing 😭😭

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I love sweetheart Eren so much 😭😭 but it makes me so sad when i think this is how he could’ve turned out instead of s4 hobo eren

pleaseee why does this make me so happy saaad 🥺🥺 like you know if he still had that hope and faith he had through the first three seasons in s4 he would be like thattt!! I miss when my baby was anything other than depressed and so angry at the entire world instead of just titans.

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Hit Different | Eren Jaeger 𝜗𝜚 Part Trois

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ Eren meets his match when Ymir's cousin crashes into his life. Classic playboy meets maneater. ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

𖹭.ᐟ modern aot verse! college au!

.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・

"Next time we're keeping Historia's ass far away from the mimosa tower," Ymir grumbles, her arm slung tightly around Historia's unsteady waist as the group walks out of the diner. Her grip tightens with every teetering step Historia takes, like she’s wrangling a drunk toddler in heels. With the sun somehow still bright as hell you put your sunglasses back on, needing to black out the unnecessary light. You swear it's always extra bright when you're hungover.

"Dunno how she always ends up in charge of it," Eren mutters, tone dipped in that signature blend of amusement and irritation. He squints after her, watching as Historia sways into Ymir’s side, muttering some gibberish that doesn’t sound remotely human. "It's like the two just gravitate towards each other." In Eren's head he imagined the mimosa tower being a magnet, Historia a teeny piece of steel, being pulled towards it no matter what.

"I know, shit's insane. She downs half the tower on her own every time and then acts surprised when she’s blacked out by noon. Always ends up the drunkest cause she doesn't know her damn limits. Talk about white girl wasted," Ymir grunts as Historia stumbles a bit when she trips over her own shoes and uneven pavement, "Plus when she's drunk she somehow gets ten times heavier like a damn anvil. Help me carry her to the car, Jaeger?"

Historia suddenly jerks upright like a woman possessed, blonde hair all in her face as her bleary eyes lock onto something across the street. "Oh shit! That gay bar is open!" she gasps, voice filled with a kind of awe usually reserved for witnessing a miracle. "Let’s go!" And just like that, she’s off. Ymir's still attached to her side, practically getting dragged in the process like an owner with an eager dog.

"Oh hell no!" Ymir scrambles to grab her tighter, heels digging into the pavement. "Jaeger! Fucking help me!"

Eren lets out a long-suffering groan before swooping in, effortlessly scooping Historia into his arms. "Alright, that’s enough outta you," he mutters, adjusting his hold as she kicks her feet in protest. You’ve carried a drunk Historia before, and you know she turns into a human sandbag the second alcohol hits her system. And yet, Eren moves like she’s weightless. Even with her flailing and attempting a dramatic escape, he barely struggles, his grip unshakable. You linger for a second too long, watching the way his arm flexes underneath his hoodie as she wriggles in protest, the slight tension in his forearms as he tightens his grip to keep her still. Okay, so he’s stronger than he looks. You shake off the thought, refusing to let it take up any real estate in your brain. But you can't help but stare just a little longer.

"Unhand me, you big bozo!" Historia slurs dramatically, attempting to point at the neon-lit bar like she’s making a declaration of war. "This is gay business! I can smell the cosmopolitans calling me!"

"You're cut off, dumbass," Ymir groans, rubbing her temple. Connie can't help but just watch and laugh, not helping one bit. His cackles and Historia's drunken shouting can't help but draw attention to the normal people trying to enjoy their Sunday afternoons. Ymir just shakes her head, always tired of being a babysitter. She just shakes her head with a groan, already regretting not drugging Historia with a Pedialyte slushie before brunch.

"Bro, this is embarrassing for all of us," Connie says as he catches his breath, hands on his knees as he watches Historia still flail like a petulant toddler in Eren's arms.

"You’re not even helping," Ymir gripes, sharply glaring at the boy with the buzzcut. She leads everyone to the car like she's the only sane adult hauling a pack of children, looking back every so often to make sure that Historia's drunken ass hasn't escaped.

"Because this is the best thing I’ve ever seen, duhhh," Connie trails behind, recording a snapchat video for the group chat to laugh at later. He starts recording, narrating in a fake documentary voice. “Here we see the rare and majestic Historia in her natural state: absolutely wasted and irrational. Nature is healing.” The shutter sound clicks, and you know that video is gonna be looped for weeks. Maybe memed. Probably memed. Connie was definitely gonna play it out though.

You’re trying not to laugh, but you’re too busy watching Eren handle the whole situation like it���s just another inconvenient errand. No complaint, no fumbling. No struggle, no fuss. Just calm, sure movements—like hauling a drunk girl around is as familiar to him as tying his shoes. His hands are steady, one arm braced around her thighs, the other across her back, like he’s done this a hundred times. Maybe he has. That thought shouldn’t bother you, but for some reason, it kinda does. Not that you’re going to unpack that right now. And if your brain kind of… short-circuits for a second when he adjusts his grip—one hand flexing slightly as he shifts her weight so effortlessly, hoodie riding up just enough to hint at toned skin beneath—well. No one has to know. It’s a private glitch. You’ll reboot later.

“Fuck me,” Ymir groans, dragging a hand down her face, already exhausted and they haven’t even gotten to the car yet. “She’s gonna be a handful the whole ride back.” She turns her head toward Eren. “Ride with us, Jaeger?”

Your stomach does a weird little flip at the thought, but you push it down. It’s just a car ride. Nothing to overthink. Right? You blame the sudden onset of butterflies on the champagne still lingering in your system. Just champagne bubbles mixing with the greasy breakfast.

Eren, still holding a continuously struggling Historia, finally gives a resigned sigh after some thought and glances at Ymir. "You got the doors unlocked?"

"Yeah, yeah," Ymir waves him off, already fishing into her flannel pocket for the keys. Her tone is flat, but her eyes still twitch toward Historia like she’s waiting for her to explode again.

Eren shifts Historia in his arms again, and this time, his gaze flickers toward you. The movement is subtle, barely noticeable, but you feel it—the way his eyes drag up just enough to catch yours. But just as quick as he looks at you, even if it felt like an eternity, his eyes flit away.

You shove your hands into your pockets, tilting your head at Historia, who is now reduced to limp, defeated grumbles in Eren’s arms. “You done fighting?”

She sighs dramatically, letting her head flop back. "I just wanted to drink cosmos and dance to Doja Cat." You swear you could hear tiny sniffles from her, but you can't see her face, just blonde hair hanging as she dangles from Eren's broad shoulder.

"You can do that shit when we get back home," Ymir tells her, unlocking the car with a beep. "It'll be easier to carry your drunk ass to bed when you eventually pass out."

Eren doesn’t even wait—just yanks open the door with one hand, the other still hooked under Historia’s knees like she’s weightless and deposits her into the backseat. He barely dodges a sloppy slap from her as she whines something about oppression and the straight white man doing what he does best. You chuckle and shake your head as you get in the front seat. You'd be damned to sit next to Eren as he manspreads out. Or even worse, have a drunken Historia rolling around on top of you.

“You’re violating my rights,” she slurs, her hand flopping uselessly against his chest before sliding off. “This is textbook oppression. The straight white man strikes again.”

Eren dodges the limp hit with a sigh that says this isn’t his first rodeo. “You’re not even making sense,” he mutters, mostly to himself, but there’s the tiniest curl of his lip, just a little side smirk of a smile. His patience shouldn’t be attractive. You decide it’s not. It’s definitely not.

“Do you see that bar?” she asks Eren, pointing lazily out the window like she’s discovered the world’s greatest treasure. “Cosmos. Dancing. Gay magic.”

Eren doesn’t even look at her. He just sighs again, the sound low yet amused. “You’re literally impossible.”

“I know,” Historia drunkenly hiccups. “But also—Eren, help. I wanna go there. I need it." Her voice turns soft with a needy desperation, her hands up against the window like a prisoner, leaving splotchy handprints on Ymir's car window as she drags her hand down with an audible squeaky sound.

A soft laugh escapes your lips, the sound is sweet and genuine, light and bubbly. which makes Eren look up. And what he sees makes his heart stutter. Looking at you from the rear-view mirror, he can see you smile. Not your slick smirk or that fake, passive aggressive condescending one you had been giving him for the past two days. This is your actual genuine smile, apples of your cheeks dimpled, pulled wide enough that a hint of teeth shows through. Something in him pauses, like a skipped heartbeat. It’s annoyingly soft. Disarming.

Before he can linger on it—before he can figure out why it hits him the way it does—Ymir abruptly swings open the driver door with all the force of someone exhausted by life and brunch. "Alright, hadda make sure Connie was sober enough to drive his dumb ass back to our place. Ready to roll out?"

"I am," Historia says just a little too loud in Ymir's ear, making her jump. "There's a gallon of Tito's with my name on it in the fridge." If she wasn't gonna get her cosmos and gay bar, she was gonna make vodka sodas at home and at least pretend she was at one, one Charli xcx song at a time.

"Fuck, Stor! Buckle your ass up," Ymir pinches the bridge of her nose before she starts the car. Ymir's beat up altima starts up with a heave. "Gonna end up going over a speed bump and your tiny ass is gonna go flying out the damn window." Fumbling sounds could be heard, Historia helplessly mumbling as the seatbelt keeps slipping from her sloppy grip.

With a tchht of his teeth, Eren takes it into his own hands and leans over to buckle her up. Ymir backs out of the parking lot, her music turned up loud enough so she doesn't have to hear Historia whine every time she doesn't stop at one of the dozens of downtown bars. Your left elbow is rested on the center console as you scroll through your phone, your vibrating notifications pulling you away from your tipsy watching out of the window.

From the angle you're sitting Eren has the perfect view of your phone. And him, being ever so nosy about the mysterious enigma that was you, couldn't help but watch. Because of course he would. Each social media app on your home page seemed to have double or triple-digit numbers in the little red bubbles that resided in the top right corner. Connie really wasn't lying about that roster, huh?

Opening up snapchat, your chat log is bombarded with unopened snaps and messages. Eren's eyes narrow ever so slightly as he watches you swipe through your messages. The longer he watches, the more he can’t seem to shake the feeling of being… a little too invested. He takes note of the little bitmoji avatars. Mostly guys, he realizes. The messages from the guys pile up, his brow twitching with each one. A few snaps, a couple of “What’s up?”s, a few “Miss you”s. You half swipe a few, reading the message but leaving them on delivered, leaving the sender in agonizing limbo. Others you flat out just leave on read without blinking, not even giving them a sliver off attention.

Then you open some from girls, he doesn't know who, but these are the only ones that actually get a response from you. You're actually engaging, actually responding. Laughing quietly to yourself. Sending back stickers and even sending funky ass pictures with weird filters. He tries to hold back a snicker as you use one that gives you a cartoonishly big forehead.

Then a notification pops up at the top. It's a text. 'How was brunch?' Eren's brows furrow, eyes scanning the screen to read the name. And everything in him stills in that moment. Jean. The fuck? Jean texted you? The thought settles in Eren’s chest like a sickly strong emotional cocktail—one part disbelief, two parts irritation. You were actually texting Jean. Did he actually manage to snag your number last night at the party? The thought sits uncomfortably in his stomach now, but he doesn’t dare to admit it. You tap the message to open it, your acrylic nail making a 'tut' sound against the phone as you do so. With his eyes stuck to your screen, he realizes you two had been texting... a lot. Like a lot.

Eren can’t help but notice the way your fingers dance over the screen, typing out responses quickly, as if the conversation is something you’re eager to continue. It makes something twist in his gut, something unfamiliar and green. There’s something about it that grinds at him. His jaw tightens slightly, and he watches you send the message to Jean without hesitation.

'So this is how you operate', he thinks bitterly. The decisiveness in which you engage, and the fact that you don't seem to care who you leave on read, except... for Jean. Jean, who in this moment gets all of your attention, all of your effort. Jean, who somehow managed to snag your number after one night of partying.

Eren’s fingers twitch. His hands, resting in his lap, clench into fists without him realizing. There's this sinking feeling in his chest; something sour he can't quite place. What does Jean have that he doesn’t? He doesn’t know why it’s getting under his skin this badly. He shouldn’t care. He barely even likes you, only tolerates you cause you're Ymir's cousin—at least that’s what he tells himself.

'Brunch was good. Lot of mimosas, a little too many.' Your fingers pause for a moment before you add, 'Ymir had to carry Historia out of the restaurant lol.' You send it with a little laugh. He can see it. He can hear it in the way you’re typing. And he swears he could actually hear you softly giggle under the music.

Eren inhales sharply. His throat tightens. He’s watching this entire exchange like it's some kind of sick fascination. But the thing is, it’s not just curiosity anymore. It’s... jealousy. He doesn’t know why it’s hitting him like this—why he feels this need to know how close you two are. How much he’s really got to compete with.

He watches as you send another message. 'I’ll let you know when I’m free to hang out next. You still owe me that drink.' The message seems innocent enough on the surface, but the way you send it, so casually, so… comfortably and expectant—it digs under his skin. You tap the send button without a second thought, locking your phone and not waiting on Jean's response. It’s as if you don’t even register that Eren’s been watching, studying you. But he’s fully aware of it. His focus is on you, every movement, every keystroke.

A quiet breath escapes Eren, and his grip on the seat tightens, almost painfully. What the hell was he doing? Why did it matter so much? He glances at you, his gaze lingering a little longer than it should, trying to read you—trying to make sense of the way you move, the way you talk, the way you operate. There’s a confidence in how you handle your connections, your interactions with people. He’s starting to get it now. You have the ability to make anyone feel important, to make them feel special, without ever giving anything away. And Jean? He's eating this shit up. Too naive to know that you're stringing him along until you get what you want out of him. Eren doesn't know what, but he knows a girl like you, someone who can charm her way into anyone’s life with ease, always knowing just what to say to keep them hooked, isn't easily satisfied by such a soft, nice guy like Jean.

Eren clenches his jaw, fighting the urge to ask you, to call you out on this subtle game you’re playing. But he doesn’t. Instead, he shifts in his seat, trying to pull himself together before he says something that would only make this worse.

Eren’s gaze stays locked on the back of your head for a moment longer than it should, trying to shake the knot in his stomach—or trying to burn a damn hole to see you drop dead from how jealous he is. He runs his fingers through his hair, feeling that familiar tension creeping up the back of his neck. He had never felt it before, but it was starting to become constant every time he was around you. You started to bring out these icky green feelings that he had never in his life felt before. His jaw is tight, his mind racing through thoughts he doesn’t want to have. Jean… One of his best friends that he knows like the back of his damn hand. Too sweet, too kind. A damn simp if Eren were to really want to get under Jean's skin. But you? You’re a whole different game. And what’s worse is that you know it. You know exactly how to play everyone, keep them dangling. He knows a nice guy like Jean is the perfect fodder for a man eater like you. But that's not what really pisses Eren off, if you could really see what was going on in that pretty little head of his.

The quiet hum of the car seems to stretch forever. He wonders if you’ve noticed the way he’s watching you. Probably not. You’re too wrapped up in your phone, your next message, your next move.

He shifts in his seat again, uncomfortable with the weight of his thoughts. You’re a puzzle he can’t solve, a game he’s not sure he wants to play but can’t stop being drawn into. And Jean? Jean’s just another piece. It pisses him off, and Eren can’t figure out why. It’s not like he cares what you do, who you talk to. Right? Right?

He watches you again, his green eyes flitting between you and your phone—between his desire to snap at you, to call you out on the fact that you're playing with people like it’s a game, and the part of him that can’t help but admire how damn good you are at it. It'd be like the pot calling the kettle black, but Eren was a damn hypocrite. He couldn't stand that he actually respected the game you had.

Finally, his resolve cracks. His voice is quiet, a little rougher and choked up than he intended, as he breaks the silence.

“So, when’s this drink happening?” The words feel like a challenge, even though he didn’t mean them to. He feels a strange tightness in his chest, like he just poked the hornet’s nest and he’s about to get stung.

You look up at him then, a glint of something playful in your eyes. So, he’s finally speaking up, it seems to say. You lean back slowly, ever so smug, eyes twinkling, but there's a nonchalant coolness in your smile that sends another jolt through him.

"Were you reading my messages, Jaeger?" Your voice is a sickly-sweet patronizing pitch, and Eren hates that his stomach does a flip to it. Like a damn puppy wagging its tale when it's excited. Your words. The tone. It’s like flipping a match straight into Eren’s already gasoline-soaked nerves.

He doesn’t answer immediately—of course he doesn’t. Just stares at you with that staggered expression, jaw tight and calloused fingers curled against his knees like he’s holding himself back from doing… something. Anything. Maybe everything.

Your question just hangs in the air, obnoxiously casual, like you didn’t just clock him red-handed. Like you weren’t completely aware of the way you can irritate his entire soul with a fake nice smile and giggle. You watch his mouth press into that stubborn line, and for a split second, you can tell he’s debating whether to lie or double down. And you can’t lie—it’s kinda hot seeing him scramble internally, even if he’s doing a damn good job at not showing it.

Eren finally exhales a laugh, dry and humorless as he rolls his eyes. “You didn’t exactly make it subtle,” he mutters, glancing back out the car window, the irritation evident in his face, evident in the scowl he can't even bite back anymore. “It was practically a live show.”

You raise an angled brow, feigning innocence. “You mad I didn’t cast you in the lead?” Your voice lowers in register, raspy and sultry as your eyes go lidded a bit, now smugger, like you're feeding off of his negative reaction.

That finally gets a reaction—his head snaps back toward you, those sharp juniper eyes narrowing. He’s annoyed. And not in that flirty, I’m-pretending-to-be-jealous way. No, this is deeper. Tighter. Like it hit a nerve he didn’t even know was exposed until you jabbed at it.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he snaps, though the bite doesn’t land the way he wants it to. Too reactive. Too defensive. His own voice betrays him, makes him sound a little wounded and hurt like a kicked puppy.

And you? You smirk. Not out of cruelty—well, maybe a little—but mostly because you’ve got him now. Hook, line, and pretty little sinker. Eren Jaeger, who never lets shit get under his skin, is spiraling over a text thread with Jean Kirstein.

You tilt your head, voice syrupy-sweet and ever so condescending. “Aw, don’t worry, Eren. I’m sure Jean would share the spotlight. You could even hold the boom mic.” Teeth gems glinting as you grin at him.

That earns you a scoff, one that sounds way too much like a growl under his breath. “You think you’re funny, huh?”

You lean in, lips curved in a slow, wolfish smile, eyes locked with his. “No. I know I’m funny. But thanks for confirming I’m also memorable.” The silence after that is heavier. Not awkward—just loaded. Like the air between you could spark if either of you breathed the wrong way. Like shit would explode if one more thing was said.

Eren breaks it again, but this time his voice is lower, steadier. “Just don’t fuck with him.” It was almost inaudible, and you were definitely sure you were the only one in the car to hear that, with Ymir too focused on driving and Historia taking a drunken cat nap with her head resting against the window.

You pause at that. The smirk fades. A flicker of something unreadable flashes across your face before you look out the windshield again. His tone was different this time. Not teasing. Not bitter. It was serious. You roll the words around in your mind before finally responding. "Who said I was fucking with him?"

And maybe that was a lie. Or maybe it wasn’t. But either way, it shuts him up. You don’t say anything else, and neither does he. The tension sits between you like an uninvited passenger, strapped into the middle seat and very much not minding its business. The music plays on. The road keeps rolling.

And Eren? He stays silent. Because deep down, he knows he wasn’t really saying that about Jean.

He was warning himself.

.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・

tags ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ @jaeg3rb0mb @zeunys @booksandbud4me @asthesunrisessolow @erenjaegerfein @cc1306 @spammmmmmsstuff

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do people still read oc x characters or do y’all prefer x readers?? Cause I have a three part fic I’ve been ruminating on but idk with how complicated I made it in my mind it’s more of an OC fic but I can always change it

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Ghostin | Jean Kirstein

synop; based off of ghostin' by ariana grande. jean was always there for you, even when you were with eren. post rumbling, he's been there for you, even if you're crying for a ghost.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

The nights were the hardest.

Jean’s arms were strong, steady—anchoring you in a world that had been shaken to its core. His warmth should have been enough to chase away the cold that had settled into your bones since the day the world burned. Since the day Eren was gone. And yet, here you were, silent tears slipping down your cheeks, soaking into the fabric of Jean’s shirt as he slept beside you.

Or at least, as he pretended to.

You knew he heard you. He always did. He never said anything, never asked you to stop, never got angry when you whispered a name that wasn’t his in the dead of night. If anything, it was his hands—gentle, reassuring—that spoke for him. A slow rub down your back, fingers threading through your hair, a sigh as if to say, "I know. I understand."

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He understood too well. And it hurt him.

If he were anyone else, he would’ve left by now. Any sane man would have. But Jean stayed. He held you when the memories overwhelmed you, when Eren’s voice ghosted through your dreams, when you woke up gasping for air because, for a moment, it felt like the weight of the world was still on your shoulders. He never told you it was unfair, never let the pain show on his face, but you knew. You could see it in the way his hands sometimes trembled when they comforted you, in the way his jaw clenched when you avoided his gaze in the mornings and stared off into the empty distance.

You hated yourself for it.

“You’re thinking about him again.” His voice was quiet in the dark, thick with sleep, but there was no accusation in it. Just understanding. Just love.

You curled into him, burying your face in his chest as the silent tears turned into guilty sobs and sniffles. “I’m sorry.”

Jean let out a slow breath, his arms tightening around you. “Don’t be.”

But you should be. He deserved better than this. He deserved someone who could give him their whole heart, not just the fractured pieces of it that still bled for a ghost. And yet, despite everything, despite the silent war waging between past and present, between what was lost and what remained—Jean stayed.

“We’ll get through this,” he murmured against your hair with the softest of sighs. “We always do.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to be whole for him. But deep down, you knew the truth.

Eren would always visit you in your dreams.

And Jean would always wake up to the ghost he left behind.

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i'm nawtttt gonna lie babes, I've been so preoccupied with my mind reeling in this new story i've been thinking of. it's a three parter series and to me it's been my whole world omggg. It's like sweetheart eren if he was just a lil more rough around the edges im soooo in love with it

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high school sweetheart eren… cough cough…

sooo are we all collectively feening for him lmfaooo 😭😭now i def gotta start this next chapter I can't leave my babies hanging

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PLEASE COME BACK I NEED SWEETHEART EREN

i knowww I need to write part threeee to junior year!! I've just been so engrossed in a new eren fic idea I have,, likeeee it's consuming me whole!! but dw by the end of this/next week there will be a new chapter or twoooo!! xx 😚😚

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i can’t tell which one i’m obsessed with more, high school sweetheart eren or maneater eren. i’m swaying between the two. anyways, you’re absolutely amazing and i love your work :D

ahhh thank you babyyyy!! 💞💞🙈😚 but saaaame I can't choose either!! Sweetheart Eren is just the loml but maneater eren does something to meeee 🥴🥴

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Part deux to the Sweetheart Eren story ㅤ♡ྀི ₊

i didn't expect the junior year part to get that many comments on expanding lol it was just a follow up to some oneshots I wrote but y'all seem to like it. idk what to title this mini series tho lmfao help me come up with a name!

୨୧・・・୨♡୧・・・୨୧・・・・୨♡୧・・・・୨୧・・・・୨♡୧・・ ・୨୧

The next day at school rolls around. You don't see Eren at all before class. Not the usual shouting of your name as he runs to catch up to you. You don't see him in the halls through the first few passing periods either, which is strange as hell. It's now break, and you're grabbing a yogurt bowl with Historia, Ymir, and Sasha.

You're mindlessly stirring the yogurt, the spoon scraping against the plastic bowl as you try to ignore the way your chest feels tight. Like it's not being constricted from any breath. It’s been over twelve hours since the encounter with Eren, and the silence between you two is deafening. It’s all you can think about—his words, his reaction, the way he stormed off, and the way he looked at you like he was trying to tell you something without actually saying it.

"Hey," Historia says, nudging you with her elbow as she grabs a piece of fruit from her bowl, "are you okay? You’ve been off all morning."

You glance up at her, offering a tight smile that definitely doesn't reach your somber eyes. "Yeah, I’m fine."

Sasha, ever the curious one, leans in. "Come on, spill. What's going on with you and Yeager? You two haven't been this quiet around each other since... forever." Thinking back, you have never went this long without talking to Eren. Not even when you both caught a flu that made you both feel like you were on your death bed.

You shake your head. "It's nothing." But your friends know you better, it's always something.

Ymir, not missing a beat, raises an eyebrow. "Nothing? Really? 'Cause last time I checked, nothing doesn’t usually make you look like someone’s killed your cat then took a shit on your doorstep."

You laugh, but it’s hollow. "It’s just... Eren’s being weird."

"That’s one way to put it," Historia muses, having had a front row seat to the whole ordeal. "I mean, who else would storm off after overhearing a conversation with Floch of all people?"

"Right?" Ymir agrees, oblivious to your growing discomfort. "It was like watching a soap opera, but with more muscle and even more drama."

You try to shrug it off, but the frustration is still there, gnawing at you. Eren’s been distant, avoiding you like you have some contagious disease, and it hurts more than you want to admit. But you can’t—you won’t—chase after him. You’ve always been the one to wait, to hold back, while Eren does whatever it is that makes him happy. But this? It’s different. And you hate how much it’s making you doubt everything.

That's when he walks in, hood over his head and hands in the pockets. You feel your heart do that stupid flip in your chest when you spot Eren entering the cafeteria. Your eyes widen and maybe soften a bit as this is the first time you're seeing him all day. It's almost like you missed him, but with the way things are between you two, you know you shouldn't.

The space seems to widen around him as you watch him walk in, his usual confidence replaced by a strange, subtle hesitation. He keeps his head down, his hoodie pulled low over his face like he’s trying to hide, but you can still make out the sharp lines of his jaw and the way his shoulders tense under the fabric.

You want to look away. You want to pretend like seeing him doesn’t affect you, like you’re not aware of every tiny movement he makes. But you can’t. It’s like gravity itself is pulling your attention toward him.

Sasha notices the way your gaze lingers, and she nudges you again, her voice low. "There he is. The man of the hour."

You blink, quickly looking away, but the heat rising in your face betrays you. "Don’t make it a big deal," you mutter, but you can feel the tension building in the pit of your stomach.

"Uh huh," Ymir deadpans, clearly not buying it. "We’ll just act like you didn’t look at him like he’s the last Dr. Pepper hidden in the back of the fridge."

Before you can shoot her a sharp response, Eren’s eyes flicker over to your table. The briefest flicker of recognition passes between you two, and for a second, everything feels suspended—like time’s dragging on just to torment you.

You watch as his lips press into a thin line, his gaze dropping almost immediately, like he’s too embarrassed to face you. He looks away, scanning the room, and that’s when he notices Floch sitting across the room with a few other guys, laughing loudly. Eren’s posture stiffens, the slight tension in his neck almost like he’s trying to hold himself together. He avoids looking at you completely after that, walking past the table with his head down. You can feel the weight of the silence. His absence is more obvious than his presence now, and it's suffocating. But at the same time feels like the air has been sucked out of your lungs.

Sasha, who has been watching the whole thing unfold like it's dinner and a show, leans in again, voice teasing. "Okay, that was... something."

"Shut up," you murmur, taking another spoonful of yogurt, your focus completely shattered. You can't ignore the unease building in your chest. The way he avoided you, the way he looked at you like he was keeping a secret, and the way he moved like you didn’t even exist anymore… It hurts more than it should.

Historia, who’s been quietly observing, gives you a gentle brush to your shoulder. "y/n, do you want to talk about it? You know you can tell us."

You look up, your chest tightening even more. The idea of talking about Eren, of trying to sort out your feelings when even he doesn’t seem to know what’s going on, feels like too much. But you can’t hold it in forever.

Before you can answer, Ymir pipes up with a half-smirk, “If he’s really being this weird, then it’s only a matter of time before he either apologizes or gets dragged back into a scene by someone.” You don't seem to notice the way her hazel eyes flit to Floch, you're too preoccupied with the image of Eren looking at you with that look.

You can’t tell if she means it seriously or not, but it stirs something inside of you. Could Eren actually come around? Would he apologize? But just as you’re about to respond, the bell rings, signaling the end of break. You barely get a chance to say anything before the crowd around you starts moving, and the usual rush of students makes everything feel more chaotic.

As you gather your things and start heading toward class with your friends, you can’t help but look back at Eren. He’s standing by the door, talking to Floch, his posture stiff and closed off. And despite everything, despite the confusion, you want to make things right. But it’s so hard when you don’t know how.

₊˚⊹♡

Eren’s steps are heavy, his mind racing as he pushes through the crowd of students loitering between classes. He can feel the unease building in his chest, and it has nothing to do with schoolwork or practice. His focus is entirely on Floch—on that idiot who’s been flirting with you.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen it before. Floch’s attention is always on someone new, a new target to charm, to flirt with, to toy around with for a little while. But something about the way he zeroed in on you yesterday... it’s been gnawing at Eren ever since. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it at all.

He doesn’t like the way Floch’s voice gets all smooth and condescending when he talks to you, or how that smug look never seems to leave his face, as if he even deserves to talk to you like that in the first place. As if he deserves to talk to you at all. Eren can’t stand it. He hates that Floch thinks he can just walk in and take something he doesn’t deserve. And he especially hates how you don’t seem to mind it. Hell, you even smiled at him. Eren’s blood boils just thinking about it.

So when Floch spots him in the hallway, leaning casually against a locker giving him a cocky ass look, Eren doesn’t waste any time. He strides over, muscles tense, eyes narrowing as he approaches. Floch looks up from his phone, his expression nonchalant at first. Then it breaks into that annoying smirk.

"Well, well," Floch says, his tone all teasing. "If it isn’t the mighty Eren Yeager."

Eren doesn’t reply at first, just stands there, fists clenched at his sides. He’s not sure what to say, but the irritation surges within him. How dare he flirt with you like that? How dare he try to pull you away from everything you’ve always known? How dare he try to pull you away from him?

“Listen, Floch,” Eren growls, resentment evident in his tone, “stay away from her.” He doesn't even need to say your name for Floch to know just who he's talking about.

Floch raises an eyebrow, leaning in just a bit, as if savoring the tension in the air. "Oh? And why’s that? You jealous, Yeager?"

Eren’s teeth grit. "I don’t care what you do with anyone else. But don’t try anything with y/n. Got it?" Never in his life had Eren gotten so visibly upset.

Floch laughs, clearly entertained. "You’ve got it bad, huh? You’re cute when you’re possessive." He steps closer, eyes glinting with amusement. "You’ve been staring at her for years, but you never do anything. So maybe I should."

Eren’s chest tightens, heart thumping rapidly as he feels that surge of angered adrenaline enter his bloodstream. He feels like he’s about to snap. His hands twitch at his sides, itching for something—anything—to channel this rage into. "I’m not kidding, Floch. Stay away from her," Eren repeats, voice almost shaking with restraint. Eren had never been one for needless violence, always trying to be a mediator like his mother had taught him. But the way Floch was talking to him—the way he was talking about you—made him want to knock his ass out.

But Floch just shakes his head, a knowing smirk on his face. "You know, Yeager, you’re not really the type to say what you feel, are you? So go ahead. Keep being ‘the good friend.’ But maybe, just maybe, she’ll want someone who actually shows up."

With that, Floch gives Eren one last, infuriating look before walking off, leaving Eren standing there, his body still tense and his mind racing. Every word, every taunt from Floch, is like a slap in the face, and Eren knows he’s pushed to the limit now. This thing with you and Floch? It’s not over. And neither is what Eren feels. But the thought of it—it’s making him feel more lost than ever.

₊˚⊹♡

Eren doesn’t make it far before Historia and Ymir find him. It’s after lunch, and he’s been doing everything possible to keep to himself—hood up, headphones in, avoiding eye contact. Ignoring everyone and everything. But he should’ve known better.

"Yeager." The sharp call of his name makes his shoulders tense. Before he can turn, Ymir yanks his hood down, forcing him to face them. Historia stands beside her, arms crossed, looking far less aggressive but just as confrontational. Ohhhh he was in trouble now.

"Seriously?" Ymir scoffs, letting go of his hood with a dramatic drop. "You're really out here sulking like some kicked puppy?"

Eren rolls his eyes and pulls his hood back up. "Not in the mood, Ymir."

"Yeah? Well, neither is y/n," Historia says, tone serious but concerned. "She thinks you’re mad at her."

For a split second his eyes slightly widen, heart dropping. He never wants you to think he's mad at you. But then that image of you smiling at Floch floods his vision. It makes Eren’s jaw tighten, makes his chest swell with unnamed envy. He keeps his eyes down, but the weight in his chest only gets heavier at that.

Historia steps forward, voice softer but firm. "You’ve been avoiding her all day. Do you even realize how shitty that is?" Her blonde brows raise up, she can't help but be upset for you, one of her closest friends.

"I’m not avoiding her," Eren mutters, eyes looking everywhere but the two girls that stand before him. He knows just how well the couple can read him just by looking at him.

"Bullshit," Ymir deadpans, trying to look Eren in his shifty eyes. "You’ve been glued to her side since forever, and now suddenly you're a ghost? You expect her not to notice?"

Eren exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I’m not mad at her," he says, but the frustration in his voice betrays him, that slight crack to his words.

Ymir lifts an eyebrow. "Then what’s your problem? ‘Cause from where I was standing, you looked ready to rip Floch’s head off when he was flirting with her yesterday."

Eren bristles instantly, eyes going wide. "That’s not—" He stops himself, shaking his head. "Floch’s a piece of shit. He doesn’t actually care about her."

Historia narrows her eyes at him like a disappointed mom. "And you do?" Eren swallows hard, adam's apple bobbing.

Ymir crosses her arms, tilting her head to the side as she tries to make him crack under her gaze. "Yeah, ‘cause here’s the thing—you can’t stand the guy on a normal day, you don't even acknowledge the kid, but the second he pays some mind to y/n, you lose your shit?"

Eren clenches his fists, the memory of Floch flirting with you replaying in his mind. "You don’t get it," he mutters through gritted teeth.

"Then make us get it," Historia pushes, her voice forming into something somewhat sympathetic. "Because right now, it just looks like you’re mad some other guy gave her attention."

Eren scoffs, shaking his head. "You really think that’s all it is?"

Ymir shrugs. "I don’t know, isn’t it?"

Eren’s jaw flexes. His throat feels tight, words pressing against his teeth, stuck on the tip of his tongue. "Floch doesn’t give a damn about her. He just wants what he thinks he can have." His voice lowers, more intense. "He’s not interested in her—not the way he should be."

Ymir catches it first. Her smirk is slow, knowing but she tries to hide it. "Ohhh," she drawls. "And how should he be interested in her, Yeager?"

Eren freezes. Shit. Historia stares at him too, watching, waiting, like she knows something too. Like they know they finally caught him up in his web of complicated feelings.

"Forget it," Eren mutters, turning away. His heartbeat turns shallow, quick and anxious as he stumbles over his thoughts. He wants to run, to get away from his friends. Honestly, he wants to run off the face of the earth.

"Oh, no way," Ymir steps in front of him, blocking his exit. "You do not get to say that and then walk off. If you’ve got something to say about how y/n should be treated, say it."

Eren exhales sharply, looking up at the sky like he’s begging for patience. Or begging for God to strike him down. More so the latter because it would be easier than explaining his feelings for you.

"She’s not—" He stops, pressing his lips together before trying again. "She deserves better than that. Better than some asshole who just wants a quick hookup. Better than—than a guy who doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing." His voice drops, almost like he’s talking more to himself now. "Better than me."

There it is.

The slip-up.

The confession that isn’t quite a confession.

Ymir’s smirk is full-fledged now, while Historia’s lips part slightly like she’s piecing something together. Comprehending his cryptic confession. Eren realizes it too late. His whole body goes stiff, regret flashing in his eyes. He finally opened that can of worms that was the flurry of feelings he harbored for you.

Ymir tilts her head again, more smug this time. "Huh. So you do like her." It had always been the most obvious thing in the world to her, to everyone, but Eren had finally, after all of these years, somewhat admitted his feelings for you.

Eren’s head snaps toward her in a shaky, nervous manner. "I never said that."

"But you didn’t deny it," Historia points out, holding a finger up to him. She's smiling, squealing on the inside. She just wants to run to you to tell you what she just heard. But she keeps her cool, acting nonchalant.

Eren scowls, puffing out some air. "You’re both annoying as hell."

Ymir just grins like a giddy child who knows something they shouldn't. "You’re in love with her."

Eren’s heartbeat stutters. His face visibly heats up. "Shut up."

"Oh, this is good," Ymir muses. "So let me get this straight. You’re jealous as hell but won’t do anything about it. You’re avoiding y/n because you don’t wanna deal with your feelings. And now you’re just hoping she magically won’t notice?"

Eren clenches his teeth so hard it almost hurts. "I don’t like her like that," he insists, but it sounds weak even to his own ears. He couldn't stay in denial any longer. Not after he essentially had admitted it to your closest friends.

"Uh huh." Ymir gives him a slow once-over. "Yeah. Keep telling yourself that, big guy."

Historia shakes her head, exasperated. "Look, whatever you feel—or don’t feel—just stop making y/n feel like she did something wrong. Because if you keep pushing her away, she’s gonna think you don’t care at all." Historia looks up at Eren with wide eyes, trying to convey just how important it is for him to do this. For both him and you.

That hits something deep in Eren’s chest. Racks him with guilt. The thought of you thinking he doesn’t care? That’s not—That’s not how this was supposed to go. It makes his stomach churn.

Ymir steps closer, voice dropping as she puts her hands on her hips. "And if you keep dragging this out? Someone else is gonna ask her out." She leans in, her eyes something serious. "You ready for that?"

Eren doesn’t answer.

Because the truth is—he already knows the answer.

And it scares the hell out of him.

[animamii]

should I work on the next chapter of Hit Different or should I do High School Sweetheart Eren?? I'm in the Eren mood againnnm sorry toji girls

[animamii]

This is a commissioned piece I wrote for a lovelyyyy girl!! It was soooo much fun writing this piece thank you McKayla for letting me write something I enjoyed s'much! xx

It's a best friend's brother Eren fic and I DIEDDDD writing it. I live for it! xx

It had always been McKayla and Mikasa ever since she could remember. From the moment they locked eyes at wrestling tryouts in middle school, there was an unspoken bond between them—one forged through sweat, bruises, and the quiet defiance of being the only two girls on the team. They hadn’t needed words at first, just a shared understanding. The boys underestimated them. The coaches hesitated to pair them up with male opponents, worried they’d get hurt or just simply weren't up to par. It was the same old patriarchal bullshit, and the two of them had gotten fed up with it real quick. So they trained harder, pushed each other further, and proved themselves on the mat time and time again.

"Get a load of this guy," McKayla murmured to Mikasa, her arms crossed as the two of them watched one of their teammates try to intimidate everyone else on the team, claiming he could best any one of them in a match. Beside her, Mikasa exhaled sharply, barely holding back a laugh. It was rare for her to react so openly, and McKayla grinned at the small victory. "Bet you could take him down in under a minute." McKayla smirked, nudging Mikasa with her elbow. “Actually, I bet you could take him down in under thirty seconds.”

Mikasa tilted her head, as if seriously considering the challenge. Then, with a casual shrug, she murmured, "Probably."

"Oh, you definitely could," McKayla chuckled, maybe a little too loud for the whispers they were sharing. "Like no doubt."

Mikasa’s lips twitched slightly—her version of a smirk. She couldn't even respond because as if on cue, the boy—Jackson, or maybe it was Jason? McKayla never bothered to remember names of guys who ran their mouths more than they trained—turned toward them, clearly having overheard.

“You two got something to say?” he sneered, crossing his arms and trying to crack his neck. The two girls almost exploded into laughter at how corny the kid looked trying to spook them. It was obvious in the way he forced a hard flex to try to make his arms look bigger.

McKayla barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. These guys were all the same. Big talk, little skill. McKayla opened her mouth to spit something back, but Mikasa was already stepping forward, her posture as relaxed as ever. "Yeah," she said, voice calm but firm, like she wasn’t even slightly concerned. She rolled her shoulders, loosening up like she was preparing for a casual warm-up rather than an actual match. "I think I can take you down in thirty seconds."

A chorus of 'ooooh's' spread across the gym, and McKayla had to bite back her grin. This was gonna be so damn good. Jackson-Jason scoffed, almost offended that a girl of all people would dare to challenge him. “You serious?”

Mikasa didn’t even blink. She just gave him that signature look—the blank, slightly bored stare she always had before she utterly demolished someone. “You scared?”

That was all it took. A few guys from the team started hyping up the challenge like it was the biggest fight of the year, and before long, the two of them were squaring off in the center of the mat. The coach, who had long since learned to let Mikasa and McKayla prove their points with actions rather than words, just sighed and waved for them to start.

McKayla crouched near the edge of the mat, grinning in anticipation for this ass whooping Mikasa was about to serve. “Show him what happens when you run your mouth too much, Miki.”

The match started, and it was almost laughable how unprepared Jackson-Jason was. He lunged, sloppy and overconfident, and Mikasa sidestepped effortlessly. McKayla snickered with a shake of her head. Classic. Mikasa didn’t even let him get his footing again. In a blink, she hooked his leg, twisted her body, and sent him crashing onto the mat with a loud thud. The whole gym echoed with reactions—some cheers, some laughter, a few groans of sympathy.

McKayla whooped, clapping her hands and cheering louder than the rest. “That’s my girl!” Her eyes glistened with admiration and respect as she shot Mikasa a proud, knowing smile—one filled with commendation and the unspoken promise that, no matter what, they always had each other’s backs.

Jackson-Jason struggled beneath Mikasa, thrashing in an attempt to break free, but it was utterly pointless. Mikasa had him pinned with such precision and ease that he couldn’t even register what had happened. One moment, he was trying to look tough, and the next, he was flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling as Mikasa loomed over him. Her posture was perfect, her expression impassive. She wasn’t even breathing hard.

“Time?” Mikasa asked, looking toward McKayla with an unreadable glance, like she wasn’t even remotely impressed with the effort it had taken to subdue him. Her voice was steady, calm, as though she hadn’t just completely wiped the floor with someone twice her size. She didn't even break a damn sweat.

McKayla couldn't help but grin as she checked the clock and let out an exaggerated whistle. “Damn. Twenty-six seconds.” She turned back to the stunned crowd, dramatically sticking her hand out. “Pay up if you bet against her, dumbasses.”

Mikasa stood fluidly, the motion smooth as she readjusted her uniform, like she hadn’t just humiliated the guy in front of everyone. There was no swagger, no gloating or teasing—just a quiet calm that only made her more intimidating. Jackson-Jason, on the other hand, was still on the mat, groaning as he tried to catch his breath. His chest heaved up and down, each inhale ragged as if Mikasa had stolen the very air from his lungs.

McKayla’s grin only widened as she walked toward her, throwing an arm around Mikasa’s shoulders in a show of solidarity. The two of them were unstoppable together. “I swear,” McKayla muttered, shaking her head in mock disbelief, “one of these days they’ll learn.”

Mikasa’s lips quirked just the slightest, a hint of a smile that disappeared as quickly as it came. She hummed in agreement, her gaze never leaving the boys crowding around Jackson-Jason, their half-hearted attempts at offering sympathy more comical than helpful. “Doubt it,” Mikasa replied, voice flat but laced with an edge of amusement. She was so used to this—used to being underestimated, used to seeing the aftermath of her effortless victories. But the guys? They’d probably go right back to their cocky ways next practice, like nothing had happened at all.

After that, McKayla and Mikasa became inseparable. What had started as a bond of female solidarity had grown into something deeper—a flourishing friendship rooted in trust, shared experiences, and mutual respect. Mikasa, always the composed, serious one, slowly learned to loosen up around McKayla. McKayla, in turn, who had never backed down from a fight, began to think before acting—at least, sometimes. It wasn’t that she wasn’t still the same fiery spirit, but Mikasa’s calm demeanor had a way of making her think twice, especially when it came to their goals and ambitions.

Sleepovers quickly became a routine. First at McKayla’s, where the two of them would stay up late into the night, laughing about everything and nothing, practicing wrestling moves on each other until their ribs ached from laughing so hard. They were constantly getting caught by McKayla’s mom, who would yell at them to go to bed, but that never stopped them—they’d sneak under the covers and whisper more jokes until they both fell asleep.

Then, as their friendship deepened, the sleepovers moved to Mikasa’s place. And that’s when McKayla met Eren. At first, he wasn’t much of a concern. Just Mikasa’s annoying younger brother, a year younger than them. He was loud, brash, and always in trouble. McKayla would hear him in the background, a constant presence—always running his mouth, always trying to prove something, always starting some fight or another. It seemed like Eren was always sporting a scraped knee or a fresh bruise, the aftermath of some reckless stunt he’d pulled. He was the type of kid who thought he could take on the world with his fists—and, to his credit, sometimes it seemed like he could. But to McKayla, he was just an irritation. The kind of kid who was always there but never really mattered.

When they were younger, he was just a nuisance. He’d barge into Mikasa’s room when McKayla was over, demanding attention like he was the center of the universe in typical youngest brother fashion. Mikasa, ever the patient older sibling, would send him away with a few choice words, and he’d sulk in the hallway right outside of Mikasa's bedroom door, whining and complaining about how nobody took him seriously. He’d occasionally try to wrestle McKayla, all bigheaded with confidence and bravado, claiming he could take her down—but one quick move and she’d have him flipped onto the couch in seconds, laughing all the while. The whole thing was laughable. To McKayla, he was still just that scrawny little kid who didn’t have enough sense to stay out of trouble. And if there was one thing he was really good at, it was getting on McKayla’s nerves.

By high school, he’d gotten worse—cockier, reckless, even more irritating. And, of course, a complete and utter fuckboy. He had grown into his features, taller and sharper, no longer the scrawny kid she used to flick on the forehead. And worst of all? He knew it. He was aware of the effect he had on people. Especially the girls.

McKayla had watched him flirt with every girl he passed in the hallways, heard the whispers about him in between classes. He slung his arm around different girls at lunch, flashing that cocky, untouchable grin of his. A walking, talking red flag. The type of guy who seemed to think the world owed him everything, and the more he acted like it, the more girls seemed to fall for it. The kind of guy McKayla rolled her eyes at. But McKayla wasn’t impressed. She rolled her eyes at him every time he made his rounds, letting him think she didn’t see through the act. He wasn’t anything special. Just a spoiled, arrogant kid with a penchant for trouble.

Yet, no matter how irritating he got, he was still just… Eren. The one who had driven her crazy in their younger years, the one who had tried to wrestle her to the ground so many times she’d lost count. The one who, despite his annoying habits, was still just there. Mikasa's little brother. The kid she'd known forever.

Not that they ever had real conversations. Sure, they bickered every time she was over at Mikasa’s house, exchanging insults like it was a sport. Sure, he’d shoot her some smug remark when they passed each other in the halls, and she’d throw one right back. But that was just how it was.

That was just how it had always been.

Until it wasn’t.

₊˚⊹♡

It had been a year since high school graduation. One long, chaotic year. McKayla and Mikasa had both secured respective wrestling scholarships—different universities, but in the same city, just thirty minutes apart. At first, the distance didn’t seem like it would change anything. They promised to stay close, to visit often, to keep their friendship exactly as it had always been.

And for a while, they did. It started with meeting up every other day, sneaking off between classes to grab coffee or boba, ranting about professors, teammates, and the relentless grind of collegiate wrestling. But then, freshman year got hectic. Training schedules became grueling. Assignments piled up. Weekend visits turned into biweekly ones, then monthly ones. The rare moments they did spend together were sacred—long drives to meet in the middle of the city, late-night talks over FaceTime, and texts filled with inside jokes that still made them laugh even when they were buried under the stress of their new lives. Then, life did what it always did—it got in the way.

Their texts became less frequent, their calls sporadic, lasting hours when they finally found the time. And though their friendship never wavered—never could—McKayla hated it. Hated how someone who had been like a sister to her felt further and further away, even if, technically, nothing had changed. She understood, of course. This was growing up. But that didn’t mean she had to like it.

But luck, or fate if you'd like, soon worked out her wish. And it was all thanks to what brought them together in the first place, wrestling. The event was buzzing with energy—an annual collegiate wrestling banquet, packed with athletes, coaches, and sports journalists. It was supposed to be an honor to be invited, a chance to celebrate their hard work and achievements, but McKayla had almost skipped it entirely. She wasn’t in the mood to sit through hours of speeches and formalities, listening to old men in suits drone on about dedication and sportsmanship. But her coach had insisted, practically dragging her there.

And damn was she glad he did. Because across the banquet hall, seated at a round table surrounded by her teammates, was Mikasa. For a second, McKayla thought she was imagining things. It had been months since they’d last seen each other in person. They still talked, sure, but phone calls and texts weren’t the same as sitting shoulder to shoulder, as hearing Mikasa’s voice without a phone speaker distorting it. But the moment their eyes met across the room, something in McKayla’s chest tightened. It was like no time had passed.

“Holy shit,” McKayla muttered, pushing through the crowd before she even realized her feet were moving. Mikasa stood up just as McKayla reached her, and then suddenly, they were hugging. Tight, like they were afraid to let go.

“You look the same,” Mikasa murmured, but there was warmth in her voice, something softer than usual. If there was one person who could get Mikasa to crack that stoic shell of hers, it was McKayla.

McKayla let out a breathless laugh, pulling back just enough to get a good look at her. “Yeah, well, you look like you could still put me in a chokehold and make me tap out in ten seconds.”

Mikasa smirked. “Five.”

"Ahhh, don't get too cocky on me now, who won the last time we sparred," McKayla bubbles, tilting her head at Mikasa with that bright look in her eyes she always had.

Mikasa’s eyes narrowed. “That was one time.”

McKayla beamed, that same bright, teasing look in her eyes. “One time is all it takes to ruin your undefeated streak, Miki.”

Mikasa exhaled through her nose, a hint of a chuckle escaping—then, without warning, she tugged McKayla back in for another hug. "Ugh, I missed you," Mikasa smiles that rare smile of hers as she tightens her grip around McKayla's shoulders.

McKayla closed her eyes for a brief second, soaking in the familiarity of it all. “Missed you too.”

For the rest of the banquet, the world faded away. They sat together, half-listening to the speeches, throwing in sarcastic comments every time one of the coaches got a little too long-winded. They caught up on everything—training, school, teammates, about how weird it was not seeing each other every day, even the dumb, mundane things that didn’t really matter but felt important because they were saying them to each other. It was effortless, slipping back into this rhythm, like the months apart had been nothing more than a small pause in an ongoing conversation. Nothing else mattered at that point, not even the awards that the two had received, McKayla almost not hearing when her name was called out for her third award.

“McKayla!” Mikasa nudged her. “That’s you.”

“Oh—shit.”

Mikasa snorted as McKayla hurried up to the stage, accepting the award with an embarrassed grin. Honestly, the awards didn’t matter. Not really. The only thing that did was this moment—the realization that no matter how much life tried to pull them in different directions, they would always, always find their way back to each other.

At some point during the banquet, amidst the chatter of other athletes and the clinking of silverware, Mikasa took a sip of her drink and tilted her head slightly. Her expression was as indistinct as ever, but McKayla knew her well enough to sense when she was about to say something important.

“Hey, listen,” Mikasa started, setting her glass down. “My parents have the beach house for the summer, but they never use it. I was thinking about staying there.” She hesitated for half a second, just long enough for McKayla to catch the weight behind her next words. “Come with me.”

McKayla blinked, caught off guard. “For the summer?”

It wasn’t like the offer was absurd. She had been to the Jaegers’ beach house countless times throughout middle and high school. It had always been their escape—a sun-soaked haven where time seemed to slow down. Days spent on the pier, sticky fingers from melting waffle cones, salty ocean air tangled in their hair and the distant scent of cotton candy and funnel cake that seemed to always waft in the air. Nights spent lying on beach towels in the sand, counting stars, watching the occasional firework explode in the sky—usually lit by Eren, who would cackle like a maniac as he sprinted down the shore before anyone could scold him. The memories hit her all at once, warm and golden in her mind, and she realized how much she missed it.

Mikasa nodded, her now softening gaze steady, her lips pulling into a rare, almost nostalgic smile. “Yeah. We’ll train, we’ll relax… get back to how things used to be.”

There was something unspoken in her voice. Something that told McKayla this wasn’t just about a summer getaway—it was about them. About reclaiming the time that college life had stolen from them. About pressing pause on the chaos and remembering what it was like to just be.

A slow smile spread across McKayla’s lips, eyes crinkling behind her glasses. “You sure you can handle me for that long?”

Mikasa rolled her eyes, letting out a scoff of a laugh. “I’ve handled you for years.” It wasn’t even a question anymore. McKayla exhaled, the weight of everything—college stress, distance, time—momentarily lifting from her shoulders.

“Alright,” she grinned, her eyes softening as she met Mikasa’s gaze. “I’m in.”

₊˚⊹♡

During the weeks leading up to summer—those final, agonizing days before freedom from collegiate responsibilities and the promise of a peaceful escape at the Jaeger beach house—McKayla found herself in near-constant contact with Mikasa. Late-night facetimes stretched on for hours, the two of them curled up in their respective dorm rooms, half-watching cheesy romcoms while sharing every ridiculous thought that crossed their minds. Texts flooded in throughout the day—updates about classes, training sessions, and, of course, commentary on the cute guys at their schools. Voice memos were the best, though—breathless recordings filled with excited rambling about summer plans, sprinkled with laughter and inside jokes that hadn’t faded despite the time apart. For the first time in what felt like forever, it was like old times again.

McKayla had nearly forgotten what it was like to have Mikasa as a constant presence in her life—the effortless ease of their conversations, the way they could fall back into sync as if no time had passed. It made her all the more eager to get to the beach house, to spend an entire summer soaking in the familiarity of their friendship, to make up for lost time.

But amidst all the excitement, there was one minor detail Mikasa had conveniently left out. It wasn’t until three days before they were set to leave that she casually mentioned it over the phone.

“Oh, and Eren’s gonna be there too,” Mikasa mumbled, voice slightly muffled—probably because her mouth was full of granola.

McKayla froze mid-scroll through her packing list. “What?” She asks as if she hadn't heard correctly. She blinks once, twice as her jaw slacks open just a little.

“He’s staying at the house for part of the summer.” Mikasa’s voice was as nonchalant as ever, like this wasn’t a bombshell of information. “He said something about working at the marina, but who knows. He might just be there to cause trouble.” The last time McKayla had saw Eren was graduation, when he showed up to cheer his sister on, and dab smack both girls with hands full of shaving cream, laughing like an absolute menace as he bolted across the field.

McKayla groaned, rubbing a hand down her face. “Great. So much for a relaxing summer, huh? Now I gotta deal with the nuisance."

Mikasa snorted. “Just don’t let him get under your skin.” Mikasa, as much as she got annoyed by her younger brother, always found entertainment in the bickering between Eren and McKayla. She was glad he'd bother and annoy someone other than herself. it was like a shared burden.

McKayla scoffed. “He’s been getting under my skin since I was thirteen, Mikasa. Pretty sure it’s his life’s mission.”

And God, was that the truth. A flood of memories reeled through her mind—Eren hiding her glasses, tying her shoelaces together when she wasn’t looking, drawing on her face when she fell asleep during movie nights. The pranks. The relentless teasing. The way he always had that damn grin whenever he got a rise out of her.

She could practically hear Mikasa’s amused smile through the phone. “You’ll survive.” McKayla wasn’t so sure about that. Eren had always been the obnoxious little brother up until the very end. It made her dread seeing the boy again. Made her think of the last real conversation they had.

“You’re still wrestling, huh?” he mused one afternoon, leaning against the doorway of Mikasa’s room, arms crossed like he had nowhere better to be. His tone was casual, but there was always something else behind his words—something teasing, something challenging. “Kinda surprised you haven’t dropped it yet.”

McKayla sat on the edge of the bed, lacing up her sneakers, getting ready for the midday run she and Mikasa had planned to keep up their conditioning. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she muttered, not bothering to look up as she tugged the laces tight.

Eren shrugged, ever the picture of casual arrogance. “I dunno. Figured you’d get sick of rolling around on the mat with a bunch of sweaty guys by now.”

McKayla scoffed, finally looking up at him. There it was. That infuriating smirk, like he was waiting for her reaction. He was always waiting for her reaction. “Right," she deadpanned, "because you totally know what it’s like to have discipline and an actual work ethic.”

That should’ve shut him up. But, of course, it didn’t. Eren’s smirk widened like she’d just handed him an opening on a silver platter.

“I know what it’s like to have people under me,” he chuckled, voice dripping with that obnoxious confidence. “Same thing.”

McKayla’s brain short-circuited for exactly two seconds. Her fingers went slack against her shoe, her mouth parting slightly as she registered exactly what he was implying. Her jaw clenched, ready to snap back with something just as sharp, something that would wipe that self-satisfied look off his face—

But before she could get a word out, Mikasa’s voice cut through the air. Mikasa appeared at the doorway herself, huffing a little from the pushups she always did before her run. "Hurry your ass up, McKayla. We got some running to do."

And with that Eren just smirked and pushed himself off of the doorway, waltzing back to his bedroom, having felt some sense of weird accomplishment and satisfaction by leaving McKayla speechless like that.

₊˚⊹♡

The salty ocean breeze hit McKayla the second she stepped out of her car, the distant crash of waves mixing with the warm hum of cicadas in the trees. She stretched her arms over her head, groaning in relief after the long drive. The Jaegers' beach house stood just ahead, perched on the sandy dunes like something out of a postcard—familiar and nostalgic, yet still carrying the weight of summers past. All of the memories she made here alongside her best friend.

It had been years since she’d been here. Since late-night bonfires and sticky fingers from melted popsicles. Since her and Mikasa sneaking out to the pier and daring each other to jump into the cold water. Since Eren running around like a little shit, lighting fireworks in places he absolutely shouldn’t.

McKayla sighed, shaking her head with a small smile. It was going to be a good summer. A peaceful one. The sun was already radiating that golden warmth that made her want to sprawl out on the hammock in the front yard and let the ocean lull her to sleep.

She grabbed her bags from the car and made her way up the wooden steps to the house, the screen door creaking as she pushed it open. The air inside was cool, carrying the faint scent of sunscreen and sea salt. That familiar and nostalgic scent she had always loved about the place. She expected to find Mikasa waiting for her, maybe already setting up in the kitchen or lounging on the couch.

Instead, she was met with something else. Or rather—someone else.

Eren Jaeger. Shirtless. And dripping wet.

“What the—” McKayla nearly dropped her bag as Eren came strolling in from the back deck, a beach towel draped lazily around his shoulders, chocolate brown hair damp and curling at the ends. His dark sage colored eyes flickered up at her, and then, as if it had been perfectly rehearsed, that mischievous grin tugged at his lips.

“Well, well,” he drawled, voice way deeper than she remembered. “Look who finally decided to show up.”

McKayla’s entire body tensed as she pinched the bridge of her nose like a sudden headache had appeared. “No. No way.” She turned toward the door shaking her head, already regretting everything. “Mikasa didn’t say you’d be here yet.”

Eren leaned casually against the kitchen counter, completely unbothered. “Didn’t know I needed to run my schedule by my sister or you, McKayla.” He lifted a brow, the corner of his mouth pulling up into half of a smirk. “What, you missed me or something?”

She groaned, walking past him to drop her bags in the living room. “Yeah, like I miss food poisoning.” Rolling her eyes so hard it almost strains them.

Eren chuckled, rubbing the towel through his hair before tossing it over one of the kitchen chairs. “Damn. You wound me.”

McKayla huffed, crossing her arms as she turned back to him. “Just stay out of my way, Jaeger.”

Eren simply smirked, “Can’t make any promises, sweetheart.”

McKayla rolled her eyes once more, collapsing onto the recliner with a dramatic sigh. She was exhausted from the drive, and now she had to deal with this. It was bad enough when he was younger, but now? Now he was taller, like half a foot taller, and had somehow grown into all that dumb confidence he used to throw around. And worse—he still knew exactly how to get under her skin.

“You staying the whole summer?” she asked, already bracing for the answer.

Eren stretched, the muscles in his back shifting as he walked toward the fridge. “Most of it,” he replied, grabbing a beer and popping the cap off with his thumb. “Gotta make sure you don’t get too bored, right?” Waltzing back to the couch, he throws himself on it, kicking his feet up. McKayla exhaled sharply through her nose. This summer was going to be hell.

Just don't let him get under your skin. Mikasa's words ring through her head, making her tenseness relax just a tiny bit. If Eren planned on being a nuisance, she was going to be one right back. Eyeing him sipping a beer, she forms a smirk of her own. "Are you even old enough to be drinking?"

Eren’s lips were already around the bottle when she spoke, and he froze for just a second before lowering it with an incredulous scoff. His dark sage green eyes flicked to hers, surprise and a hint of amusement glinting in them.

“Cute,” he said, tilting the bottle toward her in a mock toast before taking another swig. “I’m twenty, McKayla. Not a kid anymore.”

Setting her feet up on the edge of the coffee table, she crosses her arms. “Funny, you still act like one.”

Eren let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he stretched out on the couch like he owned the place. “And you still act like you’ve got a stick up your ass.”

McKayla exhaled sharply, settling deeper into the recliner as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Yeah, well, maybe if you weren’t so damn insufferable, I’d loosen up,” she shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Eren’s smirk only widened, his sharp green eyes gleaming with something infuriatingly smug. He leaned in just slightly, resting his forearm on his knee as he watched her with the kind of confidence that made her want to smack him. “Oh?” he mused, his voice dropping just enough to make the air between them feel heavier. “So you just need the right person to loosen you up? Say the word, sweetheart, I’d be happy to help.”

McKayla’s stomach did a strange little flip at the huskiness in his voice, but she immediately smothered it beneath a thick layer of annoyance. She rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. “You’re disgusting,” she muttered, shaking her head as she fixed her gaze anywhere but on the way his lips curled up at the edges.

Eren let out a low, amused chuckle, leaning back against the couch with the easy kind of confidence that came from knowing exactly how to get under her skin. He propped his beer bottle on his knee, studying her like he had all the time in the world. “You missed me.”

McKayla scoffed, lifting a brow as she met his gaze. “Like a hole in the head.” She put two fingers up to her temple, flicking her thumb as if setting a gun in motion.

Eren hummed as if considering her answer, but the cocky glint in his eyes told her he didn’t believe her for a damn second. He took another slow sip of his beer, hooded gaze still lazily fixed on her. “Mikasa said you’ve been busy,” he commented, feigning casual interest. “School. Wrestling. College boys.”

McKayla narrowed her eyes slightly at that last part, noting the way he tossed it in so effortlessly, like he wasn’t fishing for a reaction. She leaned back in the chair, tilting her head as she met his gaze. “Why do you care?”

Eren shrugged, a lazy grin playing at his lips as he rolled the bottle between his fingers. “I don’t.”

McKayla snorted, shaking her head. Classic Eren—always keeping things at arm’s length, never letting anything get too deep. It was honestly impressive how committed he was to being a perpetual pain in the ass.

She stretched her legs out, flexing her sore muscles from the long drive. “So, what’s your plan this summer?” she asked, keeping her tone neutral. “Besides being a menace to society.”

Eren tipped his head toward the open patio doors, where the sky was bleeding gold and pink over the endless stretch of ocean. “Got a job at the marina,” he said, his voice a little smoother now, a little more casual. “Fixing boats, renting jet skis, shit like that. Pays decent.”

McKayla blinked, momentarily caught off guard. That… actually sounded like responsibility. Effort. Growth.

“You?” she blurted out before she could stop herself. She quickly narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion. “Working an actual job?”

Eren’s smirk returned, full force. “Surprised?”

“Shocked,” she corrected, pressing a hand to her chest in exaggerated disbelief. “Who are you, and what have you done with Eren?”

Eren let out a low chuckle, clearly enjoying this far too much. He took a slow sip of his beer before dragging his gaze down her, lingering in a way that made heat prickle at the back of her neck before finally meeting her eyes again. “Still me, sweetheart,” he murmured. His voice was smooth, confident, and entirely too self-satisfied. “Just older. Smarter. Hotter.”

McKayla clenched her jaw as she fought the ridiculous warmth rising in her chest. She scoffed, crossing her arms tighter over herself like that would somehow deflect the way his voice had sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine. “Still full of yourself, I see.”

Eren tilted his head, considering her for half a second before flashing a grin that was all teeth and trouble. “And yet, you’re still sitting here,” he pointed out with a tilt of his beer bottle, his voice teasing. “Talking to me.”

McKayla let out a long, slow and exaggerated breath through her nose, pressing her fingers to her temples like he was physically giving her a headache. She abruptly pushed herself up from the recliner, already done with this conversation. “I’m going to unpack and wait for Mikasa before I walk off the pier into the ocean to get away from your insufferable ass.”

Eren chuckled, watching her with childish amusement as she stormed toward the hallway. “Try not to miss me too much, McKayla,” he called after her.

Without looking back, she lifted her hand and flipped him off over her shoulder. "Fuck off, Eren." Eren’s laughter followed her all the way down the hall, low and smug, the sound settling under her skin like an itch she couldn’t scratch.

McKayla clenched her jaw as she pushed open the door to the guest room she always claimed, tossing her bag onto the bed with a little more force than necessary. God, it had been less than an hour, and he was already driving her insane. It wasn’t just that he was still cocky—she’d expected that. It was the way he wielded it now, all smooth charm and easy confidence, like he knew exactly how to push her buttons. Like he knew how to get in her head in a way he never had before.

Because he was different. And she hated how she noticed it too. Noticed the way he’d filled out, how his shoulders were broader than they used to be. Noticing the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his hair fell in messy strands around his face when he pushed it back. Noticing the way his voice had settled into something deeper. Still an absolute pain in her ass, but somehow worse now that he wasn’t just the annoying little brother of her best friend.

It was fucking annoying. And yet, it was hard to ignore. She tried. She really did. She sighed, raking a hand through her hair before flopping onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. Maybe if she just ignored him, he’d get bored and find someone else to bother. Yeah, right. Eren Jaeger didn’t get bored of things that entertained him. And unfortunately, she’d always been his favorite pastime.

The sound of tires crunching over the gravel driveway pulled McKayla from her thoughts. She sat up, glancing toward the opened window just as a familiar black SUV rolled into the driveway. Finally. A rush of relief washed over her as she hopped off the bed, eager for the one person who could make Eren’s presence more bearable. She didn’t even wait for Mikasa to make it to the front door before yanking it open and stepping onto the porch.

Mikasa climbed out of the driver’s seat, looking effortlessly cool as always in a pair of denim shorts and a cropped black tank that showed off the belly piercing McKayla had given her at one of their sleepovers junior year. Her dark hair was still cut to its infamous choppy bob, although now crimped and wavier, a pair of sunglasses perched on top of her head. The moment she spotted McKayla, that rare, soft smile tugged at her lips.

“Took you long enough,” McKayla teased, stepping down the creaky wooden steps to meet her, gravel shifting under her sandals.

Mikasa rolled her eyes fondly before pulling her into a firm hug. “Traffic,” she murmured against her shoulder, squeezing once before pulling back. “You made it in one piece?”

“Barely,” McKayla deadpanned, jerking a thumb toward the house. “No thanks to your idiot brother.”

Mikasa’s gaze flicked over McKayla’s shoulder toward the open door. “He’s here already?” Mikasa was a tad bit shocked, her brother was never one to show up on time. Like at all.

McKayla nodded grimly. “And he’s somehow even more annoying now.”

Mikasa exhaled a soft laugh through her nose, shaking her head as she grabbed a duffel bag from the trunk. “Guess some things never change.” Before McKayla could respond, the screen door creaked open behind her.

“Is that my big sister?” Eren’s voice was drenched in playful annoyance, and when McKayla turned, she saw him leaning against the doorframe, that same damn smirk on his face. He’d thrown on a shirt at some point—black and fitted, maybe a little too fitted—but his hair was still damp, a few strands sticking to his forehead.

Mikasa’s expression remained neutral as she grabbed another bag and walked past McKayla toward the porch. “Eren,” she greeted flatly.

Eren pushed off the doorframe, arms stretching above his head as his tall self held onto the top of the doorframe. McKayla was right, it was just a little too fitted of a shirt, with the tee riding up to show a now prominent v-line. “Missed you too, sis.”

McKayla swore she saw Mikasa’s lips twitch, just slightly, before she brushed past him into the house. Eren’s gaze flicked to McKayla then, full of barely contained mischief.

“Glad to see you didn’t actually throw yourself off the pier,” he teased as he grabbed one of Mikasa's dozens of bags.

McKayla narrowed her eyes at him, picking up some grocery bags Mikasa had brought. “The summer’s still young.” Eren just chuckled, shaking his head before following Mikasa inside. McKayla sighed, trailing behind them. At least with Mikasa here, she wouldn’t have to suffer alone. Hopefully. Although the air instantly felt a little lighter now that she wasn’t alone with Eren’s insufferable ass.

Mikasa had already started unpacking in the kitchen, pulling out snacks and drinks from her bag like she was preparing for a long haul. McKayla leaned against the counter, watching as she meticulously arranged things in the cabinets. There was one thing about Mikasa, she liked things in a certain order that no one dared to mess up.

“Please tell me you brought alcohol,” McKayla said, only half-joking. Actually no, she wasn't joking. She knew she'd need some type of drink to mellow her out before Eren started to irritate her again. Nothing extreme, but just something to settle her nerves that Eren was surely going to get on at one point or another.

Mikasa didn’t even look up as she smirked. “Did you really think I’d show up empty-handed?” She reached into one of the bags and pulled out a bottle of vodka, setting it on the counter with a quiet but heavy clink.

McKayla sighed dramatically, a dreamy tone to her voice. “This is why you’re my favorite.” She wasn't much of a drinker, not at all really, but McKayla didn't mind taking a shot or two with her best friend. She just,,. knew her limits after one sleepover senior year where they 'practiced' getting drunk for parties. The hangover next day was not worth it in the end.

“I thought I was your favorite,” Eren chimed in from the living room, scrolling through his phone with a blue raspberry otter pop hanging from his teeth. McKayla could hear the slurps he was making as he tried to suck all of the juice from the plastic tube. Turning her head just enough to glare at him over her shoulder. He was sprawled out on the couch, long legs kicked up on the coffee table like he didn’t have a care in the world. Which he never did, honestly.

“You thought wrong,” she shot back, pushing her eyebrows together in faux annoyance. It did soften her up a bit to see that he still ate his otter pops the same back before he actually turned into a nuisance. Back when he was just Mikasa's little brother who liked to be included in whatever the two girls did.

Eren pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense as he sat up. “Harsh, sweetheart.” Then she got brought back to the realization that Eren Jaeger was now a pain in the ass.

Mikasa, unfazed as ever, merely grabbed three shot glasses from the cabinet and set them on the counter. “You two haven’t changed at all,” she muttered.

McKayla huffed, brushing her curls out of her face. “Tell that to him.” She nods towards Eren, who was still trying to finish his popsicle.

Eren grinned as he made his way to where the girls stood against the kitchen island. “What can I say? I like keeping things interesting.”

"More like keeping things annoying," McKayla muttered as she rolled her eyes for the umpteenth time.

Mikasa ignored both of them, pouring out three shots before sliding one in McKayla’s direction and another toward Eren. “Truce,” she said simply, raising her own glass.

McKayla eyed Eren warily, as if even agreeing to this would somehow give him the upper hand. His glossed eyes met hers across the kitchen island, and for once, there wasn’t anything cocky in his expression. Just something calm, something that made her stomach flip before she could stomp the feeling down. It felt fucking unusual.

“Truce,” Eren said easily, lifting his glass that seemed to look tiny in his large hands.

McKayla sighed, rolling her eyes one last time before finally relenting. “Fine. Truce.”

They clinked their glasses together before tossing back the shots. The vodka burned on the way down, sharp and warm with the same taste she hated, but McKayla welcomed the distraction. Maybe it would make those weird feelings in her stomach go away.

Eren set his glass down first, his tongue darting out to swipe a stray drop from his lip. “Now that that’s settled,” he said, flashing his signature pearly grin, “who’s ready to hit the beach?”

The vodka sat warm in McKayla’s stomach as the three of them made their way down to the beach, the sun hanging low in the sky, the clear blue of the sunny daytime turning into swirls of orange and purples over the waves. The sand was soft and familiar beneath her bare feet, the distant sound of seagulls mixing with the rhythmic lulling crash of the ocean.

Mikasa walked ahead, her expression as stoic as ever, while Eren strolled beside McKayla, far too comfortable in his own skin. He had changed into a loose tank top and board shorts, the fabric of his shirt hanging low enough to hint at the defined muscles underneath. McKayla hated that she noticed. Like really hated it. She inhaled deeply, focusing on the nostalgia of the beach instead of the way too grown-up version of Eren walking beside her.

“I bet you’ve missed this,” Mikasa said, looking back at McKayla as she tilted her face toward the sky, inhaling deeply as the salty breeze lifted strands of her dark hair. The air was still warm, the breeze blanketing them with a soft gust of heat.

McKayla followed her lead, taking a deep breath, letting the familiar scent of the ocean settle something restless inside her. “Yeah, I have,” she admitted, her lips curving into a small, wistful smile. “It’s been too long.” Things looked so different but still the same. The palm trees still held the blue hammock but looked old and tilted. The neighbor's beach house had changed color, now a washed yellow instead of blue. But the beach was still the beach, still the same sand her and Mikasa would chase each other through.

The sound of sand shifting behind her was the only warning before Eren nudged her elbow with his own, just hard enough to be irritating. “Admit it,” he drawled in a low voice, just low enough for her alone to hear, mischief dancing in his sea green eyes. “You missed me too.”

McKayla didn’t bother looking at him. Instead, she swatted his arm away without hesitation, her fingers briefly grazing the warmth of his skin. “Didn’t we call a truce?” she reminded him, arching a brow as her glasses lowered just a bit. “You’re already breaking it.”

Eren’s low chuckle vibrated in his chest as he ran a hand through his slightly damp hair, tousling the dark brown strands. He looked every bit the troublemaker she remembered—only now it was laced with confidence, less reckless, and more knowing. “What’s a truce without a little fun?” he mused, smirking as if he knew exactly how to get under her skin in a different way than he used to.

McKayla gave him a sidelong glance, narrowing her eyes. “Fun for who?” The warm summer breeze fanned through her hair, dark cinnamon curls swirling around her tan skin.

Eren’s smirk deepened, his voice dropping just enough to make her stomach clench. “Me, mostly.”

She groaned, picking up her pace to put some distance between them, but he just fell into step beside her again, effortlessly keeping up. His presence was an annoying heat at her side, his smug energy practically radiating off him. Mikasa, ever the silent observer, simply shook her head, barely hiding her amusement. With a small smirk ghosting her lips, she veered off toward the water, her hands slipping into the pockets of her hoodie.

The shoreline stretched endlessly before them, the waves rolling in with lazy repeated ease, their white froth dissolving into the wet sand. The ocean smelled exactly the same—salt, sun, and something faintly like lush greenery, like a nostalgic memory brought back to life. Mikasa was the first to step forward, wading into the water until the cool foam curled around her ankles. She stood still, watching the horizon as if lost in thought, the sea breeze teasing loose strands of her chopped dark hair.

McKayla lingered just at the edge, the damp sand molding around her bare feet, pulling her deeper into the earth with each passing wave. A slow exhale left her lips. It really had been too long since she’d been here—since things had felt this simple, this easy. No looming assignments, no stress, no expectations. Just the sound of the water and the weight of familiarity settling over her like a well-worn hoodie.

Then, just as she was about to close her eyes and soak in the moment—a pair of strong arms hooked around her waist. McKayla barely had time to yelp before she was lifted clean off her feet, her stomach flipping as the world tilted.

“Eren— don’t you dare—”

Too late.

With a wicked laugh, Eren swung her around once before tossing her straight into the ocean. The cold water swallowed her whole, shocking her system as she hit the surface with a loud splash. For a split second, all she could hear was the muffled rush of the waves around her, the sting of saltwater in her nose. Then, with a sputtering gasp, McKayla broke through the surface, hair slicked against her face, water dripping from her lashes. The moment her senses realigned she heard it—bellowing laughter. Eren was laughing.

Doubling over, hands on his knees, completely unbothered by the absolute rage building in McKayla’s chest. His laughter rang loud and unrestrained, full of pure, unrepentant joy. The kind of laugh that made it painfully obvious he had no regrets. Not in the slighest. Ohh was he gonna regret it alright.

McKayla’s chest rose and fell, her fingers twitching at her sides as fury built, hot and unchecked. She shoved her soaked hair back, her glare cutting straight through him like a blade. Her glasses were now covered in water droplets, streaking down and leaving her vision muddled. Taking them off, she tried to clean them as best she could, but wiping them against her drenched bathing suit had barely helped.

“Oh, you’re dead,” she gritted her teeth, shoving her water splotched glasses back onto her face as she started to trudge through the heavy waves of the water.

Eren barely had time to register the threat before his instincts kicked in. One glance at her expression—murderous, determined, downright vengeful—and he was already moving. He already knew McKayla could kick his ass if she really wanted to. Eren took one look at her furious expression and bolted.

McKayla surged out of the water, sprinting after him with all the speed she had built up from years of Muy Thai and MMA. The sand gave slightly beneath her feet, slowing her just enough to make the chase frustrating, but Eren was quick, damn his long ass legs.

A few strides ahead, he glanced back over his shoulder, his grin infuriatingly smug. “Gotta be faster than that, sweetheart,” he called, his voice infuriatingly light, the taunting only fueling McKayla even more. McKayla’s entire body burned—not just from exertion, but from sheer, blistering indignation. And saltwater.

Mikasa, standing off to the side like a spectator at a sporting event, watched the scene unfold with the barest hint of amusement. She made no move to interfere. She never did when it came to Eren and McKayla's bickering. It was all too entertaining for her.

McKayla dug her heels into the sand, her muscles coiling like a spring before she exploded forward. The years of training, of drilling takedowns and footwork into muscle memory, kicked in effortlessly. Eren was quick for sure, his strides long and fluid, but McKayla had something he didn’t—precision and practice. He was running on pure instinct, dodging around driftwood and patches of uneven sand, but she was calculating every step, reading his movements like a predator tracking its prey.

And just as he dared to glance back again—she pounced. McKayla lunged, her fingers curling into the back of his shirt as she tackled him with full force. A startled grunt escaped Eren as his balance shattered, his feet slipping out from under him. For a split second, they were weightless—then they hit the sand in a tangled heap, rolling from the momentum.

Eren twisted at the last second, his muscles straining as he tried to recover, but McKayla was already a step ahead. Her movements were swift and precise, honed from years of experience, and before he could counter, she had him pinned. She straddled his waist, knees digging into the sand on either side of his hips, her palms pressing into his chest. Her breath came in short, exhilarated bursts, her chest rising and falling as she grinned down at him, triumphant. The wind whipped through her damp hair, curly strands sticking to her flushed cheeks, but she didn’t care.

“Gotcha,” she panted, her voice laced with sweet satisfaction.

Eren blinked up at her, his chest rising and falling beneath her palms. For the first time, he actually looked a little impressed—though, of course, he’d never admit it.

“That was a cheap shot,” he huffed, but the grin playing on his lips gave him away.

McKayla raised an eyebrow, still catching her breath. “You threw me into the ocean, Jaeger.”

“Fair point,” he smiled up at her as he tilted his head back into the sand.

Before she could react, his hands shot up, fingers gripping her waist with startling ease. And in one swift but sloppy motion, he flipped them, rolling her onto her back as his body caged hers against the sand.

McKayla gasped, the sudden shift stealing the air from her lungs. The coarse grains of sand clung to her damp skin, the cool evening breeze sending a shiver down her spine. Eren’s weight settled over her, not crushing but present—just enough to keep her in place, just enough to make her heartbeat stutter.

His face hovered inches above hers, close enough that she could see the tiny droplets of sweat clinging to his forehead, the way his dark hair curled slightly at the ends from the saltwater. A single bead of sweat traced a slow, deliberate path down the sharp edge of his cheekbone, disappearing beneath his jaw. The teasing look in his eyes softened, something deeper threading beneath the playful mischief—something that made her pulse drum a little harder against her chest. McKayla swallowed hard, heat rising to her face despite the cool ocean air. The tension between them shifted—still playful, but heavier now, laced with something neither of them acknowledged out loud.

Eren’s lips twitched into a side smile. “Still think you’ve got me?”

McKayla smirked, masking the way her stomach clenched at the huskiness in his voice. She didn’t give herself time to think—hesitation had never been her strong suit. With a quick, calculated shift of her hips, she tightened her legs around his waist and twisted, using his own momentum against him. Eren barely had time to grunt in surprise before he was flat on his back again, arms splayed out, McKayla victorious above him once more.

Eren groaned, dragging a hand through his salt-soaked hair before letting his head fall back against the sand. “I hate that you’re better at this than me.”

She let out a breathless, triumphant laugh, her hands braced on his chest once again. “Maybe don’t pick fights you can’t win.”

His eyes flickered over her face, lingering just a beat too long. Then, with a slow, lazy smirk, he drawled, “Wanna bet?”

McKayla’s stomach flipped. It was something in the way that he said those words that made her brain short circuit for a moment. McKayla didn’t have time to think before Eren moved again. One second, he was flat on his back, looking every bit like he had accepted his defeat, and the next, he surged up, twisting their bodies so fast that McKayla barely had time to register the shift before she was on her back again, grainy sand pressing into her shoulders.

Eren grinned down at her, breathless but undeniably smug. “See? I can win.”

McKayla narrowed her eyes, her chest rising and falling in uneven beats as she studied him. His hair was still damp from the ocean now mixed with the sweat from his exhaustion, messy strands clinging to his forehead, and the way the early moonlight caught in his eyes made them look impossibly bright.

“Pretty sure I took you down first,” she shot back, voice laced with defiance.

Eren’s smirk deepened. “Pretty sure I just flipped you again.” His voice was low, a teasing edge curling around the words, but there was something else beneath the bravado—something indecipherable in the way his gaze flickered over her face, then lower, down to her parted lips, lingering for just a second too long before snapping back up. The weight of him above her was impossible to ignore. Neither of them moved.

The waves crashed somewhere behind them, the salty breeze cooling the heat between their bodies, but McKayla barely noticed. Because suddenly, all she could focus on was how close he was. How she could feel the rise and fall of his chest against hers, the lingering warmth of his hands where they had grabbed at her waist, the sharp contrast of his body heat against the cool sand beneath her.

His gaze dipped again, lower this time, trailing down the column of her throat before settling on her mouth. McKayla’s breath caught in her throat. Eren wasn’t laughing anymore. Instead, he was deep in thought, his fern green eyes grazing over her in a way she had never seen him do before. Her pulse pounded in her ears, her fingers twitching against the sand, torn between shoving him off and pulling him closer.

And then—

“Are you two done?”

Mikasa’s voice cut through the moment like a knife, cool and unimpressed like it always is. It knocked the two of them out of whatever trance they were just consumed in. McKayla jolted like she’d been electrocuted, pulse lurching as reality crashed back into her like a wave. Eren blinked, his expression shifting so fast it almost gave her whiplash—gone was the quiet intensity, replaced with something more familiar. Cocky. Amused. Infuriatingly casual.

“Enjoying the view, Mikasa?” he shot back smoothly, eyes still glued to McKayla and making no move to get off her, his smirk downright insufferable as he kept McKayla pinned beneath him.

McKayla groaned, planting both hands against his chest and shoving hard. “Get off, idiot.”

Eren let her push him away this time, rolling onto his back with a low chuckle, arms stretching lazily behind his head like he hadn’t just been a second away from—what? Kissing her?

McKayla pushed herself up, brushing sand off her damp skin, her heart still hammering harder than she wanted to admit. She stole a quick glance at Eren, but he was already smirking at her again, like he knew exactly what she was thinking. And that only made her want to tackle him again.

Mikasa sighed, stepping closer, arms crossed over her chest in that way that meant her patience was running thin. “You’re both ridiculous.”

Eren grinned up at his sister. “Yeah, but at least I’m winning.”

McKayla scoffed, pushing herself to her feet and shaking out her hair before fixing him with a challenging look. “Winning what, exactly? Because I’m pretty sure you ran like a little bitch before I caught you.” Eren’s smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second—so brief that most people wouldn’t have noticed. But McKayla did.

Mikasa exhaled slowly, the universal sign of her tolerance wearing dangerously thin. “Can we go eat now, or do you two need to roll around in the sand a little longer?” She lifted a finger, doing a little twirl of a circle at the two.

McKayla’s stomach growled before she could form a comeback, the traitorous sound making Eren snicker. With a dramatic sigh, she shot him one last glare before turning toward the beach house. “Fine. But this isn’t over, Jaeger.”

Eren let out a low chuckle, standing up and dusting the sand off his abs—abs that McKayla pointedly did not look at. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.”

She flipped him off over her shoulder as she turned to head back to the beach house. McKayla felt Eren’s eyes on her as she walked away, the weight of his gaze making the back of her neck tingle. She kept her pace steady, refusing to acknowledge the way her heart had picked up speed. She’d gotten under his skin today—that was clear. But for some reason, it felt different this time. The usual irritation she felt toward him was mixed with something else... something she wasn’t ready to name or even acknowledge.

Mikasa walked beside her, nonchalant as always, though the faintest curve of her lips suggested she’d noticed the shift. "Had fun rolling in the sand with my brother?" Mikasa's eyes flitted back to Eren, who was trailing behind as he kicked the sand with each apathetic step.

McKayla, whose head was turned toward the wavering ocean, widened her eyes. She blinked an unamused expression onto her face before she turned to Mikasa. "Oh totally," she started, her voice laced with sarcasm, "I loved spending my first day back being tossed into freezing water then being wrestled into the sand. Perfect start to my summer." A bubbly chuckle left her chest as she nudged Mikasa with her shoulder.

"Mmm I can tell, sure seemed like it when you stayed pinned under him. I know you coulda got out of it sooner than you did," Mikasa's eyes sweep over McKayla. She knew McKayla was going easy on her brother, Eren was strong, sure, but Mikasa knew McKayla had enough power and experience under her belt to have gotten out of the situation.

All McKayla could do was scoff and roll her eyes. "Don't even joke like that, Mik. You're gonna make me gag." A pointed finger went up to her mouth as she stuck her tongue out and pretended to vomit. McKayla’s fake gagging noise did little to deter the knowing look in Mikasa’s eyes. She didn’t push it, though, just shook her head with the smallest smirk as they reached the back deck of the beach house.

The old wooden steps of the deck creak as the girls make their way up, the cool evening breeze rolling in with each crash of the ocean waves. McKayla shook out her damp hair, still brushing stubborn grains of sand off her arms. Behind them, Eren followed at a leisurely pace, dragging his fingers through his unruly hair as if he wasn’t the reason she looked like she’d just survived a natural disaster. Mikasa opened the sliding glass door and stepped inside first, heading straight for the kitchen like she hadn’t just witnessed her best friend nearly combust under her brother.

McKayla trailed behind, resisting the urge to glance back at Eren again. She could still feel the weight of his body against hers, the heat that had coiled low in her stomach when his gaze lingered a second too long. The whole thing had been stupid. Just another round of their never-ending battle. So why did she feel so rattled?

As she entered the kitchen, she beelined for the fridge, the cool air washing over her flushed skin as she grabbed a water bottle. Twisting off the cap, she took a long sip, trying to drown the lingering heat in her chest. Trying to drown any unneeded thoughts or feelings that involved her best friend's younger brother. That involved Eren.

Eren leaned back against the counter a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, looking far too smug for someone who’d lost their little wrestling match. “What, no victory speech?” he teased, tilting his head.

McKayla lowered the water bottle, narrowing her eyes. “Please. You don’t deserve one after that cheap move at the end.”

“Cheap?” He placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. “That was pure skill, sweetheart.” Skill? That's what he wanted to call it? McKayla snorted, almost choking on some water as she let out her sarcastic laugh.

Mikasa, who had been rummaging through the cabinets, turned back toward them, with a disinterested arch of her brow. “If you two are gonna keep flirting, at least do it quietly.”

McKayla spluttered and coughed, shaking her head. “We’re not—”

“—not flirting,” Eren finished at the same time, but his voice was laced with laughter and enjoyment, like he wasn’t even trying to deny it. Like it was something he liked to entertain the idea of.

Mikasa just sighed and grabbed a bowl of leftover fruit salad from the fridge. “Uh huh. Anyway, I’m taking this upstairs. Don’t kill each other.”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving McKayla alone with Eren in the dimly lit kitchen. The silence stretched between them; you could almost hear crickets it was so quiet. The air felt heavier now, the only sounds coming from the distant crash of waves and the hum of the refrigerator, which for some reason sounded louder than it did when Mikasa was in the kitchen with them. McKayla swallowed, her pulse doing an annoying little stutter as she finally looked at him—really looked at him.

His skin was still kissed by salt and sun, all golden and tan. The angles of his face looking sharper in the soft glow of the kitchen's amber lighting. Hair shaggy and messy in a way that suited his boyishness. His lips were parted slightly, like he had something to say but hadn’t decided if it was worth saying.

McKayla exhaled sharply, finally breaking the way too awkward silence that sat between them, shoving the bottle onto the counter with more force than necessary. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Eren smiled, eyes moving from his fidgeting hands up to McKayla's exasperated expression. “Yeah?”

She rolled her eyes, irritably tapping the counter with an annoyed smile on her face. “Yeah.” It honestly made her sick to her stomach that someone she found so annoying, so irritating could make her have butterflies. Of all people to give her butterflies it had to be Eren freaking Jaeger.

He pushed off the counter then, closing the space between them in two slow, deliberate steps. McKayla’s breath hitched, her back bumping against the edge of the island as he stopped just in front of her. Too close. Or maybe not close enough.

“You gonna tackle me again?” he murmured, voice lower now, laced with that familiar teasing tone, underlying with something McKayla couldn't quite place her finger on. Although Eren wasn't wearing that usual cocky smirk of his, his face looked serious, and if McKayla wasn't too focused on the way her heart was literally trying to thump its way out of her chest, she'd see the hidden look of need that his eyes held.

McKayla lifted her chin, refusing to back down. Refusing to let herself feel whatever the hell it was she felt in her chest. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

His smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second. Then his eyes flickered down—to her lips, lingering there like he was weighing a decision. And then, before she could process it, before she could even think about stopping it—Eren leaned in.

It wasn’t hesitant or unsure. It was the kind of kiss that had been threatening to happen for far too long, a collision of frustration and curiosity, of something unspoken finally breaking free. Years of unrealized pining and hidden feelings that had formed into angst. His lips brushed against hers once, then again, firmer this time, testing the waters. And when McKayla didn’t pull away—when she exhaled against his mouth like she’d been holding her breath all night and had finally felt relief—Eren pressed in, his hands bracing against the counter on either side of her, caging her in.

McKayla’s fingers twitched against the cool surface behind her. She should push him away. She should remind him that this was a bad idea, that they were nothing but bad timing and bickering and unresolved tension wrapped in pretty packaging. But then he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and every rational thought she had unraveled like sand slipping through her fingers. Her hands found his waist, then the planes of his back, fingers curling slightly as she kissed him back, matching his intensity as she finally gave in and melted into the moment. The warmth of his skin under her fingertips sent a slow, burning heat curling through her veins.

Eren made a quiet sound in the back of his throat, something between satisfaction and surprise, and it sent a sharp thrill through McKayla’s chest. He hadn’t expected her to kiss him back like this. Good, keep him on his toes. She pulled away first, breathless, her heart hammering so hard she was sure he could hear it. For a moment, they just stared at each other, caught in the aftermath of whatever the hell had just happened.

Then, Eren’s lips curved into a slow, crooked grin. “Told you I could win.”

McKayla let out a breathless laugh, shoving him in the chest. He was back to being old Eren. “Shut up.” But her fingers lingered against his skin for just a second too long before she forced herself to step away. And Eren noticed. He always did.

[animamii]

THE PEOPLE YEARN FOR MORE HS SWEETHEART EREN AHHH <33

trustttt the next part is coming soon!! xx I didn't know people would like it that muchh lol!! There is a part 1 and 2 that come before junior year if y'all liked that one. part one is here and part two is here!!

[animamii]

omgeezyyy I'm writing the cutest commission piece right now and I luvvv it!!!! likeeee its just muahhh! 💋💋