#even if it's minimal i know deep inside it actually means a lot

[winterrrnight]

bsf!Rafe who for once gets jealous and annoyed, and it's reader's time to remind him he's still reader's favorite boy

I adore your mind anon 😭😭 jealousy is such a pretty color on rafe <3 this is fr my favourite pairing to write for at the moment so I’m literally always and forever willing to discuss thoughts on them!! <3

bsf!rafe who gets sad jealous when he sees some other guy flirt with you… <3 listen to babydoll by ari abdul, cause rafe calls reader babydoll hehe <3 cw: suggestive content (no actual smut): intimacy, tension and neck kissing, rafe gets jealous, minimal swearing, rafe calls reader babydoll once, reader is a no bullshit taking kind of person, alcohol consumption <3 for @chenslucy (I love love love you heaps anna 💚)

part of this little universe <3

you didn’t even mean to, it just happened.

he cornered you at the bar when all you wanted was to get some beer for you and rafe, and said things like he’s been looking at you since you came inside the party mansion, and thought you’re the prettiest person he’s ever laid his eyes on. you knew it’s all the alcohol in his system talking; he wasn’t even all up in your face yet you could smell the alcohol on his breath.

it took you quite some time to tear away from the conversation; after a lot of convincing from your side that you were not into him, even when he kept on flattering you more and more. you finally escaped the conversation, letting out a deep sigh as you hold two cups of beer in your hand, the next task being to find rafe in the huge crowds.

little did you know, you were under the microscopic vision of rafe. he was in a corner of the party, watching you with his hawk like eyes as the guy talked with you. he couldn’t hear a thing, but from what he saw from the distance, you were being flirted with, and he wasn’t sure you were trying to avoid him or were enjoying it.

he contemplated coming over to break the conversation off, but decided against it. he didn’t know why, but he decided to just watch it all play out, and to see how you react. but what was not helping was his burning jealousy. how can some other man talk to you that way, and even think of making you his?

with a lot of struggle, you found your way through the crowds and finally spotted rafe. you could see he’s slumped in a corner, a scowl on his face. “here you go,” you said, holding out his cup as you took a sip from your own cup. rafe didn’t even look at you, just took the cup from your hand and gulped down most of the beer in one go.

“geez calm down,” you said, furrowing your brows a bit as you watched him down his drink too quick. he still didn’t look at you, and only finished off the drink in another sip. he tossed the empty plastic cup somewhere aside on the floor, and you watched it roll off and get crunched under someone’s foot.

you looked back up to see rafe’s jaw tightened, the scowl had not left him and his eyes were narrow. he was looking anywhere but at you.

“what’s up with you?” you asked, taking a sip from your drink and peering at him from over the rim of the cup.

“nothin’,” he mumbled incoherently under his breath, still not making any sort of eye contact with you. his eyes roamed around the party almost nervously, as if examining each detail and fixing it in his mind.

you rolled your eyes at his answer. “that’s not gonna cut it, come on, out with it. what’s up?”

he grumbled something incoherently again, but this time, you were not having it at all. the lack of eye contact, the bare minimum words; you had enough.

you took hold of his wrist and practically dragged him out of the party mansion, maneuvering through the sweaty crowd of young adults. rafe got caught off guard at first, but didn’t fight and he followed your lead. you led him outside where it was much more quiet, the music a blur and maybe a person or two hanging out, but it was more or less quite silent. you both were right besides the pool, and you sat down, pulling him with you too.

“what’s wrong? speak up, now, because I’m not having that mumbling nonsense you’ve been doing,” you said, your voice a bit cold as you took a sip of your drink.

you could see rafe looking at the water in the pool, the reflections of the calm water dancing across his handsome face.

“jus’ didn’t like you flirting with that dude, ’s all,” he muttered.

you furrowed your brows at him, almost confused as to what he was referring to but catching up quickly. “I wasn’t flirting with him, he was flirting with me. and being quite forward about it too,”

“yeah but you were smiling and laughing, don’t think I didn’t catch that,” he muttered again, his gaze not leaving the pool water.

“cause I was tryna let him down easy! I didn’t want to come off extremely rude,” you said.

rafe didn’t say anything or looked up from the water. you let out a sigh at the sight and kept your cup aside, scooting closer to him.

“look at me rafe,” you mumbled, your breath dancing across his ear. he slowly turned his head, his blue eyes meeting yours under the reflections of the water; the reflections a subtle green due to the dark green tiles at the bottom of the pool.

“I don’t care about that random dude, at all,” you murmured. “I never would, okay? fuck, I didn’t even catch his name, and frankly, I’m not interested in knowing his name,”

you could see his eyes softening. the moonlight along with the green water reflections lightened his eyes to an electric blue instead of the warm blue you usually saw him with.

“yeah?” he whispered, his brain suddenly registering how close you were to him.

“mhm,” you hum, your hand coming up to rest at the side of his neck as you gently rubbed the skin with your thumb.

you could see rafe’s eyes fluttering when he felt you starting to apply some pressure at the side of his neck, almost as if the sensation was sparking the feeling of pleasure in his veins.

“why would I do that when… I’ve got you?” you whispered, your hand coming off his neck for a moment but quickly replaced by your lips, a gentle kiss delivered under the whites of the moon and the greens of the pool.

rafe let out a soft sigh at the feeling, his head involuntarily tilting back as his hands slipped around your shoulders, holding onto you for stability when your kisses became more repetitive, yet were slow and lingered on his skin for a moment each time.

“you’re my favorite boy, always and forever, and don’t you ever forget that yeah?” you whispered, your lips parting from his neck for a second before attaching themselves back again, the same slow speed carried by you.

you could feel rafe’s nails dig into your shoulders through the fabric of your clothing, and that only prompted you to kiss him even more.

as your lips trailed up to his ear to gently press behind the delicate skin of his ear, rafe’s lips parted to let out the softest gasp, his body only craving that sensation on every inch of his skin.

“oh…” he gasped softly, tightening his hold on your shoulders.

“oh babydoll...”

— —

I think bsf!rafe’s nickname for reader would totally be babydoll, might include that more in the rest of the fics for them :p ANYWAYS I love them so so much and I would love to have any requests you may have for them ahhhh

[elliebyrrdwrites]

13.3

DRACO

There was nothing more lovely than the sight of a wide-eyed, open mouthed Hermione Granger. She was awe-struck by his confession, one he hadn’t given anyone. A truth he kept hidden away since he was ten years old.

Well, there might be something more beautiful.

It was the flare of indignation that crept slowly into her sparkling brown eyes as his words sunk into her.

“What do you mean, it started at the beginning? The beginning of what?”

Draco shrugged, muscles loosened from the small amount of alcohol coursing through his system. “Of school.”

She was scowling at him. “How is that possible?”

Draco shrugged, finding it hard to put into words the complex and twisted lines of fate that led him here. “It just is.” He straightened and lifted his menu again. “Shall we order?”

“We were ten.”

“And I was already in love, imagine that.”

“You’re a liar.”

He was. And he was currently lying. Well, actually, he was elaborating. Draco was ten when he first found himself compelled with Hermione Granger. The fact of the matter was that it developed into a crush around third year and he believed he fell in love with her during their sixth year.

“You had a lot of hair.” He watched her face turn red and her nostrils flare. “And your teeth,” He flicked his hand toward her face. “They were quite large.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She pushed out through clenched teeth.

Draco battled with the need to calm her down, to tell her how fucking fascinating he had found her and also with the need to get her worked up. She had tricked him into this date, after all. It only seemed fair.

Besides, when Hermione was upset, she got flushed, her eyes brighter than usual. It allowed him to imagine her flush and bright in other positions. Like in his lap and with him tucked deep inside of her.

“You asked me when it started.” Draco lifted a hand for the waiter, signaling for assistance.

“You are the worst.” She pushed away from the table.

“Granger,” He sighed. But she was already rushing out of the restaurant, away from him.

Draco quickly paid for their drinks before running after her. She was already trudging through the field, past the little farm. He marveled at how quickly she moved when she was upset and not wearing heels.

“Granger,” He called, jogging after her.

“Go away.”

“Well, you know I can’t do that.”

She stopped and spun to face him. “You ruin everything.”

He smiled at the way the wind ripped at her hair, pulling strands and wrapping them around one another. Her hair was naturally wild and here in the wind, it looked at home. He loved her hair.

She growled. “You think this is some kind of a joke. But you know what, Malfoy, I’m tired of being the butt of all your jokes.”

Draco’s smile faded at her words. At the way she turned her back on him again and marched up the hill. She was aiming for the spot they had arrived with the Portkey.

He had teased her, relentlessly, as children. He didn't know how to tackle his obsession with her then, he only knew what he was ordered to do. Which was to hate her, minimize her. She had seemed so fucking resilient that he believed her impervious to his vitriol. It made him even more fascinated with her.

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere where you aren’t.”

“That’s impossible.” He sighed, catching up to her with his long strides. He was walking beside her now and watched as she kept pushing curls away from her face, throwing her shoulders back each time as they worked their way up the hill. On her fourth attempt to pick hair out of her mouth, Draco latched onto her wrist and pulled her to a stop.

“Granger,” He sighed. “Would you calm down?”

“Calm down?” She shoved at his chest with one hand, pulling her other hand free. Draco lit up at the feel of her hand pressing into him. At the combative way she shoved and pulled, her hair flying wildly around. “Stop telling me what to do! I am not a child!” She pulled her hand from his chest and spun to leave.

But Draco was still holding onto her and the grass was still wet.

Hermione slipped and went down, taking Draco with her.

With a grunt and a yelp, they fell and tumbled several feet down the hillside.

Draco managed to wrap her up in his arms as they rolled and when they came to a halt, she was beneath him, panting and wide-eyed.

Draco’s hands were stuck between her and the ground, his legs straddled her hips. Her hands were stuck between their bodies.

That was when he realized how cold she was. Her skin was pebbled, her body trembled beneath this, despite the flush brightening her cheeks.

Words began to tumble free from him. “I had never met anyone like you. You tore into that compartment like you owned the damn train.”

Her eyes found his mouth.

“And I liked your teeth.” He exhaled and her eyes lifted to his eyes.

“You did?” Her voice was broken and soft.

Draco was so close to her, he could taste her breath. It caused visceral reactions, it caused reactions that went soul deep. He nodded, lowering his head just enough to brush the tip of her nose with his.

“I did. I do.” He murmured.

She leaned up into him, straining her neck enough that Draco lowered his head some more, and brushed his lips against her cheek. Her hands latched onto the fabric of his shirt.

Her breath shuddered against his face, and the urge to drag his teeth along her skin, his lips across her mouth was too overwhelming, and so he moved his lips lower, towards the corner of her lips.

“Draco, get to Hambleden now.” Theo’s voice suddenly erupted into the night, startling both of them.

He looked over his shoulder to find Theo’s silver fox Patronus standing before them. He didn’t like the tone to his voice. Hermione’s hands fell away and Draco had to pull her up with him in order to gain control of his hands again.

“Do you think Harry is okay?” She looked scared and Draco’s resolve hardened.

“I don’t know. Let’s go find out.” He pulled her to her feet and together, they apparated out of East Cumbria and into Hambleden.

[leonskennedysfavoritewife]

Rainy Night- Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warnings: older!kinda mean!Eddie, recreational drug use, minimal talk of religion, smut, dirty talk.

Patter. Patter. Squelch.

Your shoes stuck into the mud with every pull, which you had to awkwardly combat with force. It was storming, which meant it was nice and loud - keeping your deep-sleeper parents in their beds and from hearing you sneak out of the window and into the shed to get your bike.

You were drenched and trudging up the stairs to Eddie Munson’s trailer- the rain hitting the tin roof loudly. Hopefully he would be able to hear you knock.

You curled up your hand into a fist, and gave a polite but firm knock to the door. You waited with no response. Just as you went to try again, the door swung open.

“The fuck are you doing here?” He asked you, pocketing a joint to his lips. He was wearing a worn out Metallica tee- along with grey baggy sweatpants.

You had heard a lot about Eddie from kids at school, mostly that he was a devil worshipper but you knew better. He was a 26 year old part-time drug dealer and tattoo artist.

Truthfully, you and Eddie were not on ‘showing up unbeknownst to someone’s home at 10 pm in pouring rain’ terms. In fact- Eddie seemed to never pay attention to you when your friends had bought from him, mostly because you were what he despised from his school days. A cheerleader type. A preppy little girl.

“I- I uh. I wanted to buy from you.”

Eddie poked his head out, looking around before grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you inside.

“You biked here in the rain for some weed?” He mumbled with the joint still in his mouth.

“Uh. Yeah. It’s no big deal. Just some rain.”

“Christ. Here, while I get your shit.” He slipped the joint into your lips, your hand barely catching it in time. You took a long puff, convincing enough to seem like you knew what you were doing- but Eddie knew better. You’re innocent- and he also knew better than a pastor’s daughter to have ever done this kinda thing. He was shocked you were even here to begin with.

You exhaled the smoke, a fuzzy feeling enveloping you along with a sting in your throat.

Eddie glanced back at you while he sorted through a mason jar filled with the stuff.

“So, what’s a little church girl like you showing up to my place?”

“I- I wanted to get to know you.” You told him truthfully, fumbling with your hands.

Eddie’s face softened into confusion.

“You’re kidding. Besides, I don’t think daddy would approve of that, you know.”

You played with your hands in front of you, staring up at him.

“You don’t have to pretend to want to be my friend for free weed, you know.”

“That’s not what I wa-“

“Okay. Why do you, a popular, preppy, and downright innocent girl, want to befriend me- an older man- if not to score without paying.”

You sighed, gripping the joint in between your damp lips and pulled your tote bag off of your shoulder. Clutching it, you snatch the zipper open with one hand. You materialized a small cassette that you had plastic-wrapped to keep from getting wet.

“Here.” You insisted, holding it out to Eddie.

“The fuck is that?” He asked.

“It’s a cassette. Arise by Sepultura. I bought it and listened to it over-and-over just so I could remember the songs. It’s yours, though.”

He looked at you, and down to the object in your hand. He took it from you, and pulled the plastic off, tossing it aside on the floor.

“Holy shit. Where did you manage to get this? It just came out and I haven’t been able to find it anywhere.”

“I have my ways.”

Eddie chuckled and went over the to stereo in the living room, popping the music in before turning it up to a decent volume. He was actually moved by your gesture- no girl had made effort to like anything that he did. They normally just wanted a dick appointment.

“Okay. Now that you’ve won me over, what next? Again, I’m sure your holier-than-thou father wouldn’t like you hanging out with me.”

“I don’t care what he thinks.” You took another drag of the joint, giving it back to Eddie.

“I’m 18 and have a job. I can easily get my own place if I wanted.”

Eddie chuckled and then pursed his lips around the well-rolled plant, causing you too stare a little too long at how his mouth looked wrapped around the drug.

“What’s the look for? You’re not going to try and seduce me for the weed, are you? It’s already yours.” He went to the counter, grabbing the baggie and shoving it into your hands.

“Might wanna get home before daddy notices you’re gone.” He moved his hands in a creepy motion at you, trying to make you nervous.

“And if I don’t want to?” You asked him, getting a little bold.

“Oooh, such a bad girl. What’s next, breaking your abstinence?” He eyed you with his slightly bloodshot and hazy eyes.

You squirmed at his prying question.

“How do you know that?” You looked a little pissed off, but more so embarrassed.

“Babydoll, all of you religious girls are usually uptight and don’t want to fuck. That’s just the way it is.” He scoffed, settling himself into the couch nearby.

“What if I’m not like that?” You peeled off your wet sweater, tossing it aside and leaving it on the floor to collect in it’s own water.

Eddie eyed your figure in the tanktop and way-too-short skirt. Sure, you had great boobs and the cold water had your nipples completely showing through- But Eddie was way more into ass and thighs, which yours were amazing. He should know, he’s spent a fair share of time sneaking glances before.

“You’re not fooling anyone, sweetheart. Just because you show up in your little skirt and offer me the best gift I’ve ever received- I’m not fucking you.” He sounded sarcastic but you knew he was serious.

“Okay. Sure. Why not?” You put a hand on your hip, trying to exude confidence.

“Because.” He stood up, putting his face close to yours,

“I’d ruin you.”

You pressed your thighs close together and tried to say something- but your brain had blown a fuse.

“See. Can’t even handle a few words. Let me guess. Your pussy is just aching for me right now?” He laughed, emphasizing the word.

“S-shut up, Munson.”

“Fine.” He had gotten his body way too close to you, and he could feel your warm breath hitching.

“Take your clothes off.” He demanded through gritted teeth.

You hesitantly started to strip the damp clothing away, but when you had your hands hooked around your underwear- he stopped you.

“Not those.”

He rubbed a hand over your hip, leaning in to plant his lips on yours. He liked the way the coconut lipgloss was barely noticeable to his tastebuds- and he could tell you didn’t have any idea what you were actually doing.

Once he felt that you has gotten the rhythm, he waggled his tongue into your mouth, rubbing it against your own. You let out a small moan into his mouth, and his grip on your side tightened. He pulled away.

“Turn around. Lean over and put your hands on the couch.”

“O-okay.” You did as you were told- and Eddie stifled a groan while admiring your ass and the way your black-lace underwear hugged against your bits, leaving nothing to his imagination.

“Where’d you get these? Surely your mommy wouldn’t let you buy such a thing.” He toyed with the fabric.

“I-I got them myself. I had to hide them.”

“Hm. You’re so devious, and here I thought you were a good girl. Are you?”

“Y-yes.” Your nervousness peaked now, you hadn’t known what to expect your first time- but it wasn’t this. (Not that you were complaining).

“Yes what?”

“I-I’m a good girl.”

He smirked to himself while he flipped you for him to climb over your form on the worn couch.

“You know, I like you a lot. And it just so happens that I might go easy on you. I want you to enjoy this fucking I’m about to give you.” He growled into your neck, planting kisses.

You ran your fingers into his hair, subconsciously pulling at it because of how good his trail of kisses felt.

“Fuck. You just want me to go rough on you, don’t you?” His hand traveled under your bra, squeezing your nipple and causing you to let out a small yelp. He slithered his hands to your back, gripping the clasp of your bra.

“You wanna keep going?”

“Y-yes. Please.” Eddie grinned to himself while unclasping the bra and throwing it aside.

He took in the sight of your breasts, silently thanking the god that may or may not exist.

“Fucking beautiful.” He groaned, hand pinching at your nipples. He liked the way you squirmed under him.

He took a hand and slipped it into your underwear, finding your bud and rubbing some of your juices onto it accordingly. He began rubbing soft circles.

You wriggled under him, moaning and still pulling at his hair.

“Fuck babydoll, you like that?”

“Mhm. ‘Feels good.” You tried your hardest to get the words out between your lewd noises.

Eddie pressed a mouth to your nipple, his tongue flicking over it like a lit candle. Your moans started to pick up at his pace, and you felt a strange feeling building up.

“Eddi-“

“Gonna cum, sweet girl?”

“I- uh- yes?” You half moaned/half questioned.

He removed his hand and his mouth from you, and pulled your underwear off- and then his shirt.

You admired his barely-there abs and his faint v-line. It made your face catch fire.

“Don’t worry. I’m not done with you yet, doll. I want you to cum on my cock. Can you do that for me?” He started away at his pants, pulling them completely off.

“Y-yes Eddie.”

“Christ. Say my name like that again and I might just bust right here.”

Eddie continued, removing his boxers. His dick flopped out, hitting against his belly.

You sat up on your elbows.

“Is… Is that going to fit?”

Eddie grinned down at you.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But I’ll make it fit.”

You swallowed your saliva, the situation settling in now.

“Don’t worry, sweet. You’re doing great. You ready?” He asked for your reassurance one more time. It was so unlike him to be sweet like this.

“Y-yes.”

He rubbed his cock against your folds, coating it before slowly slipping into your wet cunt.

You grabbed at Eddie’s back, immediately leaving scratches and moaning uncontrollably.

“Fuck Eddie Fuck! It’s too big!” You whined, writhing under him.

“Shhh, Baby. It’ll adjust. Just give it a second.”

Eddie was all the way in now, and you felt so full.

“Okay. I’m going to start moving now. You okay?”

You nodded, your face nuzzled into his shoulder.

He kissed the side of your head, and lifted his hips just to crash them against you again. The sound of his balls slapping against you is almost deafening.

“Holy fuck!” You moaned, the pain started to subside now but the slight stinging hadn’t yet. Eddie grabbed your legs, throwing them over his shoulders.

“Can’t hide that pretty face this way. I wanna see those expressions when I fuck you senseless.”

You nodded again, feeling more vulnerable now. He looked over you, stuffed full of him. He slammed back into you again.

“Fuck! More Eddie, more!”

Eddie quickened the pace, slapping and gushing sounds filling the room. He put a thumb to your clit, circling as he had done before. Your noises and breathing became all entangled with each other, along with the familiar heat in your belly. Eddie felt you tighten around him.

“That’s it, babydoll. Cum on my cock.”

“Oh my god!” You gritted through your teeth, bucking your hips up, unable to control the release.

Once you had slightly recuperated from your orgasm, Eddie held his hand on your stomach to keep you still. He started pumping in and out of you, slamming hard into your pussy each time. The pace and force sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

Eddie slipped two fingers of his free hand into your mouth.

“Suck. Now.” You did as you were told, looking up at him.

“Shit. I’ll have to bring you over again so I can see you do that on my cock. That pretty mouth wrapped all around me. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

“Y-yes Eddie.” Your teeth grazing his fingers.

“I know you would, coming all the way here just to let me fuck your chances of getting into heaven out of you. Such a good girl.”

His words somehow made you wetter than you thought possible, and you honestly didn’t care if any consequences right now.

“I’m gonna- fuck- cum in you, yeah?” He asked, huffing in between words.

“Fuck Eddie! Please fill me!” It sounded jumbled fron the digits in your mouth. And you hadn’t known where the words came from- probably the sex-drunk brain talking- but the way Eddie started moving even faster told you that it had an effect on him.

“Fuck. Fuck. I’m filling you up so good. Take it all.” You felt his dick twitching as he spilled into you. He rolled over, simultaneously pulling out of you and laying you on top of him.

After a moment had passed of the two of you heaving, he patted your back.

“Up.”

You stood, feeling him leak out of you.

“I had a great time doll, honestly. But I got work in the morning and you have school.”

“O-okay.” You felt a little disappointed to leave so soon, but he was right.

You collected all of your clothes- except your panties, unable to find them.

“If you’re looking for those-“ he pulled the underwear from the couch cushions.

“I’ll be keeping these. You can get ‘em when you come back. Maybe.”

“Eddie! I have to bike home! I’m not sitting bare on my bike.” You crossed your arms, thinking you’d be in deep shit if anyone saw you on the way home.

“Too fucking bad.”

[ggsyoons]

In This Fucked Up World

| c.seungchol ♡ y.jh ♡ x.mh |

Chapter 3 - Long, Long Day

・❥・word count: 2.4k

“In this fucked up world, I’m the only one who became a fool.” ♡ or: Seungcheol and Jeonghan slowly fall in love with you, but you still battle with past feelings. It doesn’t help that Minghao is in your life again.

- ☆ ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48645199/chapters/123241633

- ☆ wattpad

https://www.wattpad.com/1366578414-in-this-fucked-up-world-long-long-day

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You and Seungcheol went out for dinner after work, just like he said. You took him in your car as he lived close enough to bus everyday.

He gave you the address to the place, a traditional Korean restaurant to “fill the void that a hard day’s work left” in his words.

“Nothing’s better than some fresh pajeon after work,” Seungcheol sighed, sinking down in his seat. “This place has the best.”

”The best, huh?” You lifted your brow. “That’s a hefty promise.”

”Nah, trust me, it’s life changing.”

”We’ll see about that… though, I much prefer takkalbi as my go-to comfort food.”

”They’ve got that, too, this place is the best.”

”I’ll take your word for it.” 

The place was quite close, only an eleven minute drive - you supposed Seungcheol lived for convenience.

Inside, the decor was as classic as it could possibly get.

Elevated wooden platforms with sleek oak tables so shiny it looked like plastic, cushions in place of chairs of maroon color and a slightly dim light above. Most of the customers were older folks or businessmen, you just hoped they wouldn’t get drunk and act out. 

One of the restaurant owners, an older lady with a perm and deep red lipstick greeted the two of you at the door.

”Is that you, Seungcheol? Here again?” She sighed, hands on her hips.

Damn, how often does he come here? It’s only been a little bit since he moved to this area. 

Seungcheol chuckled, “Hey, but this time, I’ve brought a friend.” He pulled you into her view.

The lady didn’t seem impressed, “Another girl? That’s the third one.” 

You looked at him with wide eyes as Seungcheol immediately went to panic.

”No,” He said, stern. “She’s not like that. She’s actually a friend.”

Seungcheol looked at you with pleading eyes, conveying a message of “please don’t judge me”.

You didn’t judge people, which is why you kept a cool face and just smiled.

Though, you did think two girls in the span of a month moving to a new area was a little crazy - it was probably much more.

Still, I do wish I could also go on that many dates or even have that many friends.

The lady just pointed to an empty spot, far in the corner for privacy’s sake, which you appreciated.

You both already knew what you wanted as you had hungrily discussed in the car.

”Can I just ask how you get so many dates?” You asked once the food was ordered.

Seungcheol looked a little ashamed, “They aren’t really ‘dates’.”

”Then what are they?”

”You know a sleep around a lot, right?” He said, leaning in to whisper as he eyed the restaurant.

“Yeah…”

”Well, I feel bad for just sleeping with them, so I tried to take them out to eat or something first most of the time, especially if she’s sweet. Sometimes I’m too broke or don’t have the time, though,” Seungcheol just shrugged. “Most of them just want to have sex, quick and easy, which I don’t mind.”

You nodded along, you couldn’t help but find this incredibly interesting. 

“How about you? Do you go on dates often?”

Well, for two years I was wallowing in misery over Minghao… You thought with an awkward expression, a little shameful. “A few in the past year, they were mostly short-lived, none became my boyfriend.”

”Did you sleep with any of them?”

”A few, I had to be careful, so I kept it minimal.”

”Smart,” Seungcheol praised as he nodded. “Now I’m the one who feels like a whore.”

You laughed, “Don’t say that about yourself, I don’t think that word should be used on anyone, really. I mean, it’s just sex.” You merely shrugged. 

“You’re very open-minded.” Seungcheol smiled, giving you a slow clap.

”It’s really about minding my own business.”

“A lot of people can’t seem to do that, though.”

”True.”

There was a pause. There always was a pause.

The pause upon hanging out with someone new, where you would talk about a specific so passionately until it was milked for all it was and nothing about it was left to talk about. 

Now you were back to awkward silence as you both searched for something new, taking short sips of water and checking your phones to look like you were doing something.

I really want to ask him about that guy at the store. I might just be overthinking it, but I am curious. I don’t want to cross a boundary, though.

”Hey, Y/N, look.” Seungcheol pointed behind you.

It was a small TV at the corner of the restaurant, playing whatever was most prominent on the news and sometimes sports.

To your surprise, it was Minghao, he was doing an interview.

”It’s that Xu Minghao guy, right? The one you like.”

”It is…” You said, staring at the screen.

He was at some TV station, he certainly looked a whole lot different on screen compared to when you had seen him just a couple of hours earlier.

The thought was crazy.

A celebrity, one who had hoards of fans come to the airport for his arrival and was now being interviewed on national TV had just casually visited your house earlier that day.

It was unfathomable, the Minghao on TV was like a whole other person to the Minghao you know.

”Damn, I guess you must really like him.”

You flinched, turning red, much to Seungcheol’s amusement.

”I really like his music, but I guess it does help that he’s handsome.”

”I don’t really know much about the guy, it is crazy how he’s younger than me, though. Isn’t he the same age as you?”

”Yeah, he is…”

Seungcheol chuckled, “Maybe you do have a chance with him, then.”

It was a joke, a ridiculous one that would normally be utterly impossible, so you laughed it off with him, saying “yeah, sure”.

But little does he know…

You didn’t like to think about your short-lives romance with Minghao often, mostly because of the shame and despair that was brought whenever the thoughts popped into your head.

I spent two years rotting away thinking about this, I won’t waste another second on something that should be left deep in the past. 

The food came out as you thought these things, it looked as delicious as Seungcheol had hyped it up to be.

“Wow, this does look really good.” You said, looking down at the steaming plate.

God. Your heart began to tighten.

You felt so stupid, getting emotional over some food. Takkalbi was Minghao’s favourite, especially when it was extra spicy.

Normally you wouldn’t even think about these things, but seeing the interview, and seeing him again.

Oh, God… You felt sad. Plain and simple.

Seungcheol called your name, “Y/N? Are you okay?”

You had almost forgotten he was there, “Yeah, sorry.”

He didn’t seem to believe it. How could he? You were sure you had some sort of miserable expression on your tired face.

“Y’know what this calls for? Soju.”

”Seungcheol, I have to drive.”

”Don’t worry, I’ll take you there,” Seungcheol said. “Unless, you don’t want to, not trying to force you.”

You thought about it. It was risky, really, but you could handle alcohol pretty well, it had only been nine months since you turned of legal drinking age, but you had enough to know your limits. 

Plus, if Seungcheol decided to do anything stupid, the walls were thin.

I don’t think he would, though… You thought absentmindedly. “But how will you get home after dropping me off?”

”Eh, I can bus or even walk, I’m pretty athletic.”

”Well, if you’re fine with it…”

You had a little more than expected. 

Not enough to be full on drunk, where you were red in the face and blabbering nonsense then wake up to a day of vomitting. 

No, you were just kind of out of it, wobbly, but still relatively conscious. Just not enough to drive or walk straight at times.

Seungcheol helped you along, though you tried not to lean on him too much.

”Where to?” He asked when you were both in the car, you in the passenger seat, of course.

”Here, lemme…” You hiccupped as you leaned over and typed in your address.

”You okay? I can get you some water.”

”No, no, I’ve been drunker,” You blinked. “This is actually really help-helpful.”

That wasn’t a lie, either. Your emotions were being washed away by how overwhelmed you were by everything else from the heightened emotions right now.

Seungcheol just began driving, and though you did trust him, he was still someone new, so you had your phone ready and waiting by your side in case things were to go South.

You purposefully regulated your drinks to not be too drunk, to be aware of the surroundings.

”Hey, Y/N?”

”Mhm?”

”Can I ask you something?”

”Go ahead.”

”Why did you seem so down?”

You thought about his words, let them marinate for a bit.

”If I answer that, can I ask you something as well?”

”Yeah, sure. What is it?”

”Why’d you seem so hostile to that guy at the store?”

That made Seungcheol go silent for a bit as well, he came to a red light and looked at you.

”Can I give you the condensed version?”

”Sure, but I will as well.”

”Fair enough,” Seungcheol said. “I asked first so you go.”

”Well…” You sat up. I can’t tell him the full truth, but it won’t be a problem as long as I don’t say it’s Minghao.

You thought for a bit on how to formulate this, tweak things a little and think of a fake name.

”Y’know how I said I lost my virginity to my boyfriend at sixteen?”

”Yeah.”

”Well, I started thinking about him again ‘cause he contacted me for the first time in three years and I got pretty emotional over that, I guess. It doesn’t help that he loves takkalbi.” 

Seungcheol nodded, “I see… why’d he go no contact for so long?”

”Uh… he had to go back home, and long distance isn’t either of our things.”

”Why’d he contact you again?”

”We said condensed versions, right?”

Seungcheol clicked his tongue, “Okay, okay, my turn now.”

He stretched, you could see the flex of his biceps for the first time under that black t-shirt. You never noticed it before, your eyes were fixated on them.

Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice as he began driving again. 

“That guy, his name is Yoon Jeonghan.”

That reminded you, Oh, yeah, I didn’t even get to use that fake name I made… and I even made up a whole cover story for him as well. 

You brushed these dumb thoughts to the side, “Yoon Jeonghan?”

”Yeah, have you heard of him? He goes to our school.”

”No, I can’t say I have.”

What was that look on Seungcheol’s face when you said this? Relief?

”You should stay away from him.”

”Why?”

”He’s a damn womanizer, a casanova.”

You snorted, “Aren’t you one, too?”

”Hey, the girls I sleep with know I’m only in it for sex, nothing after that and that’s what they want, as well. I never give false hope. Jeonghan, however, has sex with anyone regardless of feelings.”

”I see…” You said quietly. He looks so pretty, though, like an angel.

“Anyway, we used to be close. Really close, my best friend, I thought he’d be the best man at my wedding. Then, things happened, things that involved a girl and I got to see his true colors.”

There was probably do much more to that, but the two of you promised on condensed versions.

”I see.” You said again, sinking back into your seat. 

You saw your apartment in the view, Seungcheol came to a slow until the two of you were parked.

“You need help getting out?”

”N—“ You were about to say, then a wave of dizziness hit you as one foot stepped out. “Yes.”

Seungcheol chuckled, he held your hand as you stepped down snd helped keep you balanced.

You rode the elevator in silence, to your floor. Seungcheol helped you down the hallway, you really tried to not lean on him too much, but now that you were walking, it became increasingly difficult to keep straight.

“Hey, who’s that?” Seungcheol asked as you were halfway down.

You looked up and saw a slender man dressed in a black coat, his face completely hidden via a cap, mask, and sunglasses. He held a box in one hand and his phone in the other. 

That cap was incredibly familiar, it looked like…

Minghao’s

Your blood ran cold, out of all times Minghao had to be here.

You felt Seungcheol tense against you, “You know him?”

What’s he going to do? Fight him if I say no? Oh, God… what do I even say…

You were too frazzled to think. The alcohol made you forget about Minghao for the time being, but who could’ve expected him to be standing right in front of your door?

“Yeah…” You said, Seungcheol looked down at you with shock. “He’s my… cousin.”

You stepped out of Seungcheol’s grasp and wobbled over to Minghao, he was fixated on his phone as he typed out a message to you with one hand.

”… Uh… Haneul!” You picked a random name out of your ass as you hugged Minghao.

Minghao nearly dropped his phone from surprise, visibly confused by the strange name you had called him.

”Y/N…?” Minghao hugged you bag, but slowly. He smelled the alcohol on you and seemed to get it slightly. “How’d you get home if you’re drunk?”

Seungcheol came into the scene, “I drove her home,” He said, standing tall over both of you. “Y/N said your name is Haneul, right? Hi, I’m Choi Seungcheol.”

”Yeah…” Minghao followed along despite the confusion. “Kim Haneul, I’m her cousin.”

”What’ve you got there?” Seungcheol asked, arms crossed.

You were still clinging onto Minghao, so you let him go, looking at the box Seungcheol was also staring at. 

“That’s the homemade snacks my mom made,” You said, taking the box, “Thanks, Haneul.” 

“Mhm,” Minghao nodded. “So, Seungcheol, are you Y/N’s boyfriend?”

”No.” You both said flatly.

”I see, well, I’ll see you later. Make… sure to call your mom!” 

Minghao quickly fled the scene, you honestly felt horrible for the whole interaction.

This box, whatever was inside, must have been a gift. 

He came all the way over here after such a long day just to give me this… and I just…

The emotions were overwhelming you. You didn’t want to cry in front of Seungcheol, so you just rushed to grab your keys.

”Thank you for driving me home, I’ll see you tomorrow, Seungcheol, bye!” You said quickly, the words practically melting with each other.

”Yeah, no problem,” Seungcheol said, waving. “Bye.”

You gave him a smile then fled into your apartment, and shut the door, perhaps a bit too loudly.

Carefully setting the box on your counter, you just sank to the floor. 

You felt so… drained? Today was so full of highs and lows it didn’t even seem like a day.

At the moment, you wanted to cry, but now that you were in solitude, you kind of just sat there blankly, thoughtless and staring at the wall. 

Maybe the alcohol did help. 

You lay on your side, on your cold kitchen floor and just closed your eyes. 

[chronicallyblogged]

I'm just really unhappy with how last session happened. I feel like my therapist failed me. I dont know if she actually did or if I'm just too difficult.

We had a normal session then in the last 10 minutes she told me we were no longer going to be meeting.

I immediately shut down. There was so much going on inside. In the past I would have violently lashed out but I didn't want to be kicked out or hospitalized so I held it all in. This also translated to a lot of pain all over and it was hard to pay attention to what she was saying or talk. I was getting the feeling to bolt which I have done in past situations. I also felt myself disconnecting from the inside which I've done in the past when allergies start to set in. I think I tried to let some of it out and communicate it by saying flighty things like "I just want to quit therapy at this point" but all she did was validate my feelings and say that was an option. I said I felt like I had no choice and no where to go and she confirmed that missouri fails survivors like me. Any time I really needed her to help me ground and descalate I just got validation which made it worse. And I couldn't think well enough to relay what I needed which makes me feel broken.

Also at one point she said we haven't been seeing eachother that long. We just made me and still makes me feel shame about my feeling. But also we've been seeing eachother 9 months. To my child parts of which there are majority that feels extremely long. Even so its the second longest therapeutic relationship. And it's one of the most longest frequent and healthiest interactions I've had in my whole life. I feel so angry she would minimize that. Along with deep shame I allowed it to mean anything

[hashtag-xolo]

It's funny (/sarcasm) how people are so passionately defending how much better off their understimulated, poorly socialized, and emotionally neglected dogs are than well-worked dogs living in climate-correct shelter because their "fur kids" live inside of a house. Kind of like people don't enjoy facing the fact that dogs are not cute robots who are pre-programmed to be obedient and friendly and you know... Actually have complex needs that are different from our own. You know... Just like our own human children.

Like, if these really were your "kids"... Then you would have to actually "parent" them. Meaning you would have to take responsibility and teach rules, boundaries, and skills that will help them be comfortable and successful in life. Such as:

-socializing your dog's properly and in healthy ways, not flooding them. Like how you would teach a child about the world and how to kindly interact with others in their lives.

- giving them clear criteria for behaviors and expectations so dogs have the security of a structure to their lives. Like teaching your own children skills like reading and writing, and setting up daily routines like mealtimes and bedtimes.

- embracing foods that are actually healthy for dogs and have research to back then up, not following the latest fad diet trends. Because malnutrition is bad in kids and dogs and dad diets are bad for both.

- engaging with your dog and allowing your dog to pursue activities that are fulfilling to your dog - even ones that might be kind of inconvenient or boring to you, like letting your dog get some good sniffaris in. Like how you should let a child pursue their own interests and hobbies even though you really wish they'd play football like you did.

The amount of "pet parents" that give their dogs the bare minimum of food, shelter, and some pets and call them well-cared for while ignoring their dog's true needs for interaction and structure... Is a lot. That isn't a good life to exist anxious and without guidance. Trust me, I was raised in a household where I had a roof over my head and food but emotionally was neglectful at best. And all I hear when people say "but my dog is indoors not cruelly outdoors!!!" Is that same sort of logic that as a child I should be grateful for the shitty treatment my parents gave me because I had physical shelter. Or the people who yank their dogs along on a walk instead of letting their dogs fulfill their integral need to sniff at their environment, and then wonder why their dog has developed leash issues and anxiety make me think how children deprived of their own passions develop deep anxieties...

Also like... Dogs like structure and routine. It gives them a strong sense of security actually to know what to expect in their life. People who let their pups do whatever because "oh they're my kid I could never force them to do anything" just tell me they don't know how to teach, only how to bully. LIMA or strictly force-feed, there are plenty of trainers who have never had to use aversives to raise wonderfully behaved dogs. (This is not an invitation to debate training methods or aversive use, just making a statement that training that is minimally aversive to zero aversives actually works.) Setting boundaries and expectations isn't cruel. Refusing to communicate and engage with your dog, though, is neglectful. Just like ignoring your kids and letting them play on an iPad all day is neglectful of your responsibilities as a parent.

A dog who has proper shelter and who gets plenty of social engagement and time with its humans while getting to fulfill its biopsychological need to hunt/herd/pull/work is a really happy, lucky dog. This dog is comfortable, confident, and getting fulfillment on multiple levels beyond what a dog left alone in a house for eight hours a day is getting. This dog is getting proper shelter. Not every single dog wants to sleep on the bed right next to a human. Hell, even my incredibly Velcro dog wants some space at night time because he wants to sleep without getting jostled awake. It's not abusive to give your dog a sleeping place that isn't inside of a house as long as it's properly sheltered.

But ultimately I think the biggest issue is people are having to face that their dog who sleeps inside isn't actually that well taken care of. That leaving a dog bored at home for ten hours a day, taking it on a half hour walk while you ignore it further and check your social media, and only give maybe an half hour of focused engagement total at home really isn't such a good life. But that is a hard thing to admit so it's a lot easier to scapegoat those whose interactions with dogs looks really different. And calling them your kids makes them seem oh so loved while ignoring the fact that like far too many children, these dogs are living in emotionally neglectful and stifling homes because like human children, dog children take work and need teaching, guidance, and social interaction. Dogs have distinct needs from humans. They are not the same as children and nothing I said above is meant to imply they are the same, just that like with children of your own you need to actually take responsibility for the lives in your care. And some of those responsibilities actually are similar.

Now, is every "fur parent" this bad? No. Plenty of people take time to actively spend time with their dogs. And plenty of these people do call their dogs their kids. But, I do think that the people crying the loudest are those who most deeply need to examine the ways they relate to animals and children. And really any disenfranchised populations of humans. Because there's a deep difference between simply existing and living a good life for both humans and animals. Proper shelter takes many forms and is just one piece of a bigger web of needs. It's important, but just having that isn't enough.

[keiicom]

⚠️ Spoilers for ORV [don't read if you're a webtoon only reader since I'll mention an upcoming arc and some other very spoilery stuff] ⚠️

I'd say my favorite arc of ORV is the Dark Castle arc (when he turns into the DKoS for the first time) because of all the changes going inside our mind at this point. This is where the reader finally realizes one very important thing: that KDJ is a liar.

While the title is Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint, [for some other spoilers that I won't name rn], it's partly purposefully misleading because up until this point in the novel, most of us don't question KDJ's narration too much. 'Omniscient' implies that the person telling the story knows everything about everyone: how they think, why they act like they act, even how they interact with each other. But Kim Dokja is only omniscient as far as Three Ways to Survive the Apocalypse goes. And even then, he's limited to his own interpretation of the novel, meaning what he actually knows about this world he is in rn is close to nothing.

But anyway. Back to the lying.

Sure, he's a liar and manipulates people sometimes, but we're always reading his thoughts when that happens! So he can't possibly be hiding things from us, right? Wrong. Bold of us to assume we're safe from his manipulation! And sure, some people may pick up on the hints that he's not telling us everything way before the Dark Castle arc, but I name this arc in particular because that's the first time in which the signs are clear as day. That's when the pin drops.

When he turns into the DKoS, and the kilIing scene happens. Not only does he minimize the feelings of the others and dismiss them with a relatively simple description of the scene (which he does a lot) but he also hides his real feelings from us. And others'. He tries to make us believe that deep down, people don't care about him; that he's just a reader, and his existence on this world is only meaningless and brief, and that these characters (because he doesn't see them as people yet) are just playing their roles of companions and fulfilling a task. Because that's what he thinks. Fool.

Even when he's attached to them, he can't bring himself to believe that they may truly care for him too. So he just...chooses not to interpret that as affection at all. Possibly the biggest hint of KDJ being an unreliable narrator is Yoo Joonghyuk's behavior during this scene and all the others. Yoo Joonghyuk cares, he cares so much about Kim Dokja, but KDJ can't accept that the character he read so much about is capable of feeling and thinking things he doesn't know about. He's even less capable of thinking that this hero, this protagonist of the story, or anyone really, could care so much about him. So he dismisses those feelings once again, but this time the reader sees them anyway because actions speak louder than words and everything Yoo Joonghyuk and the rest of the group does for him goes against what we've been told so far.

Things become crystal clear to us. Slowly, from that point on, Kim Dokja's denial starts working solely on himself. Because the readers can tell the truth from lies, they can tell when he hides stuff and tries to justify loving acts as simply ways of getting their way (cough every fucking time anyone does something for him or worries about him cough). He never stops lying to himself about that. But we change our perspective from then on. And start seeing the other characters as what they truly are, and start picking up on clues that tells us what they feel and think from what they show us, not just from what Kim Dokja believes. That's why this arc is so important to me.

This is when the readers finally differentiate themselves from the narrator's viewpoint and start thinking for themselves and seeing things through their own lense.

[vvatchword]

I'm tired of writing this already because my Dr. Lamb is either the most boring, unemotive, or noble person imaginable. This is the whole reason I have been avoiding her section. The reason: Dr. Lamb is, and has always been, a huge nothingburger. In-game, she's just That Way. She doesn't BECOME That Way, she just is, and it's arguable she has always been so. There's even an audio diary that suggests she has had designs on Rapture since time immemorial (lol wat).

This is because BioShock 2 is a fucked-up attempt at a Christian gnostic allegory and Dr. Sofia Lamb is a stand-in for the Aeon Sophia. It's awful for a lot of reasons that I'll get into someday--not the least reason for which is that THE LITERAL AEON SOPHIA IS IN THE FUCKING GAME. The allegory cannot fucking work if you just stick the actual fucking Aeon Sophia alongside your allegorical symbol for the Aeon Sophia. Then it's not an allegory, is it? That said, 2K Marin probably made this game without sleeping or regular human contact so they can be forgiven for a lot.

Anyway, I decided to start her as an Objectivist and a human being, if an extremely autistic and traumatized one, and move her left.

What makes a person decide to be an Objectivist and isolate oneself on the bottom of the ocean is equally present in certain individuals and movements on the left: it's a deep insecurity and a sense of powerlessness because one can't control what other people do. So if you can't control other people, you CAN try to minimize their impact on you and just straight-up leave. It's the completely futile effort to control as many environmental factors as possible to make the least surprising world possible.

Where this impulse heads into toxic territory is when these kinds of people get really frustrated and just try to apply force. "ALL Y'ALL BETTER JOIN THE CLUB OR I'M GETTING THE BAT"

So... where do I exhibit this toxic behavior in Lamb? And why doesn't it feel natural to me? I've actually given her more emotive states than she has in-game. She's more reserved, to be sure, but she still fucking feels things and is motivated by those feelings, even if she lies to herself about it. Moreover, one cannot be reserved 100% of the time. One will and can snap, and sometimes those kinds of people snap in nasty ways because they're keeping most of their stress inside and hidden.

I suppose I should make her a little more toxic from the beginning. I've actually made her extremely sensible. I try to give most of my characters laudable traits, even if they're pure fuckers--issues they're right about or ways they're competent and skilled. I may have made her TOO competent and sensible. She may be too boring for fiction, idk. There's a reason nobody in fandom likes to write about her. We all know somebody just like her irl and we try to escape them as quickly as possible; we don't want to actually write about their judgy holier-than-thou asses for any length of time.

I'm very frustrated about this and I'm not sure how to fix it. It feels like a systemic issue, like a flaw or behavior that should be present from the beginning. I should probably try and make her more controlling from the beginning, but that'll take some rewriting and editing... guhhhhhh. Not during NaNo.

I might brainstorm some weird shit that I could make her do to fuck up the story a bit and see what seems natural and sticks.

I mean, if you have an idea, or have read a story with Lamb in it that you think is particularly good, hit me up ok

[eddies-puppet]

𝙇𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙄𝙣 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙁𝙞𝙧𝙚 | 𝙎𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙧 𝙍𝙚𝙞𝙙

Chapter 6: He Knows It’s A Date

Warnings: None

Word count: 968

Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

————————————————————————————-

"Ah I've missed this," Emily smiled, putting Becca's coffee down on the small table, sinking into the deep couch in the corner of the small coffee shop.

"Me too. And I've missed you!" Becca grinned. "Last time we chatted, you were looking at houses with Andrew, how's that going?" Emily grimaced, taking a sip of her coffee.

"It's not," she said sadly.

"No," Becca said sympathetically, drawing her word out for a few seconds. "What happened? I thought things were good."

"They were, and nothing specific happened, it just wasn't meant to be. He tried, we both tried, but this job, the late nights, the time apart... it was too much for him," Emily shrugged.

"I'm so sorry Em."

"Me too. This job can take a lot from you, but it gives you a lot too." Becca nodded.

"I guess you need someone who understands the pressures of the job," Becca smiled. "Like maybe someone who did it before," she added, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh stop!" Emily laughed, leaning further back into the cushions. "It's not like that."

"Em, you know I can profile too, right? You think I missed how you guys were at Rossi's?"

"Aaron is a complicated guy, he's been through a lot," Emily said softly, raising her coffee to her lips.

"What, and that's made him celibate for the rest of his life?" Becca laughed, Emily rolling her eyes. "I can see you like him, you're not that good an actress."

"You can talk!" Emily exclaimed. "You think I don't see you and Reid?!" Becca laughed again.

"I think that's called deflection."

"I think that's called knowing you," Emily chuckled. "I hear you guys are planning Halloween together?"

"I'm actually seeing him tonight," Becca smiled, her voice quiet. Emily looked confused.

"Tonight?" She frowned. Becca nodded.

"What?"

"You know today's his birthday, right? That you're going on a date with him on his birthday?" Emily smiled cheekily. "I hope you have a special present for him," she laughed.

"Emily Prentiss, get your mind out of the gutter!" Becca laughed. "No, I didn't know it was his birthday, and I'm not even sure he considers this a date."

"Oh sweet girl," Emily muttered. "I've known Reid for over a decade now, and he might be a little out of touch with societal norms, but he's not stupid. He knows it's a date," Emily smirked as Becca took a sip from her drink. "You like him, don't you?" She asked softly.

"I mean, what's not to like?" Becca chuckled. "But realistically it's not a good idea. We live on different continents, and we don't even know how long I'll be here."

"I know, but he's a big boy. Trust me, he'll have already weighed everything up in that big, beautiful brain of his," Emily smiled. "He's had a tough few years. He deserves some fun, and some happiness. As do you," she smiled kindly, placing a hand gently on top of Becca's. "Just enjoy the now. Stop worrying about the future." Becca nodded, biting the inside of her cheek.

"You're right. But you also need to take your own advice," Becca smiled. "Deal?" Emily rolled her eyes, sighing dramatically.

"Fine, deal," Emily nodded reluctantly.

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

Becca sang quietly to herself as she leant towards the mirror on the dressing table, hooking a pair of white gold hoops into her earlobes. Taking a deep breath, she stood up from the stool, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

Her long hair was loose around her shoulders, her make-up minimal and neutral. She'd picked out a pair of dark blue skinny jeans and a loose-fitting grey t-shirt, covered with a black casual blazer. She straightened her small silver chain around her neck, the tiny heart-shaped charm sitting against her chest. Finishing her outfit off, she pulled on her black Converse, before pulling her phone from her pocket, finding a text from Emily.

'Have a great night. Be gentle with him 😉 xx'.

Laughing softly, she started to type a response but stopped as she heard a knock on the door. Pushing her phone back into her pocket, she glanced quickly into the mirror, running her fingers through her hair before pulling the door open.

"Right on time," she smiled, before freezing. "You cut your hair!" Gone were the fluffy curls, replaced with a shorter style, falling just above his ears, parted just off-centre and swept across his forehead. "I like it, you look like you should be in a boyband," she giggled as he rolled his eyes.

"Don't you start," Spencer laughed. He looked her up and down, his hazel eyes glinting in the overhead lights. "You look beautiful," he said softly. She smiled shyly, taking her lower lip between her teeth as she felt her cheeks flush red.

"You look good too. I like this more relaxed Dr Reid," she smiled. He was wearing black trousers and blazer, with a blue and grey t-shirt and blue Converse. "Our shoes almost match!"

"Great minds," he smiled. "You ready to go? The place is close to my apartment so I'll park there and we can walk there if that's ok?"

"Sounds good. Before we leave though, a little bird told me it's your birthday today. I hope you don't mind, but I got you something," Becca smiled, picking up a square package from the small table beside the door. He smiled as he opened the gift bag, pulling out an orange travel mug with the face of a carved pumpkin on it. "I'm sorry it's not much, I didn't have much shopping time," she laughed.

"No, I love it," he insisted, smiling as he put the cup back in the gift bag. "Thank you." Becca nodded, grabbing her bag from the table.

"Let's go!"

[tootyfrootycasbooty]

@bourgeoix tagged me in a fun lil book game so here! we go! i thought i’d be so many books down already this year but alas, it turns out, working in publishing means you have 3084039 different admin things or manuscripts to read bits of instead of actual books. who knew!

💘 last book i read: 💘

M@d About Y0u by Mh@iri McF@rlane

ok forgive me i had to censor this because it’s on our list and i DON’T need my team finding my tumblr lmao, even if they know i’m a former tumblr girlie with inside info on the nature of fandom and fic writers. i’m working in general commercial fiction rn which isn’t something i’ve read a lot of, so i’m trying to familiarise myself and thought this would be a fun n quick read. it was! it’s still not my favourite kind of writing, but it’s definitely...fic adjacent tbh...excessively white english in a way that was less annoying than the flatshare, and also if you’re thinking of reading that you should just read this instead because it has a lot of similarities and is generally just better. however i’m deducting points for this being touted a romcom and there being such minimal romance, just terrible exes being terrible ALL the TIME.

💘 currently reading: 💘

Really Good, Actually by Monica Heisey

i’ve only just started this but i’m really enjoying it so far! maybe bc i haven’t read a book that’s ~my vibe~ in a while and i’m elbow deep in psychological thriller and old school romance.....it’s sharp and witty and quick and horrifically relatable and very Of The Moment, as far as cool sad girl millennials are concerned. i saw it described as a Coming of Divorce novel which is great lmao, anyway it’s exactly what you’d expect from a Schitt’s Creek writer doing a story about a 29 yr old who’s suddenly alone for the first time. 

💘 what is on my list 💘

Yellowface by Rebecca F. Kuang

i FINALLY got a proof of this yesterday after being told it’s the best thing ever for three weeks...the premise is very good...i’m very intrigued since it’s the same writer of Babel and this is a VERY different book...basically a nobody white writer steals the manuscript of an east asian literary darling writer and passes it off as her own under an ambiguously asian pseudonym. 

Totally Wired: The Rise and Fall of the Music Press by Paul Gorman

a fat non-fiction that is specifically tailored to my niche interests...jacket design looks like the screenprints i made which is a weird coincidence...it’s just very me! haven’t had a moment to sit down and get into it yet but love that it covers US and UK music journalism bc i don’t really know so much about what the american equivalents of nme and melody maker were! 

August Blue by Deborah Levy

WILD HOWLING SCREAMS!!!!!! idk when deborah quietly announced this but i’m her biggest most embarrassing fan. penguin should give me a commission for how many people i’ve converted to the church of deborah. so interesting bc it sounds like it’s based on information we already glimpsed in the living autobiographies but it’s also sounds much more philosophical than the last few novels, almost like a combination of both. anyway it doesn’t release until may cry

tagging the smart beautiful pals who read more than i can possibly hope to and some of the old usual suspects @bris-eis @whenharrymetsallys @wolfhalls @themoonmins @amarkls bee i’m tagging you but i cant remember what ur url is or if your made a new account or did i imagine that maybe you’re still awol

[wisedawn13]

(wip) Art Festival

"Ah, A-Zhan!" Lan Huan's chipper voice rang through the speaker of his phone. "Will you be returning home during your break? If so, A-Yao found out about a festival of the arts happening in Yiling all summer. A-Jue, A-Yao and I were planning to check it out."

Lan Zhan's nose crinkles in anticipation of his brother's next words.

"You should join us!"

Yep. There it is. He lets out a silent sigh. "Brother."

"Yeah, yeah. I know you'd rather not spend a lot of time around them or other people, but I think it'd be good for you A-Zhan!"

Lan Zhan seriously doubts that.

"You're minoring in art. It'll be educational."

"Brother. I minor in art history. I have no interest in contemporary art."

Lan Zhan hears his brother tut. "A-Zhan… A-Zhan… Today's art will be history one day, you know."

This time, Lan Zhan sighs audibly.

"Just think about it! We'll be going the first Saturday of break."

"Mn. I will think about it."

They say their goodbyes and hang up. Lan Zhan places his phone on his desk and takes a deep breath.

His knee jerk reaction is to not go. But his brother did make a good point. Plus his therapist has been telling him to step out of his comfort zone more; to go out into the world and maybe even socialize.

At least with this he wouldn't have to actually talk to people. He can just hover around his brother (and his 'friends') and just look around. Lan Zhan is sure his therapist would be proud of him for even that.

Yes. Fine. That decides it. He will go if only to say he went, then he can go back to his normal life and routine.

---

The first Saturday of summer break arrives and Lan Zhan has some serious regrets. He shouldn't have said yes. He shouldn't have. This is so far outside of his comfort of routine and what he knows. Maybe if he tells Lan Huan he's ill? No. Lying is forbidden. Damn. He lets out a small groan as he feels anxiety course through his body. Sitting in the chair in the room he grew up in, his leg bouncing in such a way that would draw his uncle's ire for being improper. He regrets.

He regrets.

He regrets. There's a light knock on his door before it creaks open and Lan Huan's face pokes in, a kind smile softening his features. "A-Zhan, are you ready?"

Lan Zhan takes a deep inhale before letting it out slowly and standing up. "Mn."

Lan Huan looks at him. Lan Zhan looks near him. He feels seen. He's always felt seen. Lan Zhan often wonders if he'd also have the ability to read people like Lan Huan does, but that would require looking /at/ people; it would require making eye contact. Lan Zhan shoos the thought away with a shudder every time it surfaces. Lan Zhan steels himself and quickly brushes past his brother before he can make a comment. He's already agreed to going and Lan Zhan hates to break promises and plans once they've been made.

The pair walk out of the house to find Meng Yao and Nie Mingjue leaning against a van. They greet him, he nods at them, and then they all pile in. Lan Zhan sits in the middle section on the right side. He's never known why, but if he's not driving he'll be incredibly uncomfortable unless he's seated on the right side of the vehicle. Thankfully, Lan Huan sits beside him while the other two sit in the front. He sends a small nod of thanks to his brother, who smiles in return.

Nie Mingjue drives. It's his van after all.

Secretly, Lan Zhan has always been amused by the fact that he owns a minivan. They set off and Lan Zhan quickly puts in his earbuds to listen to his own music during the hour car ride to Yilling from Gusu.

This is fine. It will be fine.

He keeps repeating those words to himself in the hopes that he'll actually start believing them. No such luck yet. The inside of the van feels like a liminal space where time means nothing and everything all at once.

After what feels like a moment and yet somehow forever, they arrive. Nie Mingjue manages to find a parking spot with only minimal yelling and they all pile out of the van. It's an overwhelming array of sights, sounds, smells, and people. Lan Zhan stifles a flinch, clenching and unclenching his fists as he breathes. Lan Huan comes around to give his right shoulder a light squeeze.

"It will be alright, A-Zhan."

He nods weakly. The four of them head out, Lan Zhan trailing slightly behind with his eyes trained to the ground a few feet ahead of him.

They wander around aimlessly for a while. Three of them excitedly taking in the sights, one of them half checked out of his body. At some point they stop at a small food vender to get tonghulu. Lan Zhan agrees to get some if only to have something for his hands to do. Shortly after his brother pulls him aside.

"There's some bands playing music nearby. The three of us are going to check it out."

"You are welcome to come, but I know you won't like the grouping of people or loud sounds, so I figured you wouldn't want to."

Lan Zhan nods at that and Lan Huan pats his arm once.

"You wander around and keep your phone on you. We'll meet up soon, okay? Call me if you need me."

"Mn," Lan Zhan responds and then watches his brother's retreating form for a moment before looking down. What is he supposed to do now?

He feels his anxiety start to spike at being alone in an unfamiliar place. But then he hears something in the cacophony of sound. A laugh. It's bright, loud, filled with unadulterated joy. It brings a calming warmth to Lan Zhan and he finds it easier to breath again.

He lifts his head, glancing around to try and find the source of the sound but he doesn't hear it anymore.

He deflates but sets off to wander alone. Lan Zhan holds his tonghulu in a tender grip as he moves through the streets. He walks for a few minutes before something catches his eye. It draws him in.

He quickly moves closer to get a better look and finally he sees what it was. A wall mural. It's unfinished, still currently being worked on, but he can see the raw beauty of it. A white and blue dragon curls up over the expanse of the wall as lotus flowers float down around it. It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. He stares. He never stares. "Oh, hey!" a voice suddenly says, spooking Lan Zhan more than he'd like to admit. "You like my mural?"

"Mn. It is very"--Lan Zhan turns towards the person who spoke and feels like he got the air punched out

of him--"beautiful." He feels his ears heat up. Lan Zhan isn't honestly sure if he'd meant to say the mural was beautiful. He doesn't remember. All he knows is that the most beautiful person he'd ever seen is standing in front of him and it's their mural.

They smile and it blinds him in the best way. "Thanks! I'm Wei Ying!" He sticks out his hand and Lan Zhan takes it, shaking it gently.

"Mn, Wei Ying. I'm Lan Zhan."

"Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. I like it!"

That makes him look up, meeting this stranger's gaze and finds he doesn't hate it. He feels comfortable.

It's a jarring revelation: realizing that you can feel comfortable making eye contact with someone when you are so averse to it. And yet he can't bring himself to care. Not when those striking grey eyes stare back at him.

It's far too long before he realizes they never let go. Lan Zhan quickly remedies that, dropping his grip on Wei Ying's hand and turning his gaze back onto the wall. He feels hot in his ears and silently prays that his hair fully blocks the blush.

Wei Ying laughs awkwardly, and he feels a similar sense of warmth wash over him. That laugh! It's different, but he knows in his soul that it was Wei Ying laughing earlier.

"SO!" Wei Ying says a little too loudly. "My mural! Tell me, Lan Zhan, what's your favourite part?"

He considers that, uncertain on what to say. "The dragon."

Wei Ying hums, stroking his chin and nodding his head in a clearly joking way. "I see. I like the dragon too." He laughs again, this time it's not awkward.

Lan Zhan vows here and now he would do anything to hear Wei Ying laugh even once more. "I'm nowhere near done yet," Wei Ying adds. "I'll be working on this bad boy all through the week and then it'll be on this wall until it fades away into oblivion from sun, wind and rain exposure." He lets out a dramatic sigh. "What a cruel world."

Lan Zhan nods solemnly, his eyes fixed on the way the dragon seems to move so fluidly all while being in stasis on a wall.

"Lan Zhan! You should come see it when it's done next Saturday!"

"Mn. I will," Lan Zhan responds without even thinking. He will come back for Wei Ying. Lan Zhan's phone rings and he quickly pulls it out to see Lan Huan sent him a text to let him know they're ready to go and will meet him at the van. He sends a response, shoving his phone back into his pocket, mourning the fact he has to leave when he'd never wanted to come. "I have to leave," he tells Wei Ying, turning to face him once more. "My brother and his friends are waiting for me."

A flash of emotion crosses Wei Ying's face, too quick for him to catch it, before he smiles. "You should come back this week if you wanna see me in action!"

Lan Zhan nods once. "Mn. Okay." He doesn't say he lives an hour away. He doesn't care. He will come back.

Wei Ying's smile brightens even more and he waves. "Bye, Lan Zhan! See ya!"

"Goodbye, Wei Ying."

It doesn't take long for him to make it back to the van. He quickly hands his untouched tonghulu to his brother and climbs into his seat. He feels an energy thrumming through him, one that's similar and yet very different from anxiety. He's excited.

-----

(to be continued)

----------

Link to thread

[madewithonerib]

What is Heaven Like? | Timothy J. Keller [1 Corinthians 13:1-13] Sermon Summary by Matthew Ryan

Series: Love: The Way to Grow Up

Conversation about Timothy Keller's sermons we're going to talk about his sermon on Heaven & what is Heaven like? What can we expect the situation to be when we get there? What is the experience & why is it relevant, even as we live life now on Earth?

Timothy Keller breaks this down for us in his sermon titled Heaven a World of Love and it's actually taken from 1 Corinthians 13:1-13.

The famous passage on love it's interesting how Tim actually pulls a lot of content from this passage, as it relates to the domain of Heaven.

And I think you're going to find tremendous value in some of his insights. We are going to jump right into it, Tim tells us most of the content in this sermon is actually extracted from his readings & study of both C.S Lewis & Jonathan Edwards.

Two very important spiritual theological thinkers.

1.] Teleon/Perfection

Tim starts by talking about this concept is the Greek word called teleon. And teleon means perfection or fullness; & he gives us a metaphor about a beached whale—so when you think about its function & what kind of environment it thrives in..

The whale thrives in the ocean, working to glide & swim with ease; all of its reflexes make sense. But when you take that creature and you put it on the beach what happens?

It's not in its element & Tim says that's exactly where we find ourselves here at this point in time on Earth, that we've got these instincts, we've got desires, we have got these reflexes

—but they're not exactly working the way that they should & that's because we were created for some -thing else. We were created for a deeper level of fullness & reality than what we're experiencing now

So while some of our functions/#attitudes/#feelings make sense, we know they're leading us somewhere we never find that true satisfaction.

But that is all going to change in eternity.

Deep inside we have this desire to see GOD's face & you see this come out in Scripture.

A few times especially in the OT, where Moses is ask -ing to encounter GOD face to face, Jeremiah, Isaiah, & David & we as well all seek GOD's presence in HIS fullness in our lives.

But we can't have it!

What's the reason? It's because of our sin nature, GOD knows if HE was to reveal to us the fullness of HIS love—or the fullness of HIS character that would kill us since we cannot be exposed to HIS Holiness & survive.

2.] Made in the Image of GOD to Love

Tim Keller frames up eternity as a place of infinite love, an infinite presence with GOD. In fact he has almost minimized other attributes that are familiar to us like faith & hope.

     These are important, but not truly intrinsic      qualities of GOD's character, at the same      level GOD is a being and a divinity of love,      & that is a defining intrinsic trait; so when      we spend eternity with HIM, we get the      fullness of that essence.

We get the fullness of HIS love and that is actually the deepest longing in our heart. This makes sense when you think about other passages, where JESUS frames love as the highest virtue above faith/hope.

Tim then contrasts that against Eastern culture and Eastern religion which seeks to evade suffering, or difficulties & trials in life by basically saying

     you want to disassociate/disconnect from      it & become less of a self-identified entity      & absorb yourself into this all soul concept      in order to achieve peace,

not to achieve love, & not to achieve the fullness of who you are—not to achieve what GOD created you to be.

………………………………………………………………… But basically to disappear & to coexist with all other created beings and entities—so Keller says that will actually not satisfy your deepest desires. …………………………………………………………………

     Our longing is not for peace, it's for love      —it's for connection, it's for relationship

And the only way we can have true fullness is to find it in JESUS CHRIST.

Relationships are how we experience love.

So you have to think about how am I engaging with people? What are my interactions like? What are my values like? If I'm not prioritizing love/people & valuing them in my life the same way that GOD values me, or the way GOD values humans above all other elements of HIS creation.

………………………………………………………………… Then we're missing out on that promise, and we're missing out on that connection & that satisfaction, that gratification that comes through relationships & love. …………………………………………………………………

3.] What is Heaven Like?

And that leads to point #3, where Tim talks about what Heaven is like. Tim provides a very interesting illustration here, where he talks about some doctor

—who told a story about engaging & interacting with patients who are near death, and it's a very common theme for patients that are near death to have this apprehension about eternity

     because they are afraid they're going to be      bored & this is a real thing I think when we      imagine Heaven or only imagine eternity

We have a really hard time conceptualizing it; & in fact our imagination is so limited, we almost think of it in terms that we're more stark than what we're experiencing in our current reality.

………………………………………………………………… But that's not the reality that we need to envision, Tim states that the big characterization & reality of eternity is love. …………………………………………………………………

Though we can't really grasp that very well right now —when we experience the fullness of it, Tim tells us to think about your best memory where you felt most loved & most connected.

     Generally people associate that moment is      the happiest point in their lives, now you      expand that out infinitely…

And that's something like what eternity is going to be for us. Sometimes we don't do an adequate job of framing up GOD as a three-person TRINITY.

3.1] Made for Relationships

So you have JESUS, the SON, GOD the FATHER, and the HOLY SPIRIT—& we look at the nature of GOD, you see relationship.

     You see those three distinct BEINGS, all      in one GOD & THEY are defined & held      together by this construct of love.

………………………………………………………………… So if we're made in GOD's image, that means we're made for connection—we are made to love others & to have relationships. …………………………………………………………………

Tim Keller defines this as an infinite Holy energy that there's a synergy there—& a beauty in that & a rhythm to that.

3.2] Love: We Partially, Not Fully

We can only even try to imagine. So Paul draws this analogy about how GOD fully knows us now, but we don't fully know HIM.

And what he meant by that is

     A loving knowledge: so GOD knows us in      the completeness & fullness of HIS love      for us by sending JESUS HIS SON to die      for us on the cross

     But we are not able to at this time      reciprocate that love in the same way.

     We don't have that knowledge of love      that won't be completed until eternity

Contrast that with the theology that's out there, that talks about knowledge of GOD is we'll know all things when we get to Heaven.

That's not true.

     Only GOD is the truly infinite Sovereign      BEING, WHO runs the entire universe &      we're never going to have that type of      knowledge

What Paul is talking about here is,

     he's talking about the fullness of loving      knowledge and Timothy Keller goes on      to state that all of our problems stem      actually from a lack of knowledge of      this love

That it's actually a lack of love that causes you to sin and causes you to cheat—and try to achieve satisfaction in ways that you're not designed to.

Keller defines love as a desire to be surrendered to where somebody gives you their fullness and also a desire to surrender yourself.

There's a coexisting essence to it.

     just like we have in a marriage

Of course because GOD created marriage to model this type of affection & relationships—where both entities are fully giving themselves to the other & a sacrificial type of love.

Of course we do that imperfectly here because of all the trauma/mistakes & the ways we get along.

Sometimes that analogy isn't always helpful to us because we bring a lot of baggage into it. But in its completion & its proper state, it's actually the best gift possible.

3.3] Need For Community of Believers

Another neat metaphor that gives to us is this idea of community is being a member of Church because we all have our own independent relationship with GOD—but the nature & character of our relationship as an individual is different than what our neighbor might be experiencing.

     And when you form a mosaic, where a group      are coming together & sharing their individual      stories & their relationship with GOD with one      another—we all have a different glimpse of      WHO GOD is

     And we can weave everyone's individual      perspective into a whole to see HIM in a      greater way than we would on our own

………………………………………………………………… There's a real important aspect of relationships & community there—that in order to know GOD you have got to do it in context of being around other believers—who know HIM too. …………………………………………………………………

4.] Life is All About Loving Relationships

So Tim leaves us with this final thought of:

What does it all mean, in terms of what Timothy Keller's application is for us?

     It means that we have to value & prioritize      people & relationships over money wealth      health, or any other type of thing that we're      trying to get satisfaction from

     that falls short of prioritizing relationship &      getting along with other people & growing      with them because that's the opportunity      for love

     And when we connect in that way, we get      closer to GOD & understanding through the      reality of what HE created us to be.

………………………………………………………………… So if you have imperfect/broken relationships, you want to do what you can to forgive and mend those …………………………………………………………………

     because you're missing a huge opportunity      to grow with GOD, if you don't do that GOD      will reach out and connect with you in the      same way if you leave those relationships      fragmented—when you have the capacity      to go in there and try to heal and make      amendments

So become a person of justice where you're looking out for the good will of others, where you're looking out for other people's interests.

     If you're trying to bring them up, so they      have a capacity for more love in their lives      & you're advocating for them and for their      needs above your own

     that's a sacrificial love that will unite you      with GOD's goodness & HIS essence.

4.1] What is Hell Like?

Tim tells us that Hell is the exact opposite of that state, Hell is a place of 100% self-absorption.

He makes a kind of mocking joke of this idea that people state, “Well I want to go to Hell because all my friends are there.”

     There are no friends in Hell because      friendship requires sacrifice & caring      about somebody else & the state of      the soul in Hell is self-pity & pride &      self-delusion

     And self in any iteration, so there isn't      connection/community/love there.

     the absence of that is misery

Solitude/fear/hate so when you contrast those two environments: Hell with Heaven which one would you really want to choose?

Which one are we truly yearning for at the end of the day? What we're yearning for?

We're not learning yearning for long-term peace & eternity/tranquility/passivity—we're longing for a deep abiding affection & connection with the GOD WHO created us.

———————————————————————— I hope these ideas were helpful to you today.

Definitely Listen to Timothy Keller's sermon titled: Heaven a World of Love, & read 1 Corinthians 13 to see what the Scripture really has to say about the subject.

And please like this video, leave a comment with your own thoughts & ideas about love in Heaven

And please subscribe, I hope it adds great value to you. Thank you & GOD bless.

1 Corinthians 13:1-13 | Import of Love 

¹ If I speak in the tongues of men and of Angels, but have not love, I am only a ringing gong or a clanging cymbal. ² If I have the gift of prophecy & can fathom all mysteries & all knowledge—& if I have absolute faith so as to move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.

³ If I give all I possess to the poor and exult in the surrender of my body, but have not love — I gain nothing.

⁴ Love is patient, love is kind. It doesn't envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. ⁵ It is not rude, it is not self -seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no account of wrongs.

⁶ Love takes no pleasure in evil, but rejoices in the truth. ⁷ It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

⁸ Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be restrained; where there is knowledge, it will be dismissed.

⁹ For we know in part & we prophesy in part, ¹⁰ but when the perfect comes, the partial passes away.

¹¹ When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I set aside childish ways.

¹² Now we see but a dim reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

¹³ And now these three remain: faith, hope, & love; but the greatest of these is love.

[xelles-archive]

din knows you want to do your best and he loves and believes in you :( i do too,, i don't have many words to say but i hope you feel better soon <3

th,, thank you. i'm still a bit sad but uhh i'm trying to cope. i'll try to lessen the amount of time i spend using my phone and seriously work on my hw this time.

[miekasa]

NICE.

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

+ genres: rich kid au, college au, friends to lovers au, fluff, light-ish angst, smut/nsfw content (everybody gets a piece)!

+ warnings: mentions of depression/anxiety, mentions and use of drugs and alcohol, some of the smut happens under the influence so be cautious if that’s something you don’t like, i swear this is all more idiots in love than angst tho i just wanna disclose everything fairly

+ notes: this is alternatively titled super rich kids and you can probably figure out why. some of this is based off of real life, some of it is straight out of gossip girl and i challenge you to separate the facts from the fiction :’) anyways, i hope we all remember the lyrics to in my feelings

+ more notes: one quick reference for ages in this fic—all the vets are older but not by that much, think various stages of grad school. armin, connie, sasha, annie, and bertholdt are all college sophomores. eren, the reader, and pretty much everybody else are college seniors, so they’re about a year or two older. also here is a playlist for your reading pleasures, shoutout to ryn for letting me mooch of their spotify account :’)

+ word count: 19k. i’m sorry.

+ summary: fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool, fuck you.; or the story of notorious rich kid and self-proclaimed bad boy eren yeager, and his not so goody two-shoes best friend.

“So you’re saying that you don’t love me? That you’re not riding? That you’ll actually leave from beside me?”

“I’m saying that it’s ass o’clock in the morning and I’m not driving in the rain to Brooklyn to pick your sorry ass up.”

“But… but I want you, and I need you, and I’m down for you.”

You check the time on your phone screen and groan. 3:57am. Far too early to be dealing with the likes of Eren Jaeger. “Just get an Uber or something. I don’t know what you and your idiot friends were up to this time, but I don’t want any part of it.”

“First, they’re our idiot friends. Second, I don’t think they let you take Ubers from jail, and even if they did, it’s, like, four in the morning, so I don’t think there are any Ubers driving around, so could you pretty please come pick me up? I promise I’ll make it up to—”

“From where?” you cut him off, slowly sitting upright in your bed. You hold your phone closer to your ear, ready to listen again; because, certainly, you must have misheard him the first time. You wait, but the line is silent, save for Eren’s awkward chuckling. “Eren Asher Jaeger, tell me that that was another stupid lyric from that stupid song, and that you are not in prison right now.”

Eren makes a sad attempt at laughing. “Technically, it’s a holding cell, not really prison… and I would leave, but they suspended my license for a month, and Min can’t drive yet, so we kind of need you,” he explains, “Uh, no pun intended.”

“Min?” you pull your eyebrows together at the mention of the younger’s name, “Is Armin with you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

With a frown and a heavy sigh, you push yourself out of bed, wedging your phone between your shoulder and your ear as you grab the nearest pair of sweatpants.

“Why did you get him caught up in whatever stupid shit you were doing tonight?” you complain, scanning your dark bedroom for a shirt to wear, “Erwin’s going to castrate you when he finds out.”

You curse as you stub your toe against the edge of your bed on your way out of the room. Given the time, weather, and the fact that you have several exams to start studying for, hanging up and leaving Eren in the middle of god knows where Brooklyn doesn’t seem like such a bad idea, but you couldn’t go back to sleep knowing that Armin would have to suffer with him.

“Relax,” Eren breathes in a tone all too nonchalant for the situation at hand, “He didn’t get charged with anything, and nothing’s going on his record.”

“You don’t know that,” you retort, sliding your raincoat over your free arm, as you paddle down the stairs of your apartment, “The NYPD suck.”

“True,” he hums, “But I paid off the cop, so it’ll be fine.”

You pause in your steps, but really, you shouldn’t be surprised. “Of course you did,” you mumble, moving again and grabbing your car keys off of the kitchen island.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he questions. His tone is actually genuine and it tempts you to roll your eyes.

“What it always means, Eren,” you sigh, stepping into the elevator, “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“Thank you, baby. I love you.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Get off my line.”

He doesn’t have time to throw in another pitiful “I love you” before the line goes dead and he’s met with static silence. He hangs up the station telephone with a silent chuckle, turning around to face Armin and Officer Hannes.

“Someone’s coming to pick us up,” he says, trying to focus on Armin’s sigh of relief and not the warmth creeping up his neck and into his cheeks, “I’ll, uh, call a tow for the car in the morning.”

The cop, too tired to care, only shrugs, and pays them no further attention. He hands Eren a plastic bag with his car keys and newly suspended license, escorts him back into the cell, and returns to his desk. Eren gives Hannes the finger while his back is turned.

Beside him, Armin is still quivering; bouncing his leg up and down, fiddling with his fingers, gnawing on his bottom lip. Eren frowns, a heavy wave of guilt washing over him as he takes in the younger’s anxiety ridden state. It wasn’t fair that Armin could have potentially suffered legal consequences because of his stupidity.

Eren’s lucky that Hannes was sleazy enough to accept his bribe and let him off with minimal punishment. With that they were doing, things could have ended up far worse for the both of them tonight.

“I’m sorry, man,” he apologizes, hands stuffed in his front pockets, “About tonight, I mean. We—I shouldn’t have done that, not with you there.”

Armin looks up at him with sparkling, doe eyes and Eren wants to punch himself in the gut for making him go through all of this, even if it didn’t amount to an actual arrest. “You couldn’t have known this was going to happen.”

“I could have prevented it,” he says. Because it’s what you would have said, too.

“It’s not your fault, I wanted to come, remember?” Armin tells him, redirecting his gaze to the grey floor of the precinct cell. He takes a deep breath, almost calming down completely when a sudden thought reignites his nervous ticks, “You… they’re not gonna tell my parents, right?”

“No, no—of course not.”

Armin was legally an adult; he, nor Eren, nor the police had to tell his parents anything. Sure, Hannes could rat them out, but honestly that sounded like way more work than he was cut out for; not to mention he’d be bound to reveal that he let them off easy for a couple thousand bucks.

Armin nods, “And… that wasn’t Erwin on the phone, right?”

“Are you kidding me? He’d murder me on the spot,” Eren says. He pauses before tacking on, “I, uh… I called (_____).”

“Oh,” the younger gapes, “She’ll kill you, too.”

“Yeah,” Eren sighs, scratching the back of his neck in nervous anticipation, “Trust me, I know.”

“You have your access card on you, right, Armin?” you ask. He nods sheepishly, hand on the car door handle.

“Thanks again for coming to get us,” he says meekly, “I’m sorry about waking you up and everything.”

You offer him a warm smile through the rear view mirror, “Don’t worry about it, I’m just glad you’re safe. Text me when you get up tomorrow, okay? We can get brunch, my treat.”

His face lights up at the prospect of free food, and he nods once more, enthusiastically, but his expression falls again when he speaks, “Okay, and I’ll, um, pay you back for the tickets and stuff as soon as I can—”

“It’s fine, really, don’t worry about it,” you repeat.

“It was almost three thou—”

“You forget who you’re friends with,” you cut him off with a smile, “Don’t worry about it, okay? It wasn’t your fault.”

Armin’s eyes dart to Eren quickly, before clearing his throat, a light pink tint to his cheeks. You know that the prospect of money can be a sensitive subject for Armin, one easily triggered by his very environment, but this wasn’t negotiable on your end. You know that Armin doesn’t like the feeling of owing anyone anything, but he knows he won’t get you to budge; so, he quietly nods, appreciative of your generosity, before bidding you and Eren a final goodnight and sprinting towards the dorm. Once you see that he’s safely inside, you wave one last time, and wait for the door to shut behind him.

Slowly, Eren turns to the driver’s seat to look at you. You were eerily calm when you came to pick him and Armin up from the station. You didn’t yell, cuss, or punch him in the face like he expected. You politely talked to the officer, thanked him for his service, paid their fees, and up until now, you’ve shown no signs of being angry with him at all.

The two of you drive back to your shared apartment in complete silence, Eren too confused, and borderline scared, of initiating a conversation. He wonders if you’re too tired, or if you really don’t give a damn anymore, but when you pull into the underground lot of your building and put the car in park, he finds out the silence was simply the calm before the storm.

You take your hand off of the gear shift and turn towards him. It’s a quiet stare down for nearly a full minute before you break the mime act with a slap to his thigh.

“Drag racing? Are you out of your fucking mind? Of all the stupid shit you’ve done—and you’ve done a lot of stupid shit—this has got to take the cake. Just what the actual fuck were you thinking?”

“Ouch!” he inhales sharply, rubbing over where you’d hit him, “We were just having fun! Then these other guys showed up and started talking shit so—”

“Having fun?” you echo, “You couldn’t think of anything fun to do that’s not illegal in every borough of New York City?”

Eren feels his cheek flush, but he only huffs with the illusion of disinterest, “I don’t know why you’re freaking out so bad. I’m a good driver, it was those other squids that got us into shit, I’m telling you. They showed up looking for a fight, then ran like a bunch of pussies when the cops came.”

You exhale slowly, shaking your head in disbelief. You seem to have no other words to say to him, choosing to step out of the car and slam the door behind you. Eren quickly follows, slamming his door equally as hard, and hot on your trail as you march towards the elevator.

“(_____), come on, enough with the silent treatment,” he whines when you stick yourself in a corner of the elevator after pushing the button to the penthouse, “I told you I didn’t start shit, Armin and I got ratted on.”

“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about whether or not they started it, Eren. You’re still the problem here.”

“Me? How am I the problem?” he pulls back, eyebrows drawn together in genuine confusion, “I just told you I didn’t do shit.”

You scoff, crossing your arms and shifting your left leg, “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“Doing what with me?” he presses, tone growing icy.

“This, Eren!” you reiterate, “I’m too tired to hear your bullshit right now.”

The elevator dings and opens into your apartment. You push past him, continuing your deliberate strides through the living area, and to the stairs, but Eren catches you with a hand on your wrist before you can go any further.

“Will you fucking stop that,” he growls, “If you’ve got something to say, then stop running away from me, and just say it.”

“Funny,” you sneer, pulling your wrist away from him and settling both your feet on the bottom step, “You’re one to talk about running away from things.”

He takes a step back, standing just a notch below you, perfectly frozen in place. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means your little drag racing episode was not only dangerous and immature, it was you running away from your problems like a spoiled child, yet again.”

Eren’s features narrow at your accusations; eyes fading into hooded slits, lips curving downwards, and voice bobbing low, “I’m not running away from anything.”

“Oh, please, Eren,” you roll your eyes, arms retreating to their crossed position in front of your chest, “Cut the bullshit.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” But he bets that even in the dim lighting of the apartment, you can see the tips of his ears growing red, just like they always do when he’s lying.

“Oh, really?” you ask, eyes widening in mock surprise, “You don’t think I don’t know this whole thing has something to do with the fact that your mom came home on Friday?”

Another pause. “Who told you that?” He asks, but it comes out more like a statement.

“Nobody had to,” you snap, “Jean said he caught you with a sack of coke over the weekend, and I knew something was up.”

“It wasn’t mine, I was—”

“I said cut the shit, Eren. If I went up into your room right now I bet your ass I’d find more than enough of it in a shoebox somewhere.”

He retreats, almost bashful, but unapologetic all the same. “Fine, whatever, I did a few lines. Big deal.”

“The big deal is that you think this is fucking normal, and now you’ve upgraded from coke to getting yourself arrested! It’d be one thing if you were acting like a misfit on your own, but to drag Armin into it because you—”

“Drag him into it?” he echoes with the snare of sarcasm dripping from each syllable, “You talk about Armin like he’s six. I don’t know why you think he’s some helpless little baby, but you have no goddamn responsibility over him. He’s not your fucking charity case.”

“I never fucking said he’s my charity case—don’t you ever fucking say that,” you say, “Having some basic respect and concern for my friends isn’t charity.”

“Wake the fuck up! You baby Armin when he’s a grown ass man. I didn’t force him into the fucking car to get sympathy points from you.”

“Grown? Armin is barely nineteen, disowned by his parents, is on a full fucking ride to an insanely expensive university, and you got him arrested tonight! Do you know what could happen if NYU found out? They could fucking kick him out, take his scholarship away—and then what, huh? Or were you just gonna buy off the headmaster, too?”

“You’re acting like I fucking planned for it!”

He’s screaming now, voice bellowing throughout the apartment, face red—and he doesn’t mean to, he doesn’t mean it at all; but it’s late, and he’s tired, and those shouldn’t be excuses, but he’s too prideful to back down.

“Of course you didn’t! You didn’t plan for anything, you were just being a reckless, irresponsible asshole like always,” you tell him, too blind-sighted by anger and the need to chide him that you miss the teary undertones in his words.

“And what’s it matter to you?”

“It fucking matters to me when you call at some godforsaken hour asking me to pick you up from prison!”

He takes a step forward, right leg elevated by the same step that both your feet rest on. “Well, what else am I supposed to fucking do!” He shouts even though he’s mere inches from your face, “Tell me just what the fuck I’m supposed to do instead!”

“You’re supposed to act like an adult and fucking talk to someone!”

“Who the hell am I supposed to talk to, huh?” he presses, taking a step forward and forcing you to retreat backwards, and up a step, “My mother who’s never home or her bastard boyfriend?”—another step forward for him, another step backwards for you—“The step-brother I can’t get in contact with?”—one step forward; one step backwards—“Or maybe the dad I never had, right?”

“Me, Eren!” you yell back with equal vigor, throwing your hands up at your sides, and planting your feet firmly. “Armin, Mikasa, Jean—anyone! You have people who fucking care about you! Stop treating us like correction officers, we’re your fucking friends!”

There’s silence for a while, just you and Eren staring at each other, heavy breathing, waiting for the other to make the next move. He opens his mouth, but when he tries to speak, his resolve washes away, his throat tightens and the words get sucked back in.

It would be easy to keep yelling, screaming, blaming you for blowing up on him. He used to think the scolding he got from you after pulling some stupid stunt was the worst part; but now, he thinks it might be his favorite part. He hates to hear you scream, and it hurts to see you cry, but if you’re yelling, you’re angry that he hurt himself; you care that he’s okay.

“I—” he stutters, words quiet and broken, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to get like this tonight, it was an accident I—”

“You never mean for any of it to happen, yet it always does,” you interrupt, voice soft yet strained, “I know you have your own shit to deal with, but so does everybody else.”

“(_____), please, you’re right, okay? I should have said something before,” he admits, mouth small as he voices his confessions, “I should have talked to you or one of the boys, but I—I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

He’s groveling now. Mouth in pout, eyes wide, voice small, and honestly, he thinks he might cry. At this point he doesn’t care if he does.

“I want you to mean it,” you finally say, and when he looks up, he hates the look he sees in your eyes. It’s something between sad and hurt and empty and it’s awful. Someone like you shouldn’t feel that way. He shouldn’t make you feel that way.

“I—”

“When you’re ready to tell me exactly what’s going on with you—what’s happening that made you think going to jail would be better than facing your issues—I’ll be here to talk,” you continue, eyes watering, “But until then, goodnight, Eren.”

Eren winces when you turn around and ascend up the remaining stairs. He flirts with the idea of following you, going to your room to finish talking, but you’re probably angry enough to have it locked. His room is up there, too, but he opts for part of the sectional, laying down with the palms of his hands kneading against his closed eyelids.

For as long as he can remember, you’ve been there for him. Your friendship, at times, was like a game of tag—Eren always on the run with you loyally chasing after him; he’d always run amuck, and you’d always be there to catch him in the act. Now, it’s five in the morning, there’s no more yelling, no more chasing, no more racing, but he’s still running.

The following morning, you take Armin out to brunch, as promised. Jean tags along too, something about hanging out with the two of you being infinitely more entertaining than his genetics lecture. It doesn’t seem like Jean knows anything about Armin and Eren’s late night antics, so you don’t bring it up yourself.

Oblivious, Jean chats your ears off as if nothing is awry. Whether he knows it or not, he does a great job of distracting Armin from his own thoughts. They both eat to their heart’s content when you remind them you’ll foot the bill; and you don’t bat an eye when Jean convinces Armin to order his third round of pancakes. He deserves it.

Afterwards, Jean convinces the three of you to go window shopping with him in SoHo, claiming that he needed inspiration for his latest fashion assignment (you don’t question why he’s taking a fashion class as a biology major, but you suspect it has something to do with Mikasa). Window shopping soon turns into actual shopping, so almost completely unprompted, and with little effort on his part, Armin gets a few pieces of clothing on your behalf, while you try to ignore Eren’s words itching at the back of your mind.

Armin’s not a baby, but he certainly is a kid with a rough past and rough relationship with his parents at a time in his life where he arguably needs them the most. A little extra support from his friends wouldn’t harm him.

It’s nearing six when the three of you are wedged in a small booth inside a café, indulging in overpriced hot chocolate. Three sips into his second cup, Jean excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving you sitting across from Armin.

“You know, you don’t have to keep buying me stuff to make up for Eren,” Armin says, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I’m not trying to make up for him,” you sputter, careful not to spill your drink over your lap, “You had a rough night. Just accept my gifts, don’t be a brat.”

“I do accept them. Erwin’s been eyeing that Off White sweater for, like, three weeks now. He’s gonna have a hissy fit when he sees me wearing it.” You chuckle, and he continues, “But you know, as much I love spending time with you, you can’t use me to avoid Eren forever.”

“I’m not avoiding him,” you frown.

“You said you were going to take us to brunch, and then spent the whole day with us.”

“Funny, I recall you saying something about how much you love my company about thirty seconds ago.”

“He’s called you at least ten times today.”

“I was spending the day with my favorite NYU student… and Jean,” you bat your lashes, “I see you maybe once a week. I live with Eren, I have to see him every day.”

Armin calls your name with a pout, “He’s sorry, you know.”

“Not sorry enough,” you mumble. Armin opens his mouth to say something again, but then Jean’s sliding back into the booth, chatting about how he’s finally come up with the perfect anniversary date for Mikasa.

Armin doesn’t notice your sigh of relief, but he does take note of the way you wipe away your notifications when a text rings through. If Eren could spend his days running away from his problems, then you could, too.

Despite being arguably the greediest of you all, Jean loves company, so he doesn’t hesitate to say yes when you ask to crash at his place after your shopping escapades. You expect to be welcomed with sounds of screaming, laughter, and loud music, but to your surprise his apartment is completely silent upon your entering.

“Bertholdt has class and Marco has a meeting,” he prompts, as if he could read your thoughts. He shimmies his coat off his shoulders and tosses it over the bar in the foyer.

Their apartment has the same amount of rooms as yours and Eren’s, but is all stretched along a single floor. It’s more of a maze, really, with intricate turns, and hallways, that all more or less open up into the expanse of the foyer and bar. Their living room is your favorite part. A dark, brown leather sectional wraps around the back three walls and an oversized flatscreen encased in an ebony frame takes center stage. A collection of vinyl records litters the walls above the couch; each of the boys contributing their favorite discs as décor.

“If he has class, shouldn’t you have class?” you question, fingers dragging over the ridges of the closest record.

“I’ve had class all day, but that doesn’t mean I go,” Jean shrugs, walking up behind you and taking your jacket off your shoulders and your bag from your hand, “Besides, Bertholdt will probably cut half-way to go see Reiner, if he can even stay awake that long. Going with him is just as productive as staying home.”

“You’re all a mess,” you scoff, turning around as a cheesy grin grows on Jean’s lips. His smile is infectious, and soon you catch yourself grinning just because.

“You want something to drink?” he offers, throwing your coat over his elbow and tilting his head in the direction of the bar.

“You’re bad at mixing drinks,” you remind him, but follow him anyway.  

Jean laughs, not bothering to deny the jab. He doesn’t try his hand at anything mixed or complicated this time; simply offering you a glass of your favorite red, and pouring himself a smaller amount.

He puts the album you were gawking at earlier on the record player, the two of you sinking into the couch as lovely melodies radiate throughout the apartment.

He spends the first hour bitching about how Marco’s supposed to become a CEO in less than a year, yet has the attention span of a squirrel; but the playful lilt in the brunette’s voice, and the begrudging smile on his face lets you know that it’s all love. He gushes about Mikasa for a good half hour, cramming you with stories about his girlfriend’s talent for sewing and fashion. You also learn that Bertholdt’s been busier than usual these days, and Jean suspects it has something to do with a secret lover.

You pinch your eyebrows at his hunch. Bertholdt’s never been one for dating. He’s had many friends with benefits in the past, but they weren’t relationships, nor were they secrets. In fact, you don’t think that he could keep a secret to save his life.

“Why would he be hiding it if he were seeing someone?” you question, swirling your newly refilled glass.

“Dunno,” Jean shrugs, “But it’s sus, I’m telling you. He’s been oddly busy for someone with a 2.3 GPA. Either way, I’ll pry it out of him eventually.”

“You’re so fucking nosey,” you chuckle, watching the mischievous, satisfied grin settle onto his features.

“I kinda think it’s Armin,” Jean says after a while, downing the remaining wine in his cup, while you choke on your own drink.

“Why on Earth do you think if Bertholdt had a secret lover that it’d be Armin?”

“Because he was in love with him for, like, two years in high school,” Jean says, as if the information should be painfully obvious.

“Yeah, and Bert also hooked up with a million different people in high school.”

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t still in love with Armin.”

“I don’t think Armin’s kissed another human, let alone is in a secret relationship with one.”

“Hm, true. I forget he’s still a virgin.”

“Hey—there’s nothing wrong with Armin being a virgin, leave him be.”

“I know there’s nothing wrong with it,” Jean whines, “But it’s so—he doesn’t have to be. Armin’s cute! And very attractive—dare I even say sexy. He could go outside and get laid right now if he just tried.”

“Stay humble, Jean boy. If I remember correctly, you only started breaking hearts a year ago,” you tut. Jean’s nose goes pink as he shoves you away when you continue, “But, if you’re so concerned with Armin’s virginity, why don’t you go help him out with it.”

“Actually, if I remember correctly, I think that’s more your gig,” he shoots back, a smug smile tugging on his lips. “Not to mention, I’m not trying to get beat up by Annie. Though, I wonder how much longer it’ll take before she finally snaps. Hey, maybe the both of you can tag team him, I’m sure Annie wouldn’t mind, and it might even make Armin less nervous to have you—”

It’s your turn to shove him now, throwing in an extra punch when his head bobs back with laughter. You’re very certain Annie would mind; you would mind if someone inserted themself in your kind of, sort of, not really relationship, and ruined your four years of pining.

“Speaking of lovers,” Jean prompts, once his laughter dies down, bending his knee and turning closer to you. “Why are you and lover boy fighting? Trouble in paradise?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hum, sipping your drink in between words. Jean’s eyes pinch together. “Marco and I would never fight.”

“My god, will you let your Marco fantasies go already? You’ve already caused him one sexuality crisis,” Jean groans, “You know I mean Eren.”

You sigh, lowering your glass and reaching forward to pinch his cheek. “It’s nothing you have to worry your pretty little head over.”

“Please,” he scoffs, flicking your offending hand back, “He’s been texting us nonstop since this morning at, like, nine. I didn’t even know he was capable of waking up before noon.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, but Jean continues, “Why he would ask us for advice on you is beyond me. He knows you better than all of us combined.”

“And why you’re saying all of this is beyond me.”

“Oh, come on, what’d he do,” Jean pushes, borderline whines, as he puts his empty glass down in a cup holder embedded in the couch. He’s always been the most prone to gossip, but you forget that wine makes him even more of a nosey prick. “Must have been pretty bad. Or stupid.”

“Try both,” you mumble, “Well—I don’t know, it wasn’t… the worst thing anyone could do, but it was really fucking reckless—and why he did it, I couldn’t even tell you. I don’t know what goes through his mind half the time, but I swear he must have been on crack last night.”

“He probably was. On crack, I mean. I told you, I took an ounce from him over the weekend, but that was after Eren and Ymir did, like, five lines.”

“Do they really do that regularly?” you nearly cry, a hand massaging your temple, “Fucking Christ, if he really was high while driving, I’ll kill him myself.”

“Well, I don’t know if regular is the right word,” Jean ponders, “Maybe for Ymir, but god knows what she’s on half the time, anyways. Besides, coke isn’t the worst thing they could do.”

“You sound like you speak from personal experience.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, pausing when you shoot him a disapproving look, “Oh, come on! You’re no angel, either—if memory serves, you were high as shit at Moblit’s birthday party, and kept singing the star spangled banner all night.”

“Yeah, on weed! One time! It was on a rooftop and the stars were out and it has the same rhythm as the happy birthday song, cut me some slack!”

He finds laughing at your expense to be much more fun, however, as he continues to chuckle while you throw a fit. He’s also not one to let a topic of gossip go undiscussed, and has no problem bringing the conversation back to Eren.

“It’s because you two don’t talk, you know,” Jean tuts, “That’s why you fight like this.”

For the second time, the younger’s words have your eyebrows growing close together. “I mean, I guess—but it’s more than that. Eren and I live together, we obviously talk, but—”

“I know, I know, but just hear me out, okay? You and Eren talk about a lot of things, yeah, but you also… don’t. And sometimes you don’t have to, because you guys, like… get each other.”

“Wow. What a way with words you have, Jean Kirstein. You should write a self-help book.”

“What I mean,” he sneers, unhappy with the sarcasm being thrown his way, “Is that you guys understand each other in weird ways. It’s actually kind of cute—sometimes a little freaky, in all honesty. It’s why you don’t always have to talk about serious things. But you take it for granted and let shit bottle up, and then get in denial about it until you blow up in each other’s faces.”

“Please, you barely passed one philosophy class and now you think you’re Plato.”

“You’re doing the in denial thing right now!” he taunts, “Come one, when you two fight like this, what’s it usually about?”

You sigh, sinking back into the plush leather of the couch, and wrapping your hands around a fluffy throw pillow. Thinking about arguing with Eren isn’t particularly something you like to do, and truthfully, you don’t really get pissed at each other that often. Not to the point of ignoring each other, at least.

“I don’t know,” you drawl, “Drugs, me forgetting things, him doing stupid shit, him thinking Mikasa could do better than you, school, drinking, the fact that he leaves his big ass shoes at the top of the stairs for me to trip over and fall to my death every morning, when—”

“His parents?” Jean cuts you off.

“I—we don’t really… it’s not so much fighting over his parents, it’s all the stuff he does to deal with his parents. He never gives his mom’s boyfriends a chance, and he never really talks about why, either. I know he’s secretly just angry and insecure about his dad, but… I don’t know. That doesn’t really make it better.”

“True,” he nods, “See—he doesn’t talk about it.”

“I know, and I told him that last night, too, but… it’s a sensitive subject for him—his dad, I mean,” you sigh, “And you’re right, he shouldn’t bottle his feelings up, but, on the other hand he’s watched his mom get married five times. I don’t always blame him for not wanting to talk about it.”

“Yeah, but just because it’s hard to talk about doesn’t mean he shouldn’t,” Jean lolls, “Wouldn’t you have rather he said something than have done whatever stupid shit he did to make you want to sleep here tonight?”

“Okay, Socrates, I get it,” you lighten up, “I’ll talk to him—or get him to talk to me. Are you happy?”

“Quite,” he says, annoyingly chipper as he rises from the couch. “I hate seeing my favorite power couple fighting.”

Jean knows his words would elicit a slap to his arm, so he takes off just before you can reach him, prompting you to chase him out of the living room and down the hall. The brunette cackles ridiculously loudly as you scream his name with profanities sprinkled in-between. You catch a hold of the bottom of his shirt and pull him back, finally flicking him on the forehead.

He accepts his punishment with pride, offering you a signature smile in return while you both catch your breaths. It’s a sweet moment, the two of you looking at each other with stupid smiles on your face, exhalations tickling your cheeks.

Jean’s eyes break the gaze first, as he looks down the remainder of your face, and back up to your eyes again. His words could get caught in his throat, but he doesn’t let them—he shakes his head, and swiftly turns around, beckoning for you to follow him.

“Come on, we can steal Marco’s clothes for your pajamas this time.”

Jean spends all of three minutes pulling apart Marco’s dresser before swiping a t-shirt and Christmas themed pajama bottoms from his room. He tosses them in your direction before leading you back down the hall and to the left, opening the door to the guest bedroom for you, before leaving you to change.

They have more than one guest bedroom, but this one is unofficially yours. Little pieces of you can be found littered throughout the room, from spare jewelry to mismatched makeup. You spot a single, gold, teardrop shaped earring on the vanity and sigh as you run your fingers over it.

You swear you’d lost it a few months ago. Trust Jean to put it away for safekeeping without telling you he’d found it. The boy in question returns moments later, knocking while walking through the door with your purse in hand.

“How’d you know I was about to ask you to get that?” you question, a smile on your face as you retrieve the small bag from his hands.

Jean offers you a cocky grin, “Cause I’m the best.”

“Don’t go getting a big head, now,” you tease, “Or, well, an even bigger head.”

Jean ignores your insult, as you take a seat at the edge of the bed, fishing through your bag for your phone to plug it in for the night. He’s about to turn around and bid you goodnight, when the flash of something orange peeping out of your purse prompts his next thought.

“Hey, you picked up your refill, right?” he asks innocently, “It should have been ready last Thursday.”

You sigh, head falling slightly when you close your bag and place it on the vanity. “Uh… no.”

Jean’s mouth is already open, ready with equally friendly and scolding words, but you cut him off before he can talk. “I was going to on Thursday, but I had class late, and then I forgot on Friday and I haven’t really had time since then. But I have a few left-overs from the last two months, so I’ve been taking those!”

Jean’s mouth closes, but his eyes narrow as he begins to walk towards you. You know he’s putting two and two together, so you speak ahead of him again.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t have any left over, but it’s only five, I promise! I’ve been really good, lately.”

Jean’s eyes remain in concentrated slits, but his resolve is waning when he reads over your expression. His facade fades as he takes the final steps towards you to stand directly in front of your body.

“Okay,” he says, voice soft through his smile, “I’ll go with you to pick them up tomorrow before I drop you home, yeah?”

It elates him more than it should to see the smile you flash his way. Unfortunately, it’s short-lived, as his next question leaves your face twisted with guilt.

“Have you… told Eren yet?”

You consider lying and saying yes, but something tells you Jean won’t buy it. Your silence seems to speak loud enough, as his shoulders drop with a quiet sigh.

“I want to, I just… well I’m mad at him right now, and even when I’m not… I don’t know why it’s so hard,” you confess.

“He’d wanna know, you know,” Jean says, and it’s not the first time he’s said it to you, either. “You know he wouldn’t judge you or anything.”

“I know that. But, truthfully, if I had things my way, not even you would know, Jean.”

It was an accident that Jean found out that you’d been taking anxiety medication.

It was at somebody’s house party where the majority of your friends and their guests had gotten piss drunk. Reiner’s date had suggested mixing their alcohol with molly she’d supposedly had in her bag. In her drunken stupor, she’d mistaken your purse for her own, but luckily, a not so drunk Jean had noticed the label didn’t match her name, and snagged the bottle before the worst could happen.

They ended up not finding her molly, anyway, but it’s a moot point. Jean had cornered you about the bottle later in the week with honest intentions; he’d been concerned that might be another kind of drug disguised by a prescription veil. However, you’d assured him that it was indeed your prescribed Lexapro, and not a shady mixture of black market substances.

And, he’d been more than understanding in the aftermath. Quite frankly, he had somewhat made it his business to ensure that you got and took your medication on time and felt comfortable getting to and from your therapy appointments.

It’s endearing in a way that made you pause and count your blessings sometimes. Jean had been nothing but unequivocally supportive in his understanding about anxiety and had gone the extra mile to comfort you where need be. It made you wonder why you hesitated to tell Eren on several occasions.

It was probably the very nature of anxiety itself that had you doubting your trust in Eren. You wanted to tell him—of course you did—but, you couldn’t. You know that Eren would do everything in his power to make it better, even if that was just being. You know that he’d want to know and he’d kill to understand. But you couldn’t possibly burden him with your problems, not when he has a million of his own.

The one person in the world you wanted to tell, you were terrified of talking to. And you know it’s irrational to be afraid of him, but you can’t seem to control those thoughts. It’s a tiring, consuming, endless cycle.

Jean watches the way your gaze lowers to the floor. He knows exactly what you’re thinking, and, god, he swears if he could take that train of thought away from you, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

With a heavy heart and tired eyes, he takes a final step forward and wraps his arms around your body. He counts three, four seconds before you hug him back. He raises a hand to the back to your head, cradling your face into his shoulder and squeezing you tightly.

“Hey, I’m proud of you, you know that,” he speaks, just a notch above a whisper, “I know you’ll tell him when you’re ready.”

“I will,” you murmur into the fabric of his shirt. You hug him back a little tighter and close your eyes, “Thank you, Jean.”

And Jean holds on, and hopes you know that he wouldn’t let you go, “You’re welcome, (_____).”

You come home to find your entire apartment littered with flowers; in the hallway, on the sectional, atop the counter, up the stairs.

There are several boxes of your favorite macarons stacked in a small pyramid on the kitchen island, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you checked the labels to find that they were shipped straight from the south of France this morning. There’s too many bottles of Ace on the coffee table, sparkling next to a basket of what looks like your regular skincare products. A pretty, gold bow rests atop an even prettier pair of red-bottomed heels, and if you’re not mistaken, that’s a limited edition, vintage YSL clutch on the sectional, resting against your favorite throw pillow.

You sigh, making your way to the couch to pick up the orange envelope sticking out of the handbag. Just as you’re about to open it, you hear footsteps, and a voice that follows.

“You’re back,” Eren chirps from mid-way on the staircase, “I, uh, there’s catering coming from Butter coming soon. I know it’s your favorite,” he continues as he descends the stairs.

He has his hand on the back of his neck and there’s a faint, pink tint to his cheeks as he slowly makes his way towards you. You cross your arms, looking him up and down when he stands in front of you.

He’s wearing dark jeans and a tweed sweater with patches at the elbow. His hair is split down the middle, longer than usual, so the ends of sweep over his eyelashes; and there are telltale signs that he’d been toying with it.

“Eren, what is all of this?” you finally ask, shifting your weight to your right leg.

“Part one of my apology and explanation,” he replies, a hopeful timbre to his voice. You roll your eyes, but he continues anyway, “Actually, part two is in that envelope.”

Skeptical, you unfold your arms and open the envelope. You don’t know what you were expecting—a card, maybe tickets to a musical or something; but what you definitely weren’t expecting were two tickets to Paris.

“France?” you look up, tickets in hand, “You don’t get it do you? You can’t just buy all of this shit, jet us off to Europe and expect everything to be okay.”

“No, no it’s not like that—I swear!” he interjects, hands moving sporadically, “It’s just, well… Can we sit? Then I can explain everything.”

Eren looks at you with those big green eyes and that sad pout to his lips, and you find yourself sighing and taking a seat on the couch against your better judgement. There’s a small smile to his lips when you do—a little victory—and he sits next to you, your knees resting against each other as you face him.

He’s shaking, and your resolve to punish him with whatever solid exterior and half-assed silent treatment dissolves as you take his left hand in your right, and recall your conversation with Jean. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s me, Eren. You can talk to me.”

When he feels your smaller hand envelop his, the shaking stops, and for a moment, it feels like he can do this, like everything is okay. He smiles, and takes a deep breath.

“The other night, you were right, about my mom and her boyfriend coming home,” he starts, words slow and heavy, “I didn’t even know she was coming—I knew she was visiting this month, but she didn’t tell me when, and I thought it was going to be just her, you know? But then she showed up with him, and, well, I don’t know. I was upset. She’s been home for a week now, and we haven’t even gone to dinner or anything.”

He pauses, and you squeeze his hand for reassurance, “We were supposed to get lunch on Thursday, but she cancelled. Had some meeting or something, I don’t know, I don’t care. Friday comes and she says she wants to have dinner, right?”

You nod, he continues. “I thought it was just going to be us, but he was there. That’s when she told me that… that they’re…” he squeezes his eyes shut, “They’re engaged.”

Your mouth falls into a small o-shape. Everything made perfect sense now.

It’s not that Eren didn’t love his mother, quite the opposite actually. He’s a mama’s boy through and through; she’s his role model, his everything, he adores her. Her career as a designer often takes her on long business trips, most frequently as prolonged stays in Paris, so much so that she relocated her primary office there shortly after Eren graduated high school.

Now, she only visits home for one or two weeks at a time, sometimes only for the weekend. Upon her decision to permanently relocate, she planned to leave Eren under the unofficial supervision of Mikasa. Instead, Eren bought Mikasa her own three-bedroom apartment in Midtown (according to his logic, it was better for her to have her own place than to move in with Jean), and a shared two-story penthouse for the both of you that overlooks Central Park.

Eren misses her more than he cares to admit, but he puts on the same facade every time she comes home because he hates the company she brings.

Paris is where she met her newest boyfriend, Mitchell, and Eren swears he hates that man with every fiber of his being. It’s not saying much, though, not when Eren’s hated every single one of his mother’s past romantic partners, right down to his own father.

“Is… is that why you—”

“Rented a brand new Corvette and went drag racing at one in the morning?” he chuckles, “Yeah. It was stupid, I know, but I was just angry, I guess. I dunno what I was feeling, but it wasn’t good.”

You nod, wrapping both of your hands around his now and offering him a warm smile. He smiles back, just for a moment. “That’s what the tickets are for, actually. The wedding.”

“They’re getting married in France?” you question, to which he nods, “On the first? Isn’t that a little short notice to plan a wedding?”

“I think you’re underestimating the power of Carla Jaeger,” he chuckles, “Apparently, it’s been in the works for a few months now. He proposed with fireworks or some shit. Said she wanted to tell me in person, though.”

“This ticket is for next week,” you say, rereading the dates on the papers. “The wedding is three weeks from now.”

“Well, I kind of figured we could take a little vacation before then,” he grins, “I texted most of the boys earlier, and they can probably come to the wedding, but I want to spend some time with you before it gets hectic, you know? Consider it an end of the semester present.”

Your eyes flicker down to your hand, still wrapped around Eren’s, when he starts to trace circles into your skin, “I thought I just told you, you can’t jet us off to Europe to fix things.”

“You did,” he hums, “And I know I can’t—I’m not trying to, I just… Truthfully, I reserved the plane and the hotel a few weeks back and it really was just going to be a surprise for us—well, more like a gift for you because I know you’ve been busting your ass in chem—but then… everything else happened, and I think a break sounds perfect before I watch my mom get married for the sixth time.”

You watch him continue to toy with your hands for a while, processing your conversation. It was typical of Eren to surprise you like this, so you can’t figure out why this particular present leaves you feeling warmer than usual.

“You sure you don’t need a break from me?”

Eren beams and takes the opportunity to lace your fingers together. “Nah, you’re annoying, but not Jean level annoying.”

You scoff, “I’m telling him you said that.”

“It’ll sound better coming from you, anyway,” he shrugs, “Besides, I might just murder Mitchell if you’re not there with me.”

You chuckle, on the verge of accepting his proposal, but the mention of Jean prompts another thought to cross through your mind. “I’d love to, but I… I don’t know. I don’t want Armin to spend the first few weeks of winter break here all alone.”

This Christmas would mark one year since Armin had seen, or even talked to, any of his immediate family members, with the exception of Erwin.

Last year, you all tried to salvage the damage by sticking around so, at the very least, he didn’t have to feel alone. You and your friends decided that Armin ought to be celebrated, not ostracized for any aspect of himself, so you all chipped in for a cute, impromptu trip to the Catskills so that everyone could be together and close to home.

This year, however, there seemed to be quite a few conflicts of interest. Even if Armin was one of the boys who was planning on attending the wedding, you doubt he had plans leading up to it. You know that Marco, Bertholdt, Mikasa, and Jean had invited him to go to Aspen with them, but Armin declined the offer. Similarly, Connie, Sasha, Annie, Reiner, and Ymir would be off to Dubai as soon as classes ended; an invitation Armin had also turned down.

You weren’t sure what Erwin’s plans were, though you’re certain they involved his own friends in some way or another. At the very least, it was unlikely that he would leave his younger brother completely stranded over the break; but you didn’t want to make plans without knowing Armin wouldn’t be alone.

“He won’t, actually he’ll be closer than you think,” Eren reassures you, “Hange and Moblit wanted to go skiing anyways, so Erwin is taking all of them to the Alps instead of Aspen. Armin doesn’t know yet, but he’s going with them.”

“Shouldn’t Erwin spend his break campaigning, and not skiing? Last I checked, he wasn’t too popular in Queens”

“Ah, you know Erwin,” Eren shrugs, “He has a way of making people devote themselves to him. He’ll win the election with or without campaigning, trust me—the point is, that little baby Armin will be safe and sound under Erwin’s protection, and you don’t have to worry about him.”

“How come you get to call him a baby?”

“Because I’m a hypocritical asshole who doesn’t deserve you, but is hoping you’ll come with me anyway.”

Eren smirks, but there’s a genuine undertone to his words as he moves his fingers to toy with the ring around your pointer finger. The same one he gave to you two Christmases ago. Well, kind of.

The ring he originally gifted you was a Harry Winston piece, with an encrusted band that wrapped into two sunflowers, both made of classic, white diamonds with emeralds sparkling in the center. After seeing the design, and the price tag, you demanded that he take it back, or at the very least, get it sized to fit on your index finger or thumb so that people didn’t get the wrong idea.

Instead, he came back with a simple, silver chain for the original ring to hang from, and the current ring on your finger; a rose gold band with tiny diamonds studded around it. Likely equally as expensive, but more appropriate according to you.

“Fine. But you have to be on your best behavior,” you agree, paying no mind to Eren’s thumb twirling your jewelry, “Do you promise me no drag racing or antics of any sort while we’re there?”

Eren shakes his head at the memory, eyeing the first ring that sits against your chest.

He smiles. “I do.”

The afternoon after your last exam, you bid the remainder of your friends goodbye, grab your bags, and hop on a plane with Eren. It arrives in Paris, but you’re rerouted off to Nice before you can so much as blink at the Eiffel tower; you’d be staying there for the two and half weeks leading up to the wedding, in a small villa.

You had to hand it to him, Eren really outdid himself. It’s dark and nearing three in the morning when you arrive, but even in your sleepy stupor you can admire your accommodations. The villa is secluded, the perfect distance from the water, and decorated lavishly almost to your exact liking. You wouldn’t be surprised if Eren sprung it on you that he’d bought the place, and wasn’t merely renting it for this vacation.

Every day after that, Eren proves he was honest in his intentions of this being a getaway gift to you. He’s planned every activity under the sun—from hot air balloon rides, to helicopter tours, to jet-skiing. The days are certainly fun and filled with beautiful memories, but there’s something special about Nice at sunset; something about the sound of gentle waves brushing up against the beach, and the spotlights carved from sun-cast shadows on the buildings.

It’s just after dinner time, bordering on your eighth night here, when you and Eren are walking along the cobblestone streets that border the beach, the length of your sundress flowing every which way with the breeze, and the tail of Eren’s blazer flailing like a cape behind him.

He looks nice tonight, but, truthfully, he always does. He claimed he hadn’t put on the casual green suit because of your outfit, but you swear he was wearing khakis before he saw your dress. The tips of his ears go red when you tease him about it at dinner, but it doesn’t really matter to you; he would have looked good, regardless. Those suits are made for him, after all; tailored to fit perfectly, and designed by his own mother.

The streets tend to settle down after six, locals and tourists retreating indoors or heading to the beach to relax and draw in the evening. Tonight, however, there’s much more commotion than usual on your route.

“Maybe we should take the long way,” you suggest. On the tips of your toes, you realize that there’s some kind of special event happening in the square, filled with lights and music that grows louder with every step you take.

But the crowd and the lights and the smell of food only piques Eren’s interest. “No way—let’s check it out!”

You don’t have the time to refute before his long legs surpass your own stride, headfirst into the sea of people. You can only follow with a smile and a shake of your head. The soft green of his suit jacket serves as your guide as he navigates through the crowd, but the closer you get to the center, the more people there are.

You can feel palms of your hands growing uncomfortably warm as you become hyperaware of just how many people there are. You clutch the end of your dress in your hand, for both practicality and as a sort of comfort mechanism, as you try your best to calm the anxious wave threatening to crash against you.

With a deep breath, you begin to walk again, unaware of Eren’s actions until you physically walk into his hand, long fingers poking at your belly. You hadn’t realized he stopped walking, or that you’d caught up with him, and your eyebrows crinkle when you look down to see Eren’s left hand extended behind him and towards you, palm facing upwards.

He doesn’t say anything, or look back at you at all. Only wraps his larger fingers around yours when he feels the weight of your hand in his, and continues to guide you through the crowd, his pace slower, and hand firm around yours.

The mass of people becomes more spread out when you approach what appears to be the center of the event; and it looks like a party, maybe a wedding of some sort. There’s food and champagne galore, and more than enough happy guests dancing along to upbeat music in the streets.

Eren’s eyes light up as he takes in the scene, “You wanna dance?”

“What—Eren, no!” you refuse, “We cannot crash these people’s party!”

“Why not?” he counters, without a care in the world, “Seems like an open invitation to me! Come on!”

And for the second time that evening, you find yourself being pulled into his schemes; this time in the direction of the open space dubbed dance floor.

You’re both terrible and ostentatious and people start to watch, but it doesn’t matter because you’re smiling too wide and laughing too hard to care. Eren has a way of moving both with and against the music, forcing your body to follow his lead.

He shouts something over the noise, but you don’t have time to register his words before he laces your right hand with his left, and places his right hand on your waist. There’s a blink of confusion for a moment before you’re being swept off your feet and into a dramatic dip. You don’t have time to secure yourself against his shoulders, but Eren does a fine job of supporting you with a single arm against your back.

From what you can tell the song is far from over and the dramatic pose is completely unwarranted, but you and the crowd alike are victim to his charm. You indulge yourself, looking up at him with eyes too fond to memorize every feature of his face in this moment; the way he’s laughing with that big, dumb, wide smile of his that makes his nose crinkle and his eyes light up.

You’re too busy looking at him to hear Eren’s voice calling out to you, or even realize that he’s moved you from your pose to standing back upright. He’s equal parts amused and concerned at the glazed over look in your eyes.

“Hello? Anybody home up there?” he teases, elongating the vowels and squeezing your waist to alert you.

The reminder of his hands on your hips pulls you back to reality, your eyes fluttering down to his arms, then back to his face. It feels stuffy suddenly, too close to function.

“Yea—yeah! Do you wanna get a drink? Yeah, let’s get a drink!” you exclaim, haphazardly pointing and walking towards the food.

You don’t see it, but Eren looks on with glittering eyes, his verbal agreement heard only by himself as you veer towards the buffet. He can still feel your body in his grip, still see the specks of gold in your pupils as he lingers on the back of your silhouette lovingly. And before you can realize, he snaps himself out of it—an out of body experience similar to yours a few moments ago—before catching up with you.

You end up socializing for much longer than intended. Eren makes friends with everyone, to no surprise, and, uncharacteristically, you feel influenced by his actions, and converse with a few people yourself. You let him take the lead, though. Partially because he’s better at it, and partially because you just like listening to him speak French.

“Hey, we should probably get out of here,” he whispers into your ear after waving goodbye to a lovely couple you’d just met, “Before the host of this party realizes we’re miles better than his actual guests.”

You nod with a smile, more than happy to play by his rules for the evening. He offers you his hand again, that same, dopey smile on his face when you take it.

He leads you out of the crowd and back on to the path to your villa, the smell of warm food and sounds of vibrant music growing dull as you venture further from the celebration. It’s much darker than it was when you began your trek back from the restaurant, but beautiful all the same.

Your sandals pad against the wooden dock that leads up the villa, and Eren unlocks the door silently, ushering you inside before entering behind you.

“I know I said I wanted to leave, but I’m not really tired yet,” Eren confesses, pulling his blazer off of his shoulders.

“Me neither,” you say, placing your small wristlet on the table with a shrug, “What do you wanna do though, I’m not—”

“Great!” he cuts you off, smile too big. You narrow your own in suspicion. That tone of voice with that look on his face usually meant something mischievous, at best. “Remember when you said the first time you’d smoke would be with me, and then pranced away and took a bowl from Hange and got high as shit at Moblit’s party?”

“Why does everyone remember Moblit’s party but me!”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles, waving the topic away, “Anyway… Do you wanna smoke now?”

You blink. “I… did you… smuggle weed all the way to France?”

“No, of course not!” he refutes, “…I got it here.”

You scoff, but don’t have the time to question him further before Eren’s tugging on your wrist and pulling you into the bedroom. You take to sitting on your bed while he rummages through his suitcase to retrieve a small, clear jar with several rolled joints inside and a lighter to match.

He shuffles next to you in the bed, mindlessly handing you the lighter while he unscrews the top off the jar. He takes out two of the joints, places one next to the jar on the nightstand, and tucks the other between his teeth. He asks you to hand him the lighter, and you do so wordlessly, distracted by the sight of Eren’s gaze and the blunt poking out his mouth.

“This’ll be fun, yeah?” He reassures you, “Technically, you let Hange take your weed virginity, but I’ll be better.”

“Can you not phrase it like that,” you roll your eyes, “You already took my virginity virginity, don’t be bitter.”

An all too smug grin settles on his features as he recounts the fact. “Besides,” you tack on, “I’ve never done it like this before. So, it’s still a first, kind of.”

Eren cups one hand around the joint, sparking the lighter with the other until it catches fire. He inhales, slow and deliberate, as if he were putting on a show, or a lesson, of sorts, taking the smoke into his lungs and out through his mouth.

You’d gravely miscalculated how attractive Eren would look doing this. Sure, he’s hot, you knew that, but the pronunciation of his jawline when he exhales, and the confidence with which he drags on the blunt is a stark reminder to you. He takes a few more hits, just as slow and sensual as the first, and the room begins to feel warmer.

“Come closer,” be beckons, smoke rolling off of his tongue with every syllable.

You snap yourself out of the haze of your imagination and scoot closer to him. He silently hands you the joint, and it feels heavy between your fingers. At the distance, you take in the smell—pungent and off-putting, but too familiar.

Eventually, you bring it to your lips, careful not to let your tongue press against the tip, and inhale slowly, like you’d seen Eren do before. You do your best to hold the smoke in your lungs for a bit, but seeing as the last time you did this you were amped up on adrenaline and drunk off your ass, the task proves to be much more difficult. It tickles before becoming uncomfortable and you exhale ungracefully, puffs of smoke punctuating your coughs.

Eren watches with a grin, amused at the sight of you fanning the excess smoke away with your nose scrunched in distaste. “You should have warned me you were gonna cough like a bitch.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you whine, trying to hide the hint of a smile creeping onto your face. You hand the blunt back to him, “You’re supposed to teach me, not tease me, asshole.”

Eren pauses his laughter, unsure of what to make of your tone; rushed, a bit embarrassed, but testy. It’s quiet while he stares at you, trying not to let the implication of your words run wild in his mind; but it’s futile when you’re pouting like that, the room is growing foggier, and he’s been semi-hard since you accepted his offer.

“Fine. Watch and learn,” he breathes, words coming out more jagged than he’d intended.

This time, he completely exaggerates every motion; he inhales at a tantalizing pace and flutters his eyes closed while he lets the smoke swish in his mouth, down his throat, and expand into his lungs. He cranes his neck upwards, and purses his lips to let the clouds exit in the streamline that follows the slope of his jaw.

Maybe it’s the drugs getting to you, but your mind is filled with nothing but sheer clouds that aren’t thick enough to block out thoughts of Eren. The weed is unattractive, potent in smell, and all kinds of wrong; yet, everything about him is soft, sultry, and pulls you in.

“Wanna try again, or do you need another lesson?”

You faintly mutter a profanity under your breath. His words end with giggles, a sign the drugs have already begun to take their effect on him, his expression is still smug. You forget Eren knows just how attractive he is. Motherfucker.

“Actually,” he cuts your train of thought, “I have a better idea, come ‘ere.”

Eren beckons you forward again, closing the gap between your legs so that your knees graze each other under the fabric of your clothing while you’re sat next to each other. He leans over, far too close into your personal space, as if to test something; he freezes when his nose is mere inches from your face, a dissatisfied scrunch taking over his features.

He reinstates his hold on your wrist, motioning your body backwards until your back is against the frame of the bed. He hums in approval, positioning himself next to you again, equally as close, but far more comfortable for what he has planned next.

“I’m—I’m gonna try somethin’, okay?” he stutters, the first word mistakenly coming out in broken German, “Just, don’t freak out on me. It’ll be good, promise.”

You nod, unsure of what you’ve just signed off on, but you don’t have time to ask questions. Eren takes another hit, then passes the blunt to his non-dominant hand. He turns to face you, leans forward, and places his free hand on the back of your neck to pull you closer; the expanse of his palm leaving room for his thumb to venture over the bottom half of your cheek.

Eren pulls you in until your lips are millimeters apart, and he can see the pattern of your eyes in beautiful detail. He shifts his hand now so that the majority of it covers your face, the pad of his thumb running across your bottom lip. He applies the perfect amount of pressure to pry your willing mouth open, and then, finally, exhales.

This time, you can taste it. It’s woodsy, and bitter, but the sweet undertones dance on your tongue. This time, there’s more to think about than just the smoke in your lungs; like the burn of Eren’s hand on your neck; the pressure of his thumb against your bottom lip; the proximity of his lips to yours; the look in his eyes.

“Feel good?” he doesn’t bother to pull away before asking, and the words ghost over your lips with the remaining smoke. You nod; he smiles. “Wanna try again?”

You let out a breathy note of affirmation, and then he’s inhaling and exhaling into you, and you welcome him with pried lips and a heavy thumping in your chest. The confidence with which he maneuvers his body and the drugs is nerve-wracking, yet comforting at the same time; he has an expertise and power that intimidates, but compels you to follow.

Together, you finish the first blunt, and Eren lights the second without missing a beat. His hands are more demanding this around; they guide you into submission, and he’s pleased to find that you’re willing to listen.

After the third exhale, you stop focusing on his hands, and more on his lips. After the fourth, you think you might be high—not to the stars as you infamously were during Moblit’s party—but with a comfortable, dull buzz in your head. Everything feels a little fuzzy, out of touch, but you host a burning want for something more, something tangible.

You don’t know it, but Eren feels the same.

After the fifth exhale, Eren pulls away, the blunt a simple stub as he flicks it away onto the night stand, and you miss him being too close. You miss his hands, you miss his warmth, you crave his touch.

“Eren,” you call, unable to think of or see anything but him in the haze. He answers with a strained, “Yeah?” keening towards the sound of your voice, wide eyes flitting all over your face.

It’s too much, too close, too hot. That’s when you cup his jaw, pull him forward, and meld your lips together.

Kissing Eren is painfully familiar, and unnervingly satisfying. It’s certainly not your first kiss with him; and, yet he has a way of making you feel like it is while reminding you of your history. His lips are soft, and they taste like smoke and the chapstick you swear by because he refuses to buy or test out his own.

You pull away too soon, gauging his reaction with blown-out eyes, before dipping forward to have him against you again. Then again, and again, and again, until Eren is tired of your leaving, and his hands are back on your neck.

This kiss is deeper, Eren searching to satisfy the hunger aching inside of him, and you’re happy to comply when his thumb is pressing at your lower lip again. You open your mouth for him and he doesn’t waste a moment, brushing his tongue against yours experimentally, and then flush into your mouth.

He groans when you rake your fingers into his hair, and pulls back with a hissing noise when you scratch at his nape. Large hands move to grip at your waist, and he pulls you into his lap with a concentrated gaze—a brief second for him to admire the sight of you on top of him, before he resumes kissing you. He sucks on your tongue, rolls his past your teeth, and bites on your bottom lip.

You know he relishes in the sounds he elicits from you, and under any normal circumstance, you’re willing to put up a fight with him, but not now. Now, you let him unzip the back of your dress and snake his hands beneath the fabric. The rubbing motions of his hands turn into gripping, gripping into grinding, and eventually, an unfiltered moan slips past your lips when you feel Eren’s erection roll against you.

“Fuck,” he pulls back with a suck of your swollen lip, “You’re so hot.”

Eren quickly switches your positions so that he’s hovering over you. You chuckle lightly underneath him, taking the opportunity to run both your hands through his hair and cradle his head in your hold, “Haven’t done anything yet.”

“I know,” Eren murmurs, dipping his head down to press kisses into your neck, “Still so sexy. So pretty, always.”

Eren bites a hickey into your collar bone, and everywhere he can touch; your neck, your ears, your cheeks, your lips. Your moaning serves as the spark to keep him going, but he’s barely coherent himself the way you keep pulling at his hair and grinding yourself against him. Even through his clothes, you can feel how painfully hard he is.

He barely catches your tongue between his lips when you moan again, sucking harshly before bruising his lips over yours again. His hands are grabby again, finally pulling your dress completely off of your body, leaving it to form a puddle on the ground. They’re back on your as soon as possible, massaging over your tits, and running his index finger over your nipples.

“Eren... Eren, please,” you whimper, chest heaving as you look down at him. He rolls his index finger over your right nipple, with his left hand teasing the other with his thumb. You can’t tell if the look in his eyes is a product of the weed, or just his glassy, borderline predatory stare, but it makes you shiver with pleasure when he wraps his mouth around your nipple and sucks.

“I want you.”

“Want you, too,” Eren hums, pulling back with a thin trail of spit from your breast, before moving to give your left nipple the same treatment, “More than you know.”

You keen to him when he teases his teeth against you, finally having had enough you force him off of you with a tug of his hair. “Then take off your clothes.”

Eren blinks, wide-eyed but glazed all the same. He chuckles lightly, a blush spreading over his cheeks as he nods. He sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head, forgoing undoing the buttons, and pauses briefly with his hands over the zipper of his pants.

“Please tell me you’re not that gone that you forgot how to undo your zipper,” you tease him, chest still heaving from his previous ministrations. Eren smiles, doe-eyed and hazy, and shakes his head.

“No,” he reassures you, finally undoing his zipper and shimmying his pants off his legs, “Was trying to remember what underwear I was wearing. Didn't want it to be embarrassing.”

His honesty makes you laugh, and Eren pauses for a moment to soak it in. Even like this, even with him stumbling over the steps to undress himself, and you almost completely naked in front of him, he can make you smile. There’s something equally sexy and endearing about your giggles; a juxtaposition that makes him want to hug you or kiss you or something in between. And you—you like the look in his eyes even through your giggling; the way he smiles back and blushes and tells you exactly what he’s thinking.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “Don’t think mine are particularly sexy either.”

Eren hums, shuffling back on to the bed so that he’s between your legs, and leans forward to kiss you again. He still can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, his fingers immediately flying to your underwear and peeling them off your legs, pulling you closer despite the lack of space between your bodies.

“Yeah, doesn’t matter,” Eren echos, tossing the offending item to the side, before cupping your face in his hands, “I’d still wanna fuck you in your granny panties.”

“You wanna fuck me?” you question, eyes sparkling and hopeful.

“Yeah, I do,” Eren can’t help but to smile again, happy and high and drunk on you, too, “Will you let me?”

Your feverish nodding is all it takes for Eren’s mind to go hazy again; clouded with you, you, you. You pull him into a kiss, arching your body into his, and running your hands down the sides of his back. He moans at the feeling, punishing you by nipping at your lower lip and pressing your stomach back to the mattress with his palm.

Your eyes meet his as Eren lines himself up with your cunt, teasing your folds with the head; but it doesn’t take long before he finally pushes in, sheathing himself inside you completely without movement. He waits a minute, whether it’s to make you comfortable, or to gather his own bearings, you’re not sure; but when he’s ready, he flashes you a smile and waits for one in return, before he starts thrusting.

You know Eren’s not gentle; rough whether or not he intends to be by virtue of his size in comparison to you, but you seem to have forgotten just how capable he is of making you lose your senses. He has you gasping, grasping at him at him unintelligibly, feeling full with his cock inside of you.

Eren groans, borderline growls, when he feels you clench around him, when he sees you shaking beneath him. He could do this all; could watch you all day.

“So pretty, the prettiest. Prettiest girl, my favorite girl,” Eren praises, eyes raking up and down your thrashing body, “My favorite fucking girl.”

“You—you, too.”

“Yeah? I’m your favorite, too?” Eren coos, reaching out to guide your arms over your head, the force of his body pinning your hands down; you can hardly gasp before he lacess your fingers together, and gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“Promised you, didn’t I? That I’d be good to you, be on my best behavior,” Eren reminds you, leaning forward.

He eyes your necklace—eyes glued to ring around it—bouncing with your body. He bends his head down to kiss it, bites at the skin near it; a possessive streak overcoming him as the diamonds shine against you. “I said I’d treat you good, always. Meant it.”

He stutters, when you squeeze him back; fingers tightening around his hold, your pussy clenching around his cock. Your whining is insistent, and mixes with Eren’s low moans and guttural noises. Eren doesn’t let up his pace, fucking you fast and deep, and it’s only a matter of time before you feel a knot twisting in your belly.

You attempt to move your arms, searching for a release of the feeling building up inside of you but Eren is strong; stronger than you, and he keeps you in your place. Keeps your arms pinned above you, keeps his palms pressed into yours, keeps his lips hovering above yours, just out of reach.

“Eren,” you call his name through shaky moans.

“Yeah? What, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

And so he does, his lips needy and hungry over yours. Eren fucks you and kisses you through your orgasm, tasting your moans on his tongue in timing with him cumming inside of you. You don’t let up; kissing him lewdly while you both come down from your highs.

“So good,” Eren croons against your lips, down your jaw, into your skin, “So good for me.”

You both moan in chorus when he finally pulls out, Eren’s head laying on your collar, nose nuzzling into your neck. He lets your hands free, and immediately you wrap them around his back, holding him close as you both attempt to catch your breaths.

You don’t know how long you lay there like that, with Eren on top of you, and your thumb rubbing circles into his cheek while he sleeps soundly. Maybe an hour, maybe more, maybe less; but the euphoria of your sex doesn’t quiet seem to fade.

It might last all night, maybe even for the rest of your trip but you don’t mind. You think back to earlier in the evening, when you’d caught his gaze after your dance. The feeling isn’t all that different; warm, and fuzzy, and too much and not enough all at once. It feels good, it feels like Eren.

You hum softly to yourself, careful not to wake up the sleeping boy on your chest, when you realize exactly what these two moments have in common: a rare event in which Eren is still in front of you, steady and stagnant, no running or chasing; and you don’t want to let him go.

Sometimes Eren thinks you act oblivious on purpose just to fuck with him, because there’s absolutely no way you—or any human with a functioning nervous system and social cues—can’t tell that he’s completely, stupidly, and embarrassingly in love with you.

Long gone are his days of trying to deny it or get over it. He realized that sophomore year of high school—almost eight years ago—that no matter where he went, what kind of drug he inhaled, or how hard he tried, you’d be permanently etched into his heart. That doesn’t make it any less exhausting, and, in fact, only makes it more astounding that you haven’t caught on yet. Honestly, Eren’s considered hiring a private psychiatrist just to make nothing’s wrong with you.

Amazingly, the remainder of your vacation continues just like the former half. The only exception being that now you’re in Paris. And that he’s shamelessly coerced you into letting him fuck your brains out on several occasions. But besides that, everything’s chill.

Just two best friends traveling through France together and stopping to fuck in any semi-private location they can find. Just two peas in a pod walking along the Champs Elysées at damn near midnight. Just two best buds with linked arms tasting (see: feeding each other) every macaron flavor they come across while violinists play stupidly romantic, classical music in the background.

He knows he should probably talk to you about it, but for some reason he can’t. Like telling you would make it all too real, and give it a meaning that could so easily be taken away from him; give you a reason to want to leave him. Right now, it’s just a fantasy, and he’s free to keep dreaming, believing that he’s special and worth enough for the affection you’ve shown him.

He doesn’t want to be one in a list of your boyfriends, or fiances, or husbands; he wants to be your only one, and if he can’t be, then he’d rather be stuck to your side as your best friend. At least that way, in someway, he could remain special to you; not a forgotten, ordinary ex of your past.

Though, a best friend who he’s sleeping with regularly and he’s in love with and will always be in love with is starting to sound a lot like a husband to him. At least, the kind of husband he would like to be to you.

You call his name, asking him if he wants to try another sweet. Eren rolls his eyes. What he wants is to fuck you, and marry you, and have you bless his stupid little existence with two runts for kids that look like him but act like you so his life savings don’t run out by the time they’re twelve. But sure, he’ll settle for having you feed him another macaron in the meantime.

“This one tastes just like the coconut one,” he mumbles, chewing his way through the pastry you’d stuffed into his mouth whole.

It’s the seventh bakery you’ve stopped at tonight, and even though Eren’s growing pretty sick of the sugary treats, he’ll walk with you to every damn bakery in Paris tonight if that’s what you want.

He blinks at the thought. He’s so lovesick it’s disgusting. And he wouldn’t do a damn thing to change it.

“That’s probably because it’s almond and coconut flavored,” you say, wiping the stickiness from your fingers onto a napkin.

“I didn’t taste any almonds.”

“I don’t even think you could spell almond, much less tell me what they taste like.”

Eren simply pouts in refute, leaving you giggling at his expression. He doesn’t know if it’s possible, but you seem even prettier in Paris than in Nice. But, that’s probably his rose-colored glasses speaking.

“You think there’ll be macarons at the reception?” you question, biting into yet another pistachio flavored treat, “And if not, would it be rude to bring my own?”

He chuckles. “Yes, babe, I’m sure there will be macarons there.”

He’s always loved Paris, even when his mom moved away here and left him in New York, and he’d always loved it more when you’re with him. He feared that having to attend another, what he considered to be wasteful, wedding in arguably one of his favorite places in the world would leave a bitter taste in his mouth; but, thankfully, he’s only fallen deeper in love since being here.

“You sure you won’t be sick of them by tomorrow?” he asks, watching you debate between taste testing another variation of vanilla bean or rosé.

“How could I get sick of them?” you answer offhandedly, not sparing him a glance away as you choose the pink snack. How could he get sick of you.

“By the time we get back to New York you’ll have forgotten all about them,” he scoffs.

“Don’t worry I’ll quit it soon. I’ll have to eat something solid if I wanna take my meds and go to bed,” you spew with a smile, unaware of what you’ve actually just said, “But they are delicious and I have no regrets.”

Eren pauses. Then so do you, mouth stuffed with sickly sweet.

“I mean—”

“I know, you know,” he cuts you off, “About the meds and stuff.”

You look like you could pass out, or scream, or cry, or everything in between. Eren figures saying more is better than saying less, so he continues.

“I saw a bottle in the bathroom a few months ago,” he admits shyly, but careful about his tone, “Didn’t understand half the words on the label, but it had your name on it so I just, uh… Googled it.”

Of course he knows. Eren’s always kind of known, just never had the words to express it. He imagines that’s what you’re feeling right now.

“Oh,” you finally gape, “Why didn’t you, um… you know, like, say… anything?”

“It seemed like your secret to tell,” Eren shrugs, features softening out, “Besides, I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to.”

Eren’s always been better at showing than saying, anyway. He hopes that his actions, small as they may seem, might have provided you with any sort of comfort in the past few months. Maybe even before that, too.

“Oh,” you repeat, continually blinking at him, “That’s… that’s it? You’re cool with it?”

Now it’s Eren’s turn to blink. “What do you mean am I cool with it? They’re your meds.”

“Yeah, but like… you’re not mad I didn’t tell—”

“Of course I’m not mad,” he cuts you off with a soft smile, “It’s not really my business. I mean, like, you’re my business because I care about you, but you have your own private stuff, too, which is cool. Besides, when I was, uh, researching it, I learned that it can be hard to tell people stuff like that even if—”

Eren shuts up when he feels your weight against him and your arms wrapped around him. Shell shocked, he takes a moment to hug you back, and slowly comes to rest his chin atop your head after leaving a flurry of kisses.

“You didn’t have to look it up or do any kind of research, you know,” you mumble softly into his jacket. Eren borderline chortles, but only hugs you more tightly.

“Of course I did. If not for you, then for myself, because I meant it when I said I’d never seen half the words on the prescription before in my life,” he replies, heart glowing at the sound of your small chuckles.

He’s expecting an equally witty response, but you surprise him when you pull back just enough to face him, a hazy smile on your face. “You’re amazing, Eren.”

Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush—fucking idiot.

“Yeah, I’m pretty great,” he boasts, leaning back into the coolest pose he could muster up while ignoring the growing heat creeping up his neck. It’s all in vain as you reach over to playfully tug at one of his ears.

He thinks you’re pretty like this. All the time, but most notably when he has you in his arms. So pretty, that he has to lean forward to kiss you; you don’t seem to mind, if the way you smile into the kiss is any indication of your feelings. Eren finds himself mirroring your grin; moving his arms from around your waist to the sides of your face.

The workers in this poor little café probably hate the two of you, but he doesn’t fucking care. He’s got his favorite girl in his arms right now, and you taste like almonds and coconuts and like the love of his life.

And he should tell you. Eren wants to tell you, and he finds himself wondering if those same intrusive, fearful thoughts were part of the driving force behind your own reason to keep your secrets from him.

You pull away from him, hands lightly draped around his neck, and you smile like you’re shy—like he hasn’t known you your whole life. Still, Eren finds himself smiling back; and thinks that if you were brave enough to tell him how you were feeling, then he should do the same.

“(_____), I… I gotta tell you something,” he starts, voice soft as his fingers curl around your waist a little more tightly, “Though, I’m kind of hoping you already know.”

You blink at him, almost innocently. Eren bites the inside of his jaw; you’re going to have to stop doing that before he jumps you again.

Better now than never, he supposes. He tries to shake his nerves when he takes your hands in his, completely covering them with his palms, and closes his eyes. Despite that, you try to offer him comfort, squeezing his fingers as best you can; and Eren takes that moment to thank his lucky stars for whoever decided to put you in his life. Because he knows that no matter what, even if he royally fucks this up, you’ll find some way to be there for him.

He slowly blinks his eyes open again, gaze resting on the ring around your neck. A faded chuckle escapes his lips when looks at it. The only one who got the wrong idea about his gift was you. But, he supposes that’s his fault; he never did explain it, after all.

“It’s nothing… It’s just that, I’m in—”

But Eren’s startled by a voice that makes him freeze. He almost wants to believe he misheard it, but he can hear the telltale clacking of vintage heels on the floor of the bakery and he knows that he didn’t mishear a thing.

Eren turns his head, and sure enough, there is his mother, in all her five foot glory, adorned in designer clothing from her beret to her shoes. With a fucking street urchin on her arm.

“Well, well, well, what a lovely surprise,” Carla beams, red lipstick perfectly in place even after a long day of wear.

Eren’s eyebrows draw together, as he takes in his mother and her fiancé standing in front of him. He can just barely register you calling out towards her, carefully maneuvering yourself off of his lap, and into the neighboring chair; but still keeping your right hand wrapped around his left. He can feel you squeeze it—whether to give him comfort, or warning, he’s not sure yet; probably both.

“It’s so good to see you!” you beam, excitedly offering her and Mitchell a seat across from the two of you at the table. Eren opens his mouth to refute, but you squeeze his hand again; a warning.

Carla leans forward to encase you in a hug, exchanging cheek kisses, and leaving Eren to stare at the street rat across from him. Mitchell seems to know better than to make eye contact with him, irises scattering from Carla’s back to the décor of the bakery while the two girls catch up.

“We missed you at the rehearsal dinner on Sunday,” Carla recounts, eyes fluttering to Eren’s briefly. One look into her son’s eyes, and she understands why; one look into his mother’s eyes, and Eren knows she has him all figured out. “I was worried you might not show at all.”

Eren strategically averts your gaze when you turn your head towards him, choosing to look at his mother instead.

“I didn’t even know there was a rehearsal dinner,” you tell her, tone polite, but Eren can hear the clear jab directed towards him, “I’m sorry, I—we would have gone, otherwise.”

“No need to apologize, darling,” Carla smiles, “I’m sure you two were very busy.”

“We were,” Eren cuts in, words definite. He sees a hint of surprise flash in his mother’s eyes briefly, expertly covered up with her sweet demeanor. She only nods in understanding, sitting back a bit to wrap her arm around Mitchell’s.

“What are you even doing here, Ma?” Eren questions, even as you do the same with his hands under the table, “Isn’t it bad luck to see the groom before the wedding.”

“After the third or fourth wedding, you grow tired of pleasantries and superstitions, my love,” she replies, “This place makes Mitchell’s favorite macarons, we thought we’d share a few before the big day. Maybe get some tea as a pre-celebration.”

The topic of sweets has you speaking up once again, engaging both his mother and Mitchell in a discussion about them, and your other findings from bakery hopping earlier. If Eren didn’t love you to pieces, he would have left the table a long time ago.

It carries on much longer than he can bear to endure; almost an hour of you, and his mother, and Mitchell making pleasant conversation while he tries his best not to brood beside you, but it’s futile. He feels like a little kid again. Stuck at the dinner table with his mother and a man he was being forced to get to know, only for him to become a stranger to him in a matter of months.

Eren grinds his teeth into each other when you laugh at something Mitchell says. He’s not going to sit through his any longer; or ever again.

“Well, this has been fun,” Eren says, voice blatantly monotonous as his cuts through the conversation, “But we should all probably head back go to bed. Big day tomorrow.”

“Eren, we should—” but, he stands up quickly, hand wrapping around yours to force you upwards too.

He doesn’t care to look at you, knowing the dissatisfied expression he’ll be met with. He fishes for his wallet and pulls out too many Euros, neatly tucking them under an unused knife to pay for the meal.

Eren’s steps out from between his chair and the table. “We’ll see you guys tomorr—” But is stopped before he can take three steps away.

His mother’s hand wrapped around his wrist. She stands, significantly shorter than Eren’s full height. “Actually, Eren, could I borrow you for a bit?”

And he doesn’t want to, because he knows exactly the conversation waiting for him. But he looks down at her, lets his eyes flicker to you, and back to her, and he knows he doesn’t have the heart to walk away. Not even if he tried.

He sighs with a shallow nod. He can feel your hand on his shoulder, the proud smile on your lips when you tell him that you’ll meet him back at your hotel. Mitchell ensures him and Carla that he’ll make sure you get back safely, and Eren still can’t stand the guy, but he’s grateful that he can at least be of use for something.

Eren kisses you on the forehead briefly, a promise to you and himself that he’ll finish his confession later. After all, he probably should come to terms with the woman who taught him what love is before he vowed to love you for the rest of his life.

The walk to his mother’s hotel is silent, Eren choosing to keep to himself, hands stuffed in his pockets to prevent his mom from holding them. He’s probably acting like a child, but isn’t that what he is to her; isn’t that she treats him as.

“Look, Ma, you don’t need my approval to marry him,” Eren grumbles, when they finally exit the elevator into the hotel room, “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Of course I don’t,” Carla offers him a small grin, even if he won’t look at her directly, “But it matters to me.”

“Why does it matter now? It didn’t matter with Keith, or Henry, or Henri with an I, or any of the others,” Eren mumbles, reluctantly taking a seat on the stool opposite the vanity.

His mother tracks his movements with soft eyes and an amused grin as Eren absentmindedly bends a knee and begins to fiddle with the hem of his pants. Just like he used to when he was upset as a child.

“It mattered then, too, Eren,” she tells him, sitting on the stool and facing him.

He’s surprised by her words, his wide eyes giving him away even if he attempts to act unfazed. “It didn’t seem like it.”

Carla opens her mouth to speak, but closes it, words stuck in her throat. She watches Eren’s hunched figure, her tall son not even bothering to look her in the eyes. She exhales slowly; if he were five feet smaller, he’d have tucked himself under her arm, still refusing to look at her, but he’d have snuggled his head into her side while he pouted anyway.

“I suppose it didn’t,” she admits, “In the end, the love wasn’t enough to make it last, then.”

Eren is quiet for a bit at that, pulling at his pants leg. “And… and you love him enough, now?”

“It’s more than love, Eren. It’s... happiness—for yourself and another person—it’s being okay with somebody knowing you now, and forever. Whichever version of you that is.”

“Then why did you marry them before?” Eren asks, “If you knew it wasn’t enough, if you knew it was just going to end up as another big mistake.”

“Maybe the marriages were a mistake, and some of what came with them, but I don’t think the feelings were,” Carla muses, “Love is never wasted.”

“How can you say that?” Eren questions, disbelief and exasperation painted on his face, “Of course it is—you wasted your time, and your money, and your—your everything on those people who couldn’t care less about you now!”

“Eren—”

“You let them into our house,” Eren speaks over her, “You let them into your life, and they left. They always left—”

“Eren—”

“—And you even let some of them come back! Everyone, you let everyone have another chance, another anniversary, another wedding,” He’s ranting, crying, hot, irrational tears streaming down his face; hiccups interrupting his speech, “So—so, so if it’s not wasted and everyone gets another chance and another chance and another chance—why didn’t he come back, huh? For his?”

Eren’s standing now, arms flailing every which way during his breakdown, but his mother doesn’t try to stop him. She lets him continue, hears him out.

“If it’s love—if it’s not wasted, and it’s real—then why didn’t he come back? Why didn’t he want to? Why—why didn’t he want me? Why did I end up the bastard?”

Eren looks his mother in the eyes for the first time in the duration of their conversation with that final question; with his vision blurry, and chest heaving, and cheeks wet. Carla has no words to say; can only carefully open her arms, and wait for her son to come crashing into them. And he does; and it rains and pours, and Eren holds onto his mother for dear life, and onto the pieces of her breaking heart.

“Am I not good enough to have that kind of love?” Eren asks through tears, “Am I not special enough to want to know?”

“Eren,” she finally speaks, moving to cradle his head in her hands, “You don’t have to be special or good, to be known or loved. It’s enough that you were born. That’s enough to make you deserving of love.”

She doesn’t mind the tears against her palms or the hiccups of Eren’s breathing, “And you already have it.”

And Eren looks at her with eyes wide and wild like a child, staring at the first person to have ever loved someone as messed up, and plain, and ordinary as him; and he can feel more tears bubbling at his eyes.

“Ma, I’m—I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, wrapping his arms around her even tighter, chin resting on her shoulder while his shake through his tears, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Carla hugs her son as close as she can, like he’s five years old and the apple of her eye and she can take all his pain away. “You don’t have to be. You’re my son, and I’ll love you always.”

It feels like they have all the time in the world like that, to hug and cry and apologize; but Carla hopes Eren knows that he was always forgiven; that he never had anything to apologize for in the first place.

“She loves you, too, baby,” she coos, holding Eren as tight as possible, “But you have to let her know that. That you accept it.”

“Do you think she knows?” Eren asks, words muffled into the fabric of her clothing, “That I love her, too?”

“I do,” Carla confirms, pulling away to look at Eren in the eyes; his beautiful, shining, green eyes, “But I don’t think that either of you really realized it. I mean, you did give her an engagement ring, darling.”

Eren huffs at the memory, “She thought it was a gift.”

“Because you gave it to her as a gift.”

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“Love has a way of making people blind,” Carla muses, “Especially two lovesick semi-adults with too much money on their hands.”

Eren’s cheeks grow pink at the accusation, “It’s your money!”

“Yes, and I’m very happy to have it,” Carla chuckles, motioning for Eren to stand up. He does, and she looks up at him with glimmering, proud eyes. “Now, go, shoo. You have a girl to propose to, don’t you? There might be two Jaeger weddings this weekend.”

Eren nods, certain of himself for the first time in a while. He turns on his heel with a vigor igniting his footsteps, but pauses when he reaches the elevator. He makes a sharp turn, running back to his mom one last time, and squeezing her suddenly, and tightly against him.

“I love you, mom,” he says; the words too foreign on his tongue, and he vows to not let them be a stranger to his vocabulary from here on out.

“I love, you, too, Eren,” Carla calmly wraps her arms around her son one last time, “And I always will.”

You half-expected your walk back to your hotel with Mitchell to be painfully awkward, but he proves to be a pleasant conversationalist, even in Carla’s absence.

You know that Eren isn’t fond of him, but you wish that he would at least give him a chance. There’s no way to know if a marriage—if any relationship—will last forever, but, sometimes, you think it’s not about knowing about forever; but, rather about wanting it to make it there; about willing to go the distance with that person.

You can see that want, that willingness that works alongside love in Mitchell and Carla’s relationship, that stands out from her past marriages. You get the feeling they’re going to last; and that, most importantly, they both want it to, too.

It’s quiet out as you both walk the streets of Paris, Mitchell taking the time to point out small notes in architecture that interest you. You readjust your jacket as a gust of wind washes over you, careful to make sure your necklace doesn’t snag against your clothing.

“That’s a beautiful ring,” he calls to you gently.

“Thank you,” Surprised, you quickly let out an embarrassed cough, looking down to your left hand resting atop the uppermost button on your coat. “It was a gift.”

“I meant that one,” Mitchell corrects, carefully gesturing to his own neck to indicate that he was talking about the ring on your necklace, and not the one on your finger.

“Oh, thank you,” you repeat, “That one was actually a gift, too.”

The older man hums, continuing your walk to your hotel. “Must have been one hell of a gift. I don’t know many people who give out engagement rings as presents.”

“Oh, no, no, no, it wasn’t—it’s not an engagement ring,” you tell him, feeling a warmth creep up your cheeks even in the chilly atmosphere of the night, “Eren gave it to me, actually, a few years ago—it was a Christmas gift.”

“Eren, huh?” Mitchell smiles fondly, “That makes sense. Carla tells me how much he cares about you.”

“You—she does?” you stutter. Mitchell nods. “I—I mean, I care about him, too.”

“Enough to accept an engagement ring from him, it seems,” Mitchell taunts, “I’m no specialist, but I know a Harry Winston piece when I see it. They’re not cheap.”

“Trust me, I know,” you scoff, “I almost killed him when I saw how much he spent on it.”

“And you took it, anyway?”

“Well, he—he was supposed to return it,” you defend yourself, “Because I didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea! But he just, well, he gave me the other one instead, so I wear that one on my hand.”

Mitchell pauses, just as you both stand to the entrance of your hotel. “And what was the wrong idea you didn’t want people getting.”

“That... that...,” you pause, thinking back to that Christmas day.

Even though Eren is known for spending ludacris amounts of money, the ring came as a genuine surprise to you. A couple thousand on shoes, sure—you’re victim to that yourself; a couple hundred thousand on a lavish vacation wasn’t out of the ordinary, either; but a million, maybe even more, on a ring that you could have only ever asked of him in your dreams was another thing completely.

And, sure, even a few million didn’t mean much to you or Eren at the end of the day, but it wasn’t just the price; it was the object of the money, too. To accept a house, or a car, or a jet for that amount is something you could rationalize; but a ring seemed foreign, and far out of your league.

Then there was the display and value it held beyond money. It’s beautiful, gorgeous, but more than that, it’s tailored to your exact liking. The synthesis of your aesthetic and everything you could ask for, garnished with the memory of Eren in the very design; the diamonds you love, the flowers that remind him of you, and the way they stems wrap around each other and the petals meet in the middle.

A small gasp leaves your lips and instinctively, you reach to clutch the ring in your hold. There was no way this was an engagement ring... Eren hadn’t proposed to you when he gave it to you—in fact, he was so casual about it, that it had you stunned that he hadn’t thought to consider that other people might think it meant something more than what he intended it to be.

But, looking back, it seems like you’re the only one who didn’t understand what was going on. Because Eren told you, even then, that he’d wanted you forever; you didn’t know how to hear him. It was all right there—not just in the ring, but in all his gifts, in the entirety of your friendship.

Eren loves you, more than you could ever know.

“It’s an engagement ring,” you say aloud, but more to yourself than to Mitchell, “Oh my god, it’s an engagement ring.”

Mitchell can’t do anything but smile at your revelation. You’re practically bouncing off the walls, connecting the puzzle pieces of your relationship in the middle of the street at damn near midnight, but you don’t care; because it finally feels right, and it finally, finally all makes sense.

“He, but he never pro—oh my fucking god, I’m going to kill him.”

You feel elated and confused and happy and murderous all at once. Eren wanted to marry you; Eren loved you. He wants you for the rest of his life, and you’ve been too blind to see it this entire time.

Still, you think that maybe a verbal proposal might have helped to open your eyes a bit.

“Mitchell, I have to—”

You’re cut off by the echo of your name coming from the opposite end of the street, and you can just barely make out of Eren’s figure in the faded lights of the street lamps. His name falls from your lips like a whisper, and you hardly register Mitchell’s amused, soft laughter from beside you.

“I think that’s my cue,” he says, patting you on the shoulder, “I better get back to Carla. Something tells me you two have a bit to talk about.”

You can barely nod at him, eye still wide and stunned, but a smile on your face even in your fearful anticipation. You don’t have time to thank him before he turns away, bidding you goodnight; and then you have something else to focus on, as Eren��s footsteps grow louder, and his silhouette grows sharper the closer he gets to you.

He practically crashes into you, chest heaving, hair wind-swept and wild from his running. He puts his hands on your shoulders, to steady himself physically and mentally, labored breaths ghosting over the top of your head.

“Hi,” he finally squeaks; and that stupid, big, dopey grin is on his face.

It’s ridiculous, so utterly ridiculous that you can’t help but greet him back. The two of you stand there, smiling like fools for god knows how long, before the realization strikes you for a second time.

Eren opens his mouth to finally speak, but a pained squeal leaves his lips instead as he feels the back of your hand slap his chest. “Ouch—hey, what was that for!”

“What the hell do you think you were doing proposing to me without telling me?” you screech, packing another punch to his chest for good measure, but it’s a poor barrier and does nothing to stop your tears from falling, “You’re an idiot, I should kill you for this, you know that, Eren Jaeger?”

Eren laughs softly, only to be heard by you in close proximity. He takes your offending hand in his, and reaches for your other, pulling both of them between your bodies. He can feel tears welling in his own eyes, as he looks down at the necklace, glimmering perfectly under the moonlight.  

“In my defense, the first thing you told me to do when I gave it to you was to return it.”

“I might not have said that if you told me what it meant,” you can hardly choke out a laugh through your tears; and Eren can’t stop his from falling either, “It’s insane, you know. This whole thing—to ask me to marry you at 19. For me to not realize until we’re 21.”

“I know,” Eren agrees, inching closer even though there’s barely any room between you, “I know. But I know I love you, every version of you. I always have, I always will.”

You close your eyes as Eren’s hands move to your face, gingerly sweeping your tears away from your cheeks. He feels too close, it feels like too much; but you don’t want him to move.

“You know... if you had asked me, then,” you start, blinking your eyes open with a sniffle; you’re met with Eren’s emerald greens one with far too much hope and love glimmering in them, “I—I don’t even know what I would have said.”

“And if I asked you now?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, slowly raising your hands to wrap around Eren’s wrist, and lower them to your neck, before looking at him again, “Ask me.”

Eren blinks, carefully trailing his hands up and around your neck, nimble fingers undoing the clasp of your necklace. He hardly lets the chain pool into his hand before it’s tossed aside, and the ring is still between his thumbs and index fingers as he lowers himself on to one knee.

“You are the love of my life, and there’s not a single version of life—a single version of you, or me—where I don’t want to be with you forever,” Eren says, “And you know how shit I am with my words, but I fucking mean it. I swear to you, that I’ll do my best every day to show you how much you mean to me; marry me, and I’ll prove it to you, I swear, I will.”  

Your lips are wobbling at Eren’s confession below you, and you can just barely beckon him upwards in your state. He’s hardly back on two feet before you’re pulling him against you, ghosting the word “yes” on his lips before you kiss him.

You both melt into the kiss, Eren’s hands skillfully cupping your cheeks, while he keeps the ring in his hold and bruises your lips together.

“You don’t have to prove it to me, Eren,” you assure him, hand shaking when you pull apart and let him slip the ring onto your finger—where it belongs, “You already have.”

For his first birthday as a married man, Eren requested something intimate. He wanted just a small celebration with all of your mutual friends, some good food, alcohol, and lots of fun.

Supposedly simple and intimate for him entailed renting out the top floor of the Whitney, which was currently encasing an exhibit portraying some kind of abstract modern art that allowed for a very drunk Eren and Armin have to entertain themselves by trying their best to recreate the paintings using very flawed couples aerial yoga.

The art, paired with the dimmed lighting, Jean’s choice selection of overtly sexual music, and Eren’s pick of overpriced champagne also meant that Marco, Bertholdt, Connie, and Sasha found everything ten times funnier than they were—which meant they were a million times louder than usual.

Jean stands next to you by the bar, watching as Eren attempts to hold Armin above his head by holding on to just his waist. They’re unsuccessful, of course, resulting in both boys toppling onto the ground as the majority of their older friends laugh along.

“Lucky me, I get to take him home at the end of the night,” you drawl, turning to the bartender to order another drink.

She smiles, easily preparing your martini and sliding it you with an inquiry. “That’s your boyfriend? The tall one with the brown hair?”

“No,” you sigh, eyes closed for a moment before taking the glass between your fingers. “That’s my husband, unfortunately.”

× even more notes: this fic. is my baby. it’s been a draft of mine for over two years at this point. it’s gone through various fandoms but i’ve never quite been able to complete and post it, so i’m very happy that it’s finally here! i hope you all enjoyed, and i just wanted to say that i’m glad to finally have been able to share this with you all!

[ghooostbaby]

deeeep dive into why and how wei wuxian and lan wangji love each other, complete each other, are the inverse reflection of each other’s deeply hidden internal selves mirrored through the other’s external self, lan wangji’s inner wildness that he has to conceal and protect recognizing and loving wei wuxian’s outer wildness, wei wuxian’s deep, fuddy-duddy morality and values that he conceals with an elaborate subterfuge of jokes, mischief, and bravado, seeing and loving in lan wangji the ability to say no that it was never safe for him to express directly, “between you and me there is no need for thank you and sorry”

oh and a slight diversion midway through into a manifesto on WEI WUXIAN IS NOT INSECURE the whole story is about a society where being liked is ESSENTIAL for survival and it is actually completely perilous not to be liked, and his “people pleasing” is a skill and tool for his survival especially as an orphan and proven to be a necessary one when he stops doing it and STOPS SURVIVING

after the cut discussing the very interesting dynamics of consent in general in the novel, but not going into the consensual non-consent kink stuff till the last paragraph if you need to avoid for any reason.

I've been thinking about how Lan WangJi sees in Wei WuXian the exterior, unfettered expression of the wildness Lan WangJi holds in him and protects with rigid codes of conduct, propriety and outward dignity.

I have had this sense that these two are mirrors, either one reflecting the hidden, interior (and unallowed) self of the other. but it seemed more clear from Lan WangJi's side, especially knowing about his history with his mother and the spicy side that emerges when he drinks and in the extras.

I also - just... the way this whole story shows how romantic love is truly this longing for your self, to become yourself, to become the thing you're not allowed to be, seeing in that person the expression of whatever it is you can't become and longing for it, protecting it, joining with it as closely as you can without ever being able to let it live inside your own body.

On the surface it seems a lot more difficult for Wei WuXian to find a piece of his soul in Lan Wangji. I think its a bit too simplistic to see whatever draws Wei WuXian to Lan Wangji as a reverse-psychology sort of craving of acceptance from the only one who won't give it, pushing and pushing against this impenetrable boundary that he needs to break to feel assurance that no matter what he can make anyone accept him.

And he is SO drawn - in a mind boggling way, in the teenage flashbacks Lan WangJi rudely and aggressively throws him off over and over and Wei WuXian cannot keep away! Even when he talks about how boring Lan WangJi is, he never stops trying to be around him and talk to him.

I've seen discussions of the way Wei WuXian has always relied on the goodwill of others to survive, and that his placating of others to survive is a character flaw. Although that seems only halfway true. 

As a young child he didn't have anyone's goodwill for a while and he survived, and it seems like he can always find a way to survive from whatever means and sometimes very limited resources he has at his disposal. Doing what he has to do to become powerful enough to survive losing his core and being thrown into the burial mounds slowly costs him the goodwill of everyone around him - and what happens to him as a result shows how much placation was a truly necessary for someone without the protection of biological/hereditary family bonds.

(Don’t get me started on how his loss of his golden core and his development of demonic cultivation to give himself power by ‘unnatural methods’ through the use of a musical instrument is a metaphor for disability and the way ableist society sees the use of accessibility devices and tools. Actually please DO get my started haha.)

Wei WuXian is so charismatic and seems very used to getting what he wants and needs on the strength of that. He pushes a lot of boundaries and seems pretty confident and flexibly prepared to handle the consequences, whether beatings or harsh words. But he does work so hard to make others feel good, good with him, good with themselves.

When he is in the cave with Lan WangJi, Wei WuXian is described as "like one who forgets all past pain as soon as the wound heals". He can't resist coming up beside Lan WangJi and talking to him again and again after every time Lan WangJi pushes him off, only finally staying away when Lan WangJi bites him (and he still keeps trying to talk to him after a little bit!) and then calls him an awful person (!!! Bad Wangji! :(((( ). In the end, when Lan WangJi (very minimally) discloses what happened to his sect and his father, and even cries, because of all the defences/assaults Lan WangJi has put up Wei WuXian can't do anything or say anything to help and feels miserable.

Lan WangJi just absolutely refuses to allow Wei WuXian to take care of him - and I began to wonder maybe that’s what Wei WuXian actually really likes about him? Why he is unable to resist coming up to Lan WangJi again and again? Maybe because Lan WangJi refuses to let Wei WuXian appease him. He’s not trying to crack Lan WangJi to get to this impenetrable place of approval and acceptance. In a way he can’t quite understand, Lan WangJi is a respite for Wei WuXian from the constant work to be the one who pleases.

And  how different this is to how Wei WuXian is (or has to be) with Jiang Cheng when he wakes up in Lotus Pier after the cave. Jiang Cheng gets so down and really really needs Wei WuXian to do what he does so well (and wasn’t allowed to do with Lan WangJi) - chasing Jiang Cheng down while being injured and reassuring him about all his insecurities about his father's acceptance and becoming a sect leader and Wei WuXian's own abilities excelling his - and at first Jiang Cheng is pushing him away, but he really does need Wei WuXian to do all this to feel better.

Wei WuXian is described as not wanting to be lonely, and not wanting to see other people unhappy, and he keeps trying to push and pull with whatever he has to not be lonely and lift the mood for those around him. I don't think it's a kind of codependency or insecurity. It’s not that Wei WuXian is afraid to say no, in fact I would say he doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do, but he must always do it creatively, with humour. Similarly to Nie Huaisang, he uses a persona of foolishness to give himself a covert agency.

I also think I'm writing this because I don't like seeing this discussed as a sad bean character flaw for him to always need to be liked - its a strategy, its a tool, its how he survives and excels. Doesn’t the whole story prove how essential being liked is to a human’s survival? And he is so so good at being liked, in making others happy, even when he is refusing to do what others want from him that he doesn't want to do, he does it in a way that deflects criticism, with a smiling bravado that never says what it truly means and has people writing him off as shameless or foolish or just endearing himself toward them despite themselves.

He is always at work really, with jokes and flattery or mischief and teasing, to get the resources he wants and needs. Case and point, when he makes a big coquettish show for mianmian, definitely not being "people pleasing" for her, but the group of girls around them all find it funny and cute and in the end she gives him a perfume sachet which ends up being a valuable resource for later. Or the time he outright tells Jiang Cheng that if you give the girls some lotus seeds they'll remember you and return the favour in the future. (Also notice how his interactions with girls seen as flirtatious are actually strategic resource-gathering acts.) These are the skills he has developed to meet his own needs. (THIS IS NOT A CHARACTER FLAW. I REPEAT.) He takes what he needs and steals from the Lotus Pier markets knowing it'll be paid for, he lives like he never know when his next windfall will come from so he'll take what he can when he can find it. Like Jiang Fengmian said, if there is no guarantee of a meal in the future then today's meal should still be enjoyed. It’s how Wei WuXian said to Nie Huaisang at Cloud Recesses, you have to find ways to make your own fun out of whatever you have. So he gets kicked out of class, goes fishing, gets alcohol, he pursues his own pleasure. He actually is quite insistent of his own agency and right to choose, he just can never directly say no.

And that little detail that Wei WuXian always tucks coins into his clothes just in case, that makes him able to buy food when he and Jiang Cheng are on the run... breaks my heart and reveals so much about the way Wei WuXian is constantly at work on ensuring his own survival and never takes for granted whether he is safe (he knows he never is). 

I've seen some people talking about Wei WuXian sacrificing so much for his brother and sister out of a need to be accepted out of a chronic sense of insecurity. But isn’t this just true? Doesn't he live in a world where being accepted is absolutely essential for survival? Doesn’t this whole story show the cruelty of a social system based on networks of hereditary/biological family that closes out and scapegoats any outsiders, and that without biological family connections that can enclose around you, you can never truly be safe if not constantly working to earn acceptance? (And then beautifully ends with the way a gay romantic relationship that queers marriage/family/etc disrupts all this and creates safety and inclusion for Wei WuXian without needing a normative family.) (AKA romantic love does not resolve some internal personal problem in Wei WuXian but disrupts and refuses and rebels against the problem of SOCIETY.) (*breathes heavily*)

And that’s why Lan WangJi is magnetizing to Wei WuXian. Lan WangJi is always saying no. Although what Lan WangJi sees in Wei WuXian is an exterior wildness, Wei WuXian is not really out of control so much as he is playing and caring and supplicating and showing off and pleasing people to get the resources and the acceptance he needs to live his life. He has firm values and desires that he can never outwardly state, only creatively spinning plates to distract and deflect while he refuses what goes against his values, protects who he cares for, or takes what he needs to in order to survive/thrive. Lan WangJi embodies an exterior of resoluteness and direct agency that Wei WuXian doesn't have the luxury of. And he's so drawn to him for his ability to repeatedly say no, to refuse to get along, or make others laugh, make other people happy, but just simply follow what he thinks is right.

Wei WuXian’s outward wild movement protects an inward stillness. He is an exterior of people-pleasing around an interior of refusal. He is an exterior of youthful rebellion around an interior of unflinching morality. He sees in Lan WangJi the outward expression of his stillness, his morality, his resistance that he can't express, that he's had to protect.

FYI after the cut gets more into the dynamics of consent in the story, and the last paragraph directly talks about consensual non-consent kink play in wangxian’s relationship.

When Wei WuXian is with Lan WangJi, there is no work to be done. Lan WangJi cannot be swayed by him, and so there's no point vying for resources or favors. Lan WangJi will either give him everything or refuse him everything based on who he is, it does not matter what Wei WuXian does and he can't do anything that will change Lan WangJi’s mind. Someone he literally can't win over. After the resurrection, they are often in an adorable tug of war, where Wei WuXian tries to take care of Lan WangJi, while Lan WangJi won't allow him to but demands to care of Wei WuXian right back. Actually, Lan WangJi insists that Wei WuXian take everything he wants or needs from him and is even angry when he doesn't take or when Wei WuXian tries to offer a gesture in return, even something as simple as a thank you Lan WangJi won't accept. It’s kind of adorable how frustrated Wei WuXian is in doing this thing he's learned that he needs to do, and just... so confused by Lan WangJi, and has to find a way to please this person who aggressively refuses to be pleased and is ONLY pleased by Wei WuXian being pleased.

(Not to mention the way Wei WuXian delights in finding that Lan WangJi can’t say what he wants, and they have sort of these chaotic cohesive both-being-so-pleased-by-working-hard-to-please each-other moments where Wei WuXian is letting Lan WangJi please him by finding out what pleases Lan WangJi and giving it to him.)

The wildness Lan WangJi had always hidden within himself is something he sees as just as dangerous as Wei WuXian thinks of his desire to refuse. He saw his mother be socially alienated, shunned, and eventually die because of her wildness. His ability to survive in the world, aka to be accepted by his family, is contingent on him being able to control this inner wildness. From a young age (re: Phoenix Mountain kiss) he could only understand his sexual desires for Wei WuXian as something repulsive or dangerous that had to be repressed and controlled, and that the only way he could imagine his desires as possible was as non-consensual. His secret gay desires were never available to him as anything but something monstrous.

Importantly, it’s not like everyone else other than Lan WangJi are all vampires cruelly demanding Wei WuXian’s constant sacrifice. Wei WuXian is always vibrantly, charismatically offering so much, before anyone has asked. It’s Wei WuXian who creates this kind of relationship for himself again and again. It’s Lan WangJi who simply refuses - he refuses to charmed, to be cared for. And so in the end Lan WangJi becomes the one person who Wei WuXian feels doesn't need anything from him. When he says he's eating the corpse's fruit to save Lan WangJi money and Lan WangJi says that will never be necessary. Or when Wei WuXian asks what toy he should win for Lan WangJi at the market game, and Lan WangJi says anything Wei WuXian gets will be the one he wants. (XD stahhhhp it’s too sweet !!!) He really just wants Wei WuXian to be, to exist, to spend his life discovering his own desires and allow Lan WangJi to help satisfy them, he doesn't want anything from Wei WuXian other than him living - happy and safe.

It takes someone like Lan WangJi to refuse Wei WuXian’s aggressive generosity, it’s definitely not an easy thing to say no to Wei WuXian, dazzling or annoying people so chaotically before they even realize there’s something to say no to. The sacrifice he gives to Jiang Cheng, he never even offers a choice - and perhaps it would have been too much for Jiang Cheng to accept if he had the chance.

Lan WangJi’s statement "Between us there is no need for thank you and sorry" seems like one of the most important sentences in the novel, and you can’t help but noticed the way “sorry” and “thank you” is littered meaningfully through the book. What is owed, what the characters owe to each other, the give and take, touches every part of the story (down to wangxian's erotic explorations!).

When Jiang Cheng talks to Wei WuXian at the Guanyin temple he makes a lot of contradictory statements about what Wei WuXian owes, what he was given, what he took, what he (Wei WuXian still) is owed in return. Wei WuXian, according to Jiang Cheng, took everything from the Jiang clan, and paid them back with their deaths. The Jiang clan give him his life when they took him in, and he owed Jiang Cheng service for the rest of his life as the right hand to the sect leader, that’s what Wei WuXian had promised anyway. At the same time, Wei WuXian sacrificed everything (his golden core) to Jiang Cheng, by giving everything he was taking one more thing - Jiang Cheng’s right to even be angry at him. Jiang Cheng had taken everything from Wei WuXian. Everything that happened around Wei WuXian after could be said to be because of the loss of his golden core, which Jiang Cheng might be said to be responsible for. But he never asked for it, maybe he never would have wanted it. He wishes Wei WuXian told him, but Jiang Cheng never told Wei WuXian his golden core was melted while he was sacrificing himself to save Wei WuXian. He wants Wei wuxian to say sorry, but that makes him feel pathetic. And Jiang Cheng says sorry too. It’s a mess of paradoxes, and in the end somehow it seems like the scales are balanced in the most hollow, dismal way.

What is owed, what is given, what is taken ... Wei WuXian has never been part of a family. He has always had to say thank you and sorry for everything he's taken. Wei WuXian himself admits that he used "thank you" as a way to enforce distance between himself and Lan WangJi. Lan WangJi's point i think is that they belong to each other, Wei WuXian is his, and he is Wei WuXian's, unconditionally. The way that Jiang Cheng speaks of him in the Guanyin temple (admittedly I read a fan translation and this is very nuanced, related to slight variations of grammar), even when Jiang Cheng clearly is so broken by the loss of Wei WuXian from his life, he talks about Wei WuXian as an outsider. It is what MY family gave to YOU, never what you took from our family. But at one point Wei WuXian was part of their family - but he takes too much, and becomes an ex-disciple, not a brother. Wei WuXian’s inclusion as a Jiang was always conditional. 

Even when Wen Qing and Wen Ning leave him to go take the blame for qiongqing path they tell him "thank you and sorry", drawing a line between them and him, so he doesn’t even belong to these people who he sacrificed everything for. The way Wei WuXian acted when he was younger, he was always keenly aware of this - he always knew that he didn’t belong to anyone, no one is going to protect him unconditionally. And after first escaping the Burial Mounds, he is done pretending. When Lan WangJi warns him about what a demonic cultivation path will do to his heart, Wei WuXian replies: “After all, on the topic of how my heart is, what could other people know about it? Why should other people care about it?” He is done pleasing. Nothing has changed really, he still belongs to no one and is alone, but now he is angry about it, and instead of saying thank you and sorry he is going to become too powerful to be at anyone's mercy. And then we see in the story afterward what happens to people who don't say thank you and sorry.

The whole point I think is the impossibility of choice, the impossibility of consent in this society. If he didn't forgo the behaviour his social acceptance was conditional on, he wouldn't have survived the burial mounds. But once he becomes powerful enough to survive and get revenge on the Wens, he is socially outcast. Except he was already outcast from the beginning.

And so how do Wei WuXian and Lan WangJi find a way through all that to a life together where all their desires are possible, where Wei WuXian can say no while also being pleasing (safe) to others, and Lan WangJi can indulge in his wild desires while still being good? The answer is kinky sex!

It is kind of miraculous and beautiful how Wei WuXian finds a way to say no, while simultaneously pleasing Lan WangJi, giving pleasure, while taking it, saying no, and knowing his refusal is not just tolerated, but gives Lan WangJi pleasure, knowing Lan wangji and knowing the painful belief Lan WangJi holds within that his desires are unacceptable and unspeakable, and that Wei WuXian can take care of Lan Wangji in a secret little way and please him and give everything to him by craving this wildness in Lan WangJi while at the same time he gets to say no again and again , and it won't push Lan WangJi away, he can refuse everything while at the same time be totally pleasing and thus safe, and also for Lan WangJi, Wei WuXian's pleasure at saying "no" while still being held onto, that he genuinely wants to be fucked even while begging Lan WangJi to stop (and the many ways he does give his consent for this throughout, especially their first time), allows Lan WangJi the ecstatic feeling that this idea that his sexual desires are only possible through force are not just something his lover forgives him for but something his lover is SO turned on by, and that he has consent for his fantasies of non-consent, Wei WuXian has the same fantasies from the other side, he is doing what he is supposed to while doing what he shouldn't, and actually these monstrous feelings in him allow him to take care of Wei WuXian in a way that he needs - that they both need - and all these impulses that are so wrong with Wei WuXian become very right and a way to do good. And they are just both so perfect and perfect for each other and I love them and I am so happy for them to have a long kinky life together.

[saintlike78]

um hey love, i just wanna say that i absolutely adore your writings :D can i request a poly mauraders x reader fic, where the reader's actually uncomfortable when they're being rough & degrading during sex. she likes it when they're gentle but she never really said anything bcs she wanna make them happy. but one day she can't take it anymore and said her safeword. so basically just lots of comfort after that. i hope it's not confusing. thank you so muchh <3

I can’t [Poly Marauders]

A/N: I just saw this request and I instantly had to write it! Thank you so much, I can totally relate, being a little vanilla bean at heart. I was actually thinking of maybe writing a pt. 2 with some very fluffy gentle sex, lmk if that’s something you would want to read <3

Pairings: Poly Marauders x Fem! Reader

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: NSFW 16+, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, oral (male receiving), mention of cum, bondage, degradation, face slapping, spanking, use of safeword, crying, overstimulation, reader being in pain bc of rough sex, dom! Remus, dom! Sirius, dom! James, sub! Reader, polyamorous relationship, fluff at the end. As always lmk if I missed anything.

NSFW starts just below the cut!

“Take it you dumb slut,” James groaned out as he hit another slap on your already burning red ass.

The slap had you jolting forward, Remus’ cock hitting the back of your throat causing you to gag.

Your hands were tied behind your back and held up by James as he rutted into you - you were absolutely out of control in this situation.

Beside you Sirius was pulling at his own cock, his lips connected with Remus’s as they lazily made out, chasing their releases.

Your body was aching, your stomach pulled tightly together as another orgasm approached, the pleasure had long ago subsided, the only thing you felt was pain. Your cheeks were red and marked with handprints from the countless times the three boys had slapped you.

You had never told them that you didn’t enjoy it quite as rough as they did - it was fine sometimes, but most of the time you loved praise and soft sex, but that was obviously not something they wanted, so you pushed through despite yourself to please them - not wanting to lose them.

With a loud groan and without warning Remus’s cum shot down your throat, prompting another gag to surface.

He pumped a couple of times, riding out his high before he pulled out and leaned down to be level with your face. Grabbing ahold of your cheeks and squeezing them he scowled, “go on, swallow!”

You didn’t dare to disobey, so you swallowed and stuck out your tongue to show him that you indeed weren’t to be punished.

“Good,” was all the scarred boy said before gently tapping your cheek and moving back to make out with Sirius.

Moans were spilling out freely, now that Remus’s cock was out of your mouth, and you had an opportunity to breathe.

Your enjoyment didn’t last long as another hard slap was delivered to your ass and then one on your face - one from James and Sirius.

You whimpered, tears pricking at your eyes.

“Please, I can’t take it anymore,” you whimpered out, your lips turned into a pleading pout.

Sirius leaned down, his face stern, “yes you can, and you will… no more complaining, dumb little slut.”

Your heart stung at the name, but you made no move to go against them; it was all for them.

James’ cock twitched inside of you, and he quickly pulled out and came on your back with a loud groan. The hand that was holding the restraints let go and you fell forward into the mattress with a dry sob.

Your break was minimal as not even ten seconds later you were being flipped around, laying uncomfortably on your tied hands. Sirius was between your legs and didn’t even give you time to comprehend anything before his cock was buried deep within you, his hips moving quickly to achieve his release.

Another slap, hips snapping into yours painfully, your hands bound tightly and painfully behind your back, and your orgasm not even close to feeling good – it was all becoming too much.

You were trying so hard to keep it together, only Sirius needed to cum and then you’d be done.

You were being so good, keeping everything in; that was until Remus’s hand was around your throat, Sirius’s hand landed another painful slap on your cheek and James’ thumb was rubbing fast circles on your clit. The pain and emotion were too much, and you finally snapped, tears of pain flowing freely down your cheeks.

“Red! red, red, please, red!” you exclaimed, chanting your safeword like it was the only word you knew.

As soon as the word hit the boy’s ears Sirius had pulled out and stepped back awkwardly on his knees. Remus was quick to find the knife they kept to cut your ropes. James had pulled your body up so that Remus could free your red and aching wrists. You threw your arms around James’ neck, and he pulled your body onto his lap, holding you tightly against him.

Your mind was fuzzy and sobs escaping from the back of your throat, small pleas leaving your lips as well. ‘Please, no more, I can’t’.

A pang of guilt hit all three boy’s chests as they listened to you sob into James’s chest, your entire body shaking.

Remus was the first to speak, his soft voice trying to calm you, “shh, it’s all right, it’s over now, Bunny.”

You pulled your face away from the safety of James’s neck, your face streaked with tears and your eyes red and puffy.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry… we can keep going if you want, I’ll be good,” you rambled out, scared that they would be upset with you for stopping.

Sirius grabbed your face, his thumb wiping away the tears, “Stop apologizing, we don’t want to continue since you obviously weren’t enjoying yourself.”

“We always want you to use your safeword if you feel the least bit uncomfortable, that’s why it’s there… you did so good for us, such a good girl for using your safeword,” Remus continued on from Sirius, leaning forward to kiss your forehead.

“But… Siri didn’t finish,” you muttered meekly, looking down, which was quite hard since Sirius was still holding your face.

“That doesn’t matter, Puppy… you’re way more important than a stupid orgasm,” Sirius said, lifting your face so you were forced to look at him.

“Can you tell us what happened?” James asked, needing you to tell them what caused you to cry out your safeword for the first time.

Sirius let go of your face, giving you room to tell them what had happened.

“I don’t really know how to say this… uhm… I love you all and I really enjoy it when we… uhm… you know… have sex… but I know you all like it quite rough and even though it’s fun most of the time… I kinda like it when you’re gentler… I’m sorry, we can still do it like this, but just a little less rough,” you mumbled out, not really knowing how to properly formulate what you wanted to say. Your eyes were downcast again, your fingers were pulling anxiously at one another.

“Oh, bunny… why haven’t you said anything before? If you don’t like something you have to tell us… sex is for all of us to enjoy and it’s not fair for you if you’re the only one not enjoying it,” Remus said sadly, having had no clue of your unenjoyment.

“I’m sorry, I just… wanted to be good for you, but this time it was just too painful.”

“It shouldn’t ever be so painful that you’re not enjoying yourself… please, please, please always tell us – and stop apologizing, you were being good for us, you’re always good for us,” Sirius said moving so he could hug both you and James, Remus following not long after.

“You want to take a bath and cuddle, pretty girl?” James asked softly, to which you nodded enthusiastically, causing a light chuckle to leave each of their lips.

You had bathed, your body washed, and well taken care of thanks to your boys insisting that they “had to” wash you, to make sure that all your pain was gone.

You were currently laid in-between Remus and Sirius – James between your thigs, insisting that they were the best pillows and that it was mostly for your comfort.

“You’re so pretty, baby,” Sirius whispered, his thumb caressing your cheek. You turned your face to look at him, a smile on your face as you leaned in to kiss him.

“I love you.”

Turning to face Remus the same sentence was voiced and lastly said to James, who was falling asleep as your fingers carded through his hair and massaged his scalp, soft snoring noises escaping his slightly parted lips.

“We love you too,” Remus whispered before moving closer to mush you against him and Sirius.

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