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#i calm down and have an adult conversation pretty quickly. right?''

norrisleclercf1 · 10 months

Note

Hi love ❤ could you maybe write something for the Mini lando Series,maybe where reader does Grocerie Shopping with Aiden and Lando stays at home with Caleb. And while they are shopping some man flirts with reader and Aiden is like THATS my mom and she only loves my daddy. And then he tells lando what happend when they are home. And lando is jelous but thinks its funny how People still trie to hit on reader even with Baby and ring on her finger.

A/N: pffffft love this, Aiden totally has his dads sass. Aiden is about 5 and Caleb is 2. This happens before you become pregnant with your 3rd child Daniel William Norris.

Warnings: Fluff and Angst, yep that's right it's not always going to be sunshine and roses, slight crude language and joke

Mini Lando Series Masterlist

"Just, call if you need anything okay?" You ask Lando, about to run to the grocery store he waves you off. "What? Think I can't take care of my own son?" It's a teasing comment but with a tiny bite.

Taking a deep breath you have to remind your self to remain calm to his comment. "Lando, you're a capable father, I'm just saying-" You stop pursing your lips. "Whatever, forget it. Aiden! Baby, come on we're leaving!" Aiden runs down the hall smiling.

He loved going to the store with you, Caleb was about 2 and now able to talk and run around so Aiden didn't get much peace. And at 5, he was already an old man with Lando's mouth to boot.

"I'm ready! Bye daddy." Lando crouches, kissing Aiden on the cheek. "Be good for you Mom or I won't be taking you karting. Understand?" Aiden has gotten into karting, nothing serious yet. But he was a natural talent and it started to worry you.

That's why there was so much tension between you and Lando recently. "Yes, sir. I'll be good for Mom." Running to the garage, leaving you and Lando alone. "We'll talk later." Is all Lando says, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek and off to check on Caleb.

""Sure." You mumble, wanting to shake off the fog in your brain. You wanted a good day with your son and fighting with your husband wasn't going to damper that. "Mama! Come on!" Aiden yells, hurrying you to the car.

Opening the door, you help him in, strapping him into the booster seat. "Is Daddy mad?" Fingers fumble slightly with the last buckle at his question you look up. "No, baby. We're just having an adult conversation. He's not mad at you, I promise." Aiden nods, his question quickly forgotten by him but not by you.

The drive is relatively nice as you park, going over the rules again with Aiden who just nods saying "yes mom". Running into the store he grabs one of the mini buggies, making sure to copy you. The two of you giggle and talk about his karting.

Not even noticing as a man approaches you until he grabs something off the top shelf for you. "Here you go gorgeous." The guy smiles, you give a tight lip one taking the box of pasta from him. "Thanks." Aiden staring at the guy, wondering what he was doing.

"You're welcome. Can't turn down a stunning woman like you now can I? What kind of person would I be?" He chuckles moving closer, but not enough to make you uncomfortable. "One who isn't my daddy." Aiden's voice has the guy looking down, you hiding a smile as you turn.

"Excuse me little guy?" The man shocked at the little kids quip. "It's not little guy, my name is Aiden. You're not my daddy, and the only one to call Mommy pretty is Daddy." Aiden standing firm, staring the guy down. "Oh, well I don't see your daddy." Winking at you, now you're stepping in but Aiden doesn't stop.

"Daddy is busy at home with my little brother. He also drives super fast cars, the orange one. Unless you drive one like Daddy and Uncle Carlos or Uncle Pear you can't call Mommy pretty." The guy steps back, rolling his eyes. "Whatever." And walks off leaving you in shock.

"Aiden Carlos." Your voice calm, Aiden looks down. He knew he shouldn't have done that. His mommy could handle herself but...daddy always told him to protect mommy when he wasn't there. "Are you going to tell Daddy?" He knew he did wrong, talking back to a stranger unaware of what he could do.

"No, you will." Sighing you head to check out. "Mommy?" Aiden's voice soft as you two drive back. "Yes?" Aiden sniffles kicking his little feet. "I was just doing what Daddy does for you." He whispers, eyes looking in the rearview mirror you catch Aiden's head down.

"What do you mean baby?" Confused by that. "Daddy always protects Mommy, and Uncle Carlos said since I'm the oldest I have to protect you and Caleb when Daddy isn't here. I'm sorry." Sniffling again, reaching back you squeeze his little leg.

"My little boy. You don't need to do that. When you're bigger and older, sure. But you're still my little baby, it's my job to protect you." Aiden smiles, nodding as you pull into the garage.

The garage door opens, showing Caleb being held by Lando who laughs as Lando blows raspberries on his stomach. "Mama!" Caleb giggles, Aiden jumping out and running inside.

"Something happen?" Lando asks, you nod. Lando just nods sucking in his cheeks placing Caleb down. "I'll go talk to him." Caleb carrying light bags of groceries inside happy to help.

Lando walks to his eldest son's room, poking his head in not seeing Aiden he goes to second best spot. "Bubs?" Lando calls pushing open his office door, Aiden staring at all the trophies, helmets, and pictures.

"I thought I told you to be good?" Lando sighs, crouching to be eye level with the boy sitting in the desk chair. "I was, but a stranger was calling Mommy names and I protected her just like you and Uncle Carlos always say to do." Aiden whines, for such a little boy he sure did have mature emotions.

Anger fuels Lando hearing this, he has to take a couple deep breaths before asking his next question. "What kind of names, bubs? It's okay you can tell me." Lando comforts him, Aiden's curls bouncing back to place from Lando's fingers.

"They kept calling Mommy pretty, and doing what you do." Lando blinks, the anger shaping into jealousy. A guy was hitting on you? With his ring on your finger and in front of his child? Okay, this could be worse.

Lando having to talk himself down. "Aiden, you have to let Mommy handle that until your bigger, understand?" Aiden nods, staring at a picture of you, Aiden, and him holding a trophy. "Can we still kart?" Lando smirks, ruffling his hair. "Yeah, go get dressed." Aiden running off.

Lando stands, taking in the pictures. First date, Wedding, His first WDC, your entire life together was here. Yet he was still feeling jealous? He hated it. Walking back, he sees Caleb watching bluey holding his stuffed koala given to him by Oscar.

"Y/n?" You poke your head around the corner, Lando walks into the kitchen kicking the standout the door swinging closed. "A guy hit on you?" Voice calm, but even you could hear the lace of anger.

"Yes, but it was handled, by our 5-year-old. Apparently, you and Carlos have put in his head he's allowed to do that." You hiss, angry at the fact that your son could've been put in harm's way. "Y/n, that's not the point here, a guy hit on you." His temper fizzles out quickly as he laughs.

"What is so damn funny? This isn't funny!" You snap, pushing his shoulder as Lando just laughs. "This fucker hit on you, while you wear my ring. My child was next to you, and I'm here acting like a jealous teenager." He laughs harder shaking his head at his own actions.

"I felt threatened when I'm the one who married you, the one who is the father of two gorgeous boys. And," He steps closer, wrapping an arm around your waist pulling you into his chest. "The one who gets to fill you every night." You slap a hand over his mouth, feeling the smirk on your palm.

"Are you crazy! The kids could hear." Anger slipping too as you roll your eyes. "M swommy." Words muffled you drop your hand. "What?" "I'm sorry. About our fight recently and now, this. Just, ever since we had Aiden; I've been worried about your safety and the kids. Now I understand what Fernando and the others felt over their kids and partners." Lando wraps you in a hug.

"Lando, I love you. But, if you ever tell our child to do that again. I'm slicing your balls." Lando snorts shaking his head. "You love my balls to much." You shove him away as he laughs loudly.

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concreteangel92 · 3 months

Text

Do you want to be a good girl for me?

Noah Sebastian x fem!reader

TW: mentions of dom/sub relationships, getting turned on? Honestly nothing is too graphic here

A/N: So I had this idea in my head today after wondering how the conversation would go with Noah about him being a dom while you’re in the early dating stages.

This has definitely been inspired by watching him spanking the air during IDWT$ the other day which I have yet to recover from 🥵

I haven’t wrote any type of fanfiction in about 7/8 years! I used to write a lot when I was younger but stopped due to adult life haha so I do feel incredibly rusty but Noah and reading everyone else’s stories on here over the last few months has definitely inspired me but please be kind as it’s been so long 😂

I am half way through a smut filled Noah one shot atm so hopefully if this goes well then I’ll be posting that soon!

Masterlist

• So far you were on date number 3 with the Noah Sebastian Davis.

• Tonight was a home cooked dinner and movie night at yours

• Currently sitting together on the sofa, chatting after dinner

• You had both agreed to take things slow-ish to begin with so you could really get to know each other

• Noah being aware that you were a fan of the band prior to these dates

• The most you guys had done so far was holding hands, cuddling and a lot of kissing

• Now you know there is more to a relationship then sex but let’s be honest, it’s pretty important and it’s important to be compatible

• You hadn’t mentioned anything to Noah about the kinks or kind of relationships that you were into but it was definitely the time to see if things could progress

• “so I feel these dates have gone really well and that we appear to be really compatible”

• “so do I”

• “but there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you…”

* Noah would definitely be more intrigued when he sees a small blush forming

• “ask away”

• Noah, as ever, would be very collected with a calm expression that you can’t read

• “Umm, well the thing is….I just wondered….”

• “Don’t be shy y/n, if the blush on your cheeks is anything to go by then I can only assume it’s more of a private question?”

• Noah’s eyes never leaving your face and of course he would have a small smirk on his lips

• “right ok….so obviously you know I’ve been a fan of the band for a while before this….so I’ve seen certain videos online of you performing….and….and seeing the way you present yourself or the way you do certain things…”

• “What things?”

• Noah interrupting with an even bigger smirk, clearly catching on to where the conversation was headed

• You would definitely be blushing a bright shade of red at this point and trying not to do your nervous laugh and you most certainly can’t look him in the eyes

• “The videos of you spanking the air and the way you come across….I just have to ask….are you really the dom that you appear to be?”

• That whole sentence would have been said extremely quickly

• You would feel the need to ‘shy away’ from him after being so bold, eyes looking down at your lap

• Until you feel his fingers brushing your hair off your shoulder

• “why? Do you want to be a good girl for me?”

• You would instantly feel your tummy do a flip and have an instant ache in between your legs

• The latter would have you squirming ever so slightly on the spot and clenching your thighs together

• Something Noah of course does not miss

• “ your reaction just then tells me everything I need to know about you”

• You’d look at him with big eyes, a knowing smile on your face

• “I just needed to make sure that we were compatible in that area, most guys I’ve met aren’t into what I am”

• Noah would be tracing small patterns on your neck, his intense gaze never leaving yours

• “We can discuss what we like or don’t like, make sure that there is a safe word or a colour system in place but I do think we are going to be more then compatible”

• The ache would start to become very prominent to you at this point

• “Just to warn you, I’m not always very well behaved”

• You stare into his eyes, heart rate accelerating and you most certainly had a wet spot on your underwear at this stage

• “Good. Because I love my subs to have a bit of bite to them”

• You would unconsciously move closer to him while his hand gently wraps around the back of your neck

• “Can we just skip the movie now please?”

• Noah also moving closer “please what?”

• “please sir”

• “there’s my good girl”

• The kiss that happens after this would be messy and desperate and a small indication of what was to come

• The film definitely being forgotten about for the rest of the evening

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian davis #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fic #bad omens #bad omens band #bad omens cult

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wyniepooh · 10 months

Text

Enjoyment

Dbf!hotch knows you’re not enjoying the festivities at a family dinner party. He tries his best to change your mind, and you both hope he succeeds.

Dbf!hotch... do I have to say more? Mentions of alcohol, Younger!reader, but R is fully an adult, obvi. R’s parents host a cutesy little dinner party, R has enough of the bs and escapes to backyard, hotch finds her. hotch is mildly out of character if u squint ur eyes, but he’s sexy nonetheless so it doesn’t matter.

the initial excitement of the party had long blown over.

you never did like having people over, never mind people who weren't immediate family. you had put on your usual polite-but-no-bullshit mask when greeting the guests and all throughout dinner, but the disguise was beginning to crack, your tolerance was beginning to thin.

now that your parents and company were all slightly tipsy and gathered around in the living room to recount their carefree, childless days, you didn't miss the opportunity to sneak out the stuffy room. Your eye caught a glass of liquor that was sitting on the kitchen island, and you quickly swiped it before heading out through the back door.

you didn't know whose drink you were holding in your hand, nor did you care what exactly was in the cup. all you desperately wanted was a break from the chatter and, perhaps, a break from reality.

you paced around your backyard for a minute, eventually settling down against an outside wall of your house. the cold bricks prickled your bare shoulders, but your senses turned blurry when you downed the mystery drink in one go.

"is that yours?"

the sudden voice startled the established, calm silence, causing you to cough and choke on the already hard-to-swallow liquid. as you tried to recover from nearly dying, you took the time to eye the man standing across the yard from you.

aaron- no. mr. hotchner.

you cleared your throat before answering. "oh, yeah. I, uh... love whisky."

"really?"

you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, nodding quickly. “really.”

"because i’m positive I left that exact glass on the counter when I went to go to the bathroom... and it's no longer there."

you sighed, looking down in defeat as you rubbed your face with one hand. "you got me. sorry, mr. hotchner, I just grabbed the first drink I saw and-"

he shook his head to stop you. "aaron- please."

you chuckled as you tested the way his name felt rolling across your tongue and slipping past your lips. you set the empty glass down on a stool in front of you, crossing your arms defensively. "well, aaron. just so you know, I'm legal to drink. the only thing I'm guilty of is being too lazy to make my own."

he smiled and started walking toward your lazy position against the wall. "I believe you."

a loud silence fell upon the both of you as he turned to stand beside you, mirroring your movements with his back up against the wall. as you stared up at the tiny stars decorating the sky, you weren't sure what you were supposed to do. offer to make him another drink? make conversation? Thankfully, your frantic prayers were answered when aaron spoke again, breaking the silence.

"so, I take it you're not a big fan of these dinner parties."

you turned your head to look at him and found that he was already looking at you. "is it that obvious?"

"yes."

you snorted. "well, that's not fair. you're a... profiler, or something, right? isn't it your job to read people's expressions and whatnot?"

"yes, that's right..." he admitted. "...but it doesn't take a profiler to recognize that a pretty girl isn't enjoying herself."

The last words came out in a whisper, but you heard them loud and clear. you mouth gaped as you struggled to think of what to say, and suddenly, you became too aware of just how close he was to you.

you looked him up and down, a blush creeping up your face as you took in the sight of his casual jeans and tight tee. his hair was gelled, but it was clear that the adventures of the night had messed up his previously perfectly coiled hairstyle. as your eyes found his again, your thoughts flickered between grazing his stubble with your finger or touching his smooth lips.

finally, you retaliated a response.

"well... how does a pretty girl who is enjoying herself look like?" you used the same hushed tone as he did, but again, your words rang loud and clear under the chilly night sky.

“I have yet to find out,” he murmured as he looked down at you. His weight was now being supported by one arm leaning against the wall as his other toyed with the hem of your shorts. He was a significant bunch taller than you, and while the height difference make you cross your legs to stop the heat from pooling, it also acted as a stern reminder of the obvious taboo between the two of you.

You wondered if he even remembers that you're the daughter of his best golf buddy, wondered if he’s been thinking about this for a long time or this was completely spontaneous. most of all, you wondered whether or not he truly cared about any of that at all.

God knows you didn’t care, no. Not with the drink you shot down earlier already taking effect in your stomach, sending tingles to all the right places and blurring out all the grim places and thoughts.

You reached down, hands first beginning by playing with the edge of his tee, then slowing trailing a finger down to his jeans. You scratched the brown belt lightly, fighting back a smile as you heard him sigh. You hooked one finger on the loop of his jeans, pulling his pelvis towards you as you looked up at him with an aching desire.

“can you figure it out, sir?”

He smiled with the same mischief you had across your face, the sides of his mouth curling up as he chuckled quietly.

“I'll try my best”

As he enclosed you with his body and smell and stupid smile, you thought to take back your earlier statement about there being no excitement present at dinner parties such as this one. Because you’ve never felt so alive, breathing against the chest of a man whom you knew you had no business entangling with.

A/n: tbh the moment I see the letters d, b, and f, ESPECIALLY w hotch I simply cannot resist. At all.

@hotchsdoormat @zaddyhotch @hotchscvm idk I feel like u all would enjoy this… 🙈

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heavyhitterheaux · 1 year

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FL CONCEPT : The triplets start dating, Jack knew about Axel, but didn’t about the girls so there’s a huge argument.

Ivy came down the steps with you behind her while Jack was half asleep on the couch in the living room. He opened his eyes once he heard the two of you and looked to see that Ivy was dressed up and you were fixing a few stray hairs that had fallen out of place.

“You look gorgeous, princess. Where are you going?”

“Thank you, daddy. Mommy helped me with it. I’m going on a date with Damion.”

Jack then did a double take.

“On a WHAT? Excuse me? Since when did this happen?”

Ivy looked over to you for help and you simply looked at him dumbfounded.

“What do you mean when did this happen? Didn’t we agree that when they turned 16 that they were allowed to date?” You said since you were now confused at his outburst.

“Yes, we agreed on that but I didn’t know we actually STARTED. Axel came and told me he was, but they are now too?! Who is this boy? I need to meet his parents. I don’t know anything about him.”

“Okay, first off, I already did and calm down before Ivy gets upset because that is the last thing I want.”

“Oh, so you met them and didn’t think that was something to tell me?”

“You weren’t here and he is very nice and actually asked me for permission to take her out on a date. You are literally screaming your head off for nothing.”

“So, now it’s nothing? My daughter…”

“Daughters. Autumn went out on a date too.”

“And no one thinks they need to tell me anything when things like this happen!?”

“Jackman, stop it right now because I can see she’s about to cry and we’ll deal with it later after she leaves.”

“Don’t even Jackman me because you had plenty of opportunities to tell me and you didn’t.”

Just then the doorbell rang and Jack quickly moved past you in order to open the door.

“Mommy, is he mad at me?” Ivy quietly asked when Jack was out of earshot and you quickly shook your head no.

“No, and don’t you worry about it. Go out and have fun while I deal with your grumpy father.” You said while taking her hands in yours and looking up at her since all of your kids got Jack’s height and towered above you.

“I don’t like when he’s mad at me, maybe I shouldn’t go.”

“Hey, hey none of that. I promise he’s not, and I don’t even know what he’s carrying on about because when I started dating him, I was younger than you were. Have fun like I said and you know our safe word. If you ever feel uncomfortable at any time and want to leave, I’m just a text or call away.”

“Thanks, mommy. I love you.”

“Love you too, baby boo. Now come on so Damion can see how pretty you look.”

You held her hand as both of you made your way towards the door and Damion looked terrified.

“Damion! Hi, sweetie! She’s all ready to go. And don’t pay my husband any mind. Now you two have fun and bring her back at 11.”

“Hi Mrs. Harlow! And these are for you and these are for you Ivy.” He said while handing you both a bouquet of flowers.

“ELEVEN?!”

“Jackman.” You said through gritted teeth.

You both watched the two of them get settled in Damion’s car before going back in the house and all you did was shake your head at him and cross your arms.

“What?”

“You upset our baby! I told you not to and you did it anyway! She thinks that you’re mad at her and said that maybe she shouldn’t go.”

“I just… Y/N.. you have to see where I’m coming from. I didn’t mean to upset her but…”

“I started dating you when I turned 15, did I not?”

“Yes, but…”

“Our babies aren’t stupid and we need to give them a chance. I trust them to make good decisions and you need to as well.”

All Jack did was sigh.

“We agreed on this. I admit that I definitely should have said something to you about it, but Ivy and Autumn wanted to do it themselves just like Axe did.”

“I just… our babies are literally almost adults and I’m not ready.”

“This conversation sounds familiar. And do you remember when we first found out I was pregnant with them and scared shitless? And now look, we’re sixteen years in. They’re going to be fine, just like we were.”

“I’ll… apologize to her when she comes back. At eleven on the dot.”

“Jack, baby..”

“11:01, I’m on the porch, 11:02, I’m in the car, 11:03….”

“We get it, just make sure you apologize to our oldest baby.”

“And you deserve an apology too. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

“And you’re forgiven. I get it that things can be scary when it comes to them doing more and being independent, but you know for a fact they’ll always need us. And wait, what did you say to Damion?!”

“Boys only, babe.”

You immediately rolled your eyes.

#jack harlow #jack harlow fic #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x black reader #jack harlow concepts #first lady of pg concepts

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newtonsheffield · 1 year

Note

So... lavender haze kanthony agree in not using condoms but she has the pills or they didnt use nothing at all?? How was that talk?? Can we see it?? If they werent having pills or something it was really a miracle she wasn't pregnant before!! Hahaja

I honestly think it was a pretty short conversation, a month or so into dating they were in a supermarket, their fingers intertwined as they picked up some things for dinner and Anthony wandered down the toiletries aisle until they pulled to a stop in front of the condoms and Kate shrugged when Anthony raised his eyebrow curiously,

"Do you like ribbed condoms?"

"I do, but do you really need them?"

Anthony blinked at her, his eyes wide, "Oh my god, I wasn't... trying to assume we'd be- I just-"

"Calm down." Kate said, kissing him quickly, "Literally not about that, I definitely want us to have sex tonight. Hi, how are you going?" Kate said pointedly to the woman tutting behind them disapprovingly before she carried on. "I just meant like... I have an IUD and... we agreed that we aren't seeing other people, right?"

"No." Anthony breathed, "Definitely not seeing other people. We're committed."

Kate bit back a smile at how quickly he responded, how serious his voice was. "I just... if we're committed then I'm comfortable not needing these, but I want you to be comfortable as well."

Anthony nodded gently sliding the box back on the shelf. "I've never had..." he dropped his voice to a whisper looking around, "Sex."

"Sex!" Kate called out louder to tease him, chuckling as he rolled his eyes.

"Without a condom." He looked a little embarrassed, "I've never been in a relationship as an adult so like... this has never come up."

Kate nodded, tucking his arm around her waist, "Well, if you don't like it we can go back to using condoms but I have a feeling you're going to like it."

Hours later Anthony's shoulders heaved and his cheeks were flushed as he scrabbled in the nightstand snatching up the last few condoms from the door. "Well, those can fuck off."

#lavender haze au #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

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hugsandchaos · 8 months

Text

Chapter 2 of Caregiver N, everyone!

I think I did a pretty good job with this one!

“How dare you!!” James shouted. He stood up from his chair and angrily marched up to one of the guests attending the family dinner. J took a few steps back as her boss put himself between her and his very rude relative.”I’m kind enough to invite scum like you into this manor and you treat my worker drones like this?! J is doing her job wonderfully, unlike you, who just slacks off and snaps whenever someone points it out!” He yelled.

As the shouting grew, Tessa leaned over and put a hand on J’s shoulder as her father argued with his cousin.”Maybe you should go look for V? I’ll find you as soon as I can go.” She whispered, having noticed the pink blush on her friend’s screen. J nodded and did her best to hold back the tears that had formed while the rude guest was shouting at her. Tessa patted her head and smiled.”You’ll be okay.” She said in a hushed tone. J smiled a bit and began walking out of the room with the dishes.

She planned to clean the dishes already in her hands and then go find V. She wiped the tears away as she walked down the long halls. As she entered the kitchen, she saw V working on putting away the newly cleaned plates and eating utensils.”V?” She called out, although it was more of a mumble. V turned around almost instantly hearing her tone of voice, knowing what it could mean, and put the last mug in the cabinet.

“Here, let me take those off your hands, sweetie.” She said. She took the dishes from J’s arms and walked over to the sink to wash them for her. J knew she couldn’t win the argument even if she tried to say no, so she didn’t.“Thank you.” She said. She took a temporary seat on the nearby step stool and watched V rinse and was the dishes by hand.

V was always surprisingly good at cleaning the dishes and always managed to do it quickly and efficiently.“No problem. Do you wanna head to Tessa’s room after I’m done?” She asked. J usually said yes right away, but this time, she paused to think for a moment. She did want to go to Tessa’s room and calm down, but she also wanted something else.“...Actually, can we go see Cyn and N first? I want to be near them too.” She asked quietly. V smiled and washed her hands, already done with the dishes.”Of course, anything you need.” She replied with a soft smile.

The first place they looked was the library. It was right next to the entrance to the basement, which Cyn usually occupied as her living quarters. The two usually hid there when there were guests since Cyn might potentially get scrapped and N was terrified of adult humans. Surprisingly, they saw Cyn right as they turned the corner of the restricted area.

She was sitting on the floor and staring up at the higher shelves. Once she saw them, she waved at them.”Wave. Hello, J. Hello, V. What brings you here?” Cyn greeted. As the two walked closer, Cyn noticed the pink blush just as V and Tessa did.

“We were wondering if you and N would mind coming with us to hang out in Tessa’s room.” V asked. She looked around, but she didn’t see the other drone anywhere.”Where is N anyway?” She asked.

“He is behind you.” Cyn replied. V and J turned around to see N climb down from the bookshelves without the use of a ladder holding a book by wrapping his tail around it. He hopped down the last two shelves and walked over to them.”Need anything?” He asked, having overheard the short conversation. He moved the book to his arms and glanced at the pink blush on J’s screen. She looked at him and the book in his hands.

“Could you please read to us?” She asked. A smile quickly appeared on N’s face.“I’d love to!” He replied.

A few minutes later, the group was hanging out in Tessa’s room and listening to N read a children’s book about lizards. In front of him, J, V, and Cyn sat beside each other.

“The basilisk lizard, which unfortunately went extinct in 2051, was an incredible reptile. What made them so special? Their ability to run on water, of course!” He read aloud. V let out a small “Ooooo!” and J leaned in closer to listen.“The way they accomplished this unbelievable feat was thanks to their long toes on their rear feet with fringes of skin that unfurl in the water, increasing the water surface area. As they churn their legs, they slap their splayed feet hard against the water, creating a tiny air pocket that keeps the from sinking, provided they maintain their speed.” N continued.

Suddenly, he stopped reading and turned to face the door with a scared expression. He dropped the book and dove under Tessa’s bed just as someone grabbed the doorknob and twisted it from the other side.

The trio glanced at the door and saw Tessa walk in with her mother, Louisa, holding the door open. Louisa looked at J as Tessa rushed to her side.”J, are you alright, honey?” Louisa asked. Tessa sat next to J, who smiled and accepted the hug while still holding her whale plushie.“Yes, I’m feeling a little better.” She replied. Louisa smiled.“That’s good to hear. Would you like me to let you four know when the family leaves?” She asked. They hadn’t heard the arguing, but then again, they weren’t close to the dinning room. Unless the fight had died down and now things were just uncomfortable and tense.

“Yes, please.” V replied politely.

“Alright. I’ll leave you four to play now, but remember that bedtime is in an hour.” Louisa said before shutting the door. After a few seconds, V looked over at Tessa’s bed.

“You can come out, N.” She said. N lifted the large blanket that dangled over the bed frame a bit and peeked out. After seeing for himself that it was only Tessa who stayed, he came out and stared at the door nervously for a bit. Now that he was coming out more to see his new friends and not just Cyn, avoiding adult humans — specifically Tessa’s parents since they owned the place — had become slightly more difficult. N looked over at Tessa and walked over to pick up the book.”Hey, Tessa!” He said.

“Hey, N! Oooooo, are we listening to a story?” Tessa asked. She enjoyed listening to him read just as much as their other three friends. Except maybe Cyn, she often fell asleep hearing her big brother read children’s story books.“Not really, I’m reading about basilisk lizards to everyone in here. Wanna join?” N offered, sitting back down where he was earlier. Tessa nodded and sat down next to J.“Yes, please!” She replied. N flipped back to the page he was on and cleared his throat to continue.

“The common basilisk originally lived in what was once Central and South America, which were connected to North America at the time. They were found near rivers and streams in lush rainforests, where they could escape large birds by jumping onto the water and sprinting to safety...”

#murder drones #murder drones caregiver n #murder drones age regression #murder drones agere #murder drones little j #murder drones v #murder drones cyn #murder drones caregiver v #murder drones tessa #murder drones Tessa’s parents #caregiver n miniseries

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luckyqueenreign · 2 years

Text

The Story of Us - is a four-part series that will delve into MC (Gemma) and Suresh's relationship pre-villa.

Part One: The Beginning of The End

Part Two: The Night It All Ended is out now and you can click the link to read it ^^

"The story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now"

Tag List: @future-mrs-suresh @squishy-noodles @hi-im-karla @kunepie @fujihime-litg @brasister @kvngdomheartz @katsie @0shewrites0 @whati390 @smexilexi420 @viperidae94 @abecerra611 @misterytull

(Let me know if you want to be added to tag list)

Gemma couldn’t breathe. It felt like the time she and her older brother, Luke, were playing soccer and he tackled her hard, knocking the wind right out of her. She sat here now in the living room of her childhood home with the same stunned silence, not remembering how to draw a breath.

“Gemma? Honey, are you ok?” her mother Elle said as she stroked a loose strand of hair out of her face.

“Gem, this is just a temporary separation. Your mother and I have been arguing a lot and we thought some time apart might be good for us,” her father Will said, squeezing her hand that had gone numb from the shock.

Temporary separation. Temporary separation. Temporary separation. She tossed the words around so many times in her mind that they had become a jumbled mess.

Gemma couldn’t comprehend why they would ever need a temporary separation after 30 years of a seemingly happy relationship.

“B-but w-why?” she finally said as tears rolled down her face.

“Darling it’s complicated but your father and I are planning on going to therapy to work through it. We just need a little time apart first.”

“This doesn’t make any sense!” Gemma said exasperated as she got up quickly and headed towards the door.

“Gemma, quit acting like a petulant child and have a conversation with your mother and I,” Will said.

But she slammed the door behind her and raced to her car. Tears burned her face as she drove away.

Temporary separation.

She didn’t understand this. Her parents were always so happy, doting on one another, holding hands and stealing kisses when they thought the kids weren’t looking. Gemma always watched them in admiration, hoping and wishing on every star in the sky that one day she would have a relationship like theirs. And now that was all supposed to just be over?

Temporary separation.

“Luke,” she said crying into her phone. “Did you talk to mom and dad?”

“Yeah G, are you crying?” he said.

“Of course I’m crying! Our parents are basically getting a divorce and you’re calm?!”

“They said it was temporary to sort through their issues. Honestly, it sounded pretty healthy to me,” Luke said.

“What? Are you serious right now?”

“Gemma, they’re both adults. If being single is ultimately what will make them both happy, I'll support them. And you should stop being so selfish and support them too…you’re an adult now Gem -” She didn’t let her brother finish his thought, she hung up the phone in a fury tossing it on the passenger seat.

When she got home, she immediately removed her jeans and top, opting for her stretchy sweatpants and Suresh’s law school sweatshirt. It was still the early afternoon, but she crawled into bed hugging her pillows, letting herself cry. Gemma wanted to be alone in her thoughts and so she didn’t call Suresh to tell him about her parents’ separation, but she could hear him unlocking the door to her apartment and making his way inside.

“Gem?” He said, poking his head in her room and seeing if she was in there. When he saw her, he rushed over and climbed into bed with her. He moved the pillows she was hugging and pulled her onto his chest and held her close.

“R-resh…they’re…they’re…separating,” She said through sobs.

“Shhh, babe it’s ok. Everything is going to be ok,” he said, stroking her hair.

They stayed this way for what seemed like hours, with Suresh gently stroking her hair and her crying into his chest. At first, it was exactly what Gemma wanted, what she needed. Someone to be here for her in her hardest time. But then the heaviness of the day seemed to dawn on her and she couldn’t stop the train of negative thoughts from infiltrating her mind.

If my parents could separate after 30 years, who’s to say Suresh won’t leave me too?

She looked at him and he looked down at her with loving but worried eyes.

What am I going to do if he leaves me?

“How are you feeling, babe?” he asked.

I feel like you’re going to leave me.

“Still processing, but very sad,” she said.

Because one day, you’re going to wake up and realize I’m not what you want anymore.

Suresh kissed her forehead and hugged her tightly.

“Babe, I’m here for you and I love you so much. You know that, right?” he asked.

I love him so much, the thought of losing him literally makes my bones ache.

“I love you too, Resh,” she said as she snuggled closer, burying her face in his neck hoping that if she closed her eyes tight enough and breathed in the scent of his sandalwood cologne, the negative thoughts would just go away. But they didn’t. If anything, they only intensified.

In the morning, Gemma woke up to Suresh lightly kissing her jawline, when he realized she was awake, he gently pressed his lips on hers. He delicately traced her bottom lip with his tongue, waiting for her to let him enter. When she opened her mouth slightly, Suresh intensified the kiss, snaking his hand on her lower back and bringing her closer to him. Gemma lost herself in the kiss, hungrily reaching for Suresh she wrapped her arms around his body. She could already feel how hard he was as he pressed his arousal on her thigh. Normally this would have driven her mad and she would have climbed on top of him, but today she couldn’t concentrate.

It’s only a matter of time before he leaves you. Sex won’t save you.

Gemma pulled back from the kiss, gasping for air.

“Resh wait…I’m not in the mood right now.”

Suresh laughed as he kissed her neck, whispering, “Are you sure?” This time he moved his body a few inches over and pressed his arousal into the center of her sweatpants, right above her slit. He teased her playfully by motioning it in circles and pressing into her.

He never listens to you. He only does what he wants to do. He’ll do that until he leaves.

“Stop Suresh! I said I wasn’t in the mood.” She said as she pushed him off of her and got up from the bed.

“Babe, wait I’m sorry,” Suresh said with a mixture of confusion and hurt in his voice.

“I need to take a shower,” she said, slamming the door shut behind her and quickly locking it.

He doesn’t care, he’s not sorry.

Gemma turned the shower on and tried to drown out her negative thoughts but they were so loud and impossible to ignore.

As she made her way out of the bathroom, she could hear Suresh busying himself in her kitchen, cooking them breakfast like he did most mornings. She always loved sneaking up behind him and curling her arms around his waist, something about that always felt like home to her. Like he was her safe haven. But today she wanted to run far away from him. He was a constant reminder of everything she could lose, and she couldn’t bear to face him. She quickly got dressed and started to rush out of her apartment.

“G…where are you going?” He said from the hallway. “I made breakfast.”

“I’m sorry. I have to go.”

She rushed out before he could see the tears welling up in her eyes and before she even had a chance to say goodbye. She was too fragile right now to deal with both the voices in her head and her parents’ relationship problems. She drove in a haze to her office, and when she arrived she broke down and cried again. This time, not just for the demise of her parents’ relationship but how she treated Suresh that morning as well. She knew he was only trying to make her feel better and that he loved her but she could feel herself creating a protective distance away from him.

Over the next two weeks, Suresh tried everything to make Gemma feel better but nothing he did could possibly change the fact that she was struggling with her parents’ decision to separate.

“Suresh, I can’t talk, I'm about to walk into a meeting,” she said, angling her cell phone on her shoulder while shuffling papers in front of her.

“I’ll be quick…I made a reservation for dinner tonight. I’ll pick you up at 8,” he said.

“Resh…”

“8PM Gem. I haven’t seen you all week. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Resh.”

And she did miss him terribly. But the voices in her head that kept shouting her insecurities back at her, were quieter when he wasn’t around. As she drove home that night she mentally prepared herself for the night ahead, but a big part of her just didn’t feel like getting dressed up and going out tonight. She craved the safety and solace of her apartment, her too-old gray sweatpants and a steaming cup of tea. All she wanted to do tonight was curl up on the couch with Suresh, order take-out and finally talk and be together. She knew she had been pushing him away these last few weeks and she wanted to fix that tonight, show him how much she cared for him and loved him. But she didn’t need a fancy dress or a fancy restaurant to do that and she thought he’d understand. So when she got home, instead of changing into the new dress that he had purchased and was waiting for her when she arrived, she showered and changed into an old t-shirt and sweatpants. She ordered his favorite dishes from three different restaurants and she set the table for their feast. It wasn’t their original plan for tonight, but it was still going to be a chance for them to reconnect.

“Gemma, what is this?” Suresh asked, looking at her confused and slightly angry.

She looked up, she had been so distracted she hadn’t heard him come into the apartment.

“Oh, I changed my mind and thought we could stay in tonight.”

Suresh ran his fingers ponderously through his hair, his bicep bulging against his sleeve as he raised his arm.

“Gemma I planned a whole night. I bought you a new dress. Didn’t you get it?” he said with an edge in his voice.

“Yes, Resh but I just wanted to…”

“You wanted to what Gemma? Cancel our plans again? For the fourth time this week. At least the other times you texted me beforehand and didn’t have me show up like a mug,” he snapped at her.

“Resh…”

“No Gemma, I'm not done. You’ve been pulling away from me for weeks since your parents separated and it’s not fair. I’ve tried everything to show you that I love you and that I’m here for you but you keep pushing me away. We aren’t your parents Gemma. Why are you letting their decisions ruin what we have?” he growled.

She snapped out of her initial shock and glared at him.

“You love me? You’re here for me? But you can’t stay in one fucking night with me!? How are you showing me that you care?” She spat as she inched closer to him. “Let me remind you Suresh, my parents were married for 30 years, their vows were for better or for worse and right now I’m at my worst and you act like this. How could I possibly have any faith in what we have, when we’re not even strong enough to withstand this?”

Gemma could see a flicker of sadness cross Suresh’s eyes but then it was gone and replaced by his cold glare.

“WE ARE NOT YOUR PARENTS, GEMMA,” he yelled. “Why can’t you see that?” He didn't give her a chance to respond, he stormed out of her apartment slamming the door behind him, leaving Gemma alone.

What have you done? You pushed away the one good thing in your life.

Standing there in shock, Gemma didn’t try to hold back the tears that scorched her face. She knew she had created an unnecessary wedge between her and Suresh and that it was all her fault. She wasn’t her mom and Suresh wasn’t her dad. Their relationship wasn’t the same, so why did she feel the need to compare the two? She grabbed her phone and tried calling Suresh a few times but he ignored every attempt, so she tried texting him instead.

G: Babe I’m sorry you’re right…come back please

G: i love u resh i didnt want to go out but i still wanted to see you tonight i ordered from all your favorite places

G: Babe please don’t be like this. I’m sorry i have been pushing you away but i promise you that im done. I dont want to lose you

G: I’m going to make it up to you

But her messages weren’t going through. Where they were normally blue with the tiny font saying delivered underneath, they were now green. She hated that green bubble, it meant he shut off his phone for the night. Shut her off for the night. She hated that she didn’t know where she stood with him and she hated even more that she was the reason for that. She had pushed him away for weeks, had canceled their plans at the last minute and she was starting to see what a mistake that had all been.

Suresh loved her and he’d been trying to show her that in different ways recently and she’d been so unappreciative towards him. She needed a plan to rectify everything. A grand gesture. Something that would show him that he meant the world to her. And that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. She wasn’t going to lose Suresh, he was the greatest love of her life, and even though she hadn’t been acting that way towards him lately she knew what she had to do. Gemma ran to her laptop and started to google jewelry stores in Edinburgh.

#litg ff #litg suresh #litg mc #litg #litg ex in the villa #litg s5 #love island the game #ex in the villa #litg fanfic #litg fanfiction #luckyqueenreign

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silver--scar · 2 months

Text

Listen Up, New Kid

Part 1

South Park. A little mountain town located in the state of Colorado, infamous for its... many wild events.

What a perfect place this family picked to live in.

After many hours of packing and unpacking, boxes being passed around between many adults, a little boy weaved between them to make his way inside their new, two-story home. The house was a bright shade of red, but inside was a gaudy tint of purple. A new paint job was definitely due.

The boy continued his way up the stairs, following a mover into his new bedroom as they set a box down with the other pile. It was pretty vacant, nothing too special in size. Normally, most kids would be excited to be in a new place, or saddened to leave their old home behind, but this empty room only added on to the sense of unexplained loneliness to the kid. And even he didn't know why.

Walking up to a window, he scanned the outside area from this new vantage point. Snowy, lined with similar looking houses that may have well been copied and pasted, each a varying color.

One can only imagine what happens next in this little town.

"Sweetie? Hon, you all dressed?"

A knock and the sound of his mother's voice interrupted his thoughts. He moved away to stand in the middle of the room, the door opening as his parents let themselves in. "Hey, champ!" His dad greets. "How do you like your new room?" The boy glanced around one last time. He really didn't know what to think. It was nice, he supposed? They just moved after all.

His mom and dad shuffled awkwardly as they tried to move the conversation along. "I know it's a big change for all of us, but... do you remember why we moved to this quiet little mountain town?"

He blinked, a dart of confusion crossing his mind. He didn't like the way they worded that sentence. They only moved because they wanted a calmer life from the city. He can remember the stressed arguments of his parents in their bedroom long ago. Well, he can't recall why they argued. Surely the cramped lifestyle was the straw for them to move. He can vaguely remember his mother making a comment about it here and there.

His mother's voice snapped him out of it again. "Uhh, sweetie, we want you to have lots of fun here. Why don't you go out and make some friends?" She suggests. "Right, get outside and play, son. Like, like normal kids," his dad added on. "We've got some money for you on the kitchen counter, sweetie. Just, be back before it gets dark."

They walk on back downstairs as their son gives a small wave behind them. Whether they see or not, it didn't matter. After a moment of getting himself situated, exploring his home, grabbing the bits of change on the kitchen counter, and narrowly avoiding his dad forcing him out of the house, he stands on his front lawn. It seemed quite calm for-

"You shall die by my warhammer, Drow Elf!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"I banish thee to the forest realm!"

"No way! I banished you first!"

The boy turned to the direction the sound came from as he walked out to the sidewalk. From there, he could see two kids playing some sort of game of pretend. They both wore makeshift costumes, an elf and some sort of warrior. He couldn't quite place it. They were engaged in a battle, hammer and sword swinging around until the blond warrior fell the ground with a meak sound. From there the other child just started wailing on him. It honestly made the newcomer watch on with shock. He had to stop it.

He quickly ran forward as the little kid yelped and cried for help, delivering a surprise punch to the bullying elf. He stumbled back, either from the pain or being ambushed, a glare of annoyance in his eyes. "Hey, no fair, that's cheating! I'm gonna tell my mom!" The elf whined before scurrying off.

So much for first impressions in this town, but that wasn't currently on his mind. The boy knelt down to help the other, careful not to touch a bruise or welt. The blond child huffed for a moment as he dusted himself off. "Thanks, kid. I didn't realize he had a health potion."

He took a second to scan the newcomer with a smile now on his face. "My... my name is Butters the Merciful. I'm a paladin. I live right next door to you. We should be friends!"

Oh. A friend! That was pretty easy.

Before the kid could speak, Butters took a step back down the sidewalk as he pointed down the road. "Now that we're friends, you should speak with the Wizard King. He's been talking about your arrival. The Wizard lives this way, in the green house over there."

He leaned over Butters's shoulder, noticing the house he spoke of in the distance. He could also see the top of a cardboard tower in the backyard. That must be where he would be led to.

Butters didn't wait for the boy to follow. As they walked together, he sent by a flurry of questions to the new child. Where he was from, where'd he live before, why he wore his hair the way he did. It honestly made him feel a little dizzy, to be honest, trying to at least get an answer in or even remember them. Now that he thought about it, where was he from?

"You don't talk much, do ya? That's okay, I can talk enough for both of us," Butters chirped as they approached the house. A relieved breath escaped the boy, both for the onslaught of questions to stop, and the fact that he wasn't much of a talker to begin with. Thank goodness for that.

The door to the green house suddenly opened, revealing a portly kid in stitched robes and a blue wizard hat which was definitely compensating for something. Already, the boy could feel a sense of indignance and disgust from this wizard, even from the way he looked at the newcomer while Butters did an obviously scripted announcement for them. "So, you are the new kid. Your coming was foretold by Coldwell Banker," the chubby boy greeted. "I am the Wizard King. But the time for talk is not nigh. Let me show you my kingdom."

The trio moved to step inside. It was a quaint little home, furnished with love and looked after with care. "Oh, who's your new friend, Eric?" A woman cooed as she was sat on the couch, but the wizard rudely marched past her. "Shut up, mom, not now." The new boy tried to offer a polite hello but was promptly grabbed by the wrist and dragged off by Eric when he faltered. "Don't talk to her. She's not part of the game."

Jeez. So much for hospitality.

They make it through the kitchen and out to the backyard, the sliding door revealing the area. It took the kid's breath away from how grand it all seemed. "Welcome, to the Kingdom of Kupa Keep!" The wizard boasted.

A giant tent stood at the back against the wooden fence, with even larger cardboard walls that resembled castle walls surrounding it. Dummies were darted on the lawn towards the right, and a sandy pen settled on the left housing a gray cat that just sunbathed calmly. There was no way the wizard set this all up by himself.

Of course, the trio wasn't alone. There was another set of kids in the backyard with them. The new kid could tell just by their outfits that they had set roles within this complex game of make believe. Eric and Butters showed him around, introducing him to the other players. A knight was sat off by a table 'cleaning' a wooden blade, while a freckled ranger was sat by the pen, trying to coax the cat to come closer so he could pet it. And stood by the entrance of the 'castle' was a shorter boy in a wrinkled dress and a poofy wig which sat over the hood of his jacket. It was a bit of a weird sight for the newcomer, but it wasn't like it bothered him.

They all stop by the opening of the tent, Eric standing in the middle between the princess named Kenny and Butters. "You have been sought out, new kid, because humans everywhere are in great danger," Eric explained as he struck his staff into the ground. "I heed something from you, and, in return, I am prepared to allow you into my kingdom. I know you are very excited. It's time for your first quest, but first, please tell us thy name..."

The boy felt his eyes widen. He couldn't lie, he was pretty excited. His first day in South Park, and he was thrown into the midst of an important battle. And it all starts when he gives a name. It had to be a good one. Creative but not too unique that he felt like a main character. So many possibilities!

"What was that? You said your name was 'Douchebag'? Is that correct?"

What?

The boy scowled. He didn't even utter a breath yet! He opened his mouth to retort as Eric was cupping his ear to listen, but the wizard quickly leaned back with a smug smile. "You sure you want to keep the name 'Douchebag'?" He interrupted, Butters snickering behind his hand off to the side.

This was impossible. The new boy decided it was not worth arguing with Eric. He had a sense it would've been pointless. With a quiet scoff, he glanced off to the side and accepted his fate.

They continue to explain the game some more to the kid, all the way from classes, to weapons, how they fight, and the precious, all powerful, Stick of Truth. An object the humans must guard in order to win the war, which was sat atop a velvet pillow inside the tent, hidden away from the wrong hands.

Well, it was after the newcomer recieved and delivered many bruises during training when things started going wrong. There was a sound beyond the fence of the backyard. Chanting, yelling of other kids. It was growing louder.

"ALARM! ALARM! ALARM! The elves are attacking!" Butters cried out. Eric cursed under his breath as he shoved past the newcomer to witness the attack himself.

"Man the gates! Don't let them through! Clyde, guard the Stick of Truth while we defend the fortress!"

"Aye, aye!"

"'Aye, aye'? We're not playing pirates, Clyde!"

The new kid rolled his eyes. While they were busy arguing, he got to work. He saw this as a chance to prove himself to the others, and maybe gain an opportunity to change his god awful name, Douchebag. Brandishing his wooden dagger from his choice of the thief class, he sprinted forward to help Butters, who was losing against a kid because he "didn't want to make them feel bad". He sent a rough stab to the elf's back while they were distracted. A shrill squeak left the elf as the cardboard crumpled and scraped against him, whirling around with a face of anger. "You can't just do that!" He complained, but Butters scrambled back to his feet and struck his hammer against the elf's head. The young elf quickly crumpled with a groan while blood poured from his head. The new boy would be lying if he said he didn't feel queasy at the sight, but he had no time to focus on this haphazard way of fighting.

The battle between humans and elves continued until an elf ranger called for a retreat. The invaders ran away, and the ones that were knocked out weakly stood to their feet to join their teammates. Eric began a taunt as the backyard became empty again, doing a childish dance as everyone regrouped.

A victory. His first victory. The newcomer couldn't feel any more proud for holding his own in this new way of playing dress up. It was dangerous, but there was a thrill to how real it all felt. Maybe it'll all be smooth sailing from here on out.

"It's gone."

Everyone looked to Clyde the knight. Even Eric was quick to pause in his celebration.

"The Stick of Truth. The elves got it."

An uneasy feeling rose in the air. At first, the boy couldn't tell why, but one quick look made it clear. Eric looked like he was about to pop a blood vessel. The new kid took a subtle step back. He knew this wasn't going to be pretty.

"THAT WAS YOUR ONE GOD DAMNED JOB, CLYDE! TO GUARD THE STICK OF FUCKING TRUTH!" Eric shrieked in Clyde's face. There was a pause as the wizard king paced around before he waved his staff in front of Clyde, nearly smacking him in the face. "Clyde, you are hereby BANISHED FROM SPACE AND TIME!" The knight stared with his mouth agape, struggling to find some sort of word. "Wh-What? NO! You can't do that!" He huffed out with clenched fists. They continue to argue, with Butters adding unneeded comments until Clyde stormed off, tossing his helmet away with frustration towards Scott the ranger. He yelped as he nearly dropped it on the snowy ground but held it close to his chest while everyone watched Clyde leave.

The boy felt bad. It was a hectic fight for everyone, and they were severely outnumbered. Keeping the stick safe was slim to none. However, he was snapped out of his thoughts as Eric continued to vent his frustrations. He was saying something about getting the Stick of Truth back and gathering the rest of the human army, but the new kid only caught on to the last bit. "-go out into the neighborhood and find my greatest warriors. Tolkien, Tweek, and Craig. Give me your phone. I'll text you their pictures to your personal inventory device."

Ugh. The last thing he wanted to do was give Eric his phone number, but after witnessing the entire bout with Clyde, he didn't want to exactly meet the same fate. The newcomer dug out his phone, let the wizard do his thing, and quickly snatched it back. A nasty glare was sent his way by Eric for a single second before he waved the new kid off. "Beware, Douchebag. The lands outside are full of marauding drow elves, monsters, and sixth graders. Be sure you are well equipped. Now go! And send my warriors here!" Eric turned to reorganize his backyard with Princess Kenny and Scott before he added, "And take Butters with you! He needs the experience!"

And now, the new boy was alone.

He looked around, taking in everything that has happened the past few minutes. It was a lot to process. South Park was certainly starting to live up to its infamous name, and this was only with the children of the town. Who knows what will happen when he meets everyone else?

Shaking the thought away, the boy walked over to Butters. He gave a small wave, and just like he assumed, the paladin spoke for him. "Wha-? You want me to come with you? Okay! Lead the way!" He chirped, springing to his feet as he holstered his hammer. Together, the two kids left Eric's home to explore South Park in its entirety, with the new kid in the lead.

He was ready to get the stick back, to make friends, to hopefully settle in his new life of living in South Park.

This was a fresh start for the newcomer. The new kid named Ashton Roscoe.

-----

(Yeah, this is gonna be a fanfic between my oc and my sister's Tootsy. Like I mentioned in a previous post, it'll all mainly be a TFBW story focusing around them two rather than just retelling the game's plot. And like I mentioned in another post, I'm not all that good at writing fanfiction, but I'm gonna do it anyway. Hope you guys like it if you are interested :D)

#south park #new kid south park #silvergrade ocs #sp new kid #new kid sp #south park new kid #sp oc #south park ocs #south park oc #sp ocs #south park original characters #south park original character #ashton roscoe #south park fanfiction #fanfic #sp fanfiction

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superman--yoosung · 9 months

Note

Hey, I'm kind of new here, nice meeting you.

Can I request a Matchup for Genshin Impact, please?

I'm a straight female and would like to have a adult man as my partner. I go by she/her pronouns.

Personality: I'm rather quiet, very chill and laid back. Somewhat carefree and spontaneous. I'm super honest and open minded.

I'm very stubborn and tough skinned, it's hard to offend me and I never give up.

Beliefs: I think people should be free to be themselves, and do what they want to do without having to be afraid of judgement or shame.

Likes: My hobbies are things you do outside of the house. Going shopping, go for a walk, go to arcade, I'm down for anything.

I also like languages, froggy weather, music, working out, sweets and cats.

Dislike: I'm really scared of dogs, I dislike hot weather and sour foods.

Flaw: I'm a bit antisocial and tend to be blunt, as I always thinks the truth is the best answer.

Vision: I think I would have Cryo as my element, wich would be ironic because I'm sensitive to cold. If anything, I would think that the Archons are playing with me.

Additional: I have a sun tattooed on my left hand and a moon on my right hand, I'm pretty found of them lol. I also have piercings.

Hi, welcome welcome! Hope you're enjoying Fontaine!!

Your matchup is..........................

CHILDE !!

Among the Fatui stationed in Liyue, there are several persons of interest they know to keep their eyes peeled for: the first, of course, being the Harbinger that freely roams the city. Following the many Qixing and Liyue officials, further down the list is a name whose importance belies them, for it is their association with one higher on that list which earns them a spot: that of the 11th Harbinger's beloved.

Though, Tartaglia has made it abundantly clear to his subordinates that her treatment should be second to none, and those found in violation of this unspoken rule are punished accordingly. Nonetheless, most Fatuus have a pleasant working relationship with their Harbinger's lover.

After all, to tame the most reckless and wild member of their ranks is a feat which promises nothing short of unspeakable willpower - and a fighting spirit that can hold even Tartaglia's attention for more than one battle certainly lends itself to this fact.

Fun details:

Despite what many think, you and Childe did not meet through some scuffle or disagreement in battle. You met at the marketplace, and when you saw him deeply conflicted over which toy to choose for Teucer, you hesitantly voiced your own thoughts. This simple act of spontaneity on your part quickly ingratiated you to the Harbinger. He began to seek your opinions out, and later, just your quiet company.

Childe makes it no secret that, from very early on in your friendship, his ultimate goal was to court you. Fine dining, gifts, flirtatious compliments - Childe will pull out all the stops to make those experiences as date-like as possible. The day you agreed to a relationship was the day he was on cloud nine. (For some reason, his subordinates grumble about that day when it comes up - you can only hope he didn't give them too hard a time for it.)

Childe appreciates your laid-back nature. For the most part, it aligns with his own fairly easy-going personality. The two of you will often go with the flow when it comes to going out on the town together. Expect him to buy something silly from a shopping stall because it "reminds him of you" - in reality, he does it to earn a laugh from you, or to see your embarrassed reaction. He can't get enough of surprising you!

The fact that you aren't offended easily is a great boon to your relationship together - because Childe is impulsive, so this could otherwise lead to strife. If Childe takes offense to, or disagrees with, something you've said or done, he will be quick to voice it; likewise, you know to not take it personally when you do the same to him and his reaction is far less calm than yours would be. These conversations mean solutions are found quickly. Childe is not a man who compromises on his morals easily, but most other matters he is willing to bend on, so you two almost always find a good middle ground.

The two of you will often go out to play in the rain. By play, I mean you get to splash in puddles and otherwise enjoy the weather, and Tartaglia happily fights off any hilichurls or other enemies that so much as look in your direction. When the two of you do battle side-by-side, your Freeze reactions are potent. You'll make quick work of your foes, and Childe will be sure to have a towel or two on hand to help dry you off as he finds something warm for you to drink afterwards. Expect many fond memories and equally-frustratinf shenanigans to ensue from these dates!

Childe adores your tattooes. When he wakes from a nightmare about the Abyss, the carding of those inked hands combing through his hair soothingly is what finally gets his racing heart to calm down. The images on them are soothing reminders that there is more in Teyvat than what the Abyss took from him.

Once, a subordinate asked him what he saw in you that earned his affections. He could have listed off over a dozen things: the quiet afternoons in the rain spent sitting by the window, the sound of your laugh echoing in the Northland Bank's high ceiling, the beautiful image you struck enveloped in the thick of battle - but instead, he simply said, "Her determination." You never turned away from something you'd set your sights on, nor did you go back on promises you made. Your will was something unshakeably strong, and not unlike his pursuit of his own ambitions. Still, it was something about the way you set your stance, the way your eyes never dimmed when faced with adversity, that had Ajax absolutely, irrefutably in love with you.

~~I hope you enjoy this! I also thought of Thoma for you, and a few Mondstadters too.

#genshin impact #genshin impact character x reader #genshin matchups #genshin impact matchups #childe #tartaglia #ajax

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casspurrjoybell-18 · 1 year

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Mutual Desire - Chapter 45a

*Warning - Adult Content*

When Damien Clark entered the Restaurant, he spotted Alexander Nabokov at the far end, sitting at the last bench next to the window.

He was holding sheets of paper that he seemed to be reading.

The place was silent, except for a classical music playing softly in the background.

Besides Nabokov, there really seemed to be no one else inside.

Another observation that didn't disturb Damien.

He slowly approached where Nabokov sat.

He walked very slowly as if he possessed all the time in the world.

Nabokov didn't seem to have noticed his presence, since he was carefully reading the sheet of paper in his hand.

The Russian's inexplicable beauty hadn't changed during the time that Damien hadn't seen him.

Nabokov was impeccably dressed in a pale blue shirt.

The fact that he wasn't wearing a tie nor a jacket to complete his suit made him even more attractive.

Damien suddenly sprang from his admiring thoughts about Nabokov when he realized that he was ogling him instead of going off on him.

Damien accelerated his steps slightly and within seconds he appeared in front of Nabokov.

He remained on his feet, his hand resting on the top of the seat, his annoyed eyes fixed on Nabokov.

On the table, burgers of all kinds, fries, hot dogs, chicken wings and many other unhealthy foods were placed.

To pretend not to be bothered by the exquisite smell that emanated from these dishes was torture for Damien.

Nabokov's thoughtful eyes suddenly rose and landed on Damien.

"Good evening Damien," the Russian welcomed him, his gaze giving away nothing.

Damien didn't speak right away.

He stared at the billionaire for a moment, as if trying to read him.

Actually, Damien wasn't sure what to say to him.

He felt that from the moment he met Nabokov, he had been repeating himself and that today, history would repeat itself.

Nonetheless, he needed to try even if he thought he knew the outcome and felt that it was a waste of time to try to overcome the billionaire and persuade him to give up his little games.

"You don't plan on stopping, do you?" Damien asked him gently. "Are you really waiting for me to file a complaint for harassment?"

Nabokov barely raised an eyebrow and dropped his papers on the seat.

"Harassment? I'm harassing you?" Nabokov asked, seeming genuinely surprised by Damien's accusation.

Damien let out a dry laugh that lasted barely a second.

Nabokov's acting game was pretty impressive, Damien would give the man that.

"No of course not. You text me, call me, force me to see you and blackmail me, when I made it pretty fucking clear that I wanted nothing to do with you. No. It's not harassment at all. That's what normal people do."

Nabokov shrugged nonchalantly.

"Being normal is rather boring, don't you agree?"

"It's this conversation that's boring."

A slight smile quickly touched the Russian’s lips.

"For a boring conversation, you seem to be on edge," Nabokov noticed.

It was Damien's turn to smile bitterly.

"Have you forgotten that I hate you?" Damien condescendingly reminded him. "Because that's how it is when I talk to someone I can't fucking stand."

Nabokov's grin grew a little wider.

"Why don't you take a sit and have a bite to eat with me while you calm down?" Nabokov suggested.

As an answer, Damien leaned over a bit and took the bottle of wine that was on the table before sweeping with his other hand, the silver tray containing the dishes.

They quickly hit the ground while Ketchup splashed on Nabokov's shirt and on Damien's jeans.

The wealthy man remained completely stoic, as if he had seen coming Damien's action that was completely out of character.

Nabokov's gaze fell on the food that was scattered on the floor before returning his gaze to Damien.

His expression showed such boredom that Damien sincerely wondered if anything in this world affected this man.

Damien couldn't say what the hell had gotten into him when he impulsively decided to ruthlessly put his understandable frustration on the poor hamburgers and hot dogs.

He just wanted for his message to get across and for Nabokov to take it seriously for once.

The fact that he let the billionaire continue to manhandle him, play with him and confer him the power to put his relationship in danger was pathetic on his part and Damien knew it better than anyone.

It was time for him to act like a man and hold his ground.

If his message wouldn't get through tonight, Damien intended to take drastic measures.

He was done being submitted to Nabokov.

"You seem irritated. You want to talk about it?" Alexander Nabokov encouraged him with total indolence.

Damien Clark glared at the man who has been tormenting him for some time.

Damien only smiled gently.

A sincere and peaceful smile that led Nabokov that he saw well in his game and that he didn't intend to partake.

"I'd love to stay, really but I have a supper to prepare for a friend," Damien said, his calm smile remaining.

Nabokov only shrugged.

"Well, in that case, you can leave," Nabokov said, granting Damien his permission.

Damien raised an eyebrow, unable to conceal his astonishment. He didn't move.

"I'm serious. You can go," Nabokov repeated, after seeing Damien"s reluctance.

Nabokov recovered his papers and started reading again.

Damien still hadn't moved.

He wasn't going to leave without being certain that Nabokov would stop interfering in his life.

"So, you brought me here for a few seconds, just to fuck around?" Damien questioned him with a sharp smile.

Nabokov stopped reading and stared longingly at Damien.

"No. I brought you here because I wanted to spend time with you. It was the first thing I wanted to do when I came back from Russia," Nabokov confessed, his voice deep and deep.

Damien's bitter smile widened and he brutally placed the bottle of wine on the table.

"If you think that your cheesy words will make me want to stay, then you're immensely mistaken," Damien spat softly, the irritation starting to mount in him.

"Go ahead, I'm not holding you back. You can go Damien," Nabokov mumbled vaguely, as if the conversation bored him and he only wanted to go back to reading his papers.

Damien frowned.

If that wasn't a turn around...

No, there was assuredly something behind Nabokov's behavior which was completely out of character.

Damien could bet his life on it.

"You've gotten tired already? Come on, I thought you were more enduring than that, Alexander," Damien amused himself at Nabokov's expense, with a big smile that didn't reach his eyes.

The crooked grin that formed on Nabokov's mouth didn't please Damien in any way and made his disappear.

"I have a feeling that you love it more than me that I chase after you," Nabokov noticed, his voice warm and weak in tone.

Damien huffed and grabbed the bottle of wine with brute force, staring defiantly at Nabokov.

He sadly noticed that this unpleasant conversation wasn't going anywhere and would likely not change his situation.

He had been a little too naive to believe that he could manage to make his point once and for all, simply by communicating efficiently with Nabokov.

If the first few times had hardly worked, then why would this time be any different?

It was time for Damien to take that rigorous step he had been thinking about for a while.

Yes, he had to activate this plan B of his.

At least, he gained a bottle of wine for the supper.

"Thank you for this excellent night, Alexander," Damien thanked him with mockery, his eyes as cold as the wind in the Antarctic.

Nabokov's eyes seemed amused and they stared thoughtfully at Damien with such incredible intensity that it was too much for Damien who could no longer bear it.

He turned and presented his back to Nabokov.

He started walking when Nabokov's voice stopped him.

"Oh. I almost forgot," Nabokov said.

Damien turned to Nabokov and sighed loudly.

"How much did you pay for your laptop?" Nabokov inquired.

Damien Clark raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"The Mac. How much did you pay for it?"

Damien was puzzled to say the least.

He didn't understand why Nabokov suddenly seemed to an interested in his computer all of the sudden.

He wondered if it was Nabokov's desperate attempt to make his presence last.

"Five thousand, why do you..."

"Five thousand huh?" Nabokov repeated, interrupting Damien with a thoughtful expression. "Okay, thank you."

It only took Damien a few seconds to finally realize that he had neither used nor seen his mac for some time.

This forgetfulness on his part wasn't really his fault, since lately, his mind was elsewhere and the person responsible for it was in front of him.

But if his mac wasn't with him, then where the hell was it?

Oh. Yeah...

"Wait. My mac. I left it in your office I think," Damien said, sounding unsure of himself.

"Yes, you did," Nabokov confirmed.

Well, the mystery was solved.

There was at least one good thing that came out of this conversation if Damien could call it that.

"Um, do you have it with you?"

"No," Nabokov simply replied.

This response surprised Damien, who had expected Nabokov to bring the laptop with him.

He usually thought of everything and it wasn't his style to forget.

"When can you get it back to me?"

Damien hoped that Nabokov wouldn't use the mac as an excuse to see him again.

A simple ship of his computer would suffice but knowing the billionaire, he would probably opt for the solution that would allow him to get in touch with Damien.

Damien already imagined him invading his neighborhood or be kidnapped like today with the sole aim of continuing to torment him.

"I have no intention of giving it to you," Nabokov corrected. "I'm going to sell it to the highest bidder, hence why I asked you how much it cost you to get an idea of the price to give to my potential buyer," Nabokov explained in a calm and neutral voice.

Wrinkles formed on Damien's forehead, frowning intensely.

It was impossible for him to know if Nabokov was just joking or if he was indeed serious.

This man had the ability to veil any emotion on his face.

"What? You're going to sell my mac?" Damien exclaimed, perplexed.

"Yes. That's what I said. No?" Nabokov vaguely reaffirmed.

So, he was serious?

No.

It wasn't possible.

It had to be a joke.

Nabokov was doing this only to get a reaction out of Damien and Damien knew it.

Nabokov had nothing to gain by selling his mac.

Well, except a few thousand bucks but being a billionaire, this sum was mere cents to him.

No, he was definitely doing that to provoke Damien and Damien had no intention of falling into his trap.

"But it's my mac. I never told you I wanted you to sell it."

Nabokov heaved his shoulders, looking completely bored.

"But it's not your mac anymore. You left it, so it's now mine."

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pacifymebby · 2 years

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Hi me again age gap crush anon (more like crushed heart anon now 🥲). So basically the reasoning he gave was that he couldn’t see it working long term and that my indecisiveness was bothering him a lot. Although he started off complimenting me and then dropped that bomb. So in my reply I said that I understood what he’s getting at and that I’d like to still be friends (because he said in his message he wanted to still be friends). The only problem I’m having now with that is that I need more of an explanation. And I don’t know if I should try to get it from him over messages or if I should try to get it from him in person. Obviously it’s easier to just go send a message right now before he replies to my message and say some like “I’m just wondering why you’ve seemingly changed your mind so rapidly? Things seemed to be going fairly well from where I was sitting” But also imagine the impact that would have if I said that in person and caught him off guard! Haha is that petty?

So as for the pregnant thing you’ll probably think I’m nuts. Ok so I don’t have any solid reason to think I’m pregnant Ive just felt really off the past few days. Like I can tell somethings different. And yesterday I got cramping a WEEK before my period is supposed to start and that is not normal for me at all! I never get cramps until the first day of bleeding. Idk if you’ve heard of implantation cramping but it literally happened right in the exact window to be that timing-wise. And so we had unprotected sex just over a week ago (he pulled out but obviously it’s not the most effective method and there can be sperm in precum and that escapes before he ejaculates but you probably know that) and its all seeming to line up perfectly in the timeline of when I had the unprotected sex to when I should of ovulated to when I had the cramping and just feeling off. I think the funniest bit about this is that I had been worried about possibly being pregnant since we had the unprotected sex and then when I started feeling off but then I had just started feeling the cramping yesterday and I’m like oh fucking shit this is it when I get the message saying this isn’t going to work. Fucking ridiculous isn’t it? I was freaking out like I don’t have a job I’m not in school my family is gonna kick me out what am I gonna do?!?! And then I was like calm down your guy is not gonna just leave you and his child he’ll take care of you and help you get on your feet. And then I saw the message and was like ahahaha nope! And immediately had a panic attack!

Right so, indecisive how? If I were you I would not just accept that. Obviously you know better than I do the ways in which you are indecisive is it like, indecisive like because you don't know what you're doing with your life (in which case news flash to this dude but that's what he gets for dating 21 year olds I don't know a single 21 year old who is together in that way AT ALL) or is it like indecisive about where to eat or what to do with your day? Like he needs to elaborate because that just sounds dumb to me?

I think like I'm an indecisive wee gal and B is like you need to learn to make decisions sometimes, and pushes me to do it sometimes, but as a relationship defining thing? Indecisiveness is not that big a deal, especially when you're young!!!

Also the fact that as an adult male he's done this by text when he saw you yesterday???? That has only just hit me but holy shit bestie you are not having a conversation about indecisiveness and maturity with a man who's not even brave enough to dump you to your face.

Like not even a phone call a straight up text. He saw you within the last few days so wtf.

I'm not gonna lie if I were you I wouldn't be trying to salvage the relationship because for all that he might be an attractive older guy he just lost all his sds cred ya know? But I would be pointing out that he's changed his mind pretty quickly, and that also its quite immature for him to do all this by text too. That's just cowardly.

To then ask to be friends with you too when he's not even got the balls to have an adult conversation like the decisive adult he supposedly is?

Bestie no.

As for the pregnancy stuff right, I guess I can give you the same advice I've given myself and my pals in the past.

When you're para you might be pregnant your body plays tricks on you. You say you've been anxious and para about being pregnant literally since you had sex? So those cramps you had could be your body playing tricks on you. They might not be, but they also very likely are.

I've had it before where I've thought I was having implanting because I got spotting and cramps but no period. And like the more I stressed the more delayed my actual period was too.

So I'm gonna say try not to stress too much, wait it out until you can take the test, and then maybe take one or two tests and see what the result is.

Until you do that and you know whether you are or not you need to try and convince yourself that you're actyally just coming up to getting your period. Like tell yourself those are just period cramps and try not to fixate or let your anxiety run away with you.

As for the abortion stuff you said in your other message I totally get that and you seem to have similar views to me. Like personally I wouldn't want an abortion for multiple reasons but I do always like to throw that into my advice so that people know km not going to judge them if that is where their mind has gone to.

I guess we can talk more about what your next steps could be if you are in fact pregnant next week but for now like, try not to worry, try not to worry about whether your man is going to step up or not and just, try to focus on getting over the blow this has been to you. And yeah, talk over with this guy why he's changed his mind since apparently yesterday.

Be prepared for his reasons to be pathetic and not viable reasons and just know that if he turns out to be a massive disappointment we are all here for you and you have our support. But also that there are men out there who exist and are actually nice and good.

Also a positive thing is that you've gotten through a lot of your scary firsts now so when you do meet a new man you'll feel better equipped to navigate the situation.

I think it's important to remember that even though this situation has taken rather a disappointing turn that not all situations will in future. But also that these things happen and that life is full of shitty days and break ups and heart breaks and stuff.

But ultimately bestie this man is not good enough for you because you deserve better than a fckin text breaking up with you for YOUR indecisiveness.

Like literally, it's pretty indecisive to be having sex with you a few days ago and then to suddenly be like oh actually this won't work.

Man's gotta have some self awareness.

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sincerity--extreme · 2 years

Text

Real quick, if you're a parent or a guardian or work with little kids, WHATEVER, please stop using (or at least don't use it as often) "You're so mature" or "they're so mature" as compliment when they don't show strong emotions, like most kids that haven't yet learned how to deal with their emotions, after something bad or upsetting happens, or when they behave in an "adult" way, like speaking more like a grown up during a conversation, or even have a more grown up way to speak in general, that's not a bad thing but it also doesn't change the fact they're still a child, it can confuse them or make them believe they always need to act like a grown up cause that's what the people they care about like about them. Please let them know having emotions is not only ok but also really healthy, teach them to deal with their emotions in a non aggressive way, cry if you feel like crying, take a step away if you need a moment to calm down, get angry, whatever is necessary at the moment, frustration will happen sometimes and you can also ask for a second to step outside if you're getting overwhelmed but just don't teach them to shove emotions down cause that can have huge consequences (And don't even get me started on the "golden child" shit, but one thing at a time)

While I was growing up, everyone always turned to my parents and said "wow, she's only 6 but is sooo mature, my kid would already be crying and screaming at this point" and my parents always told me that I was a good kid cause I wasn't a whiny kid whenever I got hurt or bullied at school or any other situation that would usually upset most kids, and also because I had a more "grown up" way to speak with big words, but the truth is that most of the times I didn't know how to react so I shut down, or I wouldn't understand why the other kids were laughing or talking about me and would just walk away hurt and "speaking like an adult" was because because I was always more around adults than kids so I picked up on the way they talked and used a more grown up vocabulary. I know that I was different than most kids we had contact with, I understood all the words I was using and could form more complicated phrases with bigger words than most children in my own school, but again, it doesn't change the fact I was still a innocent child with child needs and overwhelming emotions I needed to shutdown to not get in trouble. I never had many friends cause I was a "weird kid" with "wrong reactions", whatever that means, and at home showing strong emotions, mainly "negative" ones, meant punishment that depended on how mad my parents were that day and at school the teachers would tell me or my parents that "She's much more mature than that, this behavior was unexpected and isn't welcome here", so I quickly learned that being what they considered "mature" was the right thing to do to deserve respect and love/affection so I never learned to understand and properly deal with my emotions and now, at 24, I still have no idea how to deal with things and that affects all my relationships

Also, keep in mind that if the kid has some type of neurodivergence, that can change the way they perceive the world and the people around them but that still doesn't change the fact they're kids, kids are kids and should never be put into adult positions just because you don't fully understand them, neurotypical or neurodivergent kids are still people that deserves care and most importantly these days, respect

And last thing, this concept of saying a person, usually girl, is so mature for their age as an excuse to why it's ok they're dating someone 10/15/20 years older then them is so terrifying to me, a 10 year old dating a 17/18 year old, or a 17/18 year old dating a 30/40 year old is just wrong, "oh but they're super mature and know exactly what they're doing" no, no they don't, it's a kid, yes even the 18 year old, it's a kid, but obviously not a kid to date a 10 year old, sounds pretty obvious to me

#sorry I'm posting this again #something happened to the original post #the words in the post and mainly in the tags were all messed up #editing it wasn't working #but anyway #kids are kids #they're away smarter than most people think #but they're still kids that need to be taught and watched over by responsible grown ups #everyone who's a parent or works with kids need to read and learm more about children #more than once I've seen principals or whatever they're called #but principals from elementary school that knows absolutely nothing about kids and how to properly teach and discipline them #that can brake a child forever #please read more #it's ok to make mistakes #no one knows everything #but apologize and be open to learn more #that goes for everything in life actually but Yeah #thank you for coming to my long and most probably useless tedtalk #neurodivergence #ASD #ADHD #kids #children #golden child

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miekasa · 3 years

Text

NICE.

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

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

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

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

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

+ word count: 19k. i’m sorry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, baby. I love you.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Get off my line.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no—of course not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was almost three thou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It wasn’t mine, I was—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what’s it matter to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not avoiding him,” you frown.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sound like you speak from personal experience.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“His parents?” Jean cuts you off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you… told Eren yet?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is… is that why you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles. “I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know I said I wanted to leave, but I’m not really tired yet,” Eren confesses, pulling his blazer off of his shoulders.

“Me neither,” you say, placing your small wristlet on the table with a shrug, “What do you wanna do though, I’m not—”

“Great!” he cuts you off, smile too big. You narrow your own in suspicion. That tone of voice with that look on his face usually meant something mischievous, at best. “Remember when you said the first time you’d smoke would be with me, and then pranced away and took a bowl from Hange and got high as shit at Moblit’s party?”

“Why does everyone remember Moblit’s party but me!”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles, waving the topic away, “Anyway… Do you wanna smoke now?”

You blink. “I… did you… smuggle weed all the way to France?”

“No, of course not!” he refutes, “…I got it here.”

You scoff, but don’t have the time to question him further before Eren’s tugging on your wrist and pulling you into the bedroom. You take to sitting on your bed while he rummages through his suitcase to retrieve a small, clear jar with several rolled joints inside and a lighter to match.

He shuffles next to you in the bed, mindlessly handing you the lighter while he unscrews the top off the jar. He takes out two of the joints, places one next to the jar on the nightstand, and tucks the other between his teeth. He asks you to hand him the lighter, and you do so wordlessly, distracted by the sight of Eren’s gaze and the blunt poking out his mouth.

“This’ll be fun, yeah?” He reassures you, “Technically, you let Hange take your weed virginity, but I’ll be better.”

“Can you not phrase it like that,” you roll your eyes, “You already took my virginity virginity, don’t be bitter.”

An all too smug grin settles on his features as he recounts the fact. “Besides,” you tack on, “I’ve never done it like this before. So, it’s still a first, kind of.”

Eren cups one hand around the joint, sparking the lighter with the other until it catches fire. He inhales, slow and deliberate, as if he were putting on a show, or a lesson, of sorts, taking the smoke into his lungs and out through his mouth.

You’d gravely miscalculated how attractive Eren would look doing this. Sure, he’s hot, you knew that, but the pronunciation of his jawline when he exhales, and the confidence with which he drags on the blunt is a stark reminder to you. He takes a few more hits, just as slow and sensual as the first, and the room begins to feel warmer.

“Come closer,” be beckons, smoke rolling off of his tongue with every syllable.

You snap yourself out of the haze of your imagination and scoot closer to him. He silently hands you the joint, and it feels heavy between your fingers. At the distance, you take in the smell—pungent and off-putting, but too familiar.

Eventually, you bring it to your lips, careful not to let your tongue press against the tip, and inhale slowly, like you’d seen Eren do before. You do your best to hold the smoke in your lungs for a bit, but seeing as the last time you did this you were amped up on adrenaline and drunk off your ass, the task proves to be much more difficult. It tickles before becoming uncomfortable and you exhale ungracefully, puffs of smoke punctuating your coughs.

Eren watches with a grin, amused at the sight of you fanning the excess smoke away with your nose scrunched in distaste. “You should have warned me you were gonna cough like a bitch.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you whine, trying to hide the hint of a smile creeping onto your face. You hand the blunt back to him, “You’re supposed to teach me, not tease me, asshole.”

Eren pauses his laughter, unsure of what to make of your tone; rushed, a bit embarrassed, but testy. It’s quiet while he stares at you, trying not to let the implication of your words run wild in his mind; but it’s futile when you’re pouting like that, the room is growing foggier, and he’s been semi-hard since you accepted his offer.

“Fine. Watch and learn,” he breathes, words coming out more jagged than he’d intended.

This time, he completely exaggerates every motion; he inhales at a tantalizing pace and flutters his eyes closed while he lets the smoke swish in his mouth, down his throat, and expand into his lungs. He cranes his neck upwards, and purses his lips to let the clouds exit in the streamline that follows the slope of his jaw.

Maybe it’s the drugs getting to you, but your mind is filled with nothing but sheer clouds that aren’t thick enough to block out thoughts of Eren. The weed is unattractive, potent in smell, and all kinds of wrong; yet, everything about him is soft, sultry, and pulls you in.

“Wanna try again, or do you need another lesson?”

You faintly mutter a profanity under your breath. His words end with giggles, a sign the drugs have already begun to take their effect on him, his expression is still smug. You forget Eren knows just how attractive he is. Motherfucker.

“Actually,” he cuts your train of thought, “I have a better idea, come ‘ere.”

Eren beckons you forward again, closing the gap between your legs so that your knees graze each other under the fabric of your clothing while you’re sat next to each other. He leans over, far too close into your personal space, as if to test something; he freezes when his nose is mere inches from your face, a dissatisfied scrunch taking over his features.

He reinstates his hold on your wrist, motioning your body backwards until your back is against the frame of the bed. He hums in approval, positioning himself next to you again, equally as close, but far more comfortable for what he has planned next.

“I’m—I’m gonna try somethin’, okay?” he stutters, the first word mistakenly coming out in broken German, “Just, don’t freak out on me. It’ll be good, promise.”

You nod, unsure of what you’ve just signed off on, but you don’t have time to ask questions. Eren takes another hit, then passes the blunt to his non-dominant hand. He turns to face you, leans forward, and places his free hand on the back of your neck to pull you closer; the expanse of his palm leaving room for his thumb to venture over the bottom half of your cheek.

Eren pulls you in until your lips are millimeters apart, and he can see the pattern of your eyes in beautiful detail. He shifts his hand now so that the majority of it covers your face, the pad of his thumb running across your bottom lip. He applies the perfect amount of pressure to pry your willing mouth open, and then, finally, exhales.

This time, you can taste it. It’s woodsy, and bitter, but the sweet undertones dance on your tongue. This time, there’s more to think about than just the smoke in your lungs; like the burn of Eren’s hand on your neck; the pressure of his thumb against your bottom lip; the proximity of his lips to yours; the look in his eyes.

“Feel good?” he doesn’t bother to pull away before asking, and the words ghost over your lips with the remaining smoke. You nod; he smiles. “Wanna try again?”

You let out a breathy note of affirmation, and then he’s inhaling and exhaling into you, and you welcome him with pried lips and a heavy thumping in your chest. The confidence with which he maneuvers his body and the drugs is nerve-wracking, yet comforting at the same time; he has an expertise and power that intimidates, but compels you to follow.

Together, you finish the first blunt, and Eren lights the second without missing a beat. His hands are more demanding this around; they guide you into submission, and he’s pleased to find that you’re willing to listen.

After the third exhale, you stop focusing on his hands, and more on his lips. After the fourth, you think you might be high—not to the stars as you infamously were during Moblit’s party—but with a comfortable, dull buzz in your head. Everything feels a little fuzzy, out of touch, but you host a burning want for something more, something tangible.

You don’t know it, but Eren feels the same.

After the fifth exhale, Eren pulls away, the blunt a simple stub as he flicks it away onto the night stand, and you miss him being too close. You miss his hands, you miss his warmth, you crave his touch.

“Eren,” you call, unable to think of or see anything but him in the haze. He answers with a strained, “Yeah?” keening towards the sound of your voice, wide eyes flitting all over your face.

It’s too much, too close, too hot. That’s when you cup his jaw, pull him forward, and meld your lips together.

Kissing Eren is painfully familiar, and unnervingly satisfying. It’s certainly not your first kiss with him; and, yet he has a way of making you feel like it is while reminding you of your history. His lips are soft, and they taste like smoke and the chapstick you swear by because he refuses to buy or test out his own.

You pull away too soon, gauging his reaction with blown-out eyes, before dipping forward to have him against you again. Then again, and again, and again, until Eren is tired of your leaving, and his hands are back on your neck.

This kiss is deeper, Eren searching to satisfy the hunger aching inside of him, and you’re happy to comply when his thumb is pressing at your lower lip again. You open your mouth for him and he doesn’t waste a moment, brushing his tongue against yours experimentally, and then flush into your mouth.

He groans when you rake your fingers into his hair, and pulls back with a hissing noise when you scratch at his nape. Large hands move to grip at your waist, and he pulls you into his lap with a concentrated gaze—a brief second for him to admire the sight of you on top of him, before he resumes kissing you. He sucks on your tongue, rolls his past your teeth, and bites on your bottom lip.

You know he relishes in the sounds he elicits from you, and under any normal circumstance, you’re willing to put up a fight with him, but not now. Now, you let him unzip the back of your dress and snake his hands beneath the fabric. The rubbing motions of his hands turn into gripping, gripping into grinding, and eventually, an unfiltered moan slips past your lips when you feel Eren’s erection roll against you.

“Fuck,” he pulls back with a suck of your swollen lip, “You’re so hot.”

Eren quickly switches your positions so that he’s hovering over you. You chuckle lightly underneath him, taking the opportunity to run both your hands through his hair and cradle his head in your hold, “Haven’t done anything yet.”

“I know,” Eren murmurs, dipping his head down to press kisses into your neck, “Still so sexy. So pretty, always.”

Eren bites a hickey into your collar bone, and everywhere he can touch; your neck, your ears, your cheeks, your lips. Your moaning serves as the spark to keep him going, but he’s barely coherent himself the way you keep pulling at his hair and grinding yourself against him. Even through his clothes, you can feel how painfully hard he is.

He barely catches your tongue between his lips when you moan again, sucking harshly before bruising his lips over yours again. His hands are grabby again, finally pulling your dress completely off of your body, leaving it to form a puddle on the ground. They’re back on your as soon as possible, massaging over your tits, and running his index finger over your nipples.

“Eren... Eren, please,” you whimper, chest heaving as you look down at him. He rolls his index finger over your right nipple, with his left hand teasing the other with his thumb. You can’t tell if the look in his eyes is a product of the weed, or just his glassy, borderline predatory stare, but it makes you shiver with pleasure when he wraps his mouth around your nipple and sucks.

“I want you.”

“Want you, too,” Eren hums, pulling back with a thin trail of spit from your breast, before moving to give your left nipple the same treatment, “More than you know.”

You keen to him when he teases his teeth against you, finally having had enough you force him off of you with a tug of his hair. “Then take off your clothes.”

Eren blinks, wide-eyed but glazed all the same. He chuckles lightly, a blush spreading over his cheeks as he nods. He sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head, forgoing undoing the buttons, and pauses briefly with his hands over the zipper of his pants.

“Please tell me you’re not that gone that you forgot how to undo your zipper,” you tease him, chest still heaving from his previous ministrations. Eren smiles, doe-eyed and hazy, and shakes his head.

“No,” he reassures you, finally undoing his zipper and shimmying his pants off his legs, “Was trying to remember what underwear I was wearing. Didn't want it to be embarrassing.”

His honesty makes you laugh, and Eren pauses for a moment to soak it in. Even like this, even with him stumbling over the steps to undress himself, and you almost completely naked in front of him, he can make you smile. There’s something equally sexy and endearing about your giggles; a juxtaposition that makes him want to hug you or kiss you or something in between. And you—you like the look in his eyes even through your giggling; the way he smiles back and blushes and tells you exactly what he’s thinking.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “Don’t think mine are particularly sexy either.”

Eren hums, shuffling back on to the bed so that he’s between your legs, and leans forward to kiss you again. He still can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, his fingers immediately flying to your underwear and peeling them off your legs, pulling you closer despite the lack of space between your bodies.

“Yeah, doesn’t matter,” Eren echos, tossing the offending item to the side, before cupping your face in his hands, “I’d still wanna fuck you in your granny panties.”

“You wanna fuck me?” you question, eyes sparkling and hopeful.

“Yeah, I do,” Eren can’t help but to smile again, happy and high and drunk on you, too, “Will you let me?”

Your feverish nodding is all it takes for Eren’s mind to go hazy again; clouded with you, you, you. You pull him into a kiss, arching your body into his, and running your hands down the sides of his back. He moans at the feeling, punishing you by nipping at your lower lip and pressing your stomach back to the mattress with his palm.

Your eyes meet his as Eren lines himself up with your cunt, teasing your folds with the head; but it doesn’t take long before he finally pushes in, sheathing himself inside you completely without movement. He waits a minute, whether it’s to make you comfortable, or to gather his own bearings, you’re not sure; but when he’s ready, he flashes you a smile and waits for one in return, before he starts thrusting.

You know Eren’s not gentle; rough whether or not he intends to be by virtue of his size in comparison to you, but you seem to have forgotten just how capable he is of making you lose your senses. He has you gasping, grasping at him at him unintelligibly, feeling full with his cock inside of you.

Eren groans, borderline growls, when he feels you clench around him, when he sees you shaking beneath him. He could do this all; could watch you all day.

“So pretty, the prettiest. Prettiest girl, my favorite girl,” Eren praises, eyes raking up and down your thrashing body, “My favorite fucking girl.”

“You—you, too.”

“Yeah? I’m your favorite, too?” Eren coos, reaching out to guide your arms over your head, the force of his body pinning your hands down; you can hardly gasp before he lacess your fingers together, and gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“Promised you, didn’t I? That I’d be good to you, be on my best behavior,” Eren reminds you, leaning forward.

He eyes your necklace—eyes glued to ring around it—bouncing with your body. He bends his head down to kiss it, bites at the skin near it; a possessive streak overcoming him as the diamonds shine against you. “I said I’d treat you good, always. Meant it.”

He stutters, when you squeeze him back; fingers tightening around his hold, your pussy clenching around his cock. Your whining is insistent, and mixes with Eren’s low moans and guttural noises. Eren doesn’t let up his pace, fucking you fast and deep, and it’s only a matter of time before you feel a knot twisting in your belly.

You attempt to move your arms, searching for a release of the feeling building up inside of you but Eren is strong; stronger than you, and he keeps you in your place. Keeps your arms pinned above you, keeps his palms pressed into yours, keeps his lips hovering above yours, just out of reach.

“Eren,” you call his name through shaky moans.

“Yeah? What, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

And so he does, his lips needy and hungry over yours. Eren fucks you and kisses you through your orgasm, tasting your moans on his tongue in timing with him cumming inside of you. You don’t let up; kissing him lewdly while you both come down from your highs.

“So good,” Eren croons against your lips, down your jaw, into your skin, “So good for me.”

You both moan in chorus when he finally pulls out, Eren’s head laying on your collar, nose nuzzling into your neck. He lets your hands free, and immediately you wrap them around his back, holding him close as you both attempt to catch your breaths.

You don’t know how long you lay there like that, with Eren on top of you, and your thumb rubbing circles into his cheek while he sleeps soundly. Maybe an hour, maybe more, maybe less; but the euphoria of your sex doesn’t quiet seem to fade.

It might last all night, maybe even for the rest of your trip but you don’t mind. You think back to earlier in the evening, when you’d caught his gaze after your dance. The feeling isn’t all that different; warm, and fuzzy, and too much and not enough all at once. It feels good, it feels like Eren.

You hum softly to yourself, careful not to wake up the sleeping boy on your chest, when you realize exactly what these two moments have in common: a rare event in which Eren is still in front of you, steady and stagnant, no running or chasing; and you don’t want to let him go.

Sometimes Eren thinks you act oblivious on purpose just to fuck with him, because there’s absolutely no way you—or any human with a functioning nervous system and social cues—can’t tell that he’s completely, stupidly, and embarrassingly in love with you.

Long gone are his days of trying to deny it or get over it. He realized that sophomore year of high school—almost eight years ago—that no matter where he went, what kind of drug he inhaled, or how hard he tried, you’d be permanently etched into his heart. That doesn’t make it any less exhausting, and, in fact, only makes it more astounding that you haven’t caught on yet. Honestly, Eren’s considered hiring a private psychiatrist just to make nothing’s wrong with you.

Amazingly, the remainder of your vacation continues just like the former half. The only exception being that now you’re in Paris. And that he’s shamelessly coerced you into letting him fuck your brains out on several occasions. But besides that, everything’s chill.

Just two best friends traveling through France together and stopping to fuck in any semi-private location they can find. Just two peas in a pod walking along the Champs Elysées at damn near midnight. Just two best buds with linked arms tasting (see: feeding each other) every macaron flavor they come across while violinists play stupidly romantic, classical music in the background.

He knows he should probably talk to you about it, but for some reason he can’t. Like telling you would make it all too real, and give it a meaning that could so easily be taken away from him; give you a reason to want to leave him. Right now, it’s just a fantasy, and he’s free to keep dreaming, believing that he’s special and worth enough for the affection you’ve shown him.

He doesn’t want to be one in a list of your boyfriends, or fiances, or husbands; he wants to be your only one, and if he can’t be, then he’d rather be stuck to your side as your best friend. At least that way, in someway, he could remain special to you; not a forgotten, ordinary ex of your past.

Though, a best friend who he’s sleeping with regularly and he’s in love with and will always be in love with is starting to sound a lot like a husband to him. At least, the kind of husband he would like to be to you.

You call his name, asking him if he wants to try another sweet. Eren rolls his eyes. What he wants is to fuck you, and marry you, and have you bless his stupid little existence with two runts for kids that look like him but act like you so his life savings don’t run out by the time they’re twelve. But sure, he’ll settle for having you feed him another macaron in the meantime.

“This one tastes just like the coconut one,” he mumbles, chewing his way through the pastry you’d stuffed into his mouth whole.

It’s the seventh bakery you’ve stopped at tonight, and even though Eren’s growing pretty sick of the sugary treats, he’ll walk with you to every damn bakery in Paris tonight if that’s what you want.

He blinks at the thought. He’s so lovesick it’s disgusting. And he wouldn’t do a damn thing to change it.

“That’s probably because it’s almond and coconut flavored,” you say, wiping the stickiness from your fingers onto a napkin.

“I didn’t taste any almonds.”

“I don’t even think you could spell almond, much less tell me what they taste like.”

Eren simply pouts in refute, leaving you giggling at his expression. He doesn’t know if it’s possible, but you seem even prettier in Paris than in Nice. But, that’s probably his rose-colored glasses speaking.

“You think there’ll be macarons at the reception?” you question, biting into yet another pistachio flavored treat, “And if not, would it be rude to bring my own?”

He chuckles. “Yes, babe, I’m sure there will be macarons there.”

He’s always loved Paris, even when his mom moved away here and left him in New York, and he’d always loved it more when you’re with him. He feared that having to attend another, what he considered to be wasteful, wedding in arguably one of his favorite places in the world would leave a bitter taste in his mouth; but, thankfully, he’s only fallen deeper in love since being here.

“You sure you won’t be sick of them by tomorrow?” he asks, watching you debate between taste testing another variation of vanilla bean or rosé.

“How could I get sick of them?” you answer offhandedly, not sparing him a glance away as you choose the pink snack. How could he get sick of you.

“By the time we get back to New York you’ll have forgotten all about them,” he scoffs.

“Don’t worry I’ll quit it soon. I’ll have to eat something solid if I wanna take my meds and go to bed,” you spew with a smile, unaware of what you’ve actually just said, “But they are delicious and I have no regrets.”

Eren pauses. Then so do you, mouth stuffed with sickly sweet.

“I mean—”

“I know, you know,” he cuts you off, “About the meds and stuff.”

You look like you could pass out, or scream, or cry, or everything in between. Eren figures saying more is better than saying less, so he continues.

“I saw a bottle in the bathroom a few months ago,” he admits shyly, but careful about his tone, “Didn’t understand half the words on the label, but it had your name on it so I just, uh… Googled it.”

Of course he knows. Eren’s always kind of known, just never had the words to express it. He imagines that’s what you’re feeling right now.

“Oh,” you finally gape, “Why didn’t you, um… you know, like, say… anything?”

“It seemed like your secret to tell,” Eren shrugs, features softening out, “Besides, I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to.”

Eren’s always been better at showing than saying, anyway. He hopes that his actions, small as they may seem, might have provided you with any sort of comfort in the past few months. Maybe even before that, too.

“Oh,” you repeat, continually blinking at him, “That’s… that’s it? You’re cool with it?”

Now it’s Eren’s turn to blink. “What do you mean am I cool with it? They’re your meds.”

“Yeah, but like… you’re not mad I didn’t tell—”

“Of course I’m not mad,” he cuts you off with a soft smile, “It’s not really my business. I mean, like, you’re my business because I care about you, but you have your own private stuff, too, which is cool. Besides, when I was, uh, researching it, I learned that it can be hard to tell people stuff like that even if—”

Eren shuts up when he feels your weight against him and your arms wrapped around him. Shell shocked, he takes a moment to hug you back, and slowly comes to rest his chin atop your head after leaving a flurry of kisses.

“You didn’t have to look it up or do any kind of research, you know,” you mumble softly into his jacket. Eren borderline chortles, but only hugs you more tightly.

“Of course I did. If not for you, then for myself, because I meant it when I said I’d never seen half the words on the prescription before in my life,” he replies, heart glowing at the sound of your small chuckles.

He’s expecting an equally witty response, but you surprise him when you pull back just enough to face him, a hazy smile on your face. “You’re amazing, Eren.”

Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush—fucking idiot.

“Yeah, I’m pretty great,” he boasts, leaning back into the coolest pose he could muster up while ignoring the growing heat creeping up his neck. It’s all in vain as you reach over to playfully tug at one of his ears.

He thinks you’re pretty like this. All the time, but most notably when he has you in his arms. So pretty, that he has to lean forward to kiss you; you don’t seem to mind, if the way you smile into the kiss is any indication of your feelings. Eren finds himself mirroring your grin; moving his arms from around your waist to the sides of your face.

The workers in this poor little café probably hate the two of you, but he doesn’t fucking care. He’s got his favorite girl in his arms right now, and you taste like almonds and coconuts and like the love of his life.

And he should tell you. Eren wants to tell you, and he finds himself wondering if those same intrusive, fearful thoughts were part of the driving force behind your own reason to keep your secrets from him.

You pull away from him, hands lightly draped around his neck, and you smile like you’re shy—like he hasn’t known you your whole life. Still, Eren finds himself smiling back; and thinks that if you were brave enough to tell him how you were feeling, then he should do the same.

“(_____), I… I gotta tell you something,” he starts, voice soft as his fingers curl around your waist a little more tightly, “Though, I’m kind of hoping you already know.”

You blink at him, almost innocently. Eren bites the inside of his jaw; you’re going to have to stop doing that before he jumps you again.

Better now than never, he supposes. He tries to shake his nerves when he takes your hands in his, completely covering them with his palms, and closes his eyes. Despite that, you try to offer him comfort, squeezing his fingers as best you can; and Eren takes that moment to thank his lucky stars for whoever decided to put you in his life. Because he knows that no matter what, even if he royally fucks this up, you’ll find some way to be there for him.

He slowly blinks his eyes open again, gaze resting on the ring around your neck. A faded chuckle escapes his lips when looks at it. The only one who got the wrong idea about his gift was you. But, he supposes that’s his fault; he never did explain it, after all.

“It’s nothing… It’s just that, I’m in—”

But Eren’s startled by a voice that makes him freeze. He almost wants to believe he misheard it, but he can hear the telltale clacking of vintage heels on the floor of the bakery and he knows that he didn’t mishear a thing.

Eren turns his head, and sure enough, there is his mother, in all her five foot glory, adorned in designer clothing from her beret to her shoes. With a fucking street urchin on her arm.

“Well, well, well, what a lovely surprise,” Carla beams, red lipstick perfectly in place even after a long day of wear.

Eren’s eyebrows draw together, as he takes in his mother and her fiancé standing in front of him. He can just barely register you calling out towards her, carefully maneuvering yourself off of his lap, and into the neighboring chair; but still keeping your right hand wrapped around his left. He can feel you squeeze it—whether to give him comfort, or warning, he’s not sure yet; probably both.

“It’s so good to see you!” you beam, excitedly offering her and Mitchell a seat across from the two of you at the table. Eren opens his mouth to refute, but you squeeze his hand again; a warning.

Carla leans forward to encase you in a hug, exchanging cheek kisses, and leaving Eren to stare at the street rat across from him. Mitchell seems to know better than to make eye contact with him, irises scattering from Carla’s back to the décor of the bakery while the two girls catch up.

“We missed you at the rehearsal dinner on Sunday,” Carla recounts, eyes fluttering to Eren’s briefly. One look into her son’s eyes, and she understands why; one look into his mother’s eyes, and Eren knows she has him all figured out. “I was worried you might not show at all.”

Eren strategically averts your gaze when you turn your head towards him, choosing to look at his mother instead.

“I didn’t even know there was a rehearsal dinner,” you tell her, tone polite, but Eren can hear the clear jab directed towards him, “I’m sorry, I—we would have gone, otherwise.”

“No need to apologize, darling,” Carla smiles, “I’m sure you two were very busy.”

“We were,” Eren cuts in, words definite. He sees a hint of surprise flash in his mother’s eyes briefly, expertly covered up with her sweet demeanor. She only nods in understanding, sitting back a bit to wrap her arm around Mitchell’s.

“What are you even doing here, Ma?” Eren questions, even as you do the same with his hands under the table, “Isn’t it bad luck to see the groom before the wedding.”

“After the third or fourth wedding, you grow tired of pleasantries and superstitions, my love,” she replies, “This place makes Mitchell’s favorite macarons, we thought we’d share a few before the big day. Maybe get some tea as a pre-celebration.”

The topic of sweets has you speaking up once again, engaging both his mother and Mitchell in a discussion about them, and your other findings from bakery hopping earlier. If Eren didn’t love you to pieces, he would have left the table a long time ago.

It carries on much longer than he can bear to endure; almost an hour of you, and his mother, and Mitchell making pleasant conversation while he tries his best not to brood beside you, but it’s futile. He feels like a little kid again. Stuck at the dinner table with his mother and a man he was being forced to get to know, only for him to become a stranger to him in a matter of months.

Eren grinds his teeth into each other when you laugh at something Mitchell says. He’s not going to sit through his any longer; or ever again.

“Well, this has been fun,” Eren says, voice blatantly monotonous as his cuts through the conversation, “But we should all probably head back go to bed. Big day tomorrow.”

“Eren, we should—” but, he stands up quickly, hand wrapping around yours to force you upwards too.

He doesn’t care to look at you, knowing the dissatisfied expression he’ll be met with. He fishes for his wallet and pulls out too many Euros, neatly tucking them under an unused knife to pay for the meal.

Eren’s steps out from between his chair and the table. “We’ll see you guys tomorr—” But is stopped before he can take three steps away.

His mother’s hand wrapped around his wrist. She stands, significantly shorter than Eren’s full height. “Actually, Eren, could I borrow you for a bit?”

And he doesn’t want to, because he knows exactly the conversation waiting for him. But he looks down at her, lets his eyes flicker to you, and back to her, and he knows he doesn’t have the heart to walk away. Not even if he tried.

He sighs with a shallow nod. He can feel your hand on his shoulder, the proud smile on your lips when you tell him that you’ll meet him back at your hotel. Mitchell ensures him and Carla that he’ll make sure you get back safely, and Eren still can’t stand the guy, but he’s grateful that he can at least be of use for something.

Eren kisses you on the forehead briefly, a promise to you and himself that he’ll finish his confession later. After all, he probably should come to terms with the woman who taught him what love is before he vowed to love you for the rest of his life.

The walk to his mother’s hotel is silent, Eren choosing to keep to himself, hands stuffed in his pockets to prevent his mom from holding them. He’s probably acting like a child, but isn’t that what he is to her; isn’t that she treats him as.

“Look, Ma, you don’t need my approval to marry him,” Eren grumbles, when they finally exit the elevator into the hotel room, “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Of course I don’t,” Carla offers him a small grin, even if he won’t look at her directly, “But it matters to me.”

“Why does it matter now? It didn’t matter with Keith, or Henry, or Henri with an I, or any of the others,” Eren mumbles, reluctantly taking a seat on the stool opposite the vanity.

His mother tracks his movements with soft eyes and an amused grin as Eren absentmindedly bends a knee and begins to fiddle with the hem of his pants. Just like he used to when he was upset as a child.

“It mattered then, too, Eren,” she tells him, sitting on the stool and facing him.

He’s surprised by her words, his wide eyes giving him away even if he attempts to act unfazed. “It didn’t seem like it.”

Carla opens her mouth to speak, but closes it, words stuck in her throat. She watches Eren’s hunched figure, her tall son not even bothering to look her in the eyes. She exhales slowly; if he were five feet smaller, he’d have tucked himself under her arm, still refusing to look at her, but he’d have snuggled his head into her side while he pouted anyway.

“I suppose it didn’t,” she admits, “In the end, the love wasn’t enough to make it last, then.”

Eren is quiet for a bit at that, pulling at his pants leg. “And… and you love him enough, now?”

“It’s more than love, Eren. It’s... happiness—for yourself and another person—it’s being okay with somebody knowing you now, and forever. Whichever version of you that is.”

“Then why did you marry them before?” Eren asks, “If you knew it wasn’t enough, if you knew it was just going to end up as another big mistake.”

“Maybe the marriages were a mistake, and some of what came with them, but I don’t think the feelings were,” Carla muses, “Love is never wasted.”

“How can you say that?” Eren questions, disbelief and exasperation painted on his face, “Of course it is—you wasted your time, and your money, and your—your everything on those people who couldn’t care less about you now!”

“Eren—”

“You let them into our house,” Eren speaks over her, “You let them into your life, and they left. They always left—”

“Eren—”

“—And you even let some of them come back! Everyone, you let everyone have another chance, another anniversary, another wedding,” He’s ranting, crying, hot, irrational tears streaming down his face; hiccups interrupting his speech, “So—so, so if it’s not wasted and everyone gets another chance and another chance and another chance—why didn’t he come back, huh? For his?”

Eren’s standing now, arms flailing every which way during his breakdown, but his mother doesn’t try to stop him. She lets him continue, hears him out.

“If it’s love—if it’s not wasted, and it’s real—then why didn’t he come back? Why didn’t he want to? Why—why didn’t he want me? Why did I end up the bastard?”

Eren looks his mother in the eyes for the first time in the duration of their conversation with that final question; with his vision blurry, and chest heaving, and cheeks wet. Carla has no words to say; can only carefully open her arms, and wait for her son to come crashing into them. And he does; and it rains and pours, and Eren holds onto his mother for dear life, and onto the pieces of her breaking heart.

“Am I not good enough to have that kind of love?” Eren asks through tears, “Am I not special enough to want to know?”

“Eren,” she finally speaks, moving to cradle his head in her hands, “You don’t have to be special or good, to be known or loved. It’s enough that you were born. That’s enough to make you deserving of love.”

She doesn’t mind the tears against her palms or the hiccups of Eren’s breathing, “And you already have it.”

And Eren looks at her with eyes wide and wild like a child, staring at the first person to have ever loved someone as messed up, and plain, and ordinary as him; and he can feel more tears bubbling at his eyes.

“Ma, I’m—I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, wrapping his arms around her even tighter, chin resting on her shoulder while his shake through his tears, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Carla hugs her son as close as she can, like he’s five years old and the apple of her eye and she can take all his pain away. “You don’t have to be. You’re my son, and I’ll love you always.”

It feels like they have all the time in the world like that, to hug and cry and apologize; but Carla hopes Eren knows that he was always forgiven; that he never had anything to apologize for in the first place.

“She loves you, too, baby,” she coos, holding Eren as tight as possible, “But you have to let her know that. That you accept it.”

“Do you think she knows?” Eren asks, words muffled into the fabric of her clothing, “That I love her, too?”

“I do,” Carla confirms, pulling away to look at Eren in the eyes; his beautiful, shining, green eyes, “But I don’t think that either of you really realized it. I mean, you did give her an engagement ring, darling.”

Eren huffs at the memory, “She thought it was a gift.”

“Because you gave it to her as a gift.”

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“Love has a way of making people blind,” Carla muses, “Especially two lovesick semi-adults with too much money on their hands.”

Eren’s cheeks grow pink at the accusation, “It’s your money!”

“Yes, and I’m very happy to have it,” Carla chuckles, motioning for Eren to stand up. He does, and she looks up at him with glimmering, proud eyes. “Now, go, shoo. You have a girl to propose to, don’t you? There might be two Jaeger weddings this weekend.”

Eren nods, certain of himself for the first time in a while. He turns on his heel with a vigor igniting his footsteps, but pauses when he reaches the elevator. He makes a sharp turn, running back to his mom one last time, and squeezing her suddenly, and tightly against him.

“I love you, mom,” he says; the words too foreign on his tongue, and he vows to not let them be a stranger to his vocabulary from here on out.

“I love, you, too, Eren,” Carla calmly wraps her arms around her son one last time, “And I always will.”

You half-expected your walk back to your hotel with Mitchell to be painfully awkward, but he proves to be a pleasant conversationalist, even in Carla’s absence.

You know that Eren isn’t fond of him, but you wish that he would at least give him a chance. There’s no way to know if a marriage—if any relationship—will last forever, but, sometimes, you think it’s not about knowing about forever; but, rather about wanting it to make it there; about willing to go the distance with that person.

You can see that want, that willingness that works alongside love in Mitchell and Carla’s relationship, that stands out from her past marriages. You get the feeling they’re going to last; and that, most importantly, they both want it to, too.

It’s quiet out as you both walk the streets of Paris, Mitchell taking the time to point out small notes in architecture that interest you. You readjust your jacket as a gust of wind washes over you, careful to make sure your necklace doesn’t snag against your clothing.

“That’s a beautiful ring,” he calls to you gently.

“Thank you,” Surprised, you quickly let out an embarrassed cough, looking down to your left hand resting atop the uppermost button on your coat. “It was a gift.”

“I meant that one,” Mitchell corrects, carefully gesturing to his own neck to indicate that he was talking about the ring on your necklace, and not the one on your finger.

“Oh, thank you,” you repeat, “That one was actually a gift, too.”

The older man hums, continuing your walk to your hotel. “Must have been one hell of a gift. I don’t know many people who give out engagement rings as presents.”

“Oh, no, no, no, it wasn’t—it’s not an engagement ring,” you tell him, feeling a warmth creep up your cheeks even in the chilly atmosphere of the night, “Eren gave it to me, actually, a few years ago—it was a Christmas gift.”

“Eren, huh?” Mitchell smiles fondly, “That makes sense. Carla tells me how much he cares about you.”

“You—she does?” you stutter. Mitchell nods. “I—I mean, I care about him, too.”

“Enough to accept an engagement ring from him, it seems,” Mitchell taunts, “I’m no specialist, but I know a Harry Winston piece when I see it. They’re not cheap.”

“Trust me, I know,” you scoff, “I almost killed him when I saw how much he spent on it.”

“And you took it, anyway?”

“Well, he—he was supposed to return it,” you defend yourself, “Because I didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea! But he just, well, he gave me the other one instead, so I wear that one on my hand.”

Mitchell pauses, just as you both stand to the entrance of your hotel. “And what was the wrong idea you didn’t want people getting.”

“That... that...,” you pause, thinking back to that Christmas day.

Even though Eren is known for spending ludacris amounts of money, the ring came as a genuine surprise to you. A couple thousand on shoes, sure—you’re victim to that yourself; a couple hundred thousand on a lavish vacation wasn’t out of the ordinary, either; but a million, maybe even more, on a ring that you could have only ever asked of him in your dreams was another thing completely.

And, sure, even a few million didn’t mean much to you or Eren at the end of the day, but it wasn’t just the price; it was the object of the money, too. To accept a house, or a car, or a jet for that amount is something you could rationalize; but a ring seemed foreign, and far out of your league.

Then there was the display and value it held beyond money. It’s beautiful, gorgeous, but more than that, it’s tailored to your exact liking. The synthesis of your aesthetic and everything you could ask for, garnished with the memory of Eren in the very design; the diamonds you love, the flowers that remind him of you, and the way they stems wrap around each other and the petals meet in the middle.

A small gasp leaves your lips and instinctively, you reach to clutch the ring in your hold. There was no way this was an engagement ring... Eren hadn’t proposed to you when he gave it to you—in fact, he was so casual about it, that it had you stunned that he hadn’t thought to consider that other people might think it meant something more than what he intended it to be.

But, looking back, it seems like you’re the only one who didn’t understand what was going on. Because Eren told you, even then, that he’d wanted you forever; you didn’t know how to hear him. It was all right there—not just in the ring, but in all his gifts, in the entirety of your friendship.

Eren loves you, more than you could ever know.

“It’s an engagement ring,” you say aloud, but more to yourself than to Mitchell, “Oh my god, it’s an engagement ring.”

Mitchell can’t do anything but smile at your revelation. You’re practically bouncing off the walls, connecting the puzzle pieces of your relationship in the middle of the street at damn near midnight, but you don’t care; because it finally feels right, and it finally, finally all makes sense.

“He, but he never pro—oh my fucking god, I’m going to kill him.”

You feel elated and confused and happy and murderous all at once. Eren wanted to marry you; Eren loved you. He wants you for the rest of his life, and you’ve been too blind to see it this entire time.

Still, you think that maybe a verbal proposal might have helped to open your eyes a bit.

“Mitchell, I have to—”

You’re cut off by the echo of your name coming from the opposite end of the street, and you can just barely make out of Eren’s figure in the faded lights of the street lamps. His name falls from your lips like a whisper, and you hardly register Mitchell’s amused, soft laughter from beside you.

“I think that’s my cue,” he says, patting you on the shoulder, “I better get back to Carla. Something tells me you two have a bit to talk about.”

You can barely nod at him, eye still wide and stunned, but a smile on your face even in your fearful anticipation. You don’t have time to thank him before he turns away, bidding you goodnight; and then you have something else to focus on, as Eren’s footsteps grow louder, and his silhouette grows sharper the closer he gets to you.

He practically crashes into you, chest heaving, hair wind-swept and wild from his running. He puts his hands on your shoulders, to steady himself physically and mentally, labored breaths ghosting over the top of your head.

“Hi,” he finally squeaks; and that stupid, big, dopey grin is on his face.

It’s ridiculous, so utterly ridiculous that you can’t help but greet him back. The two of you stand there, smiling like fools for god knows how long, before the realization strikes you for a second time.

Eren opens his mouth to finally speak, but a pained squeal leaves his lips instead as he feels the back of your hand slap his chest. “Ouch—hey, what was that for!”

“What the hell do you think you were doing proposing to me without telling me?” you screech, packing another punch to his chest for good measure, but it’s a poor barrier and does nothing to stop your tears from falling, “You’re an idiot, I should kill you for this, you know that, Eren Jaeger?”

Eren laughs softly, only to be heard by you in close proximity. He takes your offending hand in his, and reaches for your other, pulling both of them between your bodies. He can feel tears welling in his own eyes, as he looks down at the necklace, glimmering perfectly under the moonlight.

“In my defense, the first thing you told me to do when I gave it to you was to return it.”

“I might not have said that if you told me what it meant,” you can hardly choke out a laugh through your tears; and Eren can’t stop his from falling either, “It’s insane, you know. This whole thing—to ask me to marry you at 19. For me to not realize until we’re 21.”

“I know,” Eren agrees, inching closer even though there’s barely any room between you, “I know. But I know I love you, every version of you. I always have, I always will.”

You close your eyes as Eren’s hands move to your face, gingerly sweeping your tears away from your cheeks. He feels too close, it feels like too much; but you don’t want him to move.

“You know... if you had asked me, then,” you start, blinking your eyes open with a sniffle; you’re met with Eren’s emerald greens one with far too much hope and love glimmering in them, “I—I don’t even know what I would have said.”

“And if I asked you now?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, slowly raising your hands to wrap around Eren’s wrist, and lower them to your neck, before looking at him again, “Ask me.”

Eren blinks, carefully trailing his hands up and around your neck, nimble fingers undoing the clasp of your necklace. He hardly lets the chain pool into his hand before it’s tossed aside, and the ring is still between his thumbs and index fingers as he lowers himself on to one knee.

“You are the love of my life, and there’s not a single version of life—a single version of you, or me—where I don’t want to be with you forever,” Eren says, “And you know how shit I am with my words, but I fucking mean it. I swear to you, that I’ll do my best every day to show you how much you mean to me; marry me, and I’ll prove it to you, I swear, I will.”

Your lips are wobbling at Eren’s confession below you, and you can just barely beckon him upwards in your state. He’s hardly back on two feet before you’re pulling him against you, ghosting the word “yes” on his lips before you kiss him.

You both melt into the kiss, Eren’s hands skillfully cupping your cheeks, while he keeps the ring in his hold and bruises your lips together.

“You don’t have to prove it to me, Eren,” you assure him, hand shaking when you pull apart and let him slip the ring onto your finger—where it belongs, “You already have.”

For his first birthday as a married man, Eren requested something intimate. He wanted just a small celebration with all of your mutual friends, some good food, alcohol, and lots of fun.

Supposedly simple and intimate for him entailed renting out the top floor of the Whitney, which was currently encasing an exhibit portraying some kind of abstract modern art that allowed for a very drunk Eren and Armin have to entertain themselves by trying their best to recreate the paintings using very flawed couples aerial yoga.

The art, paired with the dimmed lighting, Jean’s choice selection of overtly sexual music, and Eren’s pick of overpriced champagne also meant that Marco, Bertholdt, Connie, and Sasha found everything ten times funnier than they were—which meant they were a million times louder than usual.

Jean stands next to you by the bar, watching as Eren attempts to hold Armin above his head by holding on to just his waist. They’re unsuccessful, of course, resulting in both boys toppling onto the ground as the majority of their older friends laugh along.

“Lucky me, I get to take him home at the end of the night,” you drawl, turning to the bartender to order another drink.

She smiles, easily preparing your martini and sliding it you with an inquiry. “That’s your boyfriend? The tall one with the brown hair?”

“No,” you sigh, eyes closed for a moment before taking the glass between your fingers. “That’s my husband, unfortunately.”

× even more notes: this fic. is my baby. it’s been a draft of mine for over two years at this point. it’s gone through various fandoms but i’ve never quite been able to complete and post it, so i’m very happy that it’s finally here! i hope you all enjoyed, and i just wanted to say that i’m glad to finally have been able to share this with you all!

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

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solaroptile · 2 years

Note

OKAY OKAY SO-

mirabel and camilo (separately and you can do one if you aren’t comfortable with both BUT-) hcs of them having an s/o who has selective muteness I NEVER SEE ANYONE TALK ABOUT THIS IN FANFIC AND SINCE THESE TWO ARE TALKATIVEI WANNA SEE HOW THEY WOULD INTERACT WITH READER sorry for rambling.

adios and muchas gracias 😗

mirabel and camilo madrigal with a selectively mute s/o || camilo x gn!reader, mirabel x gn!reader

pairing(s): camilo x gn!reader, mirabel x gn!reader (separate)

warnings: n/a

word count: 432

summary: mirabel and camilo find their own unique way to communicate with you, selectively mute or not.

adults/anyone over the age of 18 dni with this post; camilo and mirabel are 15, that is weird. if i notice you even so much as like this post you will be blocked immediately.

(requests are open! please read my pinned post for more info; any requests already sent in are currently being worked on <3)

✳ masterlist ✳

mirabel madrigal -

when you and mirabel first met it was like you both clicked. immediate connection

she was very excited to make a new friend, especially with someone as interesting as you, but she quickly realized that you didn't talk. at all.

at first she was worried that she was doing something wrong, but when she asked as such you rapidly shook your head and used a page from her sketching journal (of which she had been using to show you some of her new ideas just moments before) to explain that you were selectively mute

mirabel had never met anyone who had selective mutism, so it was a bit difficult for her to learn how to adjust and communicate with you properly, but she eventually got the hang of it and even thrived

at times she could hold conversations by herself for hours on end, but would always try to ask your opinion or just generally include you to the best of her abilities

"if you don't think i should throw this tortilla off isabela's balcony and on her head as she does her makeup, wink your left eyebrow"

however, if she's not feeling social or just needs a break from talking so much you both will either just sit together and relax or you'll write little questions on whatever writing material you have available at that exact moment in hopes you can help energize her again

if she truly is at the lowest of the low and you're at a loss for what to do you always just grab her hand and trace letters in her palms or will write little compliments and affirmations on her skin in pen or marker to try and make her feel better

at times she wishes you were comfortable enough to talk but she's perfectly happy with you just the way you are

camilo madrigal hcs under the cut!

camilo madrigal -

when mirabel introduced him to you he was a bit confused on what exactly selective mutism was but once she broke it down for him he was much more curious than put off

"you don't talk then, huh? you got a lot of secrets to hide or somethin'?"

he liked to tease you for it sometimes but if he ever genuinely annoyed you a quick scathing glare shut him up quick

with conversations between just the two of you he pretty much just brings up topics he thinks about on the fly or things he's been raving to share with someone but hasn't found the right person

naturally you're a really good listener so he feels like he can talk to you about anything and everything

save to say he may have overshared just a few times

"now, what i'm about to say, you can't tell anyone, okay? and you're the only person i've told this to so if someone comes up to me later asking about why there's crickets in mirabel's shoes, i will know."

he's a lot more calm than mirabel when it comes to being able to just carry a conversation so sometimes you both will sit in a comfortable silence until he mentions something small and trivial that he really shouldn't remember

he did attempt to get you to talk at first but as he learned more about selective mutism he let it go and just took your unwavering silence as a sign you weren't tired of his stupid jokes and half hearted complaints just yet

#mirabel x reader #mirabel madrigal x reader #mirabel madrigal #encanto mirabel #platonic x reader #x reader #camilo x reader #camilo madrigal x reader #camilo madrigal x gender neutral reader #camilo headcanons #mirabel headcanons #encanto #disney encanto #encanto camilo

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grewlikefancyflowers · 3 years

Text

‘Intrusion’ extra, what it says about Jiang Cheng’s role in MDZS, and how Wei Wuxian looks back on his past with the Jiangs

I said back in like June that I’d write meta on this and then put it off for a few months, oops! Here we are, finally!

First things first, both the ‘Intrusion’ and ‘Iron Hook’ extras are not just silly romps featuring married wangxian and fanservice, as some people seem to believe?? I’d say both of them clear up pretty neatly, for those that are still confused, points of contention in the fandom - such as Wei Wuxian’s heroism, and Jiang Cheng’s role as an antagonist. Specifically, if his actions were justified or sympathetic, and if he was punished unfairly by the narrative.

The first and most obvious statement made in ‘Intrusion’ is the parallel between the story of Young Master Qin (YMQ), and JC and WWX’s youths. I’ll summarise quickly the relationship between YMQ and the fierce corpse that has been bothering him.

They grew up together in YMQ’s grandmother’s house, since they were a similar age they played together

The fierce corpse (FC) was a servant in YMQ’s grandmother’s household

The grandmother took a liking to FC, and he was in some ways treated less like a servant, and more like a member of their clan, and was allowed to attend school with the other boys

YMQ specifically notes that his grandmother used to praise FC a lot

YMQ describes a story at the school in which someone answered a question, and FC incorrectly claimed he answered wrongly. When FC pushed the matter, the other students became annoyed and drove him out of the class

It is very heavily implied (to the point where ‘implied’ isn’t really the right word) that ‘someone’ was YMQ, that he had actually answered the question wrongly, and that he felt shown up by someone he felt should be below him proving so, and that he led the other boys in driving FC away

FC left the school and didn’t attend again

I probably don’t need to lay out where the similarities are…?

In response to YMQ’s story, Wei Wuxian (rhetorically) says this - ‘“Regarding the solution to that problem, in the end, who was right and who was wrong?”’

Aside from just exposing the kind of person YMQ is, in reference to a story wherein ‘FC’ is clearly a stand in for WWX, and YMQ for JC, MXTX’s decision to highlight specifically that it was FC that had the right solution to the problem is not insignificant. Nor how she specifies that he was the instigator of FC’s expulsion, while hiding behind the mob mentality of the other students.

Another interesting detail is that YMQ deliberately obscures the truth throughout the chapter, because despite his refusal to acknowledge it, possibly even to himself, he knows that between him and FC he is the one in the wrong. Similarly, JC obscures the truth about WWX, to the wider cultivation world during the period of WWX’s ‘downfall,’ (Ch.73) but also, more importantly, to JL after WWX’s death. JL believes that WWX ordered WN to kill both JZX and JYL (Ch.42). Of course, if JC did not have a guilty conscience, he would not feel it necessary to lie about these things. Or rather, convince himself that they are true, as he still blames WWX for the deaths of his parents’ and JYL and the end of the story (Ch.102).

YMQ’s attitude about servants is bad enough that it upsets Sizhui quite a lot, and shortly after their interaction with him, we have this exchange between LSZ and Wangxian.

‘Lan SiZhui thought about it, “I do not know either.” He responded with honesty, “He never did anything truly evil, but perhaps I find it difficult to deal with people of such character. I do not particularly like the tone with which he mentioned the word ‘servant’…”

He paused at this point. Wei WuXian was oblivious to it, “Typical, typical. Most of the people in this world looks down upon servants. Servants sometimes even look down upon themselves… Why are you two looking at me like that?”

Halfway through, he interrupted, not knowing whether to laugh or frown, “Stop—is there a misunderstanding here? How could I compare? Lotus Pier isn’t the usual household, after all. I’ve beaten Jiang Cheng up way more times than he’s ever beaten me!”

Lan WangJi didn’t say anything, but instead gave him a silent hug. Wei WuXian couldn’t help but smiled. He hugged back, stroking Lan WangJi’s back a couple of times. Lan SiZhui coughed. Seeing how confident Wei WuXian looked, not at all sensitive to the word ‘servant’, he was finally at ease.’

There’s a lot going on here...

Firstly, WWX definitely does not think badly of himself because his father was a servant, because WWX doesn’t think badly of servants. It is also true that Lotus Pier wasn’t so strict with hierarchy as other sects (Ch.51, Ch.71), and that WWX and JC sometimes playfully fought on equal terms in their youths. But WWX was also very clearly treated badly in the Jiang household due to his status, notably by YZY (Ch.51, Ch.56, Ch.57, Lotus Seed Pod extra), JC does also repeatedly enact real physical violence against WWX, that he simply brushes off (Ch.56, Ch.59). You could argue that the example from Ch.59 is under extenuating circumstances and therefore should not count, but the same excuse cannot apply to Ch.56.

Knowing this, Lan Wangji’s response to this, to hug WWX, does not feel casual at all. Instead it comes across as if he is offering comfort, which WWX accepts.

Finally, this exchange finishes with ‘Seeing how confident Wei WuXian looked, not at all sensitive to the word ‘servant’, he [LSZ] was finally at ease.’ To me, this seems to suggest that the entire purpose of this was not at all reader directed exposition about how good and equal the Jiang household was, but rather a WWX-typical veneer meant to appease LSZ’s concerns (taking a moment to quietly fangirl about how good MXTX is at ‘show, don’t tell’). Also suggests that WWX is aware on some level that he was treated badly, and LWJ is too - presumably, it is something that they have spoken about.

Continuing with the story of YMQ and FC…

YMQ returns to his home village as an adult wearing a jade pendant that belonged to his now deceased grandmother

FC asks to borrow it, YMQ allows it, thinking FC is missing his grandmother

FC returns telling him he has lost the pendant, YMQ thinks he has actually sold it, and has him beaten, it is very heavily implied that he breaks his leg

In the present, YMQ admits that he doesn’t actually think FC would have gone so far as to sell something of his grandmother’s

This is reflective of JC’s attitude towards WWX throughout his life, with regards to how he frequently comes to the worst conclusions about him, without having any real evidence, and lashes out at him for it. I spoke about this a bit before here. Most notable example is probably during their conversation in the demon-slaughtering cave wherein they discuss WWX’s defection, and JC decides that WWX is acting carelessly and playing the hero, though admits himself that WWX is following the Jiang Sect’s teachings, then declares WWX an enemy of the cultivation world behind his back.

The ambiguity of FC’s death, and YMQ’s role in it discussed in part 3 of the extra is referencing WWX’s own death, and JC’s role in it. In the end the conclusion is that whether or not YMQ was responsible, FC did not hold him to it.

In the end, FC is content to simply throw some fruit, and punch YMQ in the face in vengeance for his death, and even goes out of his way to avoid hurting LSZ when he is fighting him. He returns the jade pendant, that he really did lose and not steal, and goes back to resting peacefully.

WWX, LWJ, and LSZ’s views on YMQ’s fate are as follows

‘Lan WangJi gently tugged Lil’ Apple’s rein, his voice calm, “He was fortunate.”

Wei WuXian agreed, “Indeed. Young Master Qin has got quite the luck.”

After some time, Lan SiZhui finally couldn’t hold his words back any longer. Sincerely, he spoke, “But I still feel that only one punch might be a bit insufficient…”’

JC didn’t even get a punch to the face. I’d say he got off very lightly indeed.

#mdzs #mdzs meta #jiang cheng #jc wank #wei wuxian

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