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seeingivy · 2 months

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sofia

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting series

previous part linked here

songs mentioned: champagne problems by taylor swift, when emma falls in love by taylor swift, and minor sofia by clairo insinuation (+ the name of the chapter)

“Can I ask for a favor?” Eren asks.

You look up to find Eren and Armin standing in front of the dining table, both leaning on the backs of the chairs. The first whiff you get is a mix of sweat and deodorant, and you instinctively push your notebook closer to you and nod.

You hate that Eren and Armin work out together.

Not really, of course. You’re glad that Armin was able to find some type of segway that felt comfortable enough for him to interact with Eren, that they were slowly building back whatever it was that they lost.

You just hate that Eren always wears that stupid headband to keep her hair back and insists on wearing a tank top – or no shirt at all – for the five mile run they do at the end.

You’re lucky that today is the former and not the latter.

“Yeah, what’s up?” you ask.

Eren places the little glass bowl in front of you, before giving Armin a nod, and sliding into the chair across from you. Armin takes his leave with Annie at his side, before giving you a passive wave over the shoulder.

The first thing you note is that Eren’s fish tattoo is on display. It’s one of the few moments that you get to admire it – the physical reminder of you inked on to his arm – since the makeup team is always covering it up or he’s wearing a jacket.

And the second is that Eren doesn’t really fit in the chair – because his legs are overstretched and hanging against the sides of the legs – and he nearly falls back when he moves a little too much.

It’s crazy to think that there was a time that you and Eren would have your feet dangling in the air from how high the chairs used to be.

You eye the little bowl, before reaching forward for it, and taking it in your hands. There’s only two little requests left, though you swear yesterday that you only had one left – which was Eren’s.

“I know I technically already have a request in there. But could you please do another one for me?” Eren asks.

“Sure. Which one is it that you want me to pull? The green slip or the pink one?”

“Oh, no. It’s a separate request. I need you to write a song about Mikasa for me.” Eren responds.

“Ah, yeah. Sure.”

You reach forward into the bowl anyways and pull both of the slips out but Eren’s quick to reach forward and snatch them from your hands, much to your dismay.

“Hey!”

“I just asked you to write a different song. Why did you take both of these out?” Eren asks.

“Why are you in such a rush? I already have a song about Mikasa somewhere in one of my books, I just need to find it. I’m more curious about who added a request yesterday because there was only one left last night.” you respond.

“It’s part of my gift for Mikasa. The wedding is next week, idiot.”

Shit. You had yet to plan what you were going to give Jean.

Eren looks back at the little slips, before tucking the green one closer to him and handing you the pink. You take it in your hands and find Sofia’s name scribbled over the top and open the slip.

“It’s Sofia.”

You pale when you read the slip.

write a song with historia about how she said no to ymir’s proposal. (please!!!! if you can!)

You hand it over to Eren who reads it before setting it down on the table.

“Just don’t sing it at the end, especially if Ymir is there.” Eren responds.

“I…do you think I should? From my very limited information, I think Ymir would hate it if Historia wrote another song about her.” you respond.

“That information is very limited because you refuse to talk to Historia. And Ymir won’t talk about it unless you ask, which you won’t.” Eren responds.

You slouch back into your chair.

“I’m not refusing to talk to her. I’m just in my nice….ignorance is bliss bubble. I like Ymir and Sofia but I also like Historia. I don’t want to get all complicated with the feelings if I know everything that happened.” you respond.

Eren rolls his eyes.

“You’re already mentally siding with Ymir because you know that Ymir got on her hands and knees and begged Historia to be with her after she said no to the proposal. And because you like Sofia.” Eren responds.

“Can we go back to when you weren’t calling me out on my shit? What gift are you getting, Mikasa?” you ask.

Eren smiles, before leaning forward.

“For the record, I…I sided more with Ymir and Sofia too. Or did originally at least. I feel like you’ll run into the same thing as me, but we can’t really hold it against Historia. She just has different priorities than us and picked differently than we would have, but it doesn’t mean she’s wrong. And I’m making Mikasa an edited video and I want the song in the background to be about her. Preferably written by her best friend.” Eren responds.

“Do you think Historia will hang Sofia at the stake for requesting this?” you ask.

Eren shrugs.

“I’m positive that Sofia just requested it because Historia’s been making lots of snide comments to Ymir all week. And saying stuff about Sofia that she eventually finds out about. Everyone’s been telling her about how the songs and stuff have been helping them with their own situation, so she might have just seen it as a segway. Just don’t tell Historia who asked for it and make it seem like it’s your idea. I don’t think Sofia meant ill will.” Eren responds.

“No. No, I don’t think she meant anything malicious either. She’s so sweet. And she must feel awkward since we all grew up together and she’s the other woman, or something” you respond.

“Yeah, she is really sweet. She kind of reminds me of you, sometimes.” Eren adds.

“As if. She reminds me of you – she literally has the same dimples.”

Eren scoffs.

“Lots of people have dimples. I would look like half of the people on the planet by that logic. She actually reminds me of you, when you first got here. She’s just so…” Eren responds.

“Normal.” you respond.

Eren sighs.

“Yeah.”

You choose to withhold your comments about how you're not that type of normal anymore. And it sours all together – because that was one of the things that Eren really loved about you when you first started dating.

Eren gives you a smile before making his move to leave. But he stops before he retreats to his room, his hand is warm on your shoulder as he squeezes.

“Still the same in all the ways that matter. To me, at least.” Eren mumbles, before walking off.

You sigh.

If Sukuna was still here, he’d call you hopeless. And you’d have to agree with him.

You find Historia on set, intently watching Eren and Armin while they’re filming. You take the seat next to her, reaching forward to squeeze her shoulder and catch her attention, as she shuffles to the side and makes space for you.

“Hi Hisu.” you whisper.

“Is the Y/N L/N finally gracing me with her presence?” Historia responds.

You roll your eyes.

“Shut up.”

You feel a tiny smack, before you turn around to find Levi glaring at the two of you. And the guilty culprit – the pencil he projectile launched at the two of you.

“You two shut up.” Levi warns, before walking back to where he was standing at the viewfinder, with Hange.

You both smile, like you’ve been caught passing notes by a teacher, before looking back down at the script to the scene that they were filming.

“So what did you think?” Armin asks.

“About what?” Eren asks.

“About Y/N?” Armin asks.

You lean forward, tucking your legs close to your chest, as you watch them.

“The makeup team did really well with the hair.” Historia whispers.

“Yeah. It almost looks like he still has the man-bun.” you respond.

“Which hair was your favorite?” Historia asks.

You pause.

“I like the length it’s at right now. But, I kind of liked his short hair, like from before. Sometimes I feel like when his hair is too long it kind of drowns everything else out, like his eyes and stuff.” you respond.

“Imagine thinking you’re not in love with the guy but talking about him like that.” Historia grumbles, as you reach to shove her in the side.

“Who said I think that?” you respond.

You watch as Historia’s eyes widen and you turn back to the two of them.

“Do you think she’ll be able to forget about you and live happily with someone else? Just like you wanted.” Armin asks.

Eren shrugs.

“Well. Who knows?” Eren asks.

Armin reaches forward and punches Eren in the face. You bite down on your cheeks to stop yourself from flinching, as you turn to your left to find Reiner and Connie shoving their faces into their own scripts to avoid distracting them with their laughter.

Reiner and Connie never got over laughing at immature stunts. Like punching each other.

“The hell kind of answer is that? I still haven’t forgiven you! How do you feel about the fact that you ignored Y/N’s feelings?” Armin screams.

You bite down on your lip. The deja vu feels uncanny.

“Y/N risked her life and only ever had eyes for you. Did you really think you could say forget about me and it would be just that?”

Sometimes you wonder if Eren’s a sadist for writing scenes like this into the show. You’re positive Levi must have insinuated the same when he suggested the entire thing to him.

“At the very least, Y/N should forget about a heartbreaker like you and find happiness. She might find a good guy sooner than you think and hit it off with him.” Armin responds.

It comes out quietly – Eren’s voice. Almost like a whimper.

In all honesty, you had almost forgotten he was there for a second, with Armin’s screaming. But when you look over, you find Eren sitting there in the water, with tears streaming out of his eyes.

“No. No, that would kill me.” Eren responds, his voice breaking.

You press your hands to your cheeks, letting your fingers block out the periphery as you watch the two of them, and feel your chest compress. It’s almost like you can feel everyone else looking at you – Jean and Mikasa, Historia at your side – and you choose to ignore it for the time being.

“I don’t want her to find someone else. I want to be her one and only for the rest of my life! And after I die, I want her to pine after me for at least ten years!” Eren responds.

Armin pauses, lifting his hands to tousle his hair.

“Oh. I didn’t think you’d say something so…pathetic…” Armin responds.

Eren sighs, shoving his palms into the sockets of his eyes to still the crying.

“Don’t tell Y/N any of this. I want her to find happiness. I really do…I don’t want to die. I can’t leave Y/N…or any of you.”

Armin crouches down, hands heavy on his shoulders, as he pleads.

It’s enough to make the wave of discomfort bubble up in your throat – because it’s the exact same as last time. And even in the fictional version, Eren won’t heed anyone’s advice.

“Eren! Let’s keep trying! Let’s find another way!” Armin screams.

You can’t watch them anymore. You reach for your script, giving Historia a smile, before you retreat to the dressing room and give Levi a wave as you pass. You can tell that he shoots you a concerned look, which you shake off, before you settle into one of the makeup rooms at the back and slam the door behind you.

“We don’t need you till later.”

“Yeah, I…just needed a breather from out there. Do you mind?”

The stylist shakes her head as you shoot her a smile and settle into the chair. You lift the script again, still open on the page that they were just shooting out there, as you pause.

You focus more carefully this time on the lines. You had read this scene when Eren wrote it – way back when, when he and Armin were still fighting. But Eren had given you the second half – about meeting each other in hell.

You never read the part that he just said because Eren never wrote it. The only line that he was actually in the script was the first one, about how it would kill him.

He had improvised the rest.

It was like a lingering thought that was in the back of your mind at all times.

Now that your previous excuse, that you needed everything to be settled before you could even think about Eren, was virtually gone.

You had done the awards show, you had given your performance. And as annoying as it was, Eren was right. The heaviness of letting go was because now you had to move forward, because that chapter of york ife was sealed now. Danny and Sareen, Scott Clarkson and Hyla, Ricky even – they were always just going to be a footnote from here on out.

Which is why you spent all three days of the break that Levi and Hange gave you thinking about Eren. About what would be the right way to approach him again. And every idea that you came up with seemed horrible, not good enough to bring him back.

Deep down, you knew that Eren wanted you. That some part of him still loved you, and that if you made the move, he wouldn't reject you.

The fear was what came after that. What if your relationship wasn’t the same? What if you two had changed too much, that there was just too much baggage that you both came with, that it would eventually drag you down?

Then you’d really lose Eren forever. It almost felt safer to keep it the way it was now.

But that came with its own mess. Because Eren wouldn’t wait for you forever and if you had to watch him move on with someone like Sofia, the same way Historia had to watch Ymir, you’re positive that you would handle it worse than her.

There’s a knock on the door and it’s almost like you’ve summoned her by thinking about her. Because Historia’s peeking into the room, gesturing for you to follow her out. And you oblige, as the two of you quietly march back to the townhouse, arm in arm.

Historia takes you straight to her room. And you note the sign scribbled on the door, how Historia’s crossed Ymir’s name out as you walk in. You both settle into the sheets, Historia throwing the throw blanket over the two of you, as you stare up at the ceiling.

It’s quiet. And the thoughts are racketing around in your brain like a pinball machine.

“I’m getting deja vu.” Historia states.

You laugh.

“Tell me about it.” you respond.

“Can I tell you something that won’t help in any shape or form?” Historia responds.

“Please.”

“He improvised all of those lines.” Historia responds.

“I knew that already. I realized it when I went into the stylist’s trailer.” you respond.

“Well, he kept going after you left. He’s either down horrendous or he really wants to win an award.” Historia responds.

You smile.

Eren probably would win an award for this. And if he was lucky, he’d win Actor in a Leading Role – and actually get to celebrate it this time around.

The thought of getting to win a triple threat again crosses your mind, but falls dead in its tracks. No one’s ever gotten it twice. And it was insinuated enough that it was more of a…lifetime achievement award, so your chance was already out the door.

“So. You said no when she proposed to you?” you ask.

She doesn’t respond. You look over to find her staring at the ceiling, her eyes almost blank. You reach for her hands under the blanket, following her lead instead of asking again.

You can only imagine how agonizing it must be to watch someone as…nonchalant as Ymir beg on her hands and knees.

“I would have married her.” she whispers.

You feel your chest tighten, as you pinch your eyes shut. This is exactly what you didn’t want to hear.

“I-I really would have, I swear. I just wasn’t ready.” Historia repeats.

The retort is on the tip of your tongue. How were you not ready when you’ve loved Ymir since you were kids?

But then again, you’ve loved Eren since then you were kids too. And you have yet to muster up enough courage to go for him, when he’s standing right in front of you basically waiting for it.

“It was really perfect. She had invited everyone to fly out and come watch us, after I was done touring. Levi and Hange were there, Sasha and Jean, even Erwin was there. And they were all watching from afar and…and she…”

Historia pauses.

“I…I was already crying when she started by saying my dear, Historia. I could see the little box in her hand and I knew what was coming. And then she….she dropped to her knees.” Historia starts.

She shakes her head, almost like she’s trying to rid herself of the mental image.

“I always had this stupid running joke, ever since we first got together, that Ymir would never humble herself to propose on her knees. That…that was never really her style, to do something like that even though I’ve always wanted someone to propose to me like that. I’m more traditional and…and Ymir really hates that type of shit, so I just figured she wouldn’t do it when the time came.”

You sigh.

“I only knew the answer was no when she actually got on her knees and asked me. Because…because if it was me, I…I wouldn’t ever do that for her.” Historia adds.

“What?”

“I wouldn’t do that for her. If getting on my knees and proposing wasn’t my style, I wouldn’t get on my knees and propose. But…Ymir would, for me. And I know it’s fucking stupid and not that serious, but I just…”

Ymir loved Historia, more than Historia loved her.

“I couldn’t say yes in good faith… because I wouldn’t give something up for her like that. Or…or for anyone, at that time. Even if it was something as trivial as where you stand while you’re proposing.” Historia states.

You pause. You can tell what she’s trying to get at, though the comparison is hardly fair.

“Well, your career is hardly trivial to you. But in all honesty, I don’t think you’d lose your career if you were a popstar who was gay.” you note.

Historia sighs.

“I know you don’t feel the same way. I know that…that a lot of you don’t and that…that I must seem stupid but. But –”

You hear her sniffle, turning your side to note that there’s tears flowing out of her eyes.

“I’m not a bad guy for wanting to keep my career the way it is now. I’m not the villain for saying no to her proposal and not wanting people to know that I’m gay. Getting to make music, being in shows like this – it’s what I love. You know that most things like this are…are temporary anyways. I still need something I can fall back on.” she responds.

You deflate. There was a small part of you that was hoping that she would deny it. That this wasn't really the reason that she said no. You lean closer to her, resting your head against her shoulder.

“No one thinks you’re the bad guy, Historia. And you’re not the villain for wanting to keep your own life private. We…we just don’t like that you think you can’t be a popstar and be gay at the same time. There’s….there’s so many people who are successful. Just look at Hange.”

Historia shakes her head.

“Hange…doesn’t count to me. I had even tried to talk to them about it, but…it didn’t really apply. They even agreed with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hange blends in more than I do. Then Ymir and I would. They’re dating Levi and...if you didn’t know, you would think they’re a straight couple. On the outside, when they walk on red carpets together, they still look normal to people. But if Ymir and I…”

“It would be different. There would be no question.” you respond.

“You know that Hange gets overlooked for certain opportunities, right? Imagine if it were me. I’m not charismatic like Satoru Gojo and…and maybe I don’t want to have to forge my own path. I get that it’s glamorous to do things like this to some people but…it feels unfair that everyone else gets to do things normally but I have to be some trailblazer just to get to the same place.”

You don’t know what to say. Because it makes complete sense to you. And she had checked you on what you had been thinking yourself.

That Historia was insanely talented and that she’d continue to prove herself just as she did before people started doubting her. That when she came out of it at the end, people would love and praise her – for going above and beyond mere expectations that were put on her and staying true to herself.

But it wasn’t fair. And you know well enough now, there’s nothing glamorous or fulfilling about climbing your way to the top like that. To have people speculate on every portion of your life, especially something so sacred like the ones you hold ear. To expect Historia to do it would be unfair.

Eren’s words echo through your mind. Just because her priorities aren’t the same as ours doesn’t mean she’s wrong.

It’s a silent thankfulness you have – that you and Eren are on the same page. You wouldn’t be able to handle it half as well as Ymir if he wasn’t. If he had picked his career over you.

“Things like love aren’t temporary, though. You could have fallen back on her when things got hard.” you murmur.

Historia scoffs.

“You don’t believe that.” Historia seethes in response.

“I do. There’s…there’s so many examples of it around us.” you respond.

“I know that everyone’s on a high because Jean and Mikasa are getting married next week. But you weren’t here when they were fighting. I promise you, no part of that was pretty for Jean. She gave him more hurt than he deserved.”

“But they moved past that! They love each other now.”

“But not everyone does. Not everyone gets to rock bottom and climbs their way out – and in fact, most people don’t. Jean and Mikasa are the exception, not the rule. If you didn’t think that was true, you and Eren would be going to the wedding as a couple.”

You sigh. She’s wrong. She’s so wrong – but you can’t throw it in her face.

“It doesn’t seem like you really believe it either.” you respond.

Historia shrugs.

“Two things can be true at one time, Y/N. I can believe in love but know that Ymir and I are hopeless. We have been since she kneeled.”

You reach for your notebook, which you had discarded on the floor, and for the shitty pen that was left in between the pages and scribble on the first open spot you find.

sometimes you just don’t know the answer till someone’s on their knees and asks you

The question bites at you. Historia still loves Ymir.

“Would you say yes if she asked you now?” you ask.

“Yeah. I think I would.”

“Even if she got on her knees?”

“I’d crouch down just to be there with her.” Historia responds.

The earnestness in the statement makes your heart crush. She was already too late.

“What do you think about Sofia?”

Historia rolls her eyes.

“It’s irritating how likable she is. Like it actually pisses me off.”

You snort. That sounds familiar.

“Lacy, oh lacy…” you hum.

“You’re not funny, bitch.” Historia responds, reaching to shove you in the side.

You both laugh.

“I wrote a few songs about her and Sofia. No one knew it was about them, but…but Ymir knew. Sofia knew, but she was too nice to say anything about it. I wrote this song called traitor, because technically, Ymir actually knew Sofia while we were still together. And she got mad because…”

“Because how is she a traitor if you’re the one who said no…” you finish.

“Yeah. It…it really hurt, Ymir. And maybe I did that on purpose, just because…I never actually expected her to move on. It felt like a betrayal to me.” Historia adds.

“I know you’ve been making…comments here and there. To Sofia and Ymir. I know you don’t like her, but…you made your bed, Historia. You have to lay in it now.” you respond.

She doesn’t respond.

“I think Ymir and Sofia just want what’s best for you. Sofia is the one who wanted me to write a song with you about it, just…just so you could get some of it off of your chest. We all want you to be happy.”

Historia pushes up off the bed, hiking her knees to her chest, as she buries her face into the hardness of her knees. You can tell that she’s racking out a sob, her breaths heavy, as you wrap your arms around her, resting your head against hers.

“Historia–”

“If Ymir wanted me to be happy, she would have gotten back together with me when I asked yesterday.” Historia mumbles.

You cringe.

“Don’t tell me you –” you murmur.

“We…we were talking about how nice it was to be around each other again at the funeral. And Ymir was saying that…that I’d always be someone who would bring comfort to her, just like I did to her then. I thought she was trying to say that it was always going to be me so I asked. I begged her this time. And she said no.” Historia adds.

“Historia, I’m so sorry. You–”

She shakes her head. It’s almost like you’ve hit a brick wall, because instead of talking further, reaches for your notebook and scribbles the words onto the page with you. You can tell that the conversation is over, and that in true Historia fashion, she’s so stubborn she won’t touch it again.

Wwith your permission, she rips the page out of the spine. The look she spares you over her shoulder before walking out of the room is haunting.

Eren pops his head into your room an hour later.

“Can you do me a favor?” Eren asks.

“Can you stop asking me that?” you retort back.

“My response is contingent on your answer.” Eren

“Yes. I can do you a favor, Eren. What is it?”

Eren smiles, holding his hand out to you, as he all but yanks you off of your bed.

“It’s not really a favor. I just wanted you to come into my room. Gabi and Falco are trying their outfits on for the wedding.” Eren responds.

You smile as you walk straight across into Eren’s room, to find Gabi and Falco sitting eagerly on the couch. There’s four big boxes in his room, freshly delivered from the courier, as you take the seat next to Eren on the bed.

“Okay. Falco, this is yours. Gabi, you can change in Y/N’s room and Falco take the bathroom. And don’t rip anything or you’re both going to the wedding naked.” Eren instructs.

You watch as the two of them burst out into a fit of giggles, before they shuffle into their respective rooms with the hangers stretched over their shoulders. You turn to Eren, tapping on your thighs, as you wait for them to come back.

“Your dress is here, too. If you want to try it on.” Eren offers.

“Oh! Yeah, maybe I will. Are you going to try yours?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I might.” Eren responds.

It’s swelteringly awkward. You have no idea what to say.

“I…found the song I wrote about Mikasa. Nico and Armin put together a backtrack for me so I’ll send it to you.”

You watch as Eren’s eyes light up.

“Thank you so much! I really hope she likes it.”

“She will. You know how sentimental she is, I-I think she’s really going to love it.” you respond.

“Speaking of. What are you getting Jean? I am morally obligated to hang you at the stake like it’s the Salem witch trials if it’s something bad.”

You roll your eyes.

“I actually need your help with my gift for Jean.” you state.

Eren dramatically places his hands on his chest.

“It’s your lucky day, Y/N! I live to serve. Especially when it’s you.”

“When did you get so theatrical? Are you on something?” you state, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Not only am I extremely helpful, but I’m really generous too. I’ll give you some of my fix.” Eren responds, returning the energy back in full flesh.

“Not me getting the princess treatment! What did I do to deserve this?”

Eren shoves you in the side.

“Shut up. What do you need my help with?” Eren asks.

“Well…”

It’s right at that moment that you hear Falco and Gabi’s giggly voices again, as they both run into the room. You immediately press your hands to your cheeks and nearly squeal at how cute they both look – and specifically melt at Falco’s bowtie matching Gabi’s dress.

Seeing Falco wear suits is less cute than it was when he was a kid. Only because he looks like a full grown person, instead of being a sweet little kid, and it makes your heart hurt at how big he’s getting.

You know that Falco can tell what you’re thinking and he preemptively complains about it.

“Y/N. Quit looking at me like that. You’re embarrassing me.” Falco states.

“Do you remember when you threw up on me in first grade? Don’t talk to me about being embarrassing.” you scold.

Eren shakes you off, before gesturing for Falco to walk closer to him. Eren’s readjusting the collar against the coat, tightening the tie, before he gets up and rummages around in his drawers.

“Okay, Falco. I’m going to let you borrow my cuff-links for the wedding, but you have to promise to take really good care of them, okay? These are really special to me.” Eren states.

“Really, Eren? You’re going to let me wear them?”

Eren reaches forward to lightly mess with Falco’s hair, before he hands him the box. Falco sticks his hand out as Eren secures them on for him, before offering him a smile. Falco’s sheer excitement makes your heart flutter – and melt that Eren so freely offered something of his own – as Falco excitedly shows them to Gabi at his side.

“You didn’t have to do that.” you whisper.

Eren shrugs.

“Of course, I did. It’s Falco.” Eren responds.

Eren turns back to the two of them, watching the excitement on his face, as they thank him profusely.

“What’s special about the cuff-links, Eren?” Gabi asks.

“I wore them at one of my first award shows where I won something for Attack on Titan.” Eren states.

Gabi curls her nose in disgust.

“Eren. You hate award shows. You don’t even care about awards!” Gabi complains.

“You’re right. I don’t. But, it was a pretty memorable one for me. Got my first tattoo, performed with Y/N for the first time.”

You turn to him, as he gives you a knowing smile, and you shake your head. And he has the nerve to call Mikasa over-sentimental.

“Wait, Gabi. I have something for you too.”

Eren watches as you quickly rush to your room, noting that you must really be rummaging through things in your dresser since he can hear you drop things and shout in pain, before you run back with a little blue box in your hands.

You hold it open for Gabi, as she admires the little earrings.

“Do you like them?” you ask.

“I love them, Y/N.”

“You can wear them at the wedding. Here, I’ll put them on for you.”

Gabi excitedly pushes her hair back, as you watch Falco with his lovesick eyes as he observes you fixing them. You tuck her hair behind her ears as you admire her dress in full, squeezing her wrists.

“You look beautiful, Gabi. They’re perfect.”

“Thank you so much, Y/N. I love you so much.”

You can’t help but frown as she presses herself into your arms, returning her warm embrace in full. You look over at Eren, who wraps his arm around Falco and smiles at you.

“Gabi! You’re going to be the prettiest girl at the party. You should have at least given Mikasa a fighting chance.” Eren jokes, as you watch Gabi shake her head and blush at the compliment.

“You’re corny, Eren.” Gabi responds.

“Do you have a date to the party, Gabi? It would make my night if the prettiest girl at the party walked in with me.”

Eren’s so sweet. It reminds you of how Levi used to be with Sasha.

“Sorry, Eren! You snooze, you lose. Falco already asked me.” Gabi responds, linking in her arm with Falco’s.

Eren clutches his hands to his chest, giving the two of them a dramatic display of hurt, before he puts his hand on Falco’s shoulder.

“Fair enough. You’re a very worthy opponent, Falco. Make sure you put the cuff links and the earrings back in the box nicely. And again, if you rip your clothes, you are going to the wedding naked.” Eren states.

It’s an innocent thought that crosses your mind. That Eren would be a really good dad, when it came to it.

The two of them wrap their arms around you again before they run out of the room again and Eren turns to you, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re a copycat. You only got the earrings idea from me.”

“You’re just bitter because she gave me a bigger reaction than Falco gave you.” you bite back.

Eren shakes his head, as he starts shuffling through the tagged clothes and looking for your dress.

“Have to ask. What’s so special about the earrings?” Eren states.

You smile.

“I wore them to Levi and Hange’s vow renewal.”

It was the first time you and Eren said that you loved each other. Eren turns back, giving you a soft smile.

“You’re a sap.” Eren responds.

“Takes one to know one.” you respond.

Eren places the dress at your side. You eye the silver beading through the little zipper, admiring Mikasa’s cursive handwriting on the little label.

“So what do you need my help with?” Eren asks.

“Oh. Well.”

You tap the open spot next to you.

“When we were going to the awards show, Jean told me something. I had asked him back then if he was delaying his wedding because you and I were fighting. He said that it wasn’t just that, but it was because…he wanted you as his best man and he was having a hard time letting go of that thought when it was how he always imagined his wedding.”

Eren nods. You figured Jean had told him as much.

“He said that he’s always imagined his wedding the same way. That Mikasa would have long hair, a short train but a long veil. That you would be the best man and I would be the maid of honor. And that we’d sing a song for them, one that we wrote together for their first dance.” you state.

Eren smiles.

“Fuck. Your gift is way better than mine.”

You laugh.

“Is not.”

“You’re giving Jean his dream wedding. I’m giving Mikasa America’s Funniest Home Videos.”

“She loves that show!” you defend.

“Alright, alright. I’ll help you write the song.”

Levi attempts to ban Connie from coming to set the day you’re filming the kiss scene. Naturally, Connie decides to sneak in by dressing up as one of the crew members, before he’s dragged out by the ear when Hange catches him.

You count yourself lucky that Hange and Levi had thought ahead and made sure that the cabin scenes were the last ones that you filmed for the show. Dead last – meaning everyone would have already been gone by the time you and Eren actually prepared to film them.

It was enough consolation that you’d be alone with Eren in the last few days, before it was all really over. Similar to the way it really started, just the two of you in the townhouse.

Eren’s sitting high in the makeup chair, lazily reading through the lines of the script, as the artists paint deep red lines into the sides of his cheeks. You give him a halfhearted wave as you take a seat a few feet away, cracking all your knuckles in nervous anticipation as they start powdering your face.

Levi and Hange walk over, hands on their hips, as they look over to the two of you for weary eyes.

“Are you ready?” Levi asks.

You give him a nod, Eren shooting two thumbs up to them, as they both squint their eyes. They don’t believe you.

“Just one kiss. It’s not a big deal – you’re both grown adults. And you’ve done it before! So it’s not awkward. If anything, it’s like a peck. Just a quick one and you’ll be good, Y/N.” Hange adds.

Eren glares at Hange.

“If it’s not awkward, why are you being weird about it?” Eren deadpans.

Hange deflates.

“Right then. Well, legs up in five!” Hange responds, before shuffling off to the other side of the room with Levi. You can hear the two of the murmuring under their breaths, rolling your eyes at how utterly disbelieving the two of them were of you.

You turn to Eren, the two of you giving each other a shared annoyed look, before you turn back and focus on the scene at hand. You watch as the entire crew tasks themselves with testing the lights, pulling the cameras into view, and scribbling quickly on the clapperboard.

It’s fairly simple. You just have to stand there and kiss him. No lines, no big confession – just one kiss.

The cast stages you and Eren – bustling hands fixing the lapels of your clothes, the stray strands of your hair as you and Eren look at each other.

“Hey.”

Eren smiles. He seems fairly calm, considering things. You on the other hand, you can’t help but feel that bubbling ball of anxiety pulsating in your stomach.

“Hi Y/N. How are you today?”

“I’m good. Good, good. You?” you respond.

“Great.” Eren responds.

You shove your hands into your pockets, wiping the accumulating sweat on the inside of the pants, when you feel the little plastic box in your pocket.

“I have something for you actually.” you add.

You pull the box of Tic-Tacs out of your pocket, before holding them out in front of Eren. He gives you a hearty laugh, before cupping his hands and holding them out to you and you pour three in his hand, before downing your own.

“That was very self-preservationist of you. But, I’ll have you know that I didn’t eat anything all day just to avoid this type of issue.”

You snort.

“No way.”

“They had pizza for lunch. God forbid I taste like marinara sauce when you kiss me. I’m not a dog.” Eren responds.

“I’ll admit. I did eat the pizza, but then I vigorously brushed my teeth for like five minutes.” you respond.

Eren smiles, placing his hands on his cheeks.

“All for me? I’m flattered, Y/N.”

You smile.

“Okay. So, like…do we need a gameplan? Do I lean towards the right? The left? Do you have a preference? Because I can –”

You watch as Eren’s eyes go wide, as he looks at you like you’ve grown another head.

You can tell that he’s trying not to laugh. You glare at him, huffing as you cross your hands over your chest.

“What?” you seethe.

“Are you…staging a kiss right now?”

“Just so we’re on the same page! You know, I don’t want to just lunge at you and catch you off guard.” you respond.

Eren smiles, before reaching forward and placing one of his hands on your neck. He uses his thumb to rub into the softness of your cheek, before narrowing his eyes at you. You can tell what he’s trying to say.

Relax.

“Okay, okay. I’ll just do what feels right. Sorry for being weird.” you respond.

Eren shrugs.

“S’not weird. I just think you’re overthinking it. We’ve done it hundreds of times. It’s on your move anyways, so you’re in control.” Eren responds.

“You guys ready?”

You and Eren look over at Levi and Hange, their legs crossed in the director’s chair, as you give them a nod. You turn back to Eren, who gives you a mini-salute, as you back up a few steps and shake your hands at your sides.

“Alright, Y/N, we’re rolling. On your move.” Levi calls.

It’s like your feet are cemented into the ground. You can feel the unease that had been pooling in your stomach all day wash over you as you become acutely aware of how thick and warm the air is. It’s almost like it’s weighing down on you – hanging heavy on your skin, nearly throwing you off balance.

You try to shake the feeling off, shutting your eyes before cracking each of the knuckles in your fingers. You can see it out of your peripheral vision, Levi shifting his head to the side to look at Hange, and the embarrassment bubbles in your throat.

“I’m good. I just need a second, sorry.”

Levi shakes his head.

“Take your time. Whatever feels right.” Levi responds, giving you a comforting enough smile.

It’s just a kiss. You’ve done it hundreds of times.

The walk towards him, though it’s only two or three steps, is excruciatingly long. The clothes are too starched, too constricting, as you reach forward, and press your hands to Eren’s cheeks. The makeup pressed to his skin comes off on your hand, as you tilt his head up – slotting your lips against his.

Eren’s quick with it. His lips quickly glide over yours, the familiar taste of the mint you had just offered him lingering, as he lifts his hands too, pulling your face closer to his.

Eren can feel it – your entire body freezing against his, like the first time he had ever kissed you. The urge to swoop in and fix it, even though you’re the one who was supposed to take the lead is too overwhelming.

He knows it’ll crush you if you don’t do it right.

(And maybe Eren’s a little selfish.)

You can feel the blood rushing to your head, as Eren brings his hands up – one hand cupping your cheek and the other one slithering around your back to pull you closer. You nearly gasp into his mouth as he leans forward this time, the softness of his hands making you melt in his hands.

It’s Eren. Tender, soft, and intoxicating. You don’t want to stop. You return the kiss in full this time, properly leaning forward and giving it back.

But Eren’s the one who pulls away, resting his head against your forehead, as he lightly squeezes at your neck, where his hands are resting. You’re both panting in tandem, eyes still pinched shut and foreheads pressed together, as you swallow hard and try to catch your breath.

“Hey guys. Quick note for you.”

You both flinch at the sound of Hange’s voice in your ears, awkwardly taking a step away from each other, as a different embarrassment washes over you. You avert your eyes from Eren and look at Hange, who shoots you a weird look before focusing back on Eren.

“Hm? What, Hange?” Eren mumbles. You can see him out of your peripheral vision – lifting his fingers and pressing them to his lips, a slight shake in his hand.

“Eren, honey. She just decapitated you. Like, cut your head off. You are dead.” Hange clarifies.

“Right?” Eren hums.

“So, you can’t use your hands to kiss her. You don’t have hands anymore! And…and that was way too lively for someone who is supposed to be dead. Tone down the excitement a little.” Hange responds before shuffling off, as Eren’s cheeks go bright pink.

Eren turns back to you, giving you a sheepish smile, as you shake your head.

There was no need to be embarrassed. Not when you were the one who led wrong and he was trying to fix it.

Not when you enjoyed that way more than you should have.

Eren watches as you march back to your spot, shaking your hands at your side, as you fix your hair. Eren turns back to look at Hange and feels the humiliation increase when they mouth something that looks an awful lot like touch starved.

Eren throws the thought out of his mind as he leans back again, tucking his hands behind his back. The situation is less than ideal, with his eyes closed – because Eren doesn’t really clock that you’re kissing him until you’re actually doing it.

It’s your sweet hands cradling his face and then the warmth against his lips – before he can feel himself sinking into your embrace.

You can tell that Eren’s more apprehensive this time, as you flutter your eyes shut and lightly bump your nose against his on accident. You pull him up closer to you, scanning his face and smiling, before you lean forward and rub into the skin on his cheek. You can’t help but smile as you lean forward, the anticipation palpable as you press your lips to his.

Eren can still feel his heart thrumming, at the way you’re so carefully holding him like glass, while making him feel like his body was on fire. He’s caught off guard when he feels your tongue against his, unable to contain his smile.

You pull back, your lips burning and skin humming, as Eren looks at you, with a soft smile on his face. You give his cheek a little pinch, which he responds to by giving you a wink, before Levi walks over – his hands crossed over his chest.

Eren groans.

“What did I do now?”

“Not you, Eren. Y/N. Well, you too, but she started it. Y/N, you just murdered the love of your life. LIke fully, had to be the one to murder him even though you didn’t want to because you were the only one strong enough to do it.”

“Right.”

“Could you not…smile into the kiss? You have no reason to be smiling.”

You cringe.

“Right! Right, so sorry, Levi. Won’t happen again.”

“Okay, because. You smile and then he smiles because you did. And again, just for extreme clarification, he is dead. This is supposed to be sad.”

Levi rolls his eyes, as he shuffles back to the chair. You spare him a glance while Eren isn’t looking and he mouths something that looks an awful lot like the word freak. You shake him off, as you turn back to Eren, giving him a sheepish smile.

“Sorry.” you offer.

“Not a problem. I love it when you smile.” Eren responds, running his fingers over his lips again before he drops them.

You can feel your head spinning.

“Okay. Last one.” you clarify.

“Third time’s a charm, princess.” Eren responds.

You walk back to the spot, before you wait for Levi to give you the cue. And this time, walk forward as slowly as you can and repeat it to yourself. No hands, no smiling, no tongue.

You reach forward, placing your hands around his neck, and lean forward. You slide your lips over his, circling your fingers into his neck to ground yourself into the touch rather than his intoxicating smell, as you kiss him. It’s overwhelmingly tender this time – the way you linger over him, before you pull back and let go.

But the second you pull apart, it’s an immediate pang in your chest. It felt too final.

“That was great guys! That’s the one.” Hange responds, as you look over and give them a smile.

You awkwardly drop your hands, letting go of Eren, as he offers you a polite smile in response, holding out his hand to give you a high-five. You oblige, slapping your hand into his, though you can’t help but notice that the smile he gave barely reached his eyes.

On your way out, you can feel the steaming that was pooling under your skin fizzle out as you walk out into the cold air, as you start marching on the pavement back to the townhouse. You prepare yourself for the unnecessary barrage of questions, and for how irritating Connie can be, as you push into the foyer.

When you walk into the main room, it’s unexpectedly quieter than you thought it was going to be, the faint sound of the piano getting louder as you walk closer. And when you push into the room, the quiet warmth that was blooming under your skin is replaced with an ice cold pinch when you catch sight of what’s happening.

Historia’s playing the piano, for the group of them.

Mikasa looks up at you immediately, giving you wide eyes, as you press your hands to your temples, and look to your left. Jean and Connie give you the same look, the group of you all sweltering in the awkwardness, as you avert your gaze back to Historia.

You booked the night train for a reason So you could sit there in this hurt

Bustling crowds or silent sleepers You're not sure which is worse

Because I dropped your hand while dancing Left you out there standing Crestfallen on the landing Champagne problems

Your mom's ring in your pocket My picture in your wallet Your heart was glass, I dropped it Champagne problems

Eren walks in right behind you, nearly bumping into you, as you press your hand to his forearm and squeeze hard.

“Wha-”

“Be quiet!” you whisper.

Eren gives you a puzzled look, as you watch his eyes scan around the room, and watch the realization register in his face. He looks down at you, giving you an awkward look, as you shake your head. The two of you avert your gaze to the left again, to find Sofia crying with one of her hands pressed to her chest.

How evergreen, our group of friends Don't think we'll say that word again And soon they'll have the nerve to deck the halls That we once walked through

One for the money, two for the show I never was ready, so I watch you go Sometimes you just don't know the answer 'Til someone's on their knees and asks you

"She would've made such a lovely bride What a shame she's fucked in the head, " they said But you'll find the real thing instead She'll patch up your tapestry that I shred

Watching Ymir is like watching someone get sucker punched in the face in real time. It reminds you of the same reaction that Eren gave you the other day, while you were filming, a visceral physical reaction. You watch as Ymir stumbles back, nearly loses her balance, as the tears start collecting in her eyes.

And even worse, watch as Sofia tries to reach for her but Ymir pushes her away.

And hold your hand while dancing Never leave you standing Crestfallen on the landing With champagne problems

Your mom's ring in your pocket Her picture in your wallet You won't remember all my Champagne problems

You won't remember all my Champagne problems

The second she stops playing, Ymir runs up the stairs – her feet leaving a pounding sound before the door slams shut. And you watch as Sofia takes a deep and heavy breath, before running out the front door.

You find Sofia two hours later, a block and a half away from the townhouse, on a bench. You reach down, picking up her bike off of where it’s toppled on the concrete, and rest it against the edge of the armrest, before taking the seat next to her.

Sofia doesn’t hesitate to talk – like almost half of the people you know.

“Is Ymir okay?” she asks.

You shake your head.

“Last I know, Eren and Mikasa went to talk to her. I’m sure they talked her down.” you respond.

Sofia gives you a nod, inhaling shakily, as she hikes her knees to her chest. You can barely see her face – the hood pulled over her head obscuring her face – as she presses her cheeks into her knees.

“I didn’t think she was going to sing it. I’m really sorry, I –”

“Did you know that Historia asked Ymir to get back together with her yesterday?”

You deflate.

“Yes. She told me right before I went to film with Eren.” you respond.

Sofia doesn’t respond. It’s chilling – to see someone you’ve only seen smiling for the past week and a half so defeated in one fell swoop. And even more than that, knowing how small it can feel to be competing with things that feel larger than life, in an entire world that you don’t feel like you’re a part of.

“Ymir said no. I know she really loves you.” you offer.

“I know she did. She came and told me right after it happened. She walked in all hot and heavy, nearly red in the face, pissed at the audacity Historia had to say that.” Sofia states.

She pulls her hood back, resting her head against the back of the bench, as she flutters her eyes shut.

“There’s nothing that…that gets Ymir moving like Historia. Whether she’s mad…or happy…or sad, no one can make Ymir feel as much as Historia does. If Historia and her have a good talk about how they’re always going to be important to each other, she’s on top of the fucking world. If she gets on her hands and knees and begs for her back, it’s enough to send her into a blind rage. And if she sings a song about how she got away…it’s enough to send her sobbing into her room.”

You swallow hard.

“I feel like I’m intruding on people who are meant to be. I don’t think I should be here.” she adds, her voice cracking.

You shake your head.

“Ymir really loves you, I-I can just tell by the way that she looks at you. It would kill her if you left, Sofia.”

She shrugs.

“I know I’m never going to be Historia. And I know that first loves and…and sexual awakenings or whatever are sacred to people, but…I can’t sit here when I’m not even a part of the competition. I’m smart enough to know when two people still care about each other more than they should. I feel like I’m committing a fucking crime by keeping them apart.” Sofia responds.

You bite down into the hardness of your cheek, before leaning your head against her shoulder. She welcomes the touch, leaning her own against yours before you break the silence.

“I don’t necessarily think you’re wrong. There isn’t anyone that gets Ymir going like Historia. But that doesn’t mean that they’re right for each other. It doesn’t mean that you aren’t Ymir’s perfect match.” you respond.

You shift.

“Just because Ymir gets to these big…big emotions with Historia doesn’t make her better than you. In fact, I think that’s the leg that you have up on her. Why you’re the one who is marrying Ymir and not her.”

“Really?” she whispers.

“I’m not sure how familiar you are with Jean and Mikasa’s situation but –”

“I know. Jean slept over at our house once when they were fighting. We ate ice cream together at three in the morning and talked till the sun rose.”

You smile.

“Jean told me that there’s lots of different types of love that you have in your life. And I just think that there’s one person…or one situation that deeply cuts into you, so hard that it changes you. I think that’s what Historia is for Ymir. Because to her, it must have been devastating that she would have done anything, that she could have changed herself any type of way, and she still wouldn’t be enough for her. I think that would get anyone moving, being reminded of the deep hurt, the complicated feelings that come with that person.” you respond.

You feel your phone buzz, as you look at the little screen.

[eren]: did you find her? [eren]: ymir wants to see her. [eren]: really badly.

You respond back, before turning back to her. You have to turn this around for Ymir.

“The big feelings aren’t the ones you chase after, Sofia. They fizzle out eventually, when the spark is gone. You pick based on comfort, on consistency. And Historia’s never…been consistent. She could never give Ymir what she wanted like you could. Like you do.”

Sofia gives you a halfhearted smile.

“You’re really sweet, Y/N. I really like you.”

You smile, your chest panging with hurt.

“I really like you too, Sofia. I hope you know that Historia didn’t do any of that to hurt you. She just…feels first, thinks second. It’s how she’s always been. And it’s not fair to you, but…but I hope you know it’s not personal. Or anything about you.”

Sofia puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Thanks.”

You can tell that she’s ruminating over your words and the two of you sit there quietly, dangling your legs over the side of the bench, as you wait for Ymir. Your stomach rumbles loudly, as you shoot her an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. I didn’t take my lunch after Eren and I were done filming.”

Sofia’s eyes light up, through the redness and puffiness.

“Didn’t you kiss?”

You groan. You only oblige the conversation because you know she means well.

“Yes. We kissed.”

“Was it hot?” Sofia asks.

You snort.

“Um…kind of. I accidentally used my tongue the second time.”

Sofia gasps, excitedly pressing her hands to her chest as she leans forward.

“The second time? Meaning you did it more than once?” you ask.

You bury your face in your hands.

“Three times. He…he got too into it the first time. Then I got too into it the second time. It’s supposed to be a really sad scene but –”

“But you guys are horny, I get it.” Sofia finishes.

“We’re not–”

“Ymir says you guys eye fuck each other. I thought she was being kind of crude, but you really do.”

You groan.

“Sofia–”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! You guys are actually really cute and I hope you don’t think we’re all pressuring you. I just think it’s really neat the little things you guys do for each other. Connie was telling me about the mints that you got him before you kissed.”

“Oh. Yeah. I was just kind of trying to break the ice so he was comfortable and stuff.”

“No, I totally get what you mean. Okay, like. The first time Ymir and I went on a date, I was so ready to kiss her – I had been thinking about it all week. And before we got into the car, I ate an entire box of Altoids.”

“An entire box? Doesn’t that get painful after a while?”

“Listen, she’s like way out of my league. I had to impress her! Plus, it gets rid of that doubt in my head when I lean in and stuff.”

“You wanted to impress her with minty breath?”

“Okay, don’t question my methods. She’s my fianceé now. After we kissed and I went home, Ymir told me that she really enjoyed it. So every time I went to see her, I would eat another box just so that she would enjoy it again.”

“You know that Ymir hates mints, right?”

“Is this just common knowledge that everyone knew or something? I literally had no idea. Mikasa told me a month later and I was fucking furious. God, I never bought another pack again.” Sofia complains.

“You didn’t? I thought you said it got rid of the doubt.”

“Yeah but, why would I? She doesn’t like them. I got over it.” Sofia states.

You pause, leaning your head back. You refuse to comment on it, because winning her over was Ymir’s battle. And you surely hoped Ymir would be able to do it, because this was, in fact, her perfect match.

Who would give up trivial things for her, like kneeling on the ground or chugging mints, just because Ymir asked. Just because it would make her happier.

“How did Connie know I gave Eren the mints? Hange kicked him out.” you state.

“Oh. He climbed onto the roof. That kiss was really important to him and Mikasa.” Sofia states.

You roll your eyes.

“Of course it was.”

You scoff, before shaking your head. It’s enough to make her laugh through her tears. And surely enough, Ymir and Eren appear after twenty minutes – out of breath and panting. You take the cue and jump off the bench, reaching for Eren’s outstretched hand, as the two of you quietly walk back to the townhouse and leave them to it.

“They’ll be fine.” Eren murmurs, trying to pull you into walking the other way. He’s trying to reassure you.

You look up at him and smile.

“Yeah, I’m sure they will be.”

Jean and Mikasa don’t do bachelor or bachelorette parties. Early on, Eren had clocked that something like that, a party celebrating them get married without the other present, wasn’t something that wouldn’t even be remotely fun to them.

But you still had to do something. Which is why Eren settled for throwing the two of them a laid back party after filming at the end of the week, with enough alcohol for them to get drunk to their hearts desire.

“Sometimes I have genuine concern for how their livers are still functioning.” Eren states.

You avert your gaze from Gabi and Falco – who are sitting in the corner playing a very intense game of cards together and giggling – to Jean and Mikasa, who are very drunkenly dancing with Niccolo and Sasha, who unfortunately got roped into it.

“Tell me about it.” you respond.

You can’t help but smile as Niccolo takes turns spinning Mikasa around, as Sasha and Jean attempt a very dangerous version of a dip, which results in Jean dropping her flat on the floor. Eren’s ready to jump up, but Armin gestures for him to keep sitting before jumping up.

“Sometimes I think it’s sweet though. I think back to all those award shows and realize that they probably had a really great time together. Just dancing together, enjoying each other's company.” you respond.

“Yeah. That first one we did though was really fun. I mean, Sukuna and the lollipop thing was like really fucking annoying. But besides that, I really liked that we were all just sitting together having a good time.”

You snort.

“Do you ever think about how…important moments seem after the fact? And that…sometimes you don’t really know how much something will mean later?” you ask.

“What do you mean?”

“When we went to Seattle, I was talking with Lana. And I was telling her that Sukuna and I are nowhere near as close as you and her are. And she was telling me that Sukuna and I were like that. And that back then, when I met him, I was the one of the first people to kind of… understand that he was joking. To not immediately think bad of him or be weirded out by it, I guess.” you respond.

Eren shrugs.

“I guess. I mean, you showing up for my birthday dinner, it must have seemed to you that I was being so reserved when I left with Hyla. But that was the moment for me that I knew I wanted to be out of that thing, that kind of started everything.” Eren responds.

You feel your cheeks heat up. And you’re sure that the four shots that Mikasa gave you earlier, the slight buzz in your veins, is what makes you say it.

“This is one of them too. The important moments I’ll look back on.” you respond.

You watch as Eren’s eyes go wide, before he awkwardly scratches at the back of his neck and smiles at the ground.

“How so?”

“All of this time that I get to spend with you. It’s up there, with everything else.”

Eren reaches forward, linking his hand in with yours, before he squeezes three times.

“Me too.”

The two of you keep your hands that way, linked together and raised in the air, before the wind nearly gets knocked out of you by Jean leaning his entire weight on you. You can see that Mikasa is doing the same to Eren, hands tangled around his neck and nearly strangling him.

“Did you guys know you’re the best maid of honor and best man ever?” Mikasa whines.

Eren takes her hands, untangling them from cutting off his circulation, before letting her lean against his shoulder. You can see that he’s pleasantly surprised from the affection, wrapping his arm around her and leaning his head against hers as well.

“Yes, Mikasa. We know.” Eren responds.

“Stop being cocky, Eren.” Jean grumbles, as you turn your head to the side to smile at him.

“Yeah, Eren.” you respond, emphasizing each syllable as he rolls his eyes.

Eren shakes his head at the two of you, before looking down at Mikasa.

“Are you ready for your gift, Mika?” Eren asks.

“What? Really?”

Eren gives her a nod as she nearly jumps up with excitement, teetering on the heels of her feet as Eren momentarily disappears to grab the little tape. Jean looks down at you, giving you a steely glare, as you roll your eyes.

“What, Jean?”

“You are getting me a gift, right?”

“Do you think I’m a nutjob? Obviously, I’m getting you a gift. You’re getting married.”

“It better blow my fucking mind, Y/N. I have seriously high hopes after finding out what Eren got Mikasa.”

You grin.

“Trust me. It’s going to be everything you wanted and more.”

Jean glares at you.

“I don’t like your tone. If it’s a gag gift, you’re not meeting any of my children.”

“They’re also Mikasa’s children. She’ll let me see them.”

“No, I won’t let her.”

“You don’t own the kids, Jean.”

“The fuck do you mean? They’re my kids.”

You elbow him in the sides.

“These aren’t even real kids yet! Why are you getting territorial over people who don’t even exist yet?”

Mikasa slings her arm around both of your shoulders, before squeezing the two of you way too hard under her grip. The two of you give each other wide eyes as she nearly cuts off your circulation and scolds both of you.

“Why are you guys always so mean to each other? I thought you guys were getting along.”

“We do get along!” Jean responds.

“So along! We’re two peas in a pod!” you respond.

Mikasa slightly loosens her grip as Eren walks up, twisting the little CD in his hand, as he eyes the three of you. She absentmindedly links her arm in with his and Jean, as Jean and Eren mimic their motions and loop you into the circle.

There’s tears bubbling in her eyes, as you and Eren spare each other a glance, and prepare yourself for the waterworks that are going to follow. Mikasa was always an emotional drunk.

“Thank you guys for planning such a good party for us. And for being really good friends to us.” Mikasa responds, voice cracking.

You smile, cheeks nearly hurting, as you squeeze Eren and Jean’s arms.

“Of course, Mikasa. You-”

“We’re never going to be able to repay you both. I never forgot how many times you both took the fall for us back in the day whenever Levi got mad at us for switching our rooms around. And that you guys always did it whenever we asked.”

Eren shakes his head.

“I promise that we wanted to switch rooms just as badly as you guys did. Relax, Mikasa.”

“I want you guys to be so happy. You guys are both such good people that it makes my heart hurt. You’re so, so perfect for each other.”

You can feel Eren stiffen at your side as your cheeks heat up, the awkwardness sweltering in the air.

“Thank you, Mikasa. That’s very sweet of you.”

“I want my kids to be like ring bearers or flower girls at your wedding! I want our kids to be best friends like we were best friends and make those stupid videos like we used to do back in the day.”

“Speaking of those videos, can I give you your gift now, Mikasa?” Eren asks.

Mikasa lifts her hands, wiping the wetness off of her face, as she nods. Eren walks towards the TV, setting up the little video player, as you grab the group of them and signal them to join you around the couch to watch the video.

The song starts playing, the soft little piano, of a song you had coincidentally written about Jean and Mikasa years prior. You and Jean had visited Mikasa on the set of one of her old films, Emma, and you had half heartedly scribbled some lyrics about it. You were able to find the old book in the back of your drawers and piece it together properly with Armin and Niccolo’s help.

When Emma falls in love, she paces the floor Closes the blinds and locks the door When Emma falls in love, she calls up her mom Jokes about the ways that this one could go wrong She waits and takes her time 'Cause Little Miss Sunshine always thinks it's gonna rain When Emma falls in love, I know That boy will never be the same

'Cause she's the kind of book that you can't put down Like if Cleopatra grew up in a small town And all the bad boys would be good boys If they only had a chance to love her And to tell you the truth, sometimes I wish I was her

Eren pieced together the perfect videos. You’re positive that he’s stolen from all of Levi’s old tapes, as well as the dumb camera that the group of you all used in the early seasons. The clips are all of Jean and Mikasa – of such seemingly unimportant moments that nearly make your heart burst at the sight of the two of them now.

There’s sprinkles of you and Eren in the videos, of the two of you recording them in the background holding hands when you were trying to catch their attention. And of Connie and Reiner just blowing kissy faces at them or Sasha and Bertholdt trying to imitate the two of them.

Nearly everyone’s laughing at the clips – at how little Jean and Mikasa look at all of the clips – and Mikasa secures her hand in with yours.

“Is that you singing? Did you write this song about me?”

“Yeah. Way back when you filmed Emma.”

You can see her face curl up in emotion, before she leans her head against your shoulder. She still has one of her hands wrapped in with Eren’s, stopping every few seconds to give him a really big smile that you can tell means the world to him.

Emma met a boy with eyes like a man Turns out her heart fits right in the palm of his hand Now he'll be her shelter when it rains Little does he know, his whole world's about to change

The clip ends with the group of you hugging, when you had finished wrapping season one. You remember the moment distinctly – the dread that came with it. Because you didn’t know if you were going to get a season two, if anyone was even going to like the show, or if you’d ever see any of them again.

Armin initiates it first, by leaning forward over the couch and wrapping his arm around Eren and Mikasa. And then one by one, you’re all piling on each other – warm tears in your eyes as everyone ruffles Jean and Mikasa’s hair – the two of them pink in the face with their tears.

You stand up to pop the CD out of the box as you watch Eren and Mikasa give each other a long hug, Eren responding warmly to the babbling mess coming out of her mouth.

“Eren. Eren, I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Mikasa.”

“This is perfect. This is so perfect, you’re one of my best friends ever, you know that?”

Eren laughs, before placing both of his hands on her shoulders.

“You’re one of my best friends too, Mikasa. Save one dance for me at the wedding, okay?”

“Of course. Of course, of course we have to dance together. You can’t leave me hanging, Eren.”

“This was my idea! And you’re the one who’s going to be so busy. Just don’t forget me.”

You’re caught off guard from watching the two of them when you feel a tapping on your shoulder to find Ymir at your side. You give her a smile as you both lean against the wall.

“Hey.”

“I was wondering if you could do me a favor. You can say no.” Ymir states.

“Yeah, of course. What’s up?”

“That was…a really sweet song you wrote about Mikasa. I’ve always really loved how you can feel the emotion in songs you write.”

You smile.

“Is there any way that you could write a song with me? About Sofia? Because, we’re good but I want her to know that she means the world to me. And she’s been a fan of yours for so long that I think that it would be something that was really special to her. And I know that things are complicated because of Historia and that you might have picked a side, but I’m just asking you for this as your friend and –”

“I’m on your side too.” you state.

“Hm?”

“Historia is my friend. But you are too. And I want you and Sofia to be happy, I really like her and I really like you.”

You watch as Ymir deflates.

“Really?”

“You’re meant to be together. I think that she can really love you in the way that you deserve.”

Ymir leans forward, uncharacteristically affectionate, as she wraps her arms around you and squeezes your arms.

“You’re a really good person, Y/N.” Ymir states.

You laugh.

“You must be as drunk as Mikasa.”

“No, no I really mean it. You always have really good intentions at heart. I know that your whole lover girl branding must be…frustrating to look at after everything that happened. But that’s always who you’ve been, with all of us. It’s a really good part of you.” Ymir states.

You smile.

“You’re speaking really highly of me. All I did was say I was going to write a song with you, Ymir.”

“I think you deserve really good things. People have given you way too much hurt than you deserve.”

The following morning, you’re able to snag Armin to help you play Ymir’s song for Sofia. And surely enough, you can feel it radiating as you watch her face light up, the way she nearly beams at the two of you as you sing.

You sit abandoned in the room, hours after Armin, Ymir, and Sofia trickle away.

Only because it’s so overwhelming that it nearly suffocates you. The love in the room.

Ymir and Sofia. Jean and Mikasa and Gabi and Falco. The way Eren and Armin have reconciled and how you always see Levi smiling at you from the back of the room when the group of you are messing around.

You’re so full of it that you can barely breathe, so nervously anxious that it makes your stomach hurt.

“You okay?”

You look up to find Eren looking down at you. At the love in the room, staring at you so intently.

“Yeah.”

“I had a question.”

You tap the open seat on the couch next to you, shuffling to the side, as he joins you.

“Sure. What’s up?”

You watch as Eren leans forward on his knees, eyes trained on the ground as he cracks through each of the knuckles in his fingers.

“You can say no. You don’t have to feel obligated to answer in any way because it was just an idea I had. I won’t be hurt if you don’t want to, or…or had other plans I don’t know about because you’re obviously entitled to that! And you know, it’s a harmless type of thing that I just wanted to –”

“Eren.”

He pauses, looking up at you.

“Just ask.” you finish.

“Will you be my date to the wedding?” Eren asks.

You feel the butterflies swarming in your stomach as you smile at him, squeezing your hands into fists as you hold them close to your chest.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I want to go with you. We’re doing a song together and…and we’re all good. It would be nice to be together, like we did back when we wrote invisible string. That and I kind of need you to point out all the love in the room for me just so I can remember it all.” Eren responds.

You smile.

“Of course. We’ll take turns. I’ll point one out and then you.”

Eren grins.

“Deal.”

You reach forward, placing your pointer finger against his chest. He looks down before looking back up at you, confused.

“What?” he asks.

“You just asked me to point out the love in the room.”

You watch as Eren leans his head back, unable to contain his smile, as he shoves your hand away and mimics the motion by pointing back.

next chapter linked here

an: anyways ymir requests a song about her relationship with historia later on and they write you're losing me. and yes, you're losing me and champagne problems end up being about the same relationship. also historia being so jo march coded by saying she would accept ymir's proposal now that she's actually with someone else and can't have her....anyways jeankasa wedding oh we cried

taglist: @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @cutiejg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @princess-ackerman @jaegerfiles @cacapeepee @rui-0836 @moonmalice @invisible-mori @sofiasber @bbybeeb @timetobegone @tee4str @ttokki2 @leave-rae-alone @ec3lipsy @officialsimpp @gojojang @yookayyo @lordbugs @multiplefandomthings @iobeyfandoms @camilo-uwu @justanotherkpopstanlol @mel-star636 @fvckingeetar @ttalgi @najaemism @ilovekimchi123 @youraggedybitch @xoyumiqls @leafguitar @spiidergirlsworld @luvs4kim @levin4nami @florichun @hoonmyluv

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undercoverpena · 10 months

Text

iv. before the gold and glimmer

javier peña x f!reader | chapter four of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. an: i adore each of you who are coming along this weird and wonderful journey, we're getting closer, i promise. wordcount: 2.5k.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

I’ll be home in an hour.

I’ll be ready

Are we going to do the crossword tonight or are you going to spend an hour flirting?

too early to comment

I’m bringing my A game.

to flirt with me? baby you flatter me

No. Crosswords, you fucking flirt.

hermosa did you just swear at me

I did. Now I have to concentrate, stop distracting me.

Javi is aware that his pop is thinking things.

Has been since the phone conversations began. The ones initially having slotted in when the house was empty. Quiet. Just him and his thoughts banging around, occasionally punctured by him pressing the keys on his phone until the phone rang.

Now, the phone calls have bled out into quick chats on other nights (Javi’s hand over his mouth, trying to muffle a laugh). He’s caught sight of his pop’s smirk more than once.

He’s very aware that he hasn’t helped things by dropping your name into conversations.

Accidentally, at first.

Then just accepting his fate and embracing it. Talking about you as if you’re this fully fleshed thing in front of him—mentioning the news thing you’d heard, something funny you’d said.

He even mentioned you to Murphy. Again, not on purpose.

Steve was quick. Picking up on it immediately in their latest monthly catch-up where usually Javi listens to how amazing, disruptive and yet tiring kids are—how Miami would be good for him, and that Connie misses him. This time it segwayed suddenly into, and who might she be then, Jav?

It had crossed his mind to play it down. To conceal you—because a part of him suspects he should hate all of it.

Before, he had always preferred secrecy. Kept the women he had been seeing behind lock and key. Partially due to the nature, the risk—now, though, he thinks he just doesn’t want to share.

Doesn’t want to taint it. Selfishly wanting to keep you all to himself, his slice of happiness that no one can dull.

It also aids in holding himself back from falling over the cliff, tumbling into ruin because he let himself get ahead of himself.

Feel too much, too quick, because Javi didn’t even know what you looked like. Hadn’t eyed you up across a bar, hadn’t spotted you in the aisle of the store.

You’d stumbled into his life.

No reason, no real cause or explanation, and now he’s not entirely sure as to why he feels the amount he does. That he cares, that he likes you. How that when he talks to you, he feels only happy, content and joy—like he could do and be anything.

You provide the key to the semblance of normalcy he’s been longing for. Liking what others would think is mundane, like about your day. Now he longs for it all face to face, where he can read your face instead of dissecting your voice.

She’s just someone I’ve been talking to. Don’t—don’t even know her, really. You knew all the others well before? Fuck off, Murphy. Just sayin’, sometimes, shit just don’t make sense, Jav.

Steve says it as though it answers all his problems.

Like he thinks the words will make all the pieces click into place, suddenly cemented and real—all understood and no longer complex.

But it’s all still very much messy—a tangling of feelings that ready exist and more which threaten to come.

In truth, he doesn’t mind the complications of it all. He just thinks it’s best to protest it a little. Pretend he hasn’t abandoned all logic just because someone made him smile and feel a little less broken.

Because he knew, just like those around him, that he was done for.

It all perfectly evidenced by the fact he doesn’t mind when his pop begins giving him one of those smirks more often than not—the ones surrounded by wiry white hair, partnered with a knowing look on his face. The same conversation circling, the one that’s been going on for days now—

“When the two of you meeting?” “I don’t know, pop.” “You made plans to see her yet?” “No, pop.” “You should go see her. You need a break.” “Pop.”

At some stage, his pop stops beginning it—challenging him. Now he just signals the words with a look. One he assumes parents are given when their child enters the world—the one that is part knowing and part ‘you know you’re going to do what I’m saying, anyway’.

Javi hates that more than he hates the rest of the situation.

Because his pop isn’t wrong. He wants to see you, watch your expressions instead of imagining them.

Not just to see what you look like, but so that he can see how you react when he says certain things. Whether you scrunch your nose or your lips curl before you smile; whether you hide your face when he embarrasses you, or whether you fold your arms and pout.

Each time the two of you text or call, he thinks it—wants to bring it up and ask.

A need in him growing, in the same way his feelings do. Multiplying, quivering in his bones when you laugh, and it travels straight to his heart—making it swell and bloom. Filling the expanse of his chest until he isn’t sure he can feel any more happiness.

Picking up the phone on the first ring, he hears your usual chirpy hey, which he follows with his now usual: “Hey baby.”

“¿Cómo estás, Javi?”

“Ay, you’ve been practising.”

Hearing you laugh makes him smile. Unknots the stresses of the day from him as he pulls the chair over—sitting on it as his head rests against the wall.

“I purchased a Spanish for kids book, so that’s my skill level.”

Smirking, he rolls his lips. “You trying for me?”

“Sí.”

Snorting, he rubs the bridge of his nose. “Eres tan linda, querida.”

“I know the last word means darling.”

“I said you are very cute.”

You pause, a shuffling sound coming from your side of the phone before the softest of sighs. “You’re making me blush, again.”

“You make it too easy.”

“Stop,” you say, all fake warning and all likely accompanied by a cute smile, “How’s your day been—tell me you got a splinter in your ass?”

Smirking, he slumps further into the chair, legs spread, spare hand resting on his thigh. “Starting to think you only talk to me for my body.”

The laugh you let out is closer to a howl, and his cheeks hurt from hearing it—his grin so large, it doesn’t fade for hours.

apprehensive feeling, 5

Come on, Javi.

I think it may be angst

If I were there I’d kiss your cheek.

I know you mean that in a nice way but it feels demeaning

Oh no I meant it as the latter.

is that how we’re being

You tell me.

paris divider, 5

Seine. You ever been to Paris?

no have you

Not yet.

not yet?

Well there’s always time. Heard it’s a romantic place to go.

maybe if you were nicer someone would take you

You make a good point.

things go ok this morning

Not like I wanted but not the worst. I can apply but they’re playing the experience card again.

bullshit, you ok

I will be. Thank you for checking in on me.

you can tell me if youre not yknow

I just need to destress is all. It’s like talking to a fucking wall sometimes.

fuck I love it when you swear

Javi, stop.

do you really want me to

No. But you’re making my face burn.

bet you look real pretty getting embarrassed

I actually do not, so you should stop so you don’t inflict the face on others.

I don’t believe you

Maybe one day you’ll see it for yourself so you can believe me

wish one day was today

Why would you destress me?

baby I’d make sure you couldn’t even think the word stress never mind feel it

You confident in that?

youll have to find out

Something was different in the air the moment he woke up.

Things went far easier than they normally would. No one tried to bowl him over during feeding. The fence he went to check on didn’t look all that bad—and there wasn’t even a queue when he visited the homeware store for pop.

There also wasn’t a rain cloud in the sky.

And it put him on edge.

His gut—the one he had relied on to take down the narcos—flared back to life. It could be a good day, a once-in-a-blue moon, a blessing in a sea of disguise.

But rationality didn’t stop him from checking over his shoulder, do a final sweep of the land.

It had been like that when he’d first gotten back. All on edge, finding it difficult to settle. He had smoked back then, worse than he had done when he’d been over in Colombia. It’s why he’d chosen to quit.

Now, he rotated the phone between his finger and thumb, feeling it vibrate against his palm, checking if it was you before he allows the smile—the one you pull from him by just texting him—blossom.

So I have good news and I have bad news lead with the bad first I can’t call you on Thursday night

His heart drops, plummets.

A part of him knew something bad was around the corner. Taking in your text, over and over. Checking he understood it as he climbed the stairs up the porch.

Javi rolls his head on his neck, staring up—the flies around the porch light buzzing away as he tries to compose himself.

Somehow always knowing that deep down, this day would come. His mind is too quick to act, abruptly busy with conjuring thoughts. That old analytical part of him whirs back to life as it tries to make heads or tails of the situation in front of him, as though it was a case.

Because he suspects that your good news is that you have a date—someone you’ve seen face to face and has swept you off your feet. A person who will take you away from him because he can’t offer you that.

Plus, you don’t even know him.

Not really.

He’s just this person you text.

This person he feels…

well fuck. The good news best be the best news ever I think it is. Don’t tease me, querida Says you, baby.

Baby?

It takes him a second.

The four letters blowing all the conjured theories well and truly out of the water.

His eyes trace over the letters, even after he’s sent the reply. Javi’s heart suddenly in his throat, pulse in his ear—the blood banging around.

Shut up. Anyway I can’t call you because I’ll be on an early flight in the morning to Houston. Work needs me to check out some odd sales. You’ll be in Texas? Yeah. So the good news is, if you meant what you said, we could meet in person.

He swallows, spine straightening—posture suddenly pristine, making the muscles in his back ache from the day as they flex and tighten under his shirt.

You want to meet him.

Or he thinks.

Not wanting to read between the lines—needing the confirmation, to hear you say it. His shirt begins to cling to his back, hair falling over his forehead as sweat grows, strands of hair being grasped against his skin.

You want to meet me? Of course, I’m the one suggesting it. But if you don’t, that’s fine. I mean, I’ll begin judging how lonely you actually are if you don’t. But it’s fine.

His thumbs aren’t quick enough.

Each text firing in—and he wishes, more than he usually does, that he could be there with you. Clutch your cheek, assure you, make you breathe—

baby breathe. I want to meet you, I do But? but nothing

Even if there is.

There seems like there’s a but

Javi doesn’t mean to, but he laughs.

Somehow, miles away—you can already read him. Know him. His thumb massaging his nose, wrist hiding his smile from the world.

I’m nervous about the fact you could see me and never want to speak to me again You think I’m that shallow? No. It’s just you’ve been the best thing about my day in a long, long time, querida Call me. it’s late isn’t it Javi.

He moves, the chair he had been on almost toppling over as he opens the storm door and then the next. Moving into the kitchen, not even needing to pull your number up. He knows it.

It’s burned into him.

The receiver meets his ear as you answer in record time as your voice greets his ears. Followed by a sigh when he greets you in a low-whisper.

“Javi, I feel the same.”

He swallows. “Yeah?”

Silence greets him before you do a soft laugh. That little one he’s begun noticing you do when you later tell him you’ve just nodded or shrugged—forgetting he can’t see down the phone.

“I wanted you to call so you could hear it. That I want to meet you because I can’t stop thinking about you. And that might be insane, and odd. But… I like you. I feel things.”

“I know,” he says, pressing his forehead against the wall—eyes closing, hand tightening around the phone. “I like you, too.”

Javi hears it. The discernible way you relax.

It comes across in the way you take a breath, in the way he suddenly feels his own shoulders slide from his ears.

“But if it’s too soon, I can use some time off—“

“No, cariño. No. I… I want to. I’ll be there.”

You swallow—loud in the silence. Almost clunky. “I’m scared too.”

Opening his eyes, he stares at the peeling paint. Something running over him, from his head to his feet. It whispers to relax, to breathe—allowing him fully to do both.

“You could… I don’t know, see me and find I don’t match the image of me you’ve created. Or, find me horribly boring. Or that I’m actually the strangest person. It’s scary. I’m scared too.”

He nods, smiling to himself. “I’ll pick you up from the airport.”

“You don’t have to—“

“Baby.” It silences you, and the thought makes him smile. “I’ll pick you up from the airport, okay?”

It takes a beat.

A full ten seconds.

“We’re going to meet,” you say softly, almost wistfully.

And it cracks then, a smile. A real one. His usual one. Turning on the spot, pressing his back against the wall, head meeting it as he lets the grin spread into his cheeks, almost to his eyes if his thumb and finger didn’t begin rubbing them.

“We’re gonna meet,” he replies.

Opening his eyes, seeing the noticeable flicker of the television—its shimmering light flittering through the doorway, illuminating his pop, who is standing smiling at him.

AN: remember, if you wish to see the deleted 18+ scene for the birthday bash, be sure to check back on 8th of July, otherwise see you next Tuesday

next ->

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soraviie · 1 year

Text

you assume it's unrequited.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader ━ navigation

━ about: largely angst, some fluff; reader has a crush but thinks that it's one-sided — it's not

━ pictures taken from Pinterest

━ read the continuation in "pining for you.txt"

━ leave behind a comment or I'll stab you with chopsticks

NAMJOON | The routine itself is quite simple. The rules to be observed are only five — it leaves enough leeway to mold oneself should problematic situations arise.

Rule no. 5: don't accept any gifts.

It's the fact of nature really — humans love gifts. Like corvids, people adored their shiny little trinkets and it is a well-known fact that giving someone something makes them feel special. Adored. But since you couldn't be either of those things, it helped to cut any straying thoughts right in the bud. Hence when he offers to get a cup of coffee from the aggravatingly chique brewery across the street you decline and make a quick stage left.

Which conveniently segways to rule no. 4.

Rule no. 4: no lingering around.

The job is thankful in that way — there's always something to do. Whenever you see his silhouette from the corner of the eye which is not exactly hard — he is big — you flee to safety. If he somehow manages to round the exact same hallway you're in and tosses a hand into the air in lieu of a greeting whilst handing out one of those unfairly charming, dimpled smiles, you follow the rule and as such return a simple nod of recognition, hastily heading the other way.

Should he enter the same room, you're quick to grab anything near and dig deep into a dark corner where inevitably you grow invisible. It's a big company — there's always spaces to hide and you're just another nobody.

Safe to say you never pass him messages or even go near his studio. That can be left to your colleagues who are far more enthusiastic about doing that sort of thing.

Rule no. 3: no conversations.

That is...easy. You think.

"Hi!"

You lifted your head from where your hands were trembling around the paper forms. You regarded him with a blank stare, surprised that not only he'd chosen to talk to you out of all the dozens of people buzzing around the room but also that he was gracious about your lack of friendly disposition.

"Hello," you rasped back, becoming acutely aware of the way everyone is staring.

"You must be new," he remarked, casually plopping down to, for some inexplicable reason, sit next to you, breathing a deep sigh of content. For a second his thigh grazed yours — you shirked away.

"S'pose."

There was a steady pause of silence in which you both just...were.

"You have to write-"

"I know what I have to do."

The finger that previously so helpfully was pointing out at the blank space in the registration form froze mid air. You darted your gaze far away from his unsure, inquisitive stare, tightening your grip around the thin and otherwise helpless paper.

"I'm sorry. What I mean is...I've worked here for three years now — it's just been remote. So I know what to do I'm just..." you laid a palm on your chest — where the bubble was. The bubble that makes it hard to breathe and pressed down on your ribs with such terrible strength your vision grew hazy.

"I think I'm having a panic attack."

Yeah, it was easy to not have a conversation with him afterwards. He must be just as embarrassed as you — what with catching you as you collapsed on the floor just seconds after the first greeting.

Rule no. 2: no touching.

For the most part it's easy to observe. You don't want to be in the same room with him, let alone touch him but sometimes he's just so friendly. If once upon a blue moon you have the misfortune of being stuck with him, you've taken note of how often he reaches to pat you on the back, attempts to carry your things, accidentally bumps into you on those short walks between one location to the next. However, by now you're a professional and you evade all of those damning times of contact with mannered ease.

It is only rule no. 1 that gives you trouble. It's difficult to not think about Kim Namjoon. Not only because his face is splattered across half the world's billboards but because it is Kim Namjoon and oftentimes after long hours of dutifully observing all the other rules, you lay vapidly on the bed and break the one that mattered the most. Too much you think about him and too much time is given to dreams that would never, ever come true.

"Hey, _____________."

You jolt at the sound of another's voice, especially since the room should be empty. As you uncrane your neck from the cramped position by the router on the floor, you find Kim Namjoon poking his somewhat unkempt head through the door. And Kim Namjoon finds himself standing yet again in front of you , breaking all the rules he put between him and the danger that is you. He has no viable reason for asking everyone your whereabouts and then coming here where he confirmed you'd be. There's no merit in him checking the status of HYBE's malfunctioning router but very selfishly he clings even to this most pathetic excuse — if only to take a glimpse at you.

"Hello," diplomatically, you bid back. "The uh...cable is broken."

As a means of an evidence that no one asked for, you wave the plastic around.

"I'll go ask Haejun. She has a shit-ton of spares.''

"We can—" but before he could even reach out to grab onto you, to make you linger around just a little bit longer for the sake of his horrid selfishness, the doors are already closing behind you.

"—go together..." Namjoon lets the sentence finish in the dissatisfied silence fallen over the room.

YOONGI | It should be societally acceptable for one, on occasion, to smash their fucking head against the fucking wall. Though you've turned away from him by now, in such as fast motion there's a definite possibility of your spinal disk rupturing, the disgusting act has been caught and observed. He's caught you looking. Leering. He must be repulsed. You put back the money you've been counting for the last five minutes and with a quiet mutter to a coworker excuse yourself to the back-alley.

"Ah, I don't want to be around that gangster," she cries pathetically, spotting the black haired man at the far end of the counter. Whiskey. Top shelf. A double. The first time you glimpsed him sipping 43% proof alcohol with the ease a child would a juice box, you cursed heavens above — men such as that inevitably acted vile afterwards. Cursing, being loud, groping — it'd just be more headache for you but he was surprisingly different. As if having been aware of the ill suspicion you've been harboring, once he was done, the man brought his glass back, bowed politely and quietly rasped a thank you about your hospitality.

To this day you had no idea whether it was meant genuinely or not.

"He's not a gangster," tiredly, you cut back. Even if he was, he was a polite one. "Just pour him his whiskey when he asks and that's it."

Her lips thin from the nerves as she examines him. His hair is longer now but in her eyes it probably doesn't soften the least bit of his features. In the end, she relents and her harpy like fingers let go of your elbow. Pouting, you rub the sore flesh but quickly leave. You think he's still looking at you, no doubt judging you for slobbering.

"What?" you mutter to yourself grumpily, climbing down the poor lit staircase that led to the reeking trash bins outside. "It's not a crime to have a crush on someone."

Ah, you're a pervert, you groan in your mind, kneeling down the wall. One of these days you'll have to scratch your manager's eyes out in order to get a chair.

You fish out the pack of cigarettes from the apron and in the singular beat between one second and the next, someone speaks right next to you:

"Care to share?"

You scream and almost fling yourself into the trash all while the black haired man looks down upon you.

The first drops of rain begin to fall down on your face and you squint on the automated instinct to protect your eyes.

In his hand he's got a cigarette of his own and you scramble to get the lighter working, cringing at the shooting ache as you press it against your rubbed off skin.

"Here," you outstretch the flame towards him. He hums appreciatively and leans down, briefly putting his much larger palms over yours to stabilize the fire. You hiss in pain.

"Sorry. My hands are rough, I know," he grouses and you shake your head mutely. Jesus fucking Christ on a bike. Even just standing next to him knocks the breath out of your lungs.

"No...it's not that. Your hands are nice," your face scrunches up. "I mean they're fine."

He regards you with a slightly lopsided smirk. You cough and take a drag out of the cigarette.

"These things are not good for health, you know," he shuffles a bit, shoes scuffing against the grey pavement below. They're really shiny and now that you could focus on anything besides his cruelly handsome face, you take in the fact the fact that he was actually wearing a suit. Curious.

"You're smoking as well," defensively, you spit back and sagely, he inclines his head.

"I'm trying to quit. Unsuccessfully. Clearly," he snorts to himself, lips widening into arid, mirthless grin. You think your guts just rearranged themselves. What's happening here, currently, was the smell of the trash leaking into the bins, the cool air blowing a trail of goosebumps up your arm. Your legs are aching, somewhere down your spine there is a yet unidentified pain and both of you smell like smoke and still you've never seen a man so beautiful, despite the grody settings.

"Why you're wearing a suit today?" just at the last second you manage to bite your tongue to not call him sir. For all intents and purposes he's still a costumer. Had your manager heard of you smoking by the trash with one of the most high-paying patrons, she'd drown you in the very bin juice but this doesn't feel...forced. He doesn't feel like a customer and you don't feel like just another person in customer service.

"Are you killing someone?" you tease further, testing the edges and luckily he responds in earnest — dropping his head back and howling a mute laughter into the night.

"No, nothing so dramatic," he chuckles. "I had a...corporate event. Of sorts."

"You don't look like an office drone," you drawl, for the first time actually taking him in. That is, without the leering. As a bartender, over a time a certain kind of knowledge builds. You've seen what the poor wear, what the middle class wears and what the rich wear, and this man was certainly well-off. His suit, though nothing extravagant, is well-fitted and the material is expensive. No one of that stature would ever fit inside a cubicle.

"That's cause I'm not. Say, you don't watch a lot of TV, do you?" even in the piss-poor lighting of the foul alleyway, his eyes glimmer with barely hidden amusement. It plays on the corners of his lips as though he was trying his hardest to not smile.

"No, I don't..." you frown. "Why?"

"Nothing," he shrugs. "I actually like it that way."

"Ah, shit," you drag the last smoke from the cigarette before throwing it away. "Sara always said you were into shady shit. Shame she was right."

"Sara...that's the little girl, right? One whose scared of me?"

"Mmm," you hum in agreement.

"That's good."

As your eyebrows knit together in confusion, he also puts out the cigarette with a side of yet another teasing smirk. By this point, you were growing accustomed to it. Seeing it, however, not be unfazed by it.

"I much more like you. Well," he claps his hands together, the sound falling a bit too loud in the otherwise quiet back alley. "I've got to get going. Will you be working tomorrow?"

"Uh...yeah," dumbly, you respond and the nameless man looks mighty pleased.

"Good. See ya."

He turns to walk away, leaving you alone and befuddled by the backdoor only to lean back as though he suddenly remembered something.

"These are bad for you," his hand snatches the pack of cigarettes shamelessly out of your grasp and only then he deems it fit to make an exit.

JIN | "Look, the love of your life is walking over!"

"Shut the fuck up."

It's 8:30 in the morning and the sun is already scorching. You've gotten off an eight hours flight and somehow you're still hangover. To be less verbose — you're not putting up with any bullshit. And your friend cooing in the ear the second they saw Seokjin climbing out is very much the situation you're far too grumpy to tolerate.

"I'm heading to the forest," you toss over your shoulder, making a hasty beeline to the other part of the shore where the dunes laid quiet and unperturbed. The second you're in their embrace, the tension leaves your body.

By now everyone and their mother knew of the gargantuan and utterly mortifying crush you had on Seokjin. To this day they continued to humor it in the same way they did when you were younger.

"Ahh, look, Jinnie, little ___________ has a crush on you! They even made a card!"

And because you were fourteen and it was a time of great hormones, and you'd still rather kill yourself than ever reveal to older Kim Seokjin outright that you liked him, to everyone's shock, Jin's in particular, you ate the paper card in front of him, growling in between the stiff, glittery bites that obviously you meant a different Seokjin. Seokjin who obviously went to your school even though no one could ever verify his presence.

It's been years and by now you're well out of middle-school but the pathetic squeezing of your heart whenever you saw him, whenever you found yourself in the center of his focus has not yielded. How many years will this continue to drag on? Will he need to be married for this to relent?! With kids?! Dead?!?

With a pitiful groan, you let your forehead hit the dry bark of the nearby tree.

"Ah, fuck."

"Always such a potty mouth."

Anyone else might have taken a glimpse at Jin and pronounced that there was some truth to children's stories where selfless, glamorous princes rode about. While Jin is decidedly not a horse (he could barely even walk as the sand proved to be quite an obstacle), he does look like a prince — carrying a blanket and a small, mysterious bag.

"You get so cold quickly," he half-heartedly scolds, tossing the blanket your way. "Why even come here?"

"You get cold as well," irately, you point out, tugging the fleece around your bare shoulders. Only then you did notice that you were actually freezing.

"I came prepared," carelessly, Jin replies, yanking from some invisible space yet another blanket. "I might be devastatingly handsome but I'm not a bimbo."

"Shame. I happen to like bimbos."

At this point you're just saying shit.

Jin blinks and then with the sincerity of a well-seasoned actor, regards you with a confused stare, face mere millimetres away from yours.

"What do you call a fish wearing a bowtie?"

Nervously, your eyes flit all around his face as you inadvertently swallow from the abrupt proximity.

"I don't know," breathlessly, you answer. "What?"

"Sofishticated!"

Well, good news was that if he kept going like this, your pervading illness will be cured.

"Sofishticated! Get it, because it's like sophisticated..."

You leave him standing there, shouting across the dunes.

"Hey, Ji-Yeong told Cindy to tell Eun-Sook to tell Riri-"

Over the loud roar of the working stove, you attempt to clean your eyes free from the onion and give your friend a good yell.

"GET TO THE POINT!"

"JIN IS LOOKING FOR YOU! HE WANTS TO TALK TO YOU!"

And because you're a brave, self-sufficient person of 21st century you pretend not to hear and whenever you see a glimpse of shoulders too broad to be on anyone else but him, you run and hide.

You know exactly what he wants to talk about and thus you'd rather, much rather, with a smile on your face in fact, chew your fucking toe off. Because as stupid as you were now, you were infinitely more stupid last summer. The summer during which you got so plastered on tequila the night ended with you confusing very much real, warm-blooded sentient Jin for a cutout. A cutout which you clung onto like a mad person and proceeded to reveal that innermost layer of your heart and how much it was devoted to one very annoying millennial.

It took a lot of pasta and drinking to have the confidence to leave your home once the initial stage of wanting to rot into the sofa ebbed away. You weren't necessarily keen on repeating that week thus the running away. But you also think Jin has caught onto the games and is growing increasingly frustrated with them.

Jin wants to see you, Jin is asking for you, Jin is stopping by and so on and on and on. By now his name doesn't even sound like a word. Even so you keep the charades going, praying for the first time in your life that you could go back to work.

The time is a bit over one in the night. For the most part everyone is sleeping which leaves the back garden of the house you rented near the beach quiet and docile. From here you can hear the waves crashing and for now it's enough to create a piece of your paradise.

"Didn't I tell you that you get too cold easily?"

Cold shivers run up your spine and you quickly swallow, whipping around. The expression on Jin's face is less than impressed.

"Well, hence, I'll be going," you gift a fake smile but quickly stop when you hear what you've never ever heard before.

Jin being angry.

"Stay where you are."

He's not by any means shouting, not even raising his voice in the slightest but the tone leaves not a single space for discussion to take place.

"Sit down."

You do and sternly he watches you do so, eyebrows coming together to create a deep frown. You search for any sign of this being a prank or another one of his jokes but you don't find any. Just him standing and being fed up.

"Now, let us have that talk about last summer."

HOSEOK | It doesn't matter if both of you were adults. He was still your student and you were still his teacher. It didn't matter whether he insisted on you or not, you still should have said no and referred Hoseok back to Marina. She was a better English tutor anyhow even if he very much disagreed.

"Mr Jung, please understand, I am quitting. How can I continue to teach you if I'm not even a teacher?"

His knuckles were white around the edge of the table to which he clung to as you leisurely piled your things into boxes. These two years were good, just not good enough to stay.

"Marina is horrible," he complains, the sound falling a bit muffled through the mask but its quality of desperation is not reduced. "Please, you can't just leave! Not with all of the progress we've made!"

A bit of clunky choice of phrasing if you had to say because what progress did you make? Was it the progress of being indifferent, to growing shy around him, to dreaming about him in the middle of all the lonely nights only to then choke on all those fantasies? Because if it was that progress, it would do you some good to leave. Would do you both some good.

"_______________, please, make an exception?" he pleaded, eyes sparkling and you had felt your resolve breaking even then. "For me? Your favourite Hobi?"

With your walls falling apart, you hadn't even noticed how casually he'd referred to you.

"Stop bouncing your knee," Marina growls underneath the nose as she sips on the coffee. Her exam materials are displayed haphazardly on the table before her, littered with large crumbs of her banana and hazelnut croissant.

"I can't help it," you retort just as morose, nervously eyeing the clock pinned to the wall.

12:01 — he should be done by now.

"You're so in love with him," Marina rolled her eyes, striking a bold red line across one student's essay. 4/100. Rough.

"It's my job as a teacher to make sure he passes his tests," you brittle venomously. "If I don't-"

Before you could so much as finish your sentence, a pair of judgmental eyes sit transfixed upon your face in a heated glare.

"You're not a teacher anymore. You quit and tutor him entirely unofficially," Marina interrupts curtly. "So the excuse of it being that is redundant if anything. Moreover, he's a whole ass grown man. He certainly doesn't need someone like you to fret over him."

Just then your phone dings with an unread message causing both of your eyes to fall on top of it.

"Your prince Charming is calling," she states coldly. "Go ahead and pick up."

You don't think you'll ever hang out with Marina after this.

Hoseok 💗 sent you a message.

The heart he'd added himself, chiding you one night for assigning such a cold contact info.

Hoseok 💗: I PASSED! I KNOW IT! I'VE NEVER FELT SO CONFIDENT! 😻💓〇(＞∀＜)〇

me: I told you you could do it and you didn't believe in yourself ( ￣＾￣)

Hoseok 💗: hahaha yes o great teacher you've always been so supportive! thank you! ( ♥‿♥)

Then after a moment comes the last message.

Hoseok 💗: thank you, __________________.

As your phone grows dark, you see your own reflection — the giddy smile, the lovesick eyes. The pathetic, eager nature that is you around Hoseok. For a second you let yourself be and let your hand press the phone to your chest as if the meaningless emojis and hearts actually signified anything other than the cursory respect he had for you as his tutor. Then you gather yourself.

If Hoseok will pass his test, he'll be technically viewed as fluent and as such you will be of no use anymore.

You wipe the grin of your face, slip the phone in your pocket and walk back home, pretending that none of this is hurting you.

JIMIN | "Stay still," you scold him, immediately receiving a pout in return.

"I am staying still!" he whines.

Though you roll your eyes, you don't argue anymore and continue to measure his neck. If he wanted to layer his necklaces, you'll have no choice but to measure every chain's length to its absolute nanometer. If they overlayed too much it'd just be a mess and Jimin deserved nothing but the best.

"Now, remember, this is the bag for my jewelry," you remind him sternly, waving the grey pouch just before escorting him to the door. The night is deep. Ever since you wound up having Park Jimin as a regular client your sleep schedule has been wrecked. Thinking about the wording, you cringe, cutting a finger against one of the waywardly left awls on the table. Had your old teacher saw the mess on your workstation, the old crow would probably smack you across the face.

Hissing at the sharp prick, you cradled the hand with a juicy curse on the tongue. Jimin, who'd previously been seconds away from falling asleep (which has happened. Safe to say, having an idol drooling on your couch was awkward, just not as awkward as the morning that followed), yanks his head towards you with laser like focus.

"Show me," he insists, expectantly holding out his palm so that it can join yours. You regard it with a passive stare before taking a step back.

"It's just a cut on a finger," you brush him off, coughing from the abruptly stifled atmosphere gripping your lived-in studio. Jimin appears to be quite displeased. One of the simultaneous advantages and disadvantages of being so close to your models for such an extended time was that by the end of it you knew all of their micro-expressions like the back of your hand. From the tightened way his jaw sat to the coldness in his gaze — he was angry. Jimin was a bit like an April day in that way — always surprising you. Was it good or bad, you did not quite know.

"Here, take this," you outstretched the pouch, sucking a bit on the pricked finger. His eyes seemed to linger there before he averts his gaze, taking the bag with his jewelry.

"You look beautiful in them."

Was it a low blow? Perhaps. But it felt somewhat uneasy, problematic even to let him leave your studio in a huff. With the oncoming release of his album he was already stretched taut. You were half surprised he hadn't yet hit a complete mental breakdown by now. Just following his schedule as a jeweller made your hairs grow grey. Still, as expected the compliment mellows the bout of his sudden attitude.

"Eyyy," he complains, tad cautiously. You weren't after all friends, however, the borders of the proper behaviour became blurred the second he showed up on your doorstep outside both of his company's knowledge or permission. As far as you understood it, he actually sponsored your work out of his own pocket. You could recall that night in fine detail — having a national treasure known as Park Jimin sipping a tea out of cracked cup and asking you to create pieces for him. How he'd came to know of you, he did not reveal and after a while you ceased asking.

"You always do this," he continues, rousing you out of deep though.

"Do what?" innocently, you blink up at him. "I've committed no wrongdoing."

"You always compliment me," he pouts, scuffing the sole of his slipper against the floor. They were in the shape of large fluffy cows. You'd offered him a change but since this pair was given to him on that first meeting, he insisted he'd grown fond of them.

"You know how much I like compliments..."

That you did. Once in a while you let them slip a bit too liberally which is something you'd sincerely need to work on. Having a crush on Park Jimin, unrequited one at that, would anyhow lead to nothing. It was simply futile.

"I can't ever stay mad at you."

"Sorry, for being too charming," you flip a strand of non-existent hair over your shoulder prompting a peel of loud, disbalanced laughter. "Now, this is the bag for my jewelry. Don't mix them up with the one you're supposed to wear for Tiffany which by the way..." you narrow your eyes at him. "Traitor."

Still laughing he pats down your head, eyes crinkling in that expression of pure happiness that you adored to see so much.

"Babyyyy, don't be mad. You're still my favourite one."

Had you not been so irrevocably and disgustingly fond of this man you would have kicked him for making your heart feel like this.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," you groused, taking his hand away from your head. "Now go. Good night."

"Can't I crash here?" he pleads, shifting eagerly on the spot. "It's so late at night..."

"And whose fault is that?" you arch an eyebrow pushing at Jimin's back to get him out of your doorstep. "Rich man goes home and sleeps in his rich man bed."

Sensing an easy target in your words, Jimin gleans over his shoulder, his broad smirk proudly on display.

"Does rich man have to be alone?"

"Bye!"

You watched him secretly behind the broken, off white blinds of your kitchen window. The alleyways in this part of the town are narrow, only barely could Jimin's car make way. It's no surprise that no matter what time it is, it attracts the curious glances of your neighbours. The old man at unit 4b across the road was also looking in — the shitty blue tinted light of his crap ass apartment makes his silhouette glaringly apparent in the window. You scowl at him and for a good measure throw up a bird before accompanying Jimin with your eyes. Happily he gets into the car and drives back home where he'll be safe. Now you can rest easy. Somewhat.

"Good night, Jimin," you whisper into the darkness where the only other company you had was the ever-present droning of your old fridge.

TAEHYUNG | Leaning against your hand and watching him speak you think of everything and simultaneously of nothing at all. Though it was not a crime to fall in love with your friend, it very much felt that way sometimes. Times like these when you fantasized how would it feel to hold his hand or to hug him. Not that you didn't know how that felt like. If he could, Taehyung would crawl and make a home in your ribs but he didn't understand. He didn't understand the...spectrum of love you harboured for him. From where he looked onto it the hues were all blue whilst you were far too red.

Red, as you discovered, was not that good of a colour.

"________________? You're not even listening to me, are you?"

Blinking owlishly, you stirred in the seat. The screaming ache in your muscles offers proof to how long you'd been staring at him. Pathetic. You shift your eyes away from the mix of frustration and worry in the browns of his eyes and instead let it sit where's it safe — on the impersonal linoleum cover of the cheap dumpling bistro.

"I was listening," you mumble hazily. "You were...taking Yeontan...for a grooming session, no?"

He sighs.

"Actually I said Jungkook was bitching in my voice mails about having to get a haircut. Are they the same for you?"

You think about it.

"I plead the fifth?"

In spite of it only prompting a thoroughly sassy eye roll from the nominee of 2022 MAMA song of the year, he doesn't much complain, though stuffing his face full of noodles, he does ask. You would rather he didn't.

"What's wrong with you lately? You've been...spaced out."

To feign ease you don't dream of having, you snort.

"Look whose talking."

"Exactly," smartly, he agrees still chewing somewhat aggressively. "If I notice, you know it's bad."

Averting your gaze away once more, you shrug.

"It's nothing serious."

"You sure? 'Cause I was thinking maybe you felt...lonely?"

The so-thin-it's-almost-transparent menu in between your fingers freeze as your heart drops down into your stomach.

"What makes you say that?" lightly, presumably lightly, you wonder.

"Dunno," he shrugs, swallowing a bite so large you can see it travelling down his throat. How he had not yet choked was beyond any science. "It's just you've got no pets, no friends beside me and your place is always quiet so it's safe to say you're absolutely dry in the dating apartment."

Your lips purse in an expression of such pure, unfiltered annoyance that for once it doesn't go above his head. Awkwardly, he coughs, shrinking smaller underneath the gaze of your fury.

"Thank you Taehyung," dryly, you praise him. "That's just what I needed."

"Sorry."

Were you lonely? Probably. Who are you kidding? Naturally.

Exhaling into the black winter air, you watch as the miniature clouds colour white before melting into the night. Did you love Taehyung because you were simply...lonely? Could be. Over the years he was the only one who stayed by your side. Even when you did the most to make him leave, so you wouldn't taint him with your...broken-ness, all too obstinately he'd weathered the storms out. He'd not leave you, that was the end of it. Such he promised and such was the promise he kept, no matter what life or yourself threw at him.

As the gust of biting wind rips through the street, you pitifully tremble in its hold. Shit, why was it always so cold.

"Ah, fuck, my ass is going to freeze off," Taehyung curses, coming to stand beside you just outside of restaurant. He still has a soy sauce in the corner of his lip and without much thinking you wipe it off.

You're both grasping for words.

"My hand is cold," he suddenly complains, swinging on the back of his heels.

"Should have brought gloves then," you retort grumpily. "I certainly don't need you to spend all my hand creams. Again."

He pretends to not see the acussal in your glower.

"I have an idea. Friends help each other out, don't they?"

Suddenly, you find yourself not liking the happy turn of his cheek. That smile paired with that particular glint in his eye always meant trouble. And before you know it, his hand is clasped around yours, the heat of it shooting straight down your entire arm.

"There," happily he chirps, dragging your loudly protesting self down the street. "Now I'm warm and you're not lonely. I see this as an absolute win."

JUNGKOOK | Sure, it was hard to be rendered blind in the middle of a busy street as the sky was dumping down rain with terrible vengeance but you'd still wager a guess it felt better to run head first into a pole than seeing...him.

The light of the billboard pours brightly onto the dark, grey streets below whilst the faceless masses rush to their homes, you included. He stands there, being beautiful, being enticing like a whole dream and mocks you. You can't have him and that's fine but why should you also have the sour memory of his existence be rubbed into the wound.

Droplets of rain steadily fall upon your face though you don't even notice them. Not until you've had your fill of Jungkook.

You hope he's happy somewhere in Seoul.

Coming back home, you set the soaked bags of groceries onto the table, monotonously going through the motions of the day. Many, hell, everyone, would probably say that taking a leave from a high-paying job just to come back home and live an utterly boring life was not the way to go but would they also sympathize with growing depressed about the unrequited love you had for someone who was so far out of the reach, you'd officially have to graduate space flight program in order to ever reach the star that was Jungkook?

No, you don't think so.

Laundry, cooking, laundry, watching TV, laundry. It doesn't offer much reprieve from thoughts about Jeon Jungkook but at least you don't have to look at him and be pathetic. And sure you're miserable but at least somewhat of your dignity is preserved. Even if it's the tiniest, barely existent sliver a man has ever seen.

You don't regret never approaching him. He never went out of his way to say hi, he never so much as glimpsed in your general direction if you were loitering around the room. You remember how hard it was to breathe when the time came to adjust his mic on his chest and you also remember how he'd just sat there, disinterestedly scrolling through his phone. On those rare times you noticed him watching you, there was always a distant gleam in his gaze. He was probably just zoning out and you happened to be there. On those even rarer times that you helped him, he always appeared so unperturbed. He was polite but that was it. Just a polite thank you and long, stretching moments of quiet, that was the only real memory you had of him.

In the end, the whole thing was quite embarrassing and so despite it being abrupt, it felt right to hand in your resignation. He didn't need yet another sick fucker drooling over him....neither did you want to be that person. So why not quit. Why not?

By the time it's evening, you're beyond bored. No TV shows interest you, no movies catch your attention, the span of your focus is too short to read a book and you're too tired to go for a walk. Surely it wouldn't hurt...

When your old computer turns on, it makes itself known. Unlike the sleek, polished versions of HYBE, the surface is so hot it could boil an egg and the sound that comes out of this pre-historic artefact could easily pass off as a roar of a plane. It takes about half an hour for the email to load, so much so that when you come back with a cup of tea, the screen is still suspiciously unresponsive.

Seeing 99+ unanswered messages did not surprise you, what did surprise you was the pile of messages, unanimously sent from one address.

[email protected]

subject: please

The skin on your palms grow wet and you can hardly hear the rain splashing against the window with how hard your heart is beating. Shakily you press to open the email, hardly having the courage to read the words. You've no idea why the subject is named such a way but you're partially sure that somewhere along the way, he's going to call out your affection. How misplaced it is and how much he's disgusted by it. You'd understand if he did.

[email protected]

subject: please

Even if...even if the year we spent together meant nothing to you, that the kindness you extended towards me, that the help you sent my way unknowingly pulling me from a pit of unescapable darkness is nothing but an empty void no more deserving of your attention than the dirt on the side of the road, I beg of you to be gracious once more. Just write to me. Just one letter is all I ask for. No matter what you have to say, should it be something as little as one singular "bye", please, write to me. I'll keep you in my thoughts, forever most likely as you've made your home in them.

Sincerely,

Jeon Jungkook.

tagging: @rmstdio; @pinkcherrybombs; @devilsbooksworld; @btsiguess-kpop; @belladaises; @halesandy; @seok-jinnies; @themochiverse; @cuteipat; @ratherbefangirling; @manchuria; @chimchimmarie; @smalliechelle; @koostarcandy; @flitzerj; @royallyjjk; @dreamamubarak; @anti-social-mochi267; @jung-nika-hoseok; @jminssiii;

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nolita-fairytale · 10 months

Text

burn your life down | chef luca x fem!reader | chapter nine

summary: you catch up with an old friend and luca makes you dinner.

warnings: fluff, eventual angst not use of y/n, conversations about divorce, slow burn, baby, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, very little connection to the storyline of the bear.

word count: 3.3k

listen to: the official 'burn your life down' playlist (songs mentioned in chapter are in this playlist!)

a/n: i've always pictured mathilde & jesper as the chalamet siblings AND astrid is in fact played by rina sawayama i don't make the rules (i do). thank you for all comments, reblogs, and screaming at me because we are all obsessed. seriously, it's an honor and i'm just so excited that you all are just as excited as me. let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist.

chapter eight | masterlist | chapter ten

You spend your first Sunday afternoon without Luca, for the first time in a few weeks, deep cleaning your home. Between your new relationship and your work at the restaurant, you’d found yourself falling behind on chores. But he’d worked the late shift last night, filling in for a cook who called out, which is how you’d ended up with a night and morning of divine alone time.

With your headphones on, it’s easy to multitask, simultaneously folding clothes while you catch up with your friend, formerly-sister-in-law, over the phone.

“Anyways, work’s kept me so damn busy that I’ve barely had a moment in my own home but… we are all doing quite alright over here,” she explains, after detailing her travels all across Europe.

Being a buyer for Nordstrom UK keeps her on the road, or rather, in the sky, at a frequent rate.

“Well I’m glad you called. It’s good to hear from you. And It’s really good to catch up, Astrid,” you say, smiling to yourself as you finish folding a pile of t-shirts.

“Well, just because you and Joe didn’t work out doesn’t change anything. You’re still my sister,” she replies, with a small laugh. “We’re family, regardless of the fact that he couldn’t keep a good thing around.”

“Astrid! You know it wasn’t like that,” you protest, though you know it’s all in jest.

“I know,” she sighs, and you can practically hear her rolling her eyes from all the way to England. “Selfishly, I’m just feeling a bit contrary about it, is all. But enough about me. How are you? How’s everything at the restaurant?”

“It’s been great. I… can’t believe that I have a restaurant,” you answer as you shake your head in disbelief.

“God, I’ve gotta get out there soon. I haven’t stopped thinking about that lumache from my last visit – what was it – last November? Yeah, it’s been too long,” Astrid recalls lightheartedly.

“Yeah, it really has. Just let me know. You know I’m always up for hosting you,” you agree, hopeful that she’ll come visit soon.

“Besides work, what else’s new? And don’t tell me you’re still just burying yourself in the restaurant because I don’t want to hear it,” she asks, a curious tone in her voice as she segways from work to

“Well um…” you trail off, treading lightly over the delicate subject.

The thing you want to tell her about is Luca, because he is what’s new in your life. His presence in your life is evident – it’s in the pair of sweatpants he tossed in with your laundry that you’re folding now, the spare toothbrush you ‘lent’ him that sits right next to yours, and the way that thinking of him makes your heart race.

You don’t want to lie to her… but you’re also not sure what the etiquette is either.

It’s not like this is included in the divorcee handbook you never got in the first place.

“I’m… sort of seeing someone,” you admit, hesitantly.

“What?!” she gasps, instantly giddy with excitement. “Yeah, we uh…” you hesitate, testing the waters since she seems excited about it. “We’ve been dating for about a month now, maybe.”

“Shut up! That’s mega! How’d you meet? Tell me everything,” she gushes.

“Well, he actually came into the restaurant. Kind of became a regular and uh…” you explain, and she can hear the smile in your voice as you do. “He’s great. You’ll love this story, actually. He’s also a chef – a pastry chef. One night after coming in, he left a box of croissants for my staff and a handwritten note inviting me to come to the restaurant he works at. It was very….”

“Romantic. Wow…” Astrid adds, too excited for you as she listens. “And a bold move. Knows what he wants. I like him already.”

“Yeah, he’s… he’s really incredible. I swear. He has the patience of a saint, especially as I’ve uh… you know, I’ve been trying to figure this whole… dating after you end your marriage kinda thing,” you continue, chuckling in response to the awkwardness of it all.

“We were friends actually, for a while. Just friends, which, I know you’ll yell at me about when you see what he looks like. But I think it was good for us, for me, really – to be friends first.”

“Well, now you have to send me a picture,” she requests, even more intrigued as you fiddle with your phone, pulling up a photo you took of Luca the other day.

You wait a beat. Then another, seeing that the photo has been delivered as Astrid shrieks in your ear.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me, mate?!” she practically screams.

“I know,” you squeal.

“You are absolutely unbelievable,” she shakes her head, staring at the gorgeous blonde on her screen. “How did you not jump right into bed?!”

“Trust me,” you reply, the room suddenly feeling 5 degrees hotter. “After we agreed to start seeing each other, we didn’t wait very long.”

”Sounds like you have a boyfriend,” Astrid comments smugly, as she waits for your reaction. You have expect yourself to panic, but you don’t as you the words tumble out of your mouth.

“I… it does sound that way, doesn’t it?” you ask her, your voice soft as you reply.

“Absolutely, my darling,” Astrid replies, before changing the subject. “Okay, so how’s the sex?!”

“Astrid!” you protest with a laugh. “Do you really want to-?”

“Of fucking bloody course I do! Now spill!” she demands.

You pause, grinning as your cheeks blush.

“It’s fucking incredible,” you admit, eliciting a giggle from your friend.

“Shit, babe,” she sighs, contently. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” you say back, because you’re pretty damn happy too. “Astrid, will you keep this between us? It’s just that it’s all still so new and….”

You pause.

“I just don’t want Joe to hear it from anyone but me.”

“Of course,” she replies, compassionately, in deep understanding.

“What else are sisters for?”

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

You showed up to Luca’s flat uncertain of what to expect, but then he’d pulled you into his home and kissed you like you’d been on his mind all day – and in his defense, you really had.

“Why don’t you come over Sunday night, then? Let me cook you dinner for a change,” he had suggested as you were figuring out your schedules for the week.

“You sure you’ll be up for that after working overtime this week?” you’d asked in response.

“I’ll be alright, love,” he’d answered, like he had unlimited energy when it came to you.

And even though you’d asked him if you should bring dessert – only to be met with a cheeky comment about you being dessert – you showed up anyway with a matcha basque cheesecake in hand and a deli container filled with a yuzu scented whipped cream to top it with.

So this is how you find yourself perched on top of Luca’s kitchen island countertop, after having watched his exceptional knife skills for the last thirty. You spend your evening snacking on sliced sourdough bread you’re not sure how he had the time to make, and sip on your glass of red wine while watching him prepare a coq au vin. You swear you’ve got hearts in your eyes when you look at him, watching his muscular, inked forearms flex with how he grips his chef’s knife. As music plays softly in the background, a playlist you can only imagine is the entirety of Luca’s music library put on shuffle, you busy yourself, refilling your wine glass for your second glass of the night.

“Want another, babe?” you ask him, noticing that he’s on his way to empty as well.

“Sure. Thank you, my love,” he replies, scooping a handful of chopped carrots up from his cutting board with a bench scraper, depositing them into a small bowl. You watch as Luca picks up his glass of wine and makes his way over to you.

He hands you the glass, then places a gentle kiss against your lips, a smile spreading across his lips. Luca takes a few steps away so that you can fill his glass again, making a few swift movements to turn the heat down on the gas burner.

“How was your day?” he asks, while still moving around his kitchen.

You fill him in on your productive day of chores and catching up with an old friend while Luca listens, busy with removing the pieces of chicken out from the heavy, enameled, cast-iron pot and onto a plate. By the time Luca’s added hot oil to the pot, followed by the chopped carrots and peeled, halved cipollini onions, you’ve caught him up on the long version of Jesper’s latest love-life updates, since he and Claudio have now decided to make it official.

“So you used to make this with your mom?” you ask curiously, changing the subject as you watch Luca scrape the browned bits off the bottom of the pot.

He nods in response, stealing a glance your way, his lips turned up into a half smile.

“Yeah. Most coq au vins can take up to three to four hours, but my mum didn’t have the time,” Luca explains, as you watch him remove the pieces of chicken from out of the heavy, enameled, cast-iron pot and onto a plate. “But it was important for her… to cook for me… to share that ritual with me when she could.”

The sound of the wine and cognac mixture hitting the hot pan sizzles throughout Luca’s home, your nose filling with the smell of deglazed caramelized bits.

“And I spent a lot of time as a kid watching the cooking channel, so while we didn’t exactly spend all Sunday cooking a classic French coq au vin, Jamie Oliver’s did the job quite well,” Luca recalls, sharing a piece of his relationship with food with you.

“Well, it smells incredible,” you say, as he approaches you once more, this time with a full glass of wine in your hands, ready for him.

As Luca leans in again, the way he kisses you is much more languid, slow, like time is limitless. You breathe him in, completely enamored with the man that’s kissing you, and before anything too wild can happen, he pulls away, leaving you wanting more. Luca smirks, and you swear he knows the effect he has on you. He presses a quick peck to your lips this time, before taking the glass of wine from your hands and heading back to his post in front of the stovetop.

“This all goes back in,” he continues, using tongs to add the chicken and pancetta bits back into the simmering pot. “Then we braise it in the oven for about… thirty, forty minutes maybe.”

You raise your glass of wine to your lips, taking a quick sip of the beaujolais you’re using both for the coq au vin and to unwind, listening as the song changes in the background, instantly recognizing the drum pattern. The corners of your lips turn up into a smile as you close your eyes, enjoying the familiarity of the song as you say:

“God, I love this song.”

Luca smiles, “It’s a classic. Great song.”

Show me, show me, show me how you do that trick

The one that makes me scream, she said

The one that makes me laugh, she said

Threw her arms around my neck

“You know, I saw them when I was in my early 20s. It was just me and a bunch of somebody’s dads,” you grin, in reference to The Cure.

Luca chuckles at your comment, before asking, “Did you really?”

“Yes. And when they came out on stage, smoke machine and all, I wept because it was the fulfillment of a childhood dream – to see them. I… was a bit of an angsty teen,” you answer, raising your wine glass to your lips once more.

“Think we all had an angsty phase, more or less. Mine was less pining to The Cure and more stirrin’ up trouble,” Luca admits, lightheartedly.

“Again, and I’m holding you to it. You promised me pictures,” you remind him with aplomb.

“I did, yeah,” he chuckles, shyly, with a sigh of resignation.

You focus on enjoying one of your favorite songs and sipping on your glass of wine, as you watch Luca put the enameled cast-iron plot, full of the ready-to-braise coq au vin, into the oven.

Comfortable silences between you and Luca have become more frequent. There are days that all you want to do is stay up till the early hours of the morning talking and kissing and fucking, and there are others that you love leaning into the quiet intimacy that seems to be developing between you. It’s almost as if you’ve forgotten what this feels like – the excitement of something new where you’re learning so much about each other and everything feels like the first time.

It’s thrilling and it’s also safe.

Luca makes you feel safe, and you can’t imagine doing this with anyone else but him.

For a first time relationship, post-divorce, you really hit the jackpot, you think to yourself.

Luca continues moving around the kitchen, drinking his wine in between clean up tasks, as if he’s at work, hell bent on keeping his station clean. He’s much better than you are at that, you observe, as he does a few dishes that he’s used up, instead of leaving them in the sink for tomorrow.

As he dries his hands on a dish towel, the song changes, and the opening notes of Beyonce’s Love On Top begin playing. You smile as you hear the undeniable:

Bring the beat in!

“Alright, mate. Hear me out,” Luca proposes, spinning around with excitement. “And I don’t say this lightly. But this. This is one of the greatest songs of all time.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you giggle as you watch Luca dance to the song in his kitchen with a smoothness that’s somehow simultaneously a little silly.

“What? You don’t agree?” he asks, shooting you a look as he ball changes towards you, earning another laugh from you.

“No, I do. I love this song,” you grin from ear to ear. “I’m just so tickled by the fact that you love this song.”

“It’s Beyonce,” he defends, in his best ‘well-duh’ kind of tone, gesturing wildly. “C’mon. Let’s dance.”

“Wh-,” you begin to say, before Luca’s practically pulling you off of the counter to join him. “Luca!!”

But he’s not having any of your protests as he wraps his arms around you. You hang onto him, holding him close as he leads you in a silly uptempo kind of dance, spinning and turning you with him in a way that has you in a fit of giggles. The two of you stumble from his kitchen into the living space area as you move together, embracing how goofy and ridiculous you both feel.

Luca sings along softly, something you get a better listen to as soon as he’s pulling you close to him.

“What the fuck!” you practically shriek, your jaw practically on the floor.

“Hmm?” he hums in response, unphased by your outburst.

“You’re unfuckingreal,” you balk, as you listen to him hum along to the Beyonce song. “I mean. You-, like, you look like this, you’re great in bed, and you have a nice singing voice? How-, how’s a girl ever supposed to stand a chance?”

He chuckles, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear, sending chills down your spine as he coos, teasingly, “I’m great in the sack, hmm?”

Your heart skips a beat as you pull back, just enough to look into the eyes of your lover as you say, “Oh fuck off.”

He laughs again, this time, leaving a soft kiss against your ear, hugging you closer to him as you slow your dance down as the song begins to end. There’s a pause between this and the next song, providing the perfect opportunity for Luca to answer your earlier question.

“You weren’t,” Luca replies, his voice quiet but sure. Supposed to stand a chance, he means. “I think we were supposed to meet. Supposed to be here.”

Supposed to fall in love.

He leans down to kiss you as the next song begins, transitioning into a much bluesier sound. The crooning sounds of Etta James blast from Luca’s living room speakers, as you smile into the kiss. You groan, your heart aching in the best way as kiss him to:

I want a Sunday kind of love

A love to last past Saturday night

And I'd like to know it's more than love at first sight

And I want a Sunday kind of love, oh yeah, yeah

“My God. I think tonight’s shuffle is proof that you may just have the most versatile taste in music history,” you mumble, pulling away for a moment from the kiss.

As you open your eyes, Luca’s just admiring you, an awestruck look on his face that steals your breath. No longer able to deflect with humor or anything else really, you lay your head on his chest, settling into the soft swaying motion of the dance that you and Luca have fallen into. Your arms go around his neck once more as Luca holds you close to him, making a mental note to remember this forever.

“How did you know?” you ask Luca, softly.

“What’s that, love?” he asks back.

“You said that you thought we might be good at this. At… at an ‘us.’ When we talked about starting to see each other,” you begin, choosing your words carefully, underscored by the violins of the song.

Luca takes a deep breath admitting that, “I didn’t.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, looking up at him, your eyes full of adoration for the man that’s captured your heart.

“Babe, I-,” he starts, letting out a small laugh. “I knew we got on well. And that I liked you. And I thought… if we got on this well as friends and you felt the same, that we could give it a go. See what happens.” He takes a beat, choosing his words, before continuing with:

“But, my love, I can’t predict the future. It could work out in the long run, it could not. But I wanted-, I want to see how far we can take it.”

You take a deep breath, because this conversation is deep-breath worthy.

Notorious for wanting to read the last page of a book first, you know he’s right, that you can’t predict the future, and you, now just as much as he does, would like to see how far this could go.

“Yeah it-, that makes complete sense,” you stammer, feeling incredibly vulnerable all of a sudden. You rest your head against his chest again, settling back into your slow sway to the beat.

Like clockwork, the song ends, something a little more upbeat trickling in through the speakers. You and Luca remain in each others’ arms, content to stay here forever. You’re amazed at his confidence, at his fearlessness to take a chance on love, and you think to yourself, he might be teaching you some of that too.

“Let’s take a trip together,” Luca suggests, the low resonance of his voice cutting through the quiet. “Maybe end of the month or something. An end of summer trip.” He chuckles, a hand coming up to stroke your hair as you enjoy the way his voice vibrates in his chest.

“Fuck it. I could care less if we make it in time for the end of summer. Let’s just get out of the city together.”

“That sounds spectacular,” you answer.

And it’s there, in Luca’s arms after a dance party for two, that you think to yourself, you couldn’t be happier.

#chef luca #will poulter #luca the bear #the bear season 2 #the bear headcanon #luca x reader #the bear hulu #the bear fx #the bear fanfiction #chef luca x reader #pastry chef luca #burn your life down

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transboyhalo · 4 months

Text

notes about the memory lapse q!Bad had today:

bad seemed to forget things he did even a few seconds ago, like walking up stairs.

He also had some trouble with object permanence, specifically with wondering where pomme went when she moved out of his line of sight slightly

He didn't know what creepers were, calling them a green worm

His segway from unintentional coughing to a memory lapse confirms something we kinda already knew- whatever is causing him to have lapses in memory is also causing the coughing

he talked to a mooshroom, continuing with the thing with him talking to mobs specifically

"I know what it's like being in prison, but it is how it is" (in reference to cows in a pen)

he seemed to remember a little bit more when talking about richas. after that he's seemingly gone back into not-really-in-rp-mode

aaaand thats all i've got so far

#text #badboyhalo #liveblogging #qsmp

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chrollohearttags · 5 months

Text

reverb • chapter eleven

synopsis: eren and (y/n) finally meet again after weeks apart, only to find themselves engaged in a weekend full of passionate love making. In the midst of their steamy rendezvous, EJ poses a question that not only leaves the shocked (y/n) stunned but himself as well..asking if she’d like to go out with him. Not certain of how things will pan out if they decide to date, (y/n) is hesitant but then recalls a conversation she’d had with her uncle just days prior. What will her answer be? Meanwhile, the aftermath of Armin’s annual party is revealed when he and Niesha’s game of cat and mouse comes to a boiling head. Things only get worse when his affluent, billionaire parents invite him to dinner to discuss an important family matter. The carefree playboy is given news that will force him to make the hardest decision he’ll ever have to face.

word count: 9.5K

content + themes: sexual themes, fluff, romance, mentions of tarot, spirituality and light work, violence, mentions of gang activity and guns, drug mentions, bits of angst, more flashbacks of (y/n)’s past, mentions of abuse, comedy + humor, crack, drama, choking but it turns sexual idk how to describe it, sorry, toxic, TOXIC behaviors I do not condone, angsty at the end

“Whatever choice you make, son. I support and always be proud..I won’t be upset with you no matter what but just make sure that it’s one you can live with.”

📝: thank you guys so much for sticking around and supporting this story! I’m so happy when you guys send thoughtful comments and feedback, asks, etc. it makes my entire day and gives me so much motivation. I know y’all are probably sick of the cliffhangers but trust, there’s a reason! 😭 anyways, I hope you like the story. Reblogs, comments, etc are very appreciated!! Also, I like to make the reader’s backstory as vivid as possible. Although you may not resonate with it personally, it is important to the story itself. So keep that in mind when reading, please.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰───────✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰────

“Wh-what?..wait, EJ..what are you saying?”

“..Thought I made myself pretty clear..I want to go on a date with you. Do this right..”

in that moment, time felt as if it were standing completely still..nothing about this entire ordeal felt like reality right now. There was no way that not only had you spent hours entangled in the sheets with EJ the Don, exchanging kisses, sweat and every other bodily fluid possible. There was no way you were in this famous rapper’s house, let alone his bed..and there was certainly no way in hell that he had just asked you out mid-orgasm..certainly you had to be dreaming! But alas, here you were with your bodies melded together as one. Those jade colored eyes beaming down at you with the most serene of energy. In a way, his words brought you comfort..peace. Normally, guys would try and pressure you into situations that you weren’t ready for. Using sex as a clever segway into whatever their true goal was. But that wasn’t the case with him. Truth be told, he didn’t have to lie to get what he wanted..he was honest to a fault and maybe that was one of his biggest flaws. He couldn’t be deceitful and that oftentimes led to him hurting people’s feelings. His little spat with Mikasa was a prime example..had he exercised a bit of restraint, maybe the situation wouldn’t have blown up the way it had. With you, he was hoping to have the opposite effect. If he wanted you gone, you would’ve been ass naked in the back of an Uber before the sun came up. He was the last man who had to lie his way into some pussy so obviously, he was coming from a place of sincerity. Pushing gently at his chest, (Y/N) shifted your head to the side, thinking that if you did not look at him directly, those pangs of butterflies wouldn’t come rushing through your stomach. Instead, you were met with the soft grasp of his fingers underneath your chin. “Or not..” pausing to collapse next to you. Not only for a breather but because he felt as though he had set something wrong. Maybe he was being a little too forward and persistent. Or maybe he was a damn fool and this whole school kid, whirlwind crush was unrequited. But little did he know, you felt the exact same! Hell, maybe even stronger..it had been forever since you’d look at anyone the way you did him. And so what if it had only been two months since you guys knew each other? You’d heard that age old cliche ‘love at first sight’ more than you could count. Even if it wasn’t quite to that stage yet, you knew it was far stronger than just sex. You both had set it in your minds, unbeknownst to the other..that if you fucked one more time and those feelings didn’t remain, then you’d call it quits. But as you suspected..you were head over heels. Even when you finally managed to get some rest after the long night, you were dreaming of him. It was crazy! It honestly brought you back to a conversation you had just a few days prior…

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flashback• five days ago: Wisteria Gardens Apartments • southside

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The warm Florida sun peering down over the coast of Miami Beach, waves crashing subtly against sandy shores as patrons splashed through the cool waters and children built grainy castles. The picturesque view is the ideal representation of the bustling city. But lying within its intricate roadways and landscapes was an entirely different viewpoint. One far less appealing and inviting. Only those familiar with the areas would dare travel there..for them, ironically..it was home. The only place they felt welcomed. The projects. The ghetto..where many of Miami’ elites got their start and oftentimes dubbed their stomping grounds. Including upcoming stars, (Y/N) (L/N) and Niesha Daniels. Residents of Opa Locka’s infamous 8th Street. Where drug dealers and sex workers roamed frequently. Where those who only knew of violence and criminal activity thrived..but for you? It always brought forth a sense of nostalgia. The strange thing was, you weren’t too far removed from the dire situation you grew up in but it felt unreal going from rubbing elbows with rockstars to now driving through your old hood with Dior shades on your eyes. You remember the nights that you and your granny would hear gunshots from down the street; getting word that one of her friends’ grandsons or nephews had been involved in gang activity. Or the more joyful memories of you and Niesha walking to the corner store on Friday nights. Dressed just like the girls who were dubbed ‘hoochies’ back in the day but sporting your sew ins, micros, long acrylics and gold earrings proudly. The smell of fresh fish frying and BBQ plates outside of the gas station while crowds chatted and danced. Dope boys stationed in the parking lot with the doors of their Chevy Impalas swung wide open, blasting Jeezy and Ross as you both walked by. Being cat called by men old enough to be your fathers as they shot dice in front of the store doorway. It was a very different life from the one you both lived now. Hence why you were back..hoping to gain some clarity from the one person you had been dreading to see since returning home. Navigating your new rose gold Mercedes G Wagon into the parking lot of the Wisteria Gardens Apartments, you pulled into an empty space, promptly killing the engine afterwards. On the opposite side of the large complex sat a duplex, tucked off in the corner. Luckily, that was your destination so you wouldn’t be spotted. Neither would your vehicle. Stepping out in high-top brown and pink Dunks, biker shorts showing off your small leg tattoo and a Balenciaga sweatshirt. The 613 balayage flowed down your back and tied into a ponytail..(y/n) tossed the small crossbody over your shoulder and headed up to the front door on the left side, where you left two small knocks. It was then that you were greeted by the sound of serene music and bells playing. You’d push the door once more to realize that it was not only unlocked but slightly ajar. If it told you anything, it was that the man inside was hard at work and awaiting you. “Unc? Uncle Bam..you home?” Silence.

That was until you heard the deep tone of a male answer you back.

“About time you showed up, honey..” turning around, you were greeted with the calming aura and deep set eyes of a tall, darker skinned male with a muscular build and neatly styled dreads. Around his neck hung an Eye of Horus pendant and crystals. It was him..

“Unc!”

“Welcome home, baby girl. It’s been so long.”

akin to that of a little child, you leapt into his arms and beamed with joy! It had been roughly two years since you’d last been to his home. Travel and work had kept you so busy, you never had time. He was the only living family member that you had any sort of contact with from either side. Much like the many estranged ones, your uncle Benny, affectionately known as Bam around the area had grown up into a life of crime and as they always say with trouble, it’s easy to get in and even harder to get out of. He had spent his younger years in and out of prison before landing himself in there for fifteen years after beating the abuser of one of his closest friends nearly to death. He was a good man with a kind soul.

During his incarceration, he delved deep into spirituality. More so tarot and lightwork. An innate gift he knew he had possessed since childhood. He decided that once he got out, he’d walk the straight and narrow from then on out. Now a free man, he spends his days honing his craft here at his home; doing detailed readings, cleanses and spell work. As quiet as it was kept, he was the sole reason you were where you were right now. Shortly after the death of your grandmother, you were left alone. Your mom and her only daughter didn’t even bother to show up to the funeral and once she did show her face, she caused a scene. Only coming around in hopes of claiming some inheritance so she could promptly go shoot it up in a back alley somewhere. Then there was your father, sitting idly in Florida State Prison, serving life after he committed the ultimate sin. Needless to say, you wanted no parts of either of them anyways.

But you needed someone and luckily, your uncle had gotten to a far better place since finishing out his stint. He was living in a very nice duplex home with his long time partner, Kelvin. Who was equally as kind and loving as he was. Without question, he allowed you to stay in the other half without paying a dime for as long as you pleased. The two had come upon some serious money from their old ventures and decided to invest their funds. Restoring old apartment complexes that had been previously overrun by gang members and providing low income housing to the residents. Sometimes even waiving rent payments altogether for those in need. Essentially investing back into the community they called home. He truly was your idol..especially since it was him who introduced you to pole as a means of stress relief and self expression. Soon, that hobby turned into untapped talent that he felt needed to be shared. So one day, you began sharing the videos to your bare Instagram feed, quickly accruing a large following. One thing led to another and now, you were performing on stages larger than life. Without him, there would be no Pole Assassins or (influencer name).

“I know..that’s kinda my fault. I’m sorry..been busy. Thank you for the biscuits by the way. They were so good.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, chile. I know how much you used to love those things. Miss (grandma’s name) used to make them for me all the time. Besides, I know them folks been keeping you on your toesss. But get that money. I ain’t mad at you.”

uttering the sentiment in a rather feminine and expressive tone, waving his hand fan to feign off any smoke. Candles burned from the corners, along with pungent incense. It looked as if he were just in the middle of charging some crystals when you came in. But it was rather perfect timing..as he had predicted, you’d be making your way over. So he was prepared!

“Gone take a seat, honey. I’ll get you some tea.” feeling just as cozy as you did years ago, you’d plop down in one of the plush, throne like chairs and wait for him to join you. Whilst he was pouring up a batch of his famous iced tea, you scoured the various decks of cards and oracles with your eyes. Fascinated by this unknown world, you could only imagine what this visit would entail. “So..tell me how the life of the rich and famous has been treating my dear niece..how’s Beyonce and ‘nem?” sending you into a fit of laughter. He was such a card sometimes, always saying the first thing that comes to mind. “Ooh..now Unc, you know I’m far from that but..we're working on it. It’s been good though..can’t complain..” Just then, a wave of sudden sadness overtook you and you’d recall crying this morning. And almost instantly, he’d pick up on it.

“But?..”

“But what?..”

A question you and he both already knew the fateful answer to. You were severely depressed; a hole you couldn’t seem to come out of. No matter how many accolades, accomplishments and even happy moments you accrued. It all felt meaningless..you still didn’t have the two things you so desperately sought after. And if anyone knew that, it was him.

“You still feel like you haven’t done enough. Or rather..something’s missing.” You knew he’d read you like a book but if you knew that, you’d also know that he was far from done with his investigation. Finally working his way back to the table, he’d hand you the glass and take a seat before you. The two oracle decks you were previously looking over, he’d pick up and shuffle through. He was full and aware of how to help ease your worry and hopefully clear up some of your pressing questions. He had done it so many times before..it had been so long since you’d had one of his signature readings. Uncle Bam’s predictions were almost always spot on so if you could trust someone’s intuition, even when it wasn’t your own, you could trust him. “Don’t worry,, we gon’ help you out. Take a couple breaths for me while I get these shuffled.” Without hesitation, you did so. Inhaling slowly and exhaling all the same with your eyes closed. This was always done to help center yourself before a reading; bringing you closer to the universe and to help you realize what it is you need to hear.

slowly but surely, he’d begin to dish out cards. Akin to that of a black jack dealer, they’d fly onto the table face down and soon after, he’d flip them over. Taking a moment to mull over them, he’d place his finger to his chin and release a deep sigh. The look on his face had you concerned for a moment..as if he were contemplating something serious. Perhaps, you were in worse shape than you thought.

“..there’s something you’ve been feeling conflicted about. Somebody rather. You’re scared..” the words drawing a look of concern and a slight gasp from between your lips. What exactly did he mean?

“These feelings..they’re strong. You feel so deeply for this person and you don’t want to because you’re afraid of getting hurt. Afraid that they won’t feel the same. It’s like you keep telling yourself, ‘it’s too soon..’ You also feel like if you pursue this one thing, then you failed at everything else. I’m seeing..flowers of some kind. Purple. Some flower that meant a lot to you. Maybe you saw something today that brought back intense memories for you. Maybe they even made you cry..”

as he was spouting off his visions, you’d feel a slight lump form in the back of your throat. It was heavy and hard to swallow. Afraid that if you did, you’d burst into tears right then and there. You hadn’t uttered a word to Uncle Bam about your situation and you knew no one else could have either. Not about your granny’s house, about Eren..nothing. Even Niesha, who was a notorious blabbermouth. He more than likely whisked right into your apartment with those biscuits and right out. As far as the flowers, he was spot on. The name of this place? Wisteria Gardens and ironically, it was the same plants that surrounded this complex. Much like the ones that used to grow in your grandma’s yard every year. Beautiful, lavender flowers that hung like bearing fruit. Seeing them again dredged up those memories of playing in the yard and picking them for her vases. It was just his innate sense of intuition. He truly was a master of his craft. Divinity was his true calling! He’d pull back for a moment and wipe his own eyes, reaching over for a burning stick, wrapped in twine and cloth. “Whew! Gon’ make me break the sage out in here..this is heavy, honey!..” breaking a bit of the tension and intense emotions up by making you laugh. “But let’s keep going..” he’d continue surveying the cards and shuffling through. Picking out the ones that resonated with him the most. Fortunately, there was some good in this reading so he’d gravitate towards that.

“..But I see you’ve also been feeling gracious. I’m seeing a lot of gratitude. You’re happy with how far you’ve come. There’s something you’ve had your eye on..maybe a new purse or some type of jewelry. Reward yourself, chile. You’ve earned it.” It was right then that he’d decide to place the cards down and remove his glasses, wiping up the remnants of his tears with a bit of laughter. That’s when he’d reach across the table to grasp your hands.

“(Y/N), sweetheart. You’re a wonderful young woman. Always have been..you got a good head on your shoulders. For as long as I could remember, you never gave your grandma trouble. You were smart, even when things were hard for you, you did everything you were supposed to and I’m so proud of you. It ain’t been easy for you and hell, you could’ve ended up just like me, your mama and your daddy but you didn’t..you’ve come such a long way..” It was then that the words began to spill out as did your tears because it had been so long since you’d heard someone tell you that they were proud of you.

“Thank you, Unc. I’ve been trying..I really have.”

But alas, that wasn’t all he had to say. There was one more tidbit of advice he had to give. Looking you dead in your eyes, he’d hold your hands.

“I know, baby. That’s why I’m telling you if you don't listen to anything else and I don’t need these cards to say it, it’s this..go live your life. You’ve been working since you were seventeen. Ain’t stopped since. Your granny would be so proud of you so go live. If this person is truly making you as happy as I can tell they are, go for it. Go find your peace, you’ve earned it.” and with that, you knew from that moment, what had to be done….

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So with this man now lying next to you, eyes averted to the covers because he was a little embarrassed, you’d hastily reach over and cup his face into another kiss before rolling over on top of him. “Stop looking like that.” immediately, he’d begin to flush red and try to form a sentence but you rendered him impossible with your tongue. Brushing your fingers through his hair and straddling him. Just a moment ago, you seemed completely uninterested and now, you were trying to go at it again. What changed?

“Of course I’d love to go out with you, EJ. Nothing would make me happier.” and you had just made him the happiest he had been in a while! Grabbing your waist, he’d break into an adorable cackle, just feeling so relieved that you hadn’t rejected him. “Thank goodness..” which brought you to a soft giggle in return. Which soon transformed into you full blown laughing. For the first time in a long time, you’d have a heartfelt laugh..

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing..I was just thinking about something.”

Flipping back over onto your side and running your finger down the perimeter of his chest, you’d place a gentle kiss along his cheek before coiling those smaller arms around his torso.

“So what exactly did the brilliant EJ have in mind for a first date?” causing the rapper to gulp in response because out of all his areas of expertise, romance wasn’t his strong suit. The fact that he had actually managed to bag your fine ass in the first place was an achievement in and of itself! Now, he was left with the task of ensuring that he kept you around..cradling his arm around you, he’d look down with a soft grin and place a kiss to your forehead. Trying his hardest to lay on the charm.

“Well, I was thinking maybe a nice dinner, a little walk on the beach..” but as his words trailed off, something told you that wasn't exactly his style. He seemed far too laid back for the luxurious, pompous date nights..but he was trying to be as chivalrous as possible. After all, it wouldn’t be the slightest bit polite to take a woman he had spent all night going raw in for burgers and fries on an official first date! Even so, you wanted him to be comfortable as well. Something you’d both enjoy. Not only that, if you wanted to do this right and not just be two people sleeping together without the slightest clue about the other..then it was important to just let go of the awkward jitters and ask outright what your interests were. No need in being shy after all that had happened. No need in being afraid..this was a safe space.

“Unless..there’s something else you wanted to do.” which prompted you to start giggling yet again. And this time, his little cheeks flustered red and he’d stare yet again, feeling embarrassed. Nobody had tripped EJ the Don up quite like you. Here he was stumbling over himself like a bumbling idiot and all of that confidence he had used to seduce you was flying out the window. Even so, you thought it was just the cutest thing ever. “Not at all. That actually sounds really nice but..I wanna know what it is you like to do. Not just what you think will impress me. In fact…” stopping amid your rant to run a finger down the center of his chest. “I wanna get to know the man behind all of that music. The real you..I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love me some EJ but..Eren? He seems a lot cooler and I can’t wait to meet him.” And for the first time in a long time, his heart would begin to flutter..beating out of his chest because no woman had ever asked him such a thing. Granted, he was putting them out before they could get too close but deep down, he knew they only wanted one thing and that was to use his namesake for a come up. They didn’t care about who he was outside of the chains, money and fame. He was a meal ticket and nothing more. And here you were, wanting to see him for who he truly was. To hell with waiting or being too soon, he had to make you his before somebody else came and snatched you up!

“We’re a little past favorite colors and TV shows, don’t you think?”

“No better time than the present, sweetheart. Maybe we can talk about it..after we get a shower.”

Which didn’t sound like too bad of an idea right now. The only question was what you were going to wear, seeing as how you arrived in nothing more than a bikini and had been wearing nothing but his sheets and body fluids since. But he’d figure something out. For now, you two of you could continue your ‘bonding’ under the warm waters of a shower head.

“Guess you’re right. Speaking of..what do you like for breakfast? I can have my assistant go get–”

“I was actually thinking I’d cook a little something. If you don’t mind. The restaurants on this side of town can’t make breakfast worth a damn. They crack an egg on the plate, smear some sauce around and charge a hundred dollars for it. No thanks..hope you like grits.”

that was all he needed to hear to be confident that he had made the right decision..you were everything he had been looking for in a woman!..grinning from ear to ear, Eren would roll to his side and hop up, gently tugging you up afterwards.

“Or do you northerners not know anything about that?”

“Give me some credit now. I’ve been living among you country bumpkins long enough to know about grits. And other things too.”

It felt good to know that neither of you had to put on a facade around one another. And with that, the witty banter and jokes ensued. Poking fun at one another like old friends.

“Oh, is that so? Like what?” questioning as the two of you walked towards the bathroom. It’s then that he’d lift up your arm and twirl you around to examine your backside, even leaving a light slap to watch it ripple. “I know that it didn't come from a doctor. That’s gotta be greens and cornbread. Got to be.” Shaking his head in pure awe at how thick you were. The one thing he loved about living in the south were the women..the girls who were homegrown and country fed. Long before he was surrounded by BBL bodies, he was blessed with the fortune of seeing the ladies that didn’t need a knife. The ones that had the kind of ass that would make somebody do a double take and clutch their chest. But even so, he’d send you into a fit of laughter, playfully slapping his chest.

“Get away from me. Play too damn much.”

“What?! I didn’t lie..matter of fact, lemme get a closer look.”

Playfully chasing you into the shower where the second bout of your morning would surely ensue. There wasn’t a single doubt that you two would have no problem adjusting into a relationship.

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But unfortunately, the same couldn’t have been said for you guys’ best friends…the people both of you adored more than anything and the ones who had been seeing one another long before (y/n) and Eren even decided to hook up. Armin and Niesha weren’t exactly seeing eye to eye at the moment, which wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Seeing as how both of them truly only got along when they were fucking like rabid animals. Otherwise, it was a toxic game of cat and mouse. A test to see who could make the other jealous first. Posted up with this girl and hugging that dude. Childish antics if you’d ever seen any. Nonetheless, it worked for the chaotic pair. That was until last Friday at that yacht party, when it all came to a very explosive head.

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flashback: part two - miami port

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“So you gone sit and play in my face like that?! You gone lie and tell me you wasn’t with the bitch? Armin, who do you think I am?”

“And if I was..what exactly are you going to do about it? But since you asked, Niesha. I’ll tell you exactly who you are..an idiot. I mean, no offense, baby but you have to be out of your fucking mind to think that we were anything more than this. What? You thought because I brought you a couple purses, some jewelry that me and you would be together? Sweetheart, you are nothing more than some stress relief. Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’ll admit, the pussy was good..amazing even but I don’t plan on settling any time soon. Especially not with someone like you.”

words that stung like bees, ones that should have been cutting deep and sending her into hysterics..if it were anyone else! But it was just as (Y/N) had said:

“Haven’t met a dude she hadn’t left crying yet.”

and just as she had predicted, Armin was up next! Rather than bursting into tearful sobs and cries, he was met with cackles and hearty laughs. A tattooed hand and long acrylics covered her mouth as her head flew back. Eventually doubling over in laughter.

“What the fuck is so funny?” His nerves obviously rattled by how unbothered she was. He knew that Niesha was crazy and hell, that was half the excitement but damn, any other woman would have at least slapped and said she hated him. Here she was cackling like shit was sweet..just what was this girl’s problem?!

“You done? Like I said, Armin..who do you think I am? You can save them lil’ weak ass insults for a bitch with no self esteem. I said it before and I’ll say it again..’you not going nowhere. And neither am I..” standing ten toes down in her sentiment, even folding her legs and pretending to swipe over her long nails. Completely unfazed by anything he’d said before. However, Armin was a little stirred in his spirit. Always getting riled up when he was with Niesha. That was the effect she’d had on him since the first night they met. Heated arguments turned to fiery, passionate sex that was always better than the last. But tonight, he’d decided he had enough and was calling it quits for good. He had to..otherwise, he was going to lose his own damn mind!

“Oh..you thought I was mad about that lil’ brokedown girl you had in your Insta story. If you’re gone try to make me jealous, at least get a bitch with all her teeth. Have some class.” and it was then that he’d retort back, trying to defend himself. He had been pacing the floor of the master bedroom suite in the ship’s cabin, trying not to lose his cool but this girl was really testing his patience. She had the nerve to cheat when he had spent all of that money on her?! The nerve. What made her so special from all the rest of the girls that fell in love with him?

“Says the one fucking half of The Miami Heat. Don’t try to check me for some shit when you’re doing the same thing. I saw you with him, Niesha.”

“That’s right. While you were getting neck from ol’ gummy bear, I was getting my shit cracked. I’m not your bitch so what are you mad for? This free game.” And little was he aware of the can of worms that he had popped open.

“You know what your problem is? You’re entitled. You try to compensate with all these lil’ hoes because you’re really a loser, baby. You think they’ll actually fuck with you if you ain’t have the bread you did? C’mon now. Flexing mommy and daddy’s money ‘cause you would’ve never made it otherwise. Went and got you a chain, some tattoos and started showing your ass. But the real Armin? Ain’t nothing but a square ass ‘lil nigga looking for approval because his parents never gave it to him. You are so used to everybody kissing your ass because you throw a lil’ change in their face. But I’m not one of them. Ion care about you or your money. That bag? I already had two. Your lil’ necklace? I gave that shit away. We wouldn’t be together..you right..community dick is good for one thing and that’s never being seen in public with it. Matter of fact, I think Connie and Ony are here tonight. Might go see what their fine asses are hitting for. I need a real man.”

Suddenly, she’d stand to her feet and begin making the trek towards the door. As if nothing had happened but Armin was not about to let that happen. “Shit, if my sister hadn’t got to him first, maybe I would’ve fucked EJ too. Heard that dick was hitting—” suddenly, any bit of restraint and level headedness he may have had..went straight out of the window. Before she could walk out, Armin would grab her arm and force her against the wall. “Watch your fucking, Niesha.” Causing her to start cackling yet again. It was as if nothing phased this woman. His words may have meant nothing but hers hurt like a bitch! Insulting him, playing on his insecurities and then proudly admitting that she’d fuck his best friends?! She’d gone too far! He had gotten so worked up, he’d hadn’t even realized that his hand was latched around her throat. Immediately freezing because he’d never in his life hurt a woman and if she brought him to that point, then she had to go but before he could take it away..the look in Niesha’s eyes told a different story..one that thoroughly enjoyed the sensation of his hands around her neck and even signified it by biting her lip; sucking her teeth in a lecherous manner. This toxicity truly got her excited!

“Mmm…now I like that shit.” Getting visibly aroused at the vice grip he had on her. Even prompting him to squeeze tighter because it’d get her wetter. All Armin could do was laugh because once again, she had worn him down and pulled him right back into her trap.

“You’re a crazy bitch, you know that?..or maybe I’m the crazy one for fucking with you..”

Just then, he’d feel his thumb between her plump lips, being suckled on and her deep set, dark, siren like eyes laser focused on him and his biggest weakness..that sweet little voice that she always drew him in with.

“Maybe..but..” and before she could complete the sentence, he’d have her up against the dresser, legs spread and her thong pushed to the side. “You’re right, I’m not going anywhere. And you’re sure as hell not. This pussy belongs to me, act like you remember.” This time, tugging her by her hair with the same force; proof that he was done playing games with her. He was going to show her what a real man was alright! “Now put that fucking phone down..” That slight grimace in his voice sent to her spine and her sensitive spot. She loved seeing him like this. Hence why she got his ass in an uproar in the first place. She wanted to get him as angry as possible to get him to take his frustration out on her. “Mm..whatever you say...”

Because in the end, she always got her way. And Armin? He’d finally met his match!

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Hence why, at the moment, he was headed into the Nobu, one of Miami’s premier eateries. Notorious for feeding some of the city’s most elite. Tonight, they’d be hosting the Artlerts..the leaders of a multi billion dollar conglomerate, earning their fortune in oil and technology..stemming back from the early nineteen hundreds. Needless to say, they were descendants of old money and Armin, was a direct beneficiary and byproduct of such wealth and he certainly took advantage of it. However, his parents had contacted him earlier in the week to inform him that they’d be flying into town and that there was important business that they needed to discuss with him. What exactly they had to discuss was a mystery..however, all would soon be revealed. Dressed in one of his several designer ensembles; an all black Armani suit..turtleneck tucked into his slacks with a matching belt buckle. Covering the plethora of tattoos that littered his body. Silver rings adorning his fingers and a matching necklace. Coordinated and fitting just right..the potent aroma of Tom Ford cologne radiating from his body..he truly looked like a million bucks. But unfortunately, his mood didn’t exactly match his current physical shape. Being with family should have been a monumental occasion. Marked with laughs, good times and love. And for the bright eyed, young producer..it was in his earlier years. As the only child to wealthy entrepreneurs and presumably, the heir to a massive fortune, they poured every ounce of adoration, care and their limitless resources into ensuring that Armin had the best upbringing possible. Private schools, tutors, a fully funded college education, and the best things that life had to offer. Which paid off..Armin excelled in every aspect of his life. Top tier grades; which earned him a steady four point six average until he graduated college with a degree in marine biology. He played baseball, basketball and rugby, an aficionado in all three and was even his university’s point guard up until junior year. Needless to say, he was his parents’ pride and joy. But it seemed as of late, that satisfaction seemed to have dissipated a bit. The Artlerts had high expectations for their child. Naturally, they supported anything that he wanted to explore and backed him one hundred percent..however, they weren’t betting on any of those ventures including making music. Less known, in the hip-hop industry. Granted, they had no qualms about it. If that’s what made him happy and he put his entire focus into it, then it was all that they could ask of their son.

That just wasn’t the case for Armin though. As successful and bright as he was, he was equally as reckless and rambunctious. Drinking, partying and laying up with various girls. Although he kept his parents out of the loop, it didn’t take long before word of his antics made it back to them via their inside sources who kept tabs on him and it was safe to say that they were not happy.

Hence why he was so nervous to meet with them tonight..the shame and embarrassment that was beginning to set in. He knew that his family would either scold him until they were red in the face or just give him a lecture of pure disappointment. Either way, he wasn’t much in the way of hearing it. Regardless, he’d traipse into the lofty establishment, hands tucked into the pockets of his suit as the hostess greeted him. Having quite the reputation and prestige, she informed him that his party was waiting and saw him to his table immediately. Glass chandeliers hung from the ceilings and cerulean lighting illuminated the dimmed dining area. Tables and booths lined with silky white cloths and perfectly folded napkins, seated next to polished silverware. Wine glasses filled with crystalline water and patrons, unmistakable members of the upper echelons chatted among their peers about finances, private trips and shopping sprees. It all felt so suffocating!

“Armin, darling! So glad you made it..”

Suddenly, a middle aged woman with honey blonde tufts, styled into loose curls, deep blue eyes and a pink satin gown with fur doused across her shoulders arose from her seat to drape her arms around him. The exorbitant pearls hanging from her neck and the Elizabeth Taylor perfume surrounded Armin like a warm embrace.

“Mom! It’s so good to see you.” grinning from ear to ear. No matter how old he grew or the amount of time that passed, he’d forever be his mom’s baby. Or as she could so affectionately dub him, her “pumpkin pie.” Because he was so sweet as a child. Seated next to her, was a man with a lighter variation of the hair color and features, with the exception of stubble and slightly thicker brows. His voice rang out with a stronger vibrato as he greeted his child. “Good to see you, son.” “Dad..good to see you too..” Reaching over to extend his arms for a hug. The tension had somewhat subsided from Armin’s body..seeing his folks again. At the end of the day, he was their baby regardless of what he did. “Please, have a seat.”

however, the news they came to deliver was going to do little to make him feel settled once revealed. Pulling his chair out, Armin would do as his mom instructed, taking a swig of water afterwards. “So..how’ve you been, Armin?” His mother made the first inquisition. Out of genuine concern and to break the proverbial ice. It always was easier for him to open up around her. He’d go on to tell them that he had been doing fine and that he was set to go on tour soon with his boys. They were working on some big projects and he was doing fine. Completely omitting the fact that his promiscuous, womanizing ways had caught up to him recently. Granted, he wasn’t going to let Niesha or her nonsense take him off of his true course but he couldn’t continue on playing these games..it was fun but it was also taxing. Even so, he couldn’t stay away from her. That’s how addictive it was. His mom seemed to be pleased by the update..her son in good health and spirits was all that she could ask for. Even if she didn’t exactly understand Armin’s career choice or even agree with it at times, it made her smile knowing that her son was happy..seeing him beam with excitement as he talked about working with these amazing artists and the upcoming festival his label was putting together. He also mentioned getting to work with the Pole Assassins and how they were bringing something new and innovative to the industry. His mother would grin and giggle, listening and even asking pertinent questions, ones that he was happy to answer. It took his mind away from all the other things and possibilities that could have been coming with this conversation. “Oh sweetie..I’m so proud of you. It sounds like you’re having a wonderful time.” She’d hoist her glass with a cheery expression and take a sip to commemorate his success. That’s when he’d glance over to his father, who shared a similar expression, faintly grinning and nodding.

“I have to agree. It’s good to see you doing something you love, son. Very proud of you.” His father would nurse his champagne once more before setting his glass back to the crisp tablecloth. Regardless of how he felt, his parents had never put this immense pressure on him or made him feel inadequate for his choices. Many of his peers who had also come from esteemed backgrounds were constantly under the scrutiny of their guardians. They were working in prestigious, lucrative fields, making endless amounts of wealth and doing great things. And still didn’t have their family’s respect. Armin was truly fortunate. Even so, it didn’t stop them from worrying. It didn’t stop them from being afraid that one day, the entertaining lifestyle would catch up with him. They weren’t blind or stupid..not by a long shot. They knew their son partook in all of the things that his and his friends lyrics’ entailed. “So..are you seeing anyone? Is there a lucky girl in your life?” His dad, who had always teased him, knew how flustered he became, mainly because despite his playboy appearance now..his son was the most adorable nerd in his former life! “Ah-well..you know. I’m just kinda..keeping my options open.” Part of him was ashamed and another half was nervous. Ashamed that he couldn’t present his folks with a suitable young lady. That he hadn’t brought a date to any of their meetings..he was aware that they wanted him to get married, start a family but he just wasn’t ready to commit to that yet. He wanted to have fun, mess around and more so..have his fill! He didn’t want just one lady. It wasn’t his style..on the other hand, he was nervous..nervous because he could no longer deny the feelings he had for that insane woman. Regardless of how batshit crazy Niesha drove him, she’d had her claws sunk into his skin deep and he didn’t want anyone else but her.

Even at his party, after fighting with her and everything, he made love to her as if he were hoping to make her stay and although she was just saying the most evil things..she told him she loved him. Crying it into his ear as she held him close. He’d been with a couple girls here and there but all he could think about was where she was..was she thinking of him too? He was nervous because if he could no longer fight his urges, would he be able to bring her home? Would they accept her?…would they still be proud of their baby boy? She came from an entirely different world than him. One he loved being a part of. She was wild, rambunctious and unfortunately, couldn’t flip a switch the way he did. Maybe that’s why he was so obsessed with her ass! She lived in her truth twenty four seven. There was no faking with her..and ironically, he admired that. And despite what she said, she actually gave a damn about him..unlike the others. She was honest, she made him care about himself and didn’t allow him to stay in bad places too long. It was crazy..

“Well I’m sure the right girl will come along soon..” “..yeah, unless you just have no game.” His father uttered with a sly look, making Armin scoff and laugh as he took another sip. “You wish, old man. I have many problems but that’s not one.” He always enjoyed when he and his dad would banter back and forth. It reminded Armin that he was human and not this billionaire machine, who only focused on amassing profit. “Alright, this old dog could teach you some tricks. All you have to do is ask.” The three would laugh, joke and have a wonderful time. “Oh please, don’t let him fool you. He was a scared wreck when he asked me on our first date. His friends had to deliver his love letter during class because he was so nervous. Adorable, really.” “It was called delegating tasks. I just knew you’d say yes.” "You're so full of it.."

He was truly enjoying this time and feeling back to himself. He felt as if he could truly be honest and open with them. More so than when he was younger..they weren’t inherently strict but they kept him on a tight leash so that he didn’t wind up like some of his other classmates; taking Adderall and Xans during ski trips or family gatherings. He was the one and only heir to the Artlert Industries fortune. Hence why once their meals were brought out, they’d pose another question..

“Hope you don’t mind, we ordered for you since we had no idea when you’d arrive. Your favorite.” And they were spot on. Linguine with spinach and lobster. “Not at all..thank you.” As he took the first bite of his dish, that’s when Mr. Artlert would look directly up at his son..

“Armin..do you like making music? Is this something you enjoy?..”

The question came as a bit of a shock, honestly. Truth be told, he hadn’t thought about that in depth. Armin first began delving into music as an adolescent..he sang in the church choir as a young kid and was gifted his first instrument when he was twelve years old. It was the core link that bonded him and EJ together so for him, it was essentially something that changed his life. He honestly had never thought about doing anything else..

“Of course..I wouldn’t if I didn’t. Why do you ask?” but it was more than just genuine curiosity and sudden interest in his son’s career that had the Artlert matriarch inquiring. There was an entirely different reason other than quality time that had prompted this dinner as well. Truth was, the Artlerts had been keeping a rather worrisome secret from their son and was contemplating when would be the appropriate time to divulge. Now was as good as any..might as well rip the bandage off and come clean. Clearing his throat, Mr. Artlert would take a swig of his wine before proceeding.

“Armin..your mom and I..we..”

At that moment, his stomach began to sink to its lowest pit and he’d begin to form a hard lump in his throat. What exactly did they have to tell him? Why were they stalling?!..Just then, his cerulean eyes began to dilate twice their size and even well up a bit. Were they getting a divorce? Did something happen to the company? He wished that they’d say something! But he’d wait no further because his mom would grasp a nearby handkerchief and press it to her face to conceal her inevitable tears. “Mom..what’s wrong? Please!..tell me.” his parents were his entire world and he couldn’t imagine anything causing them grief. But soon, he’d join in on the heavy feelings when his dad confessed something that he wasn’t expecting.

“Son..I went to the doctor last week and he informed me that they found something. A tumor..” the words seemed to have frozen time in its very tracks and shook the young producer to his core. He couldn’t believe it. “A-a tumor? Wait..are you?--” no! He couldn’t even say it! He couldn’t even fathom such a horrendous thought. Clutching his glass, Armin’s hands began to tremble and his breathing was labored. How could they keep such a secret?! How could they not tell him sooner?..the thought of something happening to the man that he so desperately admired and looked up to was terrifying.. he was scared to pry any further. Almost becoming childlike but just as he had done during his upbringing, Armin’s father would ease his mind.

“Fortunately..they did catch it in time so before it becomes too far malignant but the next couple months on my treatment will be crucial. I’m doing everything I can to ensure that I won’t become ill. I’ve hired the best team of doctors and I’m currently on sabbatical from the company. My board of advisors have already made proper arrangements as well. I’ve taken all precautions.”

It was a relief, truly. Although he wasn’t out of the woods yet, he still had a fighting chance and that was more than enough for Armin. However, it wasn’t the only reason for his disclosure. He had an ultimatum of sorts for his son.

“Armin..you are the one and sole heir to the family business. Once I’m no longer around, you will be the one to step in. How you choose to proceed is your choice entirely–” “Don’t talk like that..don’t talk like you’ve already given up.”

He couldn’t stand it and although he assured him things would be fine, he couldn’t believe that until he had an official clean bill of health and stopped speaking as if he knew something Armin didn’t. But this was a pivotal moment..one where Armin would have to, for once in his life..make a hard decision. One that would require sacrifice..

"I'm going to fight as hard as I can, you have my word. I won't let something like this get me. But I have to know that you'll work just as hard to ensure your future. You've always been a bright young man and I trust that you'll continue to do what's best for you.."

it didn't take a rocket scientist to get what exactly he was implying. How far could music truly take him? Was it sustainable?...he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure how to process any of this but what he did know was that this wasn't going to be an easy road and he had a lot to contemplate from here on out.

"I'd be lying if I said that I am a fan of what you do. Can’t stand it. The music..the partying, all of it is not what I envisioned for you. Sometimes makes your mother and I feel as though we failed." Quite brutal but he could only speak from his heart. Tough love was sometimes necessary, even at the expense of his feelings. But there was one thing that he wanted his son to know above all else:

" That said..I love you, son. We both do..“Whatever choice you make, I support and always be proud..I won’t be upset with you no matter what but just make sure that it’s one you can live with.”

and something told him that his time to decide was running out..

── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.─── ── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :

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