Hate You, Love You.

hate you, love you.

synopsis ‹𝟹 a snow lodge getaway in aspen was supposed to be a great time with the friends and your boyfriend jean, but it quickly takes a turn for the worst due to eren’s rocky situationship with you.

warnings ‹𝟹 dubcon, infidelity, enemies to fwb, toxic relationships, jealousy, physical altercations, guilt, drug use, alcohol consumption, pining, hate fucking, revenge/guilt sex, choking, high sex, degradation, hockey player! eren, snowboarder! jean for funsies.

characters ‹𝟹 eren yeager + jean kirschtien.

wc — 7.5k+

DAY 1.

“What are you doing in here, you freak?” Your bitter tone was harsh on Eren’s ears as he quickly slipped into the bathroom. You watched him close the door and lock it before he walked closer to you. Your reflection in the mirror was long forgotten when you saw the handsome brunette invade your privacy with little to no respect. “Did you hear me, Eren? Wha-”

Eren’s hands were on your waist, his body pressing hard into your smaller frame, his weight making you lean against the sink counter. His lips found your neck, nipping and licking at the spot right below your earlobe. Eren smelled amazing, like expensive cologne and citrus shampoo. His body felt so warm against your own, his minty breath tickling your sensitive skin as his hands roamed up the sides of your body.

“You don’t ever shut the fuck up, do you?” Eren asked in a low tone against your skin. You felt the rumble of his deep voice and the smirk in his tone as he spoke. The familiar voices walking past the door made your heartbeat pick up in speed then suddenly you were hyper aware of the fucked up situation you two got into a couple months ago and how you made a promise to yourself that it wouldn’t happen again. That it was nothing but a mistake.

“Eren, stop it-” You say softly. “Eren.” You push his shoulders. He straightens out, his height on display as he towered above you.

“Why are you actin’ like that?” He asks, a look of irritation on his face.

“We can’t do this anymore. I’m serious this time.” You sigh. “And definitely not here.” You cross your arms and look off to the side, feeling uncomfortable under Eren’s judgement stare.

“What? Now you have a conscience all of a sudden?” Eren looks down at you with an incredulous look, one that seemed very condescending. The small smile that ghosted over his lips while his brows were pulling upward in a furrow screamed that he was mocking you. God, he fucking infuriated you.

“Fuck you.” You spat with a look of disgust on your soft facial features. A look that only Eren Yeager could elicit from you. It was almost sick how quickly the man could flip your emotions, like he has a remote to the limbic system in your brain. You absolutely despised how much control one man could have over you.

“Yeah, I already have.” Eren starts, an odd look of reassurance on his face as he nods at you. “Let’s see: that time at Mikasa’s birthday party, you gave me head in the backseat of my car. That other time after my game, can’t forget that. I fucked you in my hockey uniform. Oh, two weeks ago, I made you squirt-” Eren’s words were cut off short when a hard slap connected with his cheek. A crisp clap sounded throughout the bathroom followed by a silence.

Eren’s head was turned to the side from the force behind your hand. A few strands of hair in his face as he held his jaw. There was a small smirk on his lips as his tongue pushed on the inside of his cheek. You looked at him with a frown, your eyes quickly searching for any sign of what he was about to do next. You weren’t planning on slapping him, but it was the reaction your body gave when he started airing your guys’ dirty laundry. It’s not like he didn’t deserve it, he was being a fucking asshole. Maybe next time he’ll shut the fuck up-

Eren’s large hand was on your jaw in an instant and the pressure from his hand was sinking into the soft skin of your cheeks. He held another on your neck, applying enough pressure to make you feel lightheaded. It hurt, it was uncomfortable, but the adrenaline rushing through your blood system numbed any traces of pain or fear. Eren was a big guy. He towered over you in height and he was very athletic. He was a professional hockey player, he had more muscle mass than you ever would. His hand almost felt like it was going to lift you off the ground from how hard he pulled your jaw upward, to the point of actually standing on your tippy toes. Naturally, your hand flew to his wrist, your acrylic nails sinking into his tanned skin and likely causing irritation.

“Touch me like that again and I’ll make sure this trip is a living hell for you.” His emerald eyes are locked onto your (color) ones looking down at you with such intense and deep hatred. You’ve never been sure where exactly this loathing for each other began or why it turned as aggressive and toxic as it did. Maybe it was the fact that you two had clashing personalities to begin with, constantly butting heads over the pettiest things that almost always ended in screaming matches. The interesting thing is, the both of you were equally hard headed and passionate the only difference was being on varying sides of the spectrum. Two sides of the same coin you could say. Your strong disdain for one another has been a running joke in the friend group and that’s maybe where things got… messier than they intended to be.

The obvious underlying physical attraction between the two of you was unmistakable. You could admit Eren was very attractive. Six foot something, shoulder length chocolate brown hair, deep emerald eyes and he physically ripped. He looked like something straight out of someone’s fantasy. The attitude he held only furthered how people perceived him. He did things his own way and that was pretty much the end of. If there was one thing anyone could count on Eren for was not changing his mind after it's already been made up. You’d be better off asking the Sun to orbit around Earth. As the years passed, he’s developed a more somber and dark aura surrounding him. That mixed with his “I do what I want attitude” makes for the prototype “bad boy” image so many perceive to be as attractive. Eren may be a hardass, but he does care for his friends probably even more than he cares about himself. He’s extremely protective over his friends, that included you too, so there was a little bit more than some appeal.

Eren knew you were more gorgeous and that fucking bothered him. He often found himself looking— no, rather staring at you when you all hung out. Of course at first you thought he was trying to be funny when you caught him looking at you, often giving him a snarky comment that once again started a fight. Eren hated you with every bone in his body, he swore he did. So he often found himself questioning why you were a lingering thought in his brain. You and the way you looked up at Jean with that pretty smile and those big curious eyes and always seemed to make Eren sick to his stomach.

Finding the other party attractive wasn’t the problem within itself. The mistake was the friend group letting you and Eren go on the beer run one random night during one of the usual hangouts. Tensions were already high from an argument between you two from earlier in the night and things came to another blow when you both were in the car. The snide comment Eren gave under his breath was enough to make you see red and you snapped. Eren didn’t hold back either, you both in the enclosed space of the car with nothing but harsh insults and comments that can’t be taken back spewed from your mouths. It wasn’t until Eren’s mouth was hot and angry on yours that the yelling came to a halt. You remember pulling away, looking at him with a “What the fuck did you just do?” look on your face. Eren looked at you with a blank stare, his mind still processing his actions.

One thing led to another and somehow he ended up at your apartment and the box of beers was long forgotten in his car while he had your cunt split open on his massive cock. It was the best sex you’ve ever had, and that was no shade to your boyfriend, but with Eren it was different. Primal, aggressive and fucking filthy. Eren treated you like a good for nothing whore, while Jean made you feel like a spoiled princess. You were selfish for wanting both and terrible for finding yourself yearning and craving that touch from Eren after the initial night. It was all a mistake, it was wrong. Both of you were terrible friends and partners sacrificing your morals and the feelings of the people closest to you for a good fuck. But perhaps that was the appeal?

You’ve seen Eren in one of his most vulnerable states recalling the first night you slept together. He was a fucking mess, the post nut clarity hit him hard as he laid on the soft blankets and sheets of your bed. He stared at your ceiling, his mind racing as things started to catch up to him. He had a panic attack that night and locked himself up in your frilly apartment bathroom. You remember reluctantly knocking on the bathroom door, calling his name softly and asking if he was okay. It was safe to say he worried the hell out of you even despite your rocky friendship turned whatever this was.

You talked Eren through his fit. Once he said it was okay to touch him, you made yourself comfortable in his lap as he sat on the plush ottoman that decorates your bathroom. His face buried in your chest while his arms wrapped tightly around your midsection. Your soft voice, gentle touches on the nape of his neck and massages on his scalp all calmed him down to a state of tranquility. One that can only be described as the eerie quietness after a category five hurricane.

Eren’s behavior right now didn’t scare you at all, but sometimes you think that maybe it should because you know he’s not joking. If Eren says he’s going to do something then he means it.

“I’m not fucking scared of you, Eren.” You say, voice unwavering as you attempted to pull his hand from your face. He only held harder and yanked you closer to him, his eyes still boring into hers. There was no way he couldn’t feel your nails seeping into his skin now with the pressure from your stiletto nails digging in harshly into his skin. If he didn’t let you go, he was sure to draw blood.

As much as he hurt you, you made sure to hurt him back only in a different way. It was sneakier, less noticeable, conniving but it was still just as damaging— that’s where you and Eren differed, and maybe another reason why he resented you so much. So seemingly perfect and innocent on the outside. Your voice and choice of words are always so sweet and doting— but it was deceitful. Eren saw through it all. On the inside you’re no different from him, a liar and a cheater. The mind games were a never ending psychological warfare and it only fueled the resentment between you two. There was a constant underlying anxiety when you were near each other, a never ending game of push and pull. You hated him and he hated you.

“No? Well you should be. Stay out of my way.” He pushed your face making you lean a bit on the sink behind you, your hands held onto the counter balancing yourself. You watched him leave the bathroom with a bitter look on your face. This was going to be a long trip.

DAY 2.

The second day was a longue around and hang out kind of day as most of you were still fatigued from the hectic first day. The drive to the cabin was long and grueling, hauling three cars in total. Car one: You, Jean, Sasha and Connie. Car two: Eren, Armin, and Mikasa. Car three: Reiner, Bertholdt, and Historia.

Being cramped in your boyfriend’s car with Marco, Connie and Sasha was fun for the most part. The five of you were always a party when you all got together, but no one could lie that the road trip glory began to lose its shine about six hours in. Cramps, traffic, road rage and not having the ability to take a comfortable nap was less than pretty. Not to mention you all almost got lost thanks to Siri. Thankfully, there was a gas station nearby and all of you stopped at, getting everyone on the same page with directions. That was one of the funner stops actually.

Connie rolled a joint in the car about an hour before stopping, he was just waiting to light it. But when he did, almost everyone got a nice buzz going. You all probably looked a little funny goofing off. You specifically remember the guys group teasing you about not knowing how to properly pump gas. Jean came to your defense with lighthearted reasoning saying that “his girl didn’t need to know how to pump gas.” He never let you do it yourself anyway.

All was well but the lingering stare you felt from Eren every time you interacted with Jean was ridiculous though. It never fails to make you anxious because you simply don’t know what he’s thinking. Is it the usual hatred? Guilt? … Jealousy? Nothing changed once you guys got to the lodge.

Since it was lounge day, you all decided that watching a movie would be fun. The film decided on was some low budget horror movie on Netflix. It was more comical than scary, getting more laughs than screams from the group piled high on the couches and floor.

You and Jean were the only two left in the den after the movie was over. There was a plush blanket underneath you both as you sat in front of the crackling fireplace, it was the only source of light besides the heavy blue tint of the dusk sky coming from the large windows. The scenery was beautiful, snow piling on the branches of the boney winter trees with white mountain tops in the distance. It was quiet for the most part surprisingly but every now and again you could hear heavy footsteps and muffled conversations throughout the lodge.

“Are you sure you like this color, babe?” You ask while looking down at your freshly painted toe nails. You were trying a new color, a crisp white that dries matte. The polish has probably dried down since but the squishy pink foam still divides your toes, too paranoid that you would accidentally bump your toe onto something and ruin all your hard work.

Jean looked up from his phone, his golden eyes now on your wiggling toes. He smiles and your heart skips a beat.

“Yeah, it’s pretty.” Jean looks back up at you, irises twinkling in the warm light from the fireplace. You can see the reflections of tiny fire specs dancing in his eyes. Jean was breathtaking, an absolute angel of a man. Longer honey brown hair with a fresh taper, strong jawline and soft lashes. He was a pretty boy in every sense of the word. You felt… sick for admiring him, like you didn’t deserve to— because you didn’t. The feelings of guilt heavy on your shoulders, like the weight on the world was pinning you down to Earth’s core. As best as you could, quickly swallowed the festering emotion, fixing your attention on something on something else. You only hoped that your demeanor didn’t fluctuate within those few seconds.

“Yeah?” You tilt your head as you look down at your work with a pout.

“Yeah, I picked the color, baby. Of course I like it.” He answers and a small smile ghosts over your lips.

“I know, I know. ‘M just making sure.” You say murmur.

“Hey,” Jean calls for you gently, noticing how you’re not looking at him rather your toes.

“Hm?” You look up at him with big and curious eyes.

“Can I have a kiss?” He asks. A giggle escaped your lips and you reached over, your hand balling up his cardigan before pulling him in for a kiss. You felt him chuckle against your plump lips, causing you to smile into the shared kiss.

Little did you know Eren came down the stairs at some point, the two of you too caught up in each other to see the bitterness on the brunette's handsome facial features. The jealousy that sat in the pit of Eren’s stomach felt disgusting, triggering an anger in him that made his body shake involuntary.

Eren didn’t want to eavesdrop on the gentle whispers coming from you— but he couldn’t stop himself from doing so while he fumbled around in the spacious kitchen, looking for something quick to put together per request of the blue eyed blondie in his room upstairs. Eren was in the middle of slicing the peanut butter and jelly sandwich he made when his heart caved at the exchange he heard.

“I love you, J.”

“Love you too, pumpkin.”

To Eren the display was awful, revolting and nauseating.

DAY 3.

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

“Eren, you’re in so deep..”

The unpleasant taste of bile was beginning to bubble up in the back of your throat as you were forced to listen to what was going on in the room right next to you and Jean’s shared suite. You sat up groggily, pushing your weight up against Jean’s chest. Your eyes studied his sleeping form, he looked so peaceful— eyes shut, mouth slightly agape with tossed hair. Despite his handsome face, you frowned. How could he sleep through all the noise spilling into the room?

“Ride it just like that, baby.”

“It feels so good-!”

“So fuckin’ pretty, y’know that?”

You didn’t think twice about swinging your feet off the bed to march to the room over. Your fist gave the heavy wooden door about five hard knocks. That’s when the door swung open and you were met with a shirtless Eren who’s pajama pants that sat low on his waist. You only hoped he didn’t catch the way your eyes wandered on his toned body, past his pecks to his abs and the onto the prominent hard on he had showing through his thin pajama pants.

“What do you want?” He asks with a look of irritation heavy on his face.

“Can you keep it down, please? Everyone down the hall can hear you.” You say, arms crossed over your chest as you looked up at him.

“Who’s everyone?” He quirks a brow and leans against the door frame. “If I'm bothering them they can come tell me.” Eren says. There was something about the way he looked at you that said— he may have been amused by your presence for some reason.

“Ever thought that you may be making them uncomfortable?” You ask with knitted brows.

“Never crossed my mind.” Eren shakes his head and shrugs.

“You’re the worst—” A bright voice cuts you off before you can dig into him.

“Eren? Who is it?” Historia’s voice calls from inside of the room making Eren look behind him.

“It’s (Name).” His voice is simple.

“Oh?” You hear soft footsteps before her smaller frame appears in the doorway, she pressed up against Eren’s side in a half hug. “Hi, (Nickname)! Is something wrong?” Historia gives you a worried look. She looks fucked out. Flushed cheeks and sex hair with on of Eren’s t-shirts loosely hanging onto her petite form. Jealous. Why did you feel jealous?

“No, Hisu..” You give her a reassuring smile. “Could you guys maybe.. Keep it down? Please?” You can see the flush on her cheeks become more prominent when she realizes what you meant.

“We’re so sorry,” She gushes. “Isn’t that right, Eren?” She looks up at the taller man who hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since you came to the door. “Yeah whatever, sure.” Eren says.

“Thank you.”

DAY 4.

When you exited the bathroom you were met with the cooler and dry air from the bedroom.

You saw Jean sitting on the edge of the king sized bed entertaining himself with his phone. He was just wearing a pair of light blue boxers with different kinds of sprinkled donuts on them.

"Hi." A soft on your lips as you greeted your handsome lover. Jean looked up, the corners of his lips tugging upward as he saw you inch closer to him. He locks his phone before tossing it to the side somewhere on the bed.

"Hey." He replies, allowing you to slip onto his lap. Your thighs on either side of his waist straddling him while your hands rested on his shoulders.

"You look refreshed.” He states, a soft smile on his lips as he studies your face.

“I am. I wish you would have joined me though.” You gave him a playful pout holding back a giggle.

"Hm?” He gave you a quick peck on the lips before pulling away and looked into your eyes. “You should’ve dragged me.” Jean smiled at you. His big hands were warm and comforting as they sat firmly on your hips massaging and kneading at the extra fat there slowly. It was comforting for you and just the type of affection you loved from him. Jean always knew what to do when your body was in his hands. It's exactly what you craved: him being close to you, giving you sweet touches and his kisses. He made you feel good— loved and wanted.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your face in the crook of his neck taking in his scent. He smelled lightly of something tropical and refreshing from the body wash he used earlier. You snuggled up to him tighter before you spoke and Jean wrapped his arms around your lower waist, hugging you back.

“Dragged you? Oh, because ‘m so strong, right?” Your voice was slightly muffled but he heard you clearly regardless.

“Hey, you’ve been pumping a lot of iron recently.” He teases, his hand running up and down your back.

You both sat there in silence enjoying each other's company and warmth. There wasn’t a word spoken and yet the two of you were on the same page. An air of affection between you both that seemed to grow even stronger— more intoxicating as you melted into each other’s touch. You couldn’t get any closer to each other if you tried and.. That frustrated you a little bit. Jean could sense your frustration when you got clingy like this, only opting to squeeze you tighter while muttering the utterances “I’m here.” and “I’m not going anywhere.”

God, it hurts. It hurt so much because you knew that if he found out about what’s been going on between you and Eren he wasn’t going to be here anymore. He’d leave you without a second thought and that scared you copious amounts. You weren’t perfect, you were far from it, but you loved Jean with all of your being as crazy as it might sound. If you really loved him then why would you cheat? Why would you continue to cheat and not even come clean about it if you loved him so much? Why would you let your partner suffer in blissful ignorance? Kissing you with the same lips you kissed another man, sharing your most intimate parts with another man— not even just a man but someone he considered a long time friend. The answer is that you’re selfish. You don’t know what you’d do if Jean left.

Sighing, you got off his lap and crawled to the pillows propped up the headboard and laid down. Jean watched you from over his shoulder, seeing that you held your arms out making grabby hands at him. He chuckled a bit and crawled to where you were on the pillows. He laid beside you, propping himself up with his elbow and rested his arm over your midsection.

"How was today?" Jean asked softly. You watched him turn his attention from your face to pushing a few strands of hair behind your ear. A gentle smile grows on your lips when his golden eyes are on yours once again. You thought back on earlier today, going to a ski resort was fun. Of course a few of the guys were way in their element, Jean, Eren and Connie specially. The rest of the group were looking awkward and goofy on their feet wearing the heavy gear. Watching Jean snowboard was always an exciting time. He looked so good in his gear, a beanie with the thick framed goggles resting on his forehead— all topped off with the cutest red nose.

“I had a great time.." You trailed off looking down. You took his hand that rested on your belly and began to mindlessly play with his pretty slender fingers. Jean smiled at your cuteness, but he knew there was something else on your mind that was bothering you— something that he wasn’t telling you.

“What’s bothering you then?” He asks.

“Nothing..” You trail off. “I just.. need you inside of me.”

One thing led to another and Jean was positioned in between your legs, his hands holding behind your knees and spreading your thighs open. His cock was resting at your throbbing hole and his hips were making the tip of his leaking cock push into your cunt ever so slightly. You bit your lip in anticipation but you knew what game he was playing: how long both of you could hold out until one of you got inevitably frustrated.

“J, c’mon.. stop.” You whined, your hips rolling up into his. Jean’s patience was already running thin, sinking into your hot and invited pussy almost immediately after your urgency. The both of you let out explicitly moans and curses as he bottomed out. Your face contorting in slight discomfort at his size. Jean let you adjust for a few seconds as his fat cock split your tight pussy for the first time since the night before the trip. It always amazed him how tight you were after pounding into your hole time after time.

Jean’s hip started to pump into you at a slow pace, angling his hips in a precise position as he stroked. He leaned over to place a kiss on your lips. The skin on skin contact makes your heart flutter as you wrap your arms around his neck. It felt amazing, he felt amazing. Being one with him was a different kind of love, one that needed to be cherished— one that was sacred. It was something not everyone could find and for that you consider yourself to be lucky.

“I love you.” He said with a smile, continuing to roll his hips into yours. You searched in his eyes looking for any signs of hesitation but saw nothing but sincerity, admiration and warmth. It was.. overwhelming to see and your emotions were starting to catch up to you. You’re in love with Jean but you didn’t deserve him. He deserved better, much better than you. When that realization hits, you couldn’t stop the tears from pooling at your waterline. The fat teardrops spilling out of the corners of your eyes and onto the pillow beneath you due to gravity. You cover your face with your hands in embarrassment.

“Pumpkin, what's the matter?” Jean asks, his voice in a hushed yet worrisome as he stops all his movements. He moves your hands from your face and wipes your tears with his thumbs, desperately trying to make eye contact with you but you refuse to look him in the eyes.

“Talk to me, please.” He furrows his brows at you, putting his hand under your chin getting you to look at him.

“You're gonna laugh at me.” You feel the temperature in your face and tips of your ears rise in heat.

‘I won't. Come on, tell me.” He urged you on softly.

“Nothing.. I just.. I really love you, J.” You sniffed. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

“Yeah?” Jean felt his heart swell at your words, smiling softly as kissed away your tears. He could have sworn they tasted sweet like a rich honey.

You clenched around his cock and it made his head spin, his hips snapping into yours repeatedly chasing after each other's releases. Your arms wrapped around his head, fingers getting lost in his hair as he rutted into you.

“Always gonna love you, gonna marry you, baby..” Jean says into the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Fuck me, fuck me just like that..” You urged him.

“You feel so good. Fuck, you feel amazing.” Jean moans. “You’re the prettiest girl in the whole, you know that?”

“Jean, I’m so lucky to have you..” You mewl through your tears.

“I love you, I love you, I-” He repeated over and in your ear. Jean's hips found a familiar spot deep within you that made you see white. You came hard and without warning, your walls pulsating around him while you called out his name like it was the only thing you knew how to say. You began to praise him through your orgasm, babbling him how good he was making you feel and how much you loved him.

“Shit-” Jean struggled to speak properly, feeling his balls tighten ready to fill you up with his cum. His thrusts became sloppier and his original rhythm was lost as he neared his release. He sits up, hooking the back of your knees in his hands to spread your thighs further,

“Where do you want it?” He asked quickly.

“Inside me, baby.” You gave him a fucked out smile.

Jean didn't think twice about it, stilling his hips against yours and shooting his thick white ropes deep into your cunt. He didn't realize just how loud he was moaning until he stopped, leaning over to place a kiss on your lips. His body rested against yours, pumping into you slowly riding out the last moments of his high until he pulled out of you— admiring the white trail oozing out of your throbbing hole.

DAY 5.

It was 9AM on the dot and the kitchen, dining and living room areas were busy with bodies that morning. Chatter, laughter and the clatter of forks hitting the thick glass plates could be heard throughout as well as the hearty aroma of various breakfast items that filled the lodge— the smell of the bacon, eggs, french toast, pancakes, orange juice, and fruits could make anyone hungry.

The fatigue from your slumber still clung on hard to your body as you stood behind Jean. Your arms were wrapped around his bare midsection, head resting against his toned back with your eyes closed while he flipped the next batch of pancakes. You could fall asleep again right now holding onto his warmth like a baby koala holding on to its mother.

“Are you eating?” Jean asks, his voice was low but that's alright because you knew he was addressing you.

“I’m waitin’ for you.” You answer with a hand running over the firm dips of his abs.

“It’s gonna be a bit, that okay?” You can’t see, but Jean has a small smile ghosting over his lips.

“Mhm.” You hummed. You sang along softly to the stereo absentmindedly while you listened to Armin, Sasha and Connie chat at the island counter.

“So how’d everyone sleep last night?” Sasha asks, her brown eyes bright with excitement as she shoves a fork stacked full with pancake. It seemed like the question had been perfect timing as Eren was entering the kitchen from the dining area.

“Awful.” Eren says this under his breath, walking past you and Jean to get to the refrigerator. He opens the large door and grabs a bottle of water before shutting the door.

“Huh? Why?” Sasha asks, her mouth full of food as she speaks.

“Because some people here don’t know how to be discrete when they fuck.” Eren twists the cap off the bottle and takes a swing. Jean locks his jaw and you can feel his body tense under your hold. Your face rises in temperature in both embarrassment and anger. Sure, a part of you may have done it out of spite— payback from a couple nights before but was bringing this up in front of everyone really appropriate?

“C’mon, man. I’m eating.” Connie groans and shakes his head with a look of annoyance on his face. Eren shrugs.

“I mean, it’s expected. We’re in a lodge full of couples.” Armin chimes in.

“Yeah but I guess some of us have more respect than others.” Eren says.

“Eren,” You sigh and remove yourself from Jean. “Please shut the fuck up, you hypocrite.” You say. The rest of your friends in the vicinity watched on as this was nothing new to them. You two have always been at each other’s throats. Honestly, they wondered how a friendship could even form seeing the way you guys fought like a married couple.

“I would, if you would’ve last night—“ Jean cut Eren off before he could finish his sentence.

“Why are you always such an asshole?” Jean asks. “Because I’m starting to think you’re jealous. You wanna fuck my girl or something?” Jean’s words make your heart drop into your stomach and suddenly you feel like you want to throw up. The anxiety flaring up from deep within your chest was dizzying and your stomach felt like it was in knots— constantly dropping as the seconds passed.

“That’s ironic coming from you.” The emerald eyed man takes a couple steps forward closer to you and your boyfriend.

“Eren..” You warn.

“What?” Jean challenged and stepped closer to Eren, the gap between the two men now too close for comfort. There was a line when it came to these kinds of arguments. They were frequent however, some boundaries couldn't be crossed or else things would escalate. Oftentimes when emotions and things like agitation are running high it is easy to forget those things. After all, whether you liked it or not, everyone there was a friend... But it seems funny to care about feelings and friendship given the situation you’re in with Eren, huh?

“Hey,” You step in between the two, looking up at Jean with furrowed brows and your smaller hands resting on his pecs. “Can we just— not do this today? Please don’t fight.” You pleaded and Jean’s eyes flicked down to yours. Seeing the worry all too evident of your features made him relax just a bit. Still upset, he grabs the sides of your face while making eye contact with Eren and plants a kiss on your lips. You blink up at him when he pulls away.

“Do we have to get Reiner and Bertholdt to hold you guys back again?” Connie asks. “Chill out.”

“Nah, everything’s fine.” Jean says. “Let’s eat.”

DAY 6.

You smiled at the way the colorful sugared sprinkles sat daintily atop of the mini mountain of melting marshmallows and whipped cream as your fingers worked. Both mugs looked too cute sitting on the serving tray side by side with four cookies stacked neatly against each other. It was not more than 10 pm, Jean was feeling a bit hungry and you convinced him that some hot cocoa and sugar cookies would do the trick. You made the cookies from scratch, luckily there were enough ingredients to whip them up really quick. The kitchen was rather dark with the only light coming from the bulb above the oven. It gave the area a warm glow while you walked around, soft lofi music playing from the Alexa on the kitchen island. You were just about done, placing last minute touches on the tray like napkins and a tiny cup of milk. You were too caught up to notice a certain someone enter the kitchen.

When Eren sees you and rolls his eyes, his heart rate picks up slightly as he wasn’t expecting your presence. He looked around at his surroundings, everything looked normal besides the tray of cookies sitting out on top of the oven. He walked over and grabbed one, taking a bite out of it before speaking to you.

“Hey.” Eren greets you with a bored tone, his jaw munching on the sweet treat. Your heart jumps at the sudden sound of the voice causing your body to jolt. You look in his direction and blink. His eyes squint when you don’t respond to him and turn back to finish what you were previously doing. He lets out a dry chuckle before he walks over to you, leaning so that the small of his back was rested against the counter— his arms folded over his chest. “So you’re ignoring me now.” He smiles in disbelief.

“Leave me alone.” You say, not even giving him the time of day to even look in his direction.

“I don’t want to fight you.” Eren states, his eyes watching the way you place the cute toppings on the hot cocoa.

“Then why are you talking to me?” You mumble.

“I want to apologize..” He pauses. “But honestly, you’re being a bitch.”

“I’m not doing this right now.” You shake your head, hands going to pick up the tray. He stops you with a firm hand on your upper arm.

“Stop running away from me.” He says.

“You’re unbearable, Eren. Yesterday was not okay,” You start. “I really fucking hate you and I want nothing to do with you ever.” Your voice waivers as you speak, suddenly feeling the sting of tears in your eyes as you look up at him.

“No, you don't.” Eren shakes his head. “Not as much as you think..” He

“Let me go.” You say.

“Kiss me first.” Eren quips.

“Have you not been listening to a word I’ve been sa—” He cuts you off.

“Just shut up and fucking kiss me..” His eyes flickering to your lips as he leans in closer to your face.

Everything in you tells you to stop. Pull away. Push him. Walk away. Think about Jean— Jean, Jean, Jean.. but you don’t. Then Eren’s plump lips are on your own sharing an uncharacteristically soft kiss, it triggers the butterflies in your tummy. You can taste the sweetness on his lips as he moves against you, slowly falling deeper into the kiss. Eren pulls away, his forehead resting on yours as he looks you in the eyes. He whispers an apology that consists of two simple words and your head nods against his slowly, silently telling him that it was okay.

DAY 7.

Eren sat on the couch on the opposite side of you. His thighs were spread as he leaned back deeper into the soft plush of the cushions while his eyes were red, blown and lidded. He held one of the three joints being passed around between his fingertips, taking large hits every time he nursed the blunt to his lips. Big clouds of smoke escaped his lips with every exhale. You knew he was feeling good from the way he chuckled at Connie’s outlandish stories and schemes. It was maybe hour three after the ecstasy was taken, all of you about to hit your peak of your highs. The weed was only furthering the euphoric feeling coursing through your bodies. The music wasn’t only something you listened to but you felt it.

There was a moment where you locked eyes with Eren, almost having a silent conversation— it was only confirmed when Eren got up from his spot on the couch disappearing upstairs. You kissed Jean’s cheek before getting off of his lap, telling him that you were going to go to the bathroom. It wasn’t a lie, you ended up in the bathroom— only with Eren.

“C’mon, you followed me up here for a reason, tell me.” He says.

“I want you to stuff me full,” Your hands tightly gripped the porcelain from the sink as he grabbed a fistful of your (color) locks making you look into the mirror above the bathroom sink. You two looked completely tweaked out of your minds with pupils the size of blueberries.

“With what?” He asks.

“Cock— your cock-!” You cry.

“Yeah?” He smiles, his eyes never leave your own as his lips travel to your neck making his teeth sink into your skin. The sensation is so painful yet delicious. He takes his other hand and wraps it around your throat.

“Please hurry,” You whimper and push your hips back onto his big cock. It earns you an irritated groan from the brunette.

“So greedy..” He tuts. “What’s the rush? Don’t want anyone finding out about us?” God, he’s so fucking mean. He already knows the answer and yet he holds it over your head. If you weren’t high you’d probably be mad, but right now a coherent thought was not on the menu.

“Eren, please,” You sound so pathetic begging for him.

“It’s fucking crazy how you can talk so much shit,” He rubbed his cock on your ass. “But beg for my cock a couple days later.”

Eren grabs the base of his cock and aligns himself with your hole. He slides himself into your wet cunt slowly, his eyes fixed on how his big cock pry your walls open. It almost makes him dizzy, it's been too long since he’s had your pussy. Your whimpers and whines only further his yearning to pound into your hole. He knows you’re struggling to take him, you always do. For you it feels like you could be taking two cocks at once from Eren’s size. Eren’s hand gave the curve of your back a gentle push, silently telling you to arch and relax. He was halfway in and your knees were already shaking. You were holding most of your weight up on the counter, the rest

As much as he wanted to savor all of you, time really wasn’t an option right now so it didn’t take long for Eren’s hips to start moving in and out of you at a hurried pace, selfishly chasing after his own high rather than satisfying you. It's not on purpose, he just trusted you to finish too. You both knew that you were in a time crunch— if you wanted to cum you’d do it. Eren watched the way your ass jiggled every time his pelvis slammed into you, his big hands gripping at your plump cheeks and every now and again landing hard slaps to the supple skin. He was hitting every right spot in you effortlessly and soon the familiar tightening in your lower belly was growing a knot waiting to break.

“You’re my bitch.” Eren grits harshly through his teeth. He grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked your head up and back to his chest causing an unnatural curve in your back while his breath was hot on your ear. You were forced to look into the mirror once again, feeling embarrassment, arousal and guilt looking at your reflection— getting fucked by another man. You were disgusting, but why did Eren make you feel so good?

“You hear me? You’ll never be anything else. Don’t ever fucking forget it.” His harsh words were sent right to your cunt, pushing you into the onset of your orgasm.

“Eren, ‘m gonna cum,” You struggled to get out.

“I know, ‘can feel it.” His sounds strained too.

Eren is wrapped around your neck, choking you hard enough for your vision to become blurry. His face was smothered in the side of your head as the relentless thrusts from his cock continued to ram into your cunt. Your hands grip onto his bicep and forearm for support, biting your bottom lip to silence your moans. Your high ripped through your body in intense waves, walls clamping down and creaming on his cock.

“God, I fucking love you.” Eren groans into your ear. His hips falter a bit and he halts his movement, his cock giving one violent twitch right before spills his load into your pussy. Eren’s words don’t register with your ears until after the fact he’s come. He lets his cock slip from in between your thighs and his seed drips from your hole and onto the seat of your panties around ankles.

You look at Eren through the mirror.

“Eren.. what did you just say?” You ask. Eren doesn’t look up at you, only opting to pull up his pants and boxers. Before you could speak again, there was a knock on the bathroom door followed a voice:

“(Name)? Eren? Are you guys in here..?”

© all content belongs to rekiri 2021. do not modify or repost.

⋅♡⸝ DEVOUTNESS BLOOMS IN ALL TENDERNESS.

if rafayel had his way, you'd never leave him waiting.

⊹ f!reader ⊹ fluff. established relationship. banter n adortion; that's it ⊹ 0.7k ⊹ footnote. this one is taking over every space of my heart, quickly and effectively.

꒰ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 ! ꒱

“you’re late.” the frustrated grumble of a deathly impatient man. “again,”

if rafayel had his way, you’d likely never leave his side. if he could, he’d thread his infatuation between your bodies and use it to attach you both at the hip. it’s not so you can protect him; it’s not so you can be his bodyguard. he has his own specialities but you’re his personal delight. it’s all to build the guarantee he won’t lose you.

if he’s left to fall in love alone and lose in love alone again, his sensitive heart can’t take it. it’ll burst into a myriad of deep, maddened vermillion, mourning shades of indigo, and sorrowful tones of gunmetal grey. his artistry will suffer. his fragility will likely consume him and make a hollow shell out of his abandoned devotements. and god would he miss you terribly. so you need to arrive when you say you will; it needs to be important to keep your word to him, to show up for him, to hold him as close to your heart as he cradles you in his. “you’re being a brat.” you reply with a roll of your eyes, waltzing around his battlefield of discarded paints and art materials. “and you need to clean up in here. you’re going to get hurt and dramatically check yourself into the hospital again.” he scoffs. “you don’t care about me or my creative process at all. if you did, then perhaps you wouldn’t leave me waiting no matter where i go. i could have died all alone in here. how can i trust you with my life? do you want me, or do you want me dead?” “you’re the one who likes to buy materials that summon wanderers into your living room.” your own grousing travels the span of the room with you. “so? i hired you to protect me from myself.” when your giggle flutters into the air, a breathy melody that soothes his spirit and dispels his worry, a hymn or a prayer or a blessing on your breath, he can’t help the way his eyes soften at the sound. when you reach him, you stretch out the palm of your hand toward him. “pay your boyfriend tax.” of course, he knows exactly what you want from him, his flustered heart falling into an erratic symphony of beats that can hardly stay contained in his chest; it crescendos wildly in his ears. he peers at your hand with a huff of frustration while he takes a step closer, avoiding your gaze as he leans over, bending until the point of his chin rests in your hand. rafayel knows he’s doomed to die by means of your love alone when you grip his jaw, a soft thumb caressing from the corner of his lips to his cheek. his eyes twinkle and close at the feeling. if his heart is a garden, then your touch is the light of the sun that begs his devoutness to bloom in all tenderness, in all warmth. he waits for the pressure of supple lips that don’t fall, brows bunching as one eye opens and spells out his confusion. “hmph, are you going to greet me properly or just play with me?” “maybe both,” you murmur as you bend and press a soft kiss to his forehead. “i missed you.” if his heart is a shoreline, then your love must be the sea; your voice must be its depths and every wonderous marvel that exists within it, must be everything that swims and drowns and wades. a soft tint of red blossoms along his cheeks, slowly filling up to the tip of his ears. he almost can’t take it and he almost can’t move. so, he just stares for a moment, adoring eyes peering up at you with a look of surrender, white flags waving in the center of his fixated orbs. rafayel stands to his full height and shifts to turn away from you, to hide the way he can’t hide how much he loves you, to hide the way ardor paints itself across his nose. “i missed you, too.” he mumbles it and you’re amused. you hum, tilting your head with a knowing smirk. “what was that, rafayel?” “are you proud of yourself?” he gripes, giving you a sharp look with narrowed eyes. “i hired you to worry about wanderers but you come here and try to kill me instead.” a precious giggle. “god, you’re so dramatic.” if your laughter is a siren song, his heart becomes a sailor lured, and it gladly floats straight to you, straight to his death, right into the center of doom.

© 2024 elusivemoon. all rights reserved.

paris – l. juyeon

pairing: lee juyeon x fem! reader

genre: exchange student! juyeon in paris (ft. his erasmus friends). friends to ???, angst, fluff. actually, the genre is longing. halloween party au but the halloween part plays like,, 0 part in the fic, basically. idk the paris pics did something to me he is so european coded. paris by the 1975 without the drugs in a fic, essentially

warnings: cheating from yn's side, swearing, alcohol, smoking. the reader is canonically french im sorry 💀

word count: 6k

There’s quite a few reasons why Juyeon never told his friends from home about you- the girl he met on his student exchange trip. Some were the cause of Juyeon’s insecurities in himself, some the cause of your relationship status, all the cause of his unrequited love and the way you broke his heart, making Juyeon’s whole memory of Paris a bit hazy and bittersweet and the leave, paradoxically, that much harder. But still– and maybe you’re the reason for it– oh, how he’d love to go to Paris again.

a/n: do NOT cancel me for being a casual matty healy enjoyer i am a 2014 tumblr girlie at heart

“And where are my gifts? Where are the souvenirs?” Hyunjae calls after the boy that’s still kind of jet lagged from the flight (even though it’s been 3 days since his landing and he slept the whole day after his brother picked him up from the airport), the latter looking at him with tired eyes. 

“That’s all you want from me after not seeing me for 6 months?”

“Yes. Where’s my baguette?” Hyunjae glares, making the younger boy whine at the request.

“I didn’t know you wanted a hard rock baguette from me. If I had known, I would’ve taken one with me and smashed it against your head the moment I arrived here.”

“Well, if it’s authentic,” Hyunjae shrugs, laughing. “I’m just joking… I know we’ve been calling and texting like, every other day, but let me ask again. How was it?”

Juyeon finally smiles at his friend’s question. This is what one expects after coming home from studying abroad for 10 months– not a souvenir request. And trust me, Juyeon did bring gifts, out of the warmth of his own heart, but after being asked for them, he kind of doesn’t want to play Santa anymore. Kind of like when you decide to wash the dishes, but your mum tells you to do it at the same time of your decision– the motivation fades away the mere second you’re requested to do the thing.

“Well, it was good,” he shrugs, “it was… something,” Juyeon says– because how does one fit 10 months of their life into a few sentences without stammering– and before he gets a chance to say anything, Hyunjae catches him off guard with another inquiry.

“Is it true, by the way? Are European girls really prettier?” he grins, wiggling his eyebrows at the boy as if to suggest something– but all it does is make Juyeon shrug, acting not really bothered with the question. 

“Dunno,” he hums, “I think it’s equal to here.”

“So you’re telling me you went 10 months without getting laid in France?” Hyunjae gasps, making Juyeon furrow his brows in utter disbelief.

“When did I say that? Or anything that would even suggest that?” 

Now, this was a trap. Juyeon is too gullible. See, Juyeon was pretty transparent with everything during his calls with Hyunjae back when he was in Paris. He told his friends back home all about the European food, the rock-hard french baguettes, the weird looks and annoyed sighs he got when speaking English to the clarks in the shops, the cold showers in his accommodation and the pretty park in front of his university building. They also know all about his friends from Paris– the international students he met in his course like Shotaro from Japan, Bence from Hungary and Marco from Italy– but when the question of girls came around, specifically in the romantic light of things, Juyeon went awfully quiet. You can’t blame Hyunjae for getting into suspicions.

“So you did?” Hyunjae gasps, grasping at the straws.

Juyeon sighs, reaching for his bag. His awfully big hand slips inside of the black backpack, fingers touching various things before he brings out a bunch of gifts: a keychain with the Eiffel tower, some magnets, postcards, a fashionable beret he found in one of the souvenir stores but never saw anyone actually wear in the whole 10 months in the streets of Paris, some perfume and high quality chocolate. Hyunjae’s eyes go wide, making satisfaction swim through Juyeon’s veins at the sight– he managed to deflect the attack.

Sometimes, having materialistic friends is a plus.

As he watches Hyunjae touch all the things on the table, fingers trailing over metal and the shiny wrapping of the dark chocolate with an acknowledging nod, Juyeon takes out another thing out of his bag– his digital camera that he brought along for the ride. He sent his friends a lot of pictures when he was in Paris, and he also posted quite a few on Instagram for everyone to see, but the camera held more memories and more moments than anyone’s ever seen before– it’s a source of treasure for himself as well, but he figures it wouldn’t hurt to share a glimpse with his best friend.

“Wanna see? I took tons of pictures, but you can look through only the interesting ones, if you want to,” Juyeon hums, offering the camera to the male, the display already shining at him from the gallery, small icons of all pictures on the SD card in a 3x3 row on the small thing. 

A few pictures of the town are on preview right now, but if you scroll through the gallery, moments of his friend Marco’s birthday party that his friends threw for him, or the snapshots of his friend’s faces come into sight– Juyeon’s sure Hyunjae’s eager to see how all of the people he’s been talking to him about look like.

Hyunjae nods, taking the camera from him and squinting at the little icons. His fingers move along the touch screen and scroll through the gallery, eyes zooming on the interesting ones and grinning as he shows them to Juyeon, awaiting the backstory of a certain image. 

Everything goes well, until Hyunjae gets to the latest pictures on the SD card– well, apart from the ones Juyeon took from the window on his flight home. And Juyeon really doesn’t know what he was thinking, but hey– sometimes he doesn’t think things through as much as he should– and that’s why when a particular photo comes into his best friend’s sight, turning the camera towards Juyeon with a shiteating grin on his face, the question ‘Who’s that?’ makes the poor boy a bit shaken.

His tall figure, standing alongside someone shorter– you, in your vampire costume, fake blood running down the side of your mouth, a hand thrown over his shoulders and your side pressed into his a bit too close as he stares down onto you with an obviously star-struck face, suit covering his body in a poor attempt at Joker’s costume– the moment stares back at him like a haunted memory.

He clears his throat. “That’s… that’s just Y/N.”

Hyunjae hums, having a staring contest with the picture on the screen. The date on the bottom reads 31/10/23, the last day of Juyeon’s stay before he had to go home. “How come I’ve never heard about Y/N?”

“There wasn’t much to say, I guess,” Juyeon shrugs, taking a sip from the bottle of beer on the table.

“Sure…” Hyunjae doubtingly nods, scrunching up his nose in disbelief.

“I’m serious. She’s just a friend I met there,” Juyeon offers, licking his lips in nerves. 

And it’s the truth– you were just a friend and there really wasn’t much to say about you two– so why does Juyeon’s heart hurt a bit as he recognizes the events of the night as if it happened yesterday? Why does he feel nostalgic, maybe a little bitter about the way you two left off? 

Hyunjae doesn’t know, but there’s quite a few reasons why he never heard about you in the first place. Some were the cause of Juyeon’s insecurities in himself, some the cause of your relationship status, all the cause of his unrequited love and the way you broke his heart, making the whole memory of Paris a bit hazy and bittersweet and the leave, paradoxically, that much harder. 

But still– and maybe you’re the reason for it–

oh, how he’d love to go to Paris again.

31/10/2023

The buzzing of the room makes Juyeon’s already thumping head ache in its crevices, the smell of alcohol in the breath of everyone talking to him only making his stomach twist and turn with acid. He’s had his fair amount of drinks himself, but there is a very faint line between the amount that’s just enough to keep him going through the night and the amount that makes him puke and have a two-week hangover, and with the flight home he has to take tomorrow afternoon, he doesn’t think drinking more would be a good idea.

“Don’t break it!” Juyeon tiredly hurries out as he sees his friend Marco handle his camera, the device almost falling out of the foreign friend’s hands. 

“I won’t! Hold on, let me just–” the Italian mutters, the coating of vodka shots and the cheap red wine (made to look like blood to keep things festive) making his words slur together as he speaks. 

Juyeon reaches towards his drunk friend (while also questioning how he’s going to take a plane back to Italy tomorrow in a very hungover state) and tries to pray the prized possession out of his hands, but comes to a fail as the tall man waves him off with a theatral arm wave, shoving the poor boy towards the white wall and putting the camera up against his own face. “I’ll take your picture! So you can– you only take pictures of us, Juyo,” he rambles on, “I’ll take your picture so you can show it at home to your friends!” Marco grins, having Juyeon aimlessly sigh and stretch out his lips into a fake smile, waiting for his friend to take the picture so he can get his camera back to safety.

“Me too! Me too!” he suddenly hears from somewhere to his right, and before he has the chance to decipher the owner of the female voice, a weight on his shoulder tells him you just jumped at his side– almost topping him over and into the spooky decorations to his right– as you giggle into his ear. “Have it?”

“Aaaalmost!” Marco stretches out as he squints at the camera– and in the spare few seconds before the shutter goes off, Juyeon allows himself to stare down at your figure glued to his side. You’re wearing a dark lipstick on your smile, a drip of fake blood rolling down the side of your mouth. There’s a corset top enveloping your middle and a flowy black skirt only pulling the whole look together even with the absence of fangs– and while you don’t suck out his blood, Lee Juyeon can physically feel how you sucked out all oxygen out of his lungs in your sexy vampire costume. 

He’s seen you around tonight, but he never got the courage to walk up to you. Something about this being his last night in Paris might be the reason why. 

He was simply too bummed out about how things between you and him never went further than fits of laughter in class as you helped him with his French, or friendly hugs when you bid him goodbye at the corner of his street. Maybe it was his own fault for falling for someone so out of his reach. He always knew his stay in France was temporary– hell, he was an exchange student, he was aware of what he was getting himself into– but still, he couldn’t help but recognize the familiar warmth in his stomach whenever you were around and the strange racing of his heart whenever you were close enough for him to smell your shampoo for what it was. He was completely, utterly smitten with you– a french local that would be erased out of his lifestyle as soon as he lands back home in Korea.

The shutter of the camera is all it takes to break his train of thought, making him snap his head back to his Italian friend. A sigh of relief is heard in the room as Juyeon finally reunites with his digital camera (he was surprised to see Marco let go of it so easily), and before he has the chance to think of a conversation topic to indulge in with you, you have his words catching in his throat at your own pace of speech.

“Have you been here for long?” you ask, flattering your eyelashes at him. Juyeon gasps before he presses his lips together into a tight line, shrugging.

“A bit.”

“Why haven’t you said hi?” you frown. “You said it’s your last night! You wouldn’t leave without a goodbye, would you?” you shake your head at him, playfully poking his shoulder with your pointer finger.

He was going to. Not anymore, he guesses.

“No,” he disagrees instead, “I was gonna look for you when it was my turn to leave,” he quickly comes up with an explanation, having your features relax as a warm smile overtakes your pretty features again.

Even with your face all bloody and your eyes having dark circles under them from eyeshadow (and mascara that weared off a little, which you were completely unaware of), Juyeon finds you absolutely, utterly and fascinatingly beautiful. He’s glad no one is able to read his inner monologue– or else he’d be the one with blood running down the side of his face. If the punch to seal the cut would be coming from you or your boyfriend, he’s not quite sure. 

Maybe both. The main thing is, you’re taken and his feelings aren’t reciprocated. 

Which is why his silly crush on you that maybe, just maybe, turned into something more meaningful was that much damaging to his poor soul. 

Because Juyeon swears he never loved anyone before, but after spending the night with you drinking cheap wine in his empty dorm room on his birthday completely alone– since it fell on a Sunday this year and he didn’t have that many friends yet to celebrate with, only having spending 2 weeks in Paris at the time– during which you taught him French swear words and kissed his cheek goodbye (which he thought may be a cultural thing, although he wasn’t sure); after all of this, he felt like you’re the person he’ll think of when someone asks him about his first love when he's old.

And even if he had the balls to do anything about it (which he didn’t), he simply couldn’t. You were out of reach.

“You’d better,” you hum, “or else I’d hitchhike a plane and come over to Korea just to kick your ass.”

“You can’t hitchhike a plane, you weirdo.” 

You sigh, shaking your head. “Of course I can. Watch me.”

Juyeon finds himself grinning at the adorable determination in your voice. It makes him feel a certain type of way that he knows he shouldn’t– but after spending 10 months with the feelings (5 of which you were single, 5 of which you’ve spent dating your boyfriend) and absorbing the idea of leaving you and everything behind tomorrow, Juyeon no longer feels as guilty about the act of loving you. Not anymore– not tonight.

“I like your costume,” Juyeon comments, pointing to the attire you’ve dressed yourself in.

“Really?” your eyes light up. “Look, I even wore the bow my idiot of a boyfriend said looks tacky,” you say, making a little twirl for the man. Your skirt flows nicely in the air and you stumble a bit due to the alcohol in your system, but when Juyeon catches you by your forearms and steadies you, there’s a content smile sitting on your lips despite your previous sentence.

“It looks pretty on you,” Juyeon hums, nodding. “It’s not tacky at all.”

“I always knew you had more taste than him,” you sigh dramatically, making Juyeon question your actions. 

Oh? 

“Anyways, I like your costume as well,” you comment. 

“Thanks,” he says, although his half-assed attempt at a Joker’s costume wasn’t anywhere near your level of preciseness, “Shotaro was supposed to go as Harley to match with me, but he pulled out of it at the last minute,” Juyeon pouts.

“Gosh! That would’ve been fucking amazing,” you laugh, swatting your friend in the arm playfully– the way you always do when you laugh– but as you come down from it, there’s a bitter tone in your voice. “I asked my boyfriend to wear a couple’s costume too, but he said all my costume ideas were lame.”

“Y/N–” Juyeon starts, wanting to speak up about the matter very obviously present in the conversation, wanting to console you, say anything, but you cut him off again– your courtesy– with a shrug and a grin on your face made to mask your true emotions (didn't work. Juyeon knows you too well).

“It’s okay. That’s why I dressed up as a slutty vampire just to spite him,” you say. 

“What’s his costume?” Juyeon asks.

“Not sure. I think he just bought the Scream mask, or something,” you mutter, rolling your eyes at the male.

And now, Juyeon was never big on gossip. But if gossiping meant poking fun at your boyfriend, the last night before his plane back home takes off is not the time he’s passing on a snarky comment. “Lame.”

“I’m so glad we are on the same page, Juyo.”

His heart leaps at the nickname– a lot of people call him that, but the tone you say it in, the sweet melody of your voice as you throw it at him like a promise (of everything and nothing at all– you’re fond of him, but never fond enough), only you have this effect on him when you call him that. He wishes he had you saying his name recorded, documented somewhere on his phone, your accent and all, so he could hear you say it when he foolishly misses you in the middle of the night, like he knows he will when he lays awake at home, in his tiny, silent room.

“Do you want to get out for a bit? It’s getting too hot in here,” you say as you wave yourself, hoping to cool off, but failing miserably with the heat created from the bodies swimming through the house, and Juyeon finds himself nodding at your question.

Your feet drag you outside of the house, the cold breeze instantly cooling down your sweaty bodies. You two stand on the front porch together, watching the world around you revolve in a fast, yet slow manner– there are couples making out in the corner of the yard, one of them pressed up against the tree, and friends chasing each other down in zombie costumes, passing by bottles of alcohol between each other. 

Juyeon hears you hum, making him turn his head towards you and see you offering a cigarette to him. He'd never been much of a smoker before, but Europe taught him to never turn down a cigarette when offered, and so he only takes out one out of the pack, watching you mirror his movements. You fish for your lighter in your bra (and Juyeon finds himself too mesmerized to look away during the action), clicking it and putting the flame against the cigarette trapped between his lips.

He doesn’t know what it is about the action that makes his eyes hooded as he watches you– noticing the forgotten speck of glitter from some step of your makeup routine under your eye, making him want to swipe his thumb over it and take it off for you– but he can’t get his gaze off you as he breaths in the smoke, his head going more fuzzy than it has been only a few minutes prior.

When Juyeon’s cigarette is lit, you move to light your own, all while the male watches you with almost a dreamy look on his face. Somehow, he’s glad no one’s watching you. He doesn’t think he would be able to conceal his feelings for you tonight.

“Are you gonna miss this?” you suddenly ask, looking up at him from his right.

You? Absolutely. 

“I think so,” he nods, “it’s a lot different to home, but I made a lot of memories here.”

He watches a hint of smile spreading over your features. “Do you remember when you accidentally told our professor you were horny instead of excited?” you laugh.

“Oh, shut up,” Juyeon laughs at the memory. His French never really got to a perfect level– that’s why most of you settled on speaking English between each other– but the first few weeks were a living hell of a language barrier for Lee Juyeon. “The more concerning part is that this is what made you approach me,” he notes.

“Well, I recognised that you needed help, and I was willing to provide it,” you say, taking a drag out of the cigarette and blowing the smoke into his face.

Juyeon looks at you through the smoke cloud, snickering. “I’m kinda grateful, though. You were the first friend I made here.”

You look at him with a tender look– something so full of care Juyeon swears he feels his stomach doing somersaults– before you press your lips into a solemn smile. “Well, I’m honored, Juyeon Lee,” you drag out in a posh accent, making the boy break out into a laugh.

He takes another drag off the cigarette, inviting the nicotine into his system. Mixed with the alcohol in his veins and your aura surrounding him, he almost feels on cloud 9, like he’s flowing in space and he can’t get down. He watches as you lean over the railing of the porch, forearms meeting with the metal in a set of goosebumps. Breeze flies through the air, making your barely-clothed figure shiver.

He knows he probably shouldn’t. Your boyfriend is somewhere inside, and although you two are seemingly in a weird sort of fight, it’s not his place to act as a gentleman. 

Still, Juyeon finds he has nothing to lose. He shrugs off the suit jacket he’s been wearing and drapes it over your shoulders wordlessly, noticing the way you look back at him over your shoulder with a soft smile on your lips. 

A comforting silence overtakes you two. Juyeon takes the last drag off the cigarette and puts it out on the iron railing, enjoying the effect your sheer presence has on him. The music coming out of inside is only a mere background noise now, providing him an occasional distraction to the buzzing of his own thoughts.

“Say, Juyo,” you start, “do you know where Dorothy lives?” you ask.

Juyeon hums in disagreement. “Don’t think I do. Why?”

“I’m sleeping over at hers tonight,” you mumble, mentioning your best friend– the girl Juyeon’s met plenty of times in the 10 months of knowing you. “I was supposed to stay at Andre’s, but I’m not talking to him right now.”

“Oh,” is all Juyeon says. The mention of your boyfriend always throws him off the track a little.

“I dunno where Dorothy went, but I’m getting kind of sleepy.”

“Why can’t you just go home?” he asks.

“Juyo,” you laugh, “my parents would kill me if I got home tipsy and smelling like cigarette smoke. Don’t you know how they are?” you joke, shaking your head in disbelief.

He doesn’t. He kind of wishes he had the chance to know, though– because if he knew your parents, maybe it would imply something. Signify something more.

“Do you want me to walk you to Dorothy’s?” 

“Yeah,” you nod, lids heavy. Juyeon doesn’t know what time it is, but the last time he checked, it was well past midnight– he doesn’t think he’d stay around much longer himself.

“Okay,” he nods, watching as you slowly peel yourself off the railing and wear his suit jacket properly, the fabric drowning you, but keeping you warm. The sight, the sentiment of it, makes Juyeon’s hands shake and his throat go dry. You’re so close, yet so out of his reach.

Your feet are slow as you march towards the direction of your best friend’s house. Juyeon doesn’t know how far it is, but he wishes for you to take the long way home– if those are the last moments he has with you, he wants to drag the evening out the best he can.

The night is quiet. The only thing ringing in your ears is the sound of your own footsteps, when Juyeon surprises himself with the question that noisily cuts out of his throat.

“Why don’t you break up with him?” he asks.

He expects you to go mad at the question– you were known to have quite the fierce temper. You and Andre have had a few problems in the past: he was known to be reckless with his snarky comments that somehow hurt your pride, his nasty behavior when he got drunk, and the not-so-happy opinion your parents had of him. You were known to blow things out of proportion, screaming, crying and making a scene whenever you could if you thought it was appropriate, known to talk about your conflicts with your friends and digging out opinions out of them on the matter.

Juyeon always made sure to give you lukewarm arguments whenever you asked him about your boyfriend. Never too heated to make himself seem suspicious. Your relationship was none of his business.

Again– tonight, though, he has nothing to lose.

“I dunno,” you shrug, your steps a little uneven on the pavement, “it’s… a matter of habit, maybe? It’s weird,” you say. 

The explanation gives Juyeon just about nothing. A matter of habit? Is it a habit to stay with someone? Was there not more needed for a relationship?

Juyeon doesn’t find it in him to reply. Instead, he lets you talk.

“I think I might love him, or something. I’m not really sure…” you mumble, the sentences breaking Juyeon’s heart a little by little, shattering it right in front of you on the pavement, “because if I didn’t, why else would I put up with all of this?” you ask, not really expecting an answer.

“All the shaming, the spiteful remarks. The pettiness, the silent treatment… tell me, Juyo, do I have any dignity?” you laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Y/N…”

The snicker that escapes out of you quickly turns bitter. Your body grows impossibly closer to his, your hands sneaking around his bicep. You walk with linked arms, your head falling to his shoulder. “I don’t think I really love him, though,” you suddenly rebuttal, “‘cause like… I wouldn’t- I wouldn’t tell my grandkids about Andre, y’know? I think that’s the way you know. If you can imagine thinking so fondly about someone that you… that you’d mention them even in 50 years, ‘cause the memories still feel fresh and you’re delighted you once knew them, then…” you trail off, voice fading.

“Do you know what I mean?” you hum, pouting.

He does know.

“Sorry, I’m rambling–”

“No, I get you,” he reassures you, nodding to himself. 

“You always do,” you sigh, breaking Juyeon’s heart into a million pieces, “anyways, with that being said… I think I’m with him only because breaking up is too much of a hassle. And, I think I like the attention,” you splutter, laughing at yourself, “that’s… so desperate of me, I know. I’m starting to doubt if it’s even worth it.”

“He’s not,” Juyeon finds himself saying as you two cross the corner.

“You’re only saying that as my friend.”

“No, I’m saying that as your– as someone who cares…?” he stutters, mentally kicking himself for sounding so readable. Surely, you must’ve already noticed. If not from his current statement, then from the way he looked at you the whole night. You are a smart girl– you were always quick to point out the men that would soon hit on you when you were at the club. You have a good eye when it comes to others.

You only laugh, though. Oh, how Juyeon loves the sound.

“Thank you,” you hum.

You two fall silent for a while. Juyeon finds himself enjoying it. It feels comfortable– to walk with you through the emptied Paris, accompanied by the yellow lampposts and soulless streets. Only you two, your linked arms and his suit jacket around your shoulders.

“We’re at Dorothy’s,” you muse when your steps come to a halt, gesturing towards the silent, dark house on the other side of the street, “I think she’s not home yet, though. Her light would be on.”

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Juyeon looks from the house and back at you, then back at the seemingly empty house again. “And now what?”

“I have to wait for her,” you shrug, “will you… keep me company?”

You don’t even have to ask. He’d always keep you company. 

“Well, I’m not just gonna let you stand alone in the street in the middle of the night, am I?” he playfully shakes his head in disbelief, but secretly enjoys the fact that he has more time with you before you have to pay each other goodbye.

“Always knew you were a gentleman.”

“Pretty sure that was my middle name,” he notes.

“I thought you said that was ‘handsome’ once?”

“I have two,” he laughs.

“Is that possible?” you tease.

“Of course! Look it up,” he says, turning to you as he talks. “My name’s actually Lee Handsome Gentleman Juyeon, it’s on my ID and everything,” he jokes, watching as your eyes turn into moon crescents and your throat lets out a fit of amused giggles.

Another playful punch to his shoulder. A happy sigh. A shake of your head, full of disbelief. 

“Damn, Juyo. I’ll miss you like crazy, you know?” you suddenly utter, making the boy’s heart fall down into his stomach. The implication of your words sounds a lot like a goodbye, and although he was aware of the fact that he was leaving before, he doesn’t think he really let the reality down on him until now. 

This time tomorrow, there will be no Paris. No Marco. No Shotaro. No Bence. No French locals, no bagels for breakfast, no shitty ass dorm room.

No you.

“I’ll miss you more,” he says. He thinks he’s right.

You’ll miss him like a friend. He’ll miss you like his first love.

You stare at him for a heartbeat. One, two– before you latch onto him, much like when you first met tonight. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close, head resting on his shoulder only when you notice his hands wrapping around your middle. Breathing in your scent, Juyeon focuses very hard to keep his heart rate in check– it’s hard to not falter under your touch when your nose buries itself into his neck, cold skin nuzzling into his hot one, hands squeezing him tighter.

Juyeon doesn’t think you’ve ever hugged him like this before. 

And now, you won’t ever again.

You break away from him only enough to still be in his hold, your forehead resting against his. The new intimacy between the two of you makes him gulp, eyes focused into yours– watching the silver and gold swirl around your irises, counting your eyelashes. Noticing the faint mole on the top of your nose bridge. 

Foolishly letting his eyes dip lower. Memorizing the shape of your lips with his gaze. Taking in a shaky breath when he feels your fingers playing with the hair on his nape.

“Will you tell your grandkids about Paris?” you ask, voice barely louder than a whisper. Juyeon would almost think you’re suggesting something with your question, but when you speak up again, the suspicion is proved correct. “Will you tell them about me?”

The boy drags his eyes up back to yours. He examines the intention. He finalizes that he has nothing left to lose. 

Tomorrow, this will all be a memory. A moment out of his reach– much like you, all this time. A moment of time he experienced and won’t ever get back.

“I will,” he nods, swallowing. “Will you?”

You smile at the boy, the curve of your lips capturing his attention again. If anyone asked, he’d tell them it’s pure biology– the way his eyes zoomed in on your mouth the moment your expression changed. That’s how attention fluctuates– he learned about it in class somewhere, he’s fairly certain.

Why he’s unable to look back into your eyes after the question is a matter of something else, though.

“I think I might,” you breathe out.

There’s buzzing in his fingertips as he relishes the moment. The sentiment makes his knees weak, his brain fuzzy, his sight blurry and a little hazed. When he finally catches a glimpse of your gaze, he finds it glued to his mouth. 

He could take it as an invitation. 

He won’t, though.

“Kiss me?” you ask, whispering.

He shakes his head in disapproval. “I can’t.” 

Not when you’re taken. Not when he’s aware. Not when he knows you might regret this in the morning.

“Can I kiss you, then?” you ask. 

That, however, is a whole other situation. 

You asked to. You're making the first step. He doesn't have to feel guilty– who cares whether either of you might regret this decision tomorrow.

A simple nod–

that’s all it takes before you lock your lips with his. Your mouths move against each other with a passion he’s contained for his whole stay. You taste like vodka and orange juice, the slickness of your lip gloss making Juyeon’s lips slide against yours with more ease. He kisses you like you’d kiss your first love– with everything in him, with everything he is. 

He kisses you in a way that shows he wants to remember this forever. In a way that makes you lean even closer, pressing up firmly against him as you angle your head to make the kiss deeper. One of your hands moves from behind his head to twist itself deeper into his hair, tugging a little at the root to make the boy gasp under your actions. That has you inviting your tongue into his mouth, eager to taste him, to explore.

Juyeon doesn’t think he’s ever been kissed like this. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so vulnerable, so open while kissing someone. This is him with his heart on a plate, naked and ready to be stabbed, squished by the weight of circumstances breathing onto his back.

His cold fingers move along your sides. Your hands settle on his shoulders to steady yourself, head pulling away to gasp for oxygen.

You look so pretty when he opens his eyes. Lipstick smudged and eyes blown out, hair a little messy from the October wind. He’s like an addict presented with his favorite drug– he can’t get enough, he can’t resist as he chases after you, leaving kisses along your jaw and the corner of your mouth, where the blood is, slowly meeting your lips again in another lock.

Everything else disappears. In this moment, there’s just you, you, you…

No flights. No weight of his own conscience. No boyfriends, no unsaid feelings. 

No regret.

And Juyeon thought he had nothing to lose, but suddenly, with you in his arms, he feels as if he’s being stripped of everything he never even had, only got the glimpse of last minute, a few hours before he’s gone.

You lean away again. Juyeon watches you with big eyes. A smile appears on your face as you move a finger up to his face, cleaning up the side of his mouth off the dark lipstick you’ve imprinted on him. He feels fragile under your touch. One bad move and he breaks, falls apart under you.

“You have to come back to visit one day,” you whisper, cradling the side of his face.

Juyeon nods. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get the chance.

But as you stand on your tippy toes and press a kiss to his forehead, making a million different fireworks erupt in his stomach, he doesn’t let himself think of that (im)possibility. He watches as you smile at him, locking your eyes in a gaze tender and soft, yet electrifying, holding something special.

Before you take off to meet your best friend walking up the other side of the street, you hug him one last time and whisper into his ear.

“Goodbye, Juyo.”

Seeing as you lock your arms with Dorothy, walking up into the silent house and never looking back, Juyeon lets himself feel the last hint of longing for someone he always knew would never be his. And it’s strange, because he hasn’t even left yet, 

but oh, how he’d love to go to Paris again.

[ ::♡:: ] 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑! — ZAYNE

after a long trip away, you decide that zayne needs some tlc of his own <3

i have once again been distracted from the wrio fic (im going insane). inspired by doctor by jack stauber and his business card! established relationship, suggestive near the end!

it's not unusual to find zayne in an anxious mood.

he's always been like this, he thinks—obsessive to the point where he thinks it might kill him if he's not careful, overanalyzing every last detail because he thinks it actually might kill him if he doesn't.

...but how could he not?

how could he not when he sees you peeking your head through the open door for the first time in weeks, and his heart flutters on command? how could he not when you yell out his name in excitement once you see him, tackling him with a bear hug into the soft plush of the sofa, your chest pressing against his faster-than-normal beating heart?

the two of you just stay there (his arms around your waist feels right, he thinks), under the dull lights of the overhead lamps, next to the low hums and chatter of the tv, above the waxed wooden floors—you lift your head from the crook of his neck, and you reach your hand to his hair, brushing his bangs away from his face before you place your palm on his forehead.

"...well well well, dr. zayne," you drawl, the coo barely escaping your mischievous tone, "did you manage to catch a fever while i was gone?"

and then he sees your eyes sparkle above his, that gleam in your smile, your hair falling over your ear, he asks himself again: how could he not? how could he not obsess over every idiotic decision you make to get yourself in trouble? how could he ever stop caring for you as much as he does now?

"of course not."

"hmmm," you tap his forehead playfully, "your symptoms are telling me something different."

"and what are my symptoms, pray tell?"

"you're flushed," your voice drips with humor, tracing the curves of his jawline. he swallows thickly as your finger moves from his jaw to his collar, splaying your palm against his heart. you can feel it against the thick cotton of his dress shirt, "your heart is beating awfully quick, and you're sweating a little bit."

"those are all symptoms of heat stroke."

"it's because you're hot," you answer casually (you've always been quick on your feet), "and you're heating up the room."

if overthinking won't kill him, you might.

"...sweet-talk won't work on me." his chest feels heavy and he can barely speak, but his hand moves, tucking your hair back behind your ear.

"well, it's because i'm hot, then."

it's been less than five minutes since you've gotten home from your business trip and you already have his heart pinched between your fingers, playing with the arteries and capillaries like it's your own personal playground.

"oh come on," you feel your ears heat up ever so slightly, "say something! don't leave me hanging, it's awkward!"

"i've got nothing to say."

"you have shellshocked written right on your forehead," your nail scrapes ever so slightly across his skin, tracing out the letters on the bumps and lines on his face. "you could say something about that."

"i wonder whose fault that is."

"i'm not sure," you pretend to wonder, "did you miss me?"

yes. so much that he could barely breathe.

"not really." he decides to tease you instead.

you slap his shoulder in defiance, an angry frown on your face. "my diagnosis is over! you, sir, are suffering from an awful condition of self-deception—"

"and what about you? did you miss me?"

his question catches you off guard. you feel your face light aflame against the heat of his stare, the deep black in his eyes bearing earnestly into your own.

"...a lot. i missed you a lot, actually." you look more embarrassed than you sound, "came here as fast as i could after the train dropped me off, so yeah, i missed you."

"me too." he hums in affirmation—his hand cups your jaw, gently brushing his thumb against your cheek. slowly, he reaches to the back of your neck, guiding you down to meet his face, your hand against his steady heart.

it beats for you, afterall, you might as well hold it.

"you could've just said that, y'know." you huff, the warmth crawling to your ears as you lean in closer.

he barely lets a surprised "what?" escape his mouth before you kiss him. it's like you breathe life into him when your lips brush against his, his hands find their way to your scalp, his fingers tangle desperately in your hair.

zayne used to think he was above this—simple things like making out on the couch or even waiting for somebody to come back home were never something he could never imagine doing when he was younger, much less with you. it makes him so nervous that his hands shake with desperation and the questions flood his mind again, but the way you bite his lip makes his mind go fucking insane, and all of the sudden—

"hey, hey, are you okay?"

he's brought back to reality with your concerned tone, acutely aware of how heavily he breathes, how soft your touches are.

"y—yeah," he clears his throat, licking his lips, "just...thinking is all."

you shift on top of him, smoothing out his hair and re-straightening his tie with chapped fingers and flushed lips. "here," you give him a small smile, "i have some medicine for you. for your diagnosis."

you give him a kiss, nothing heated or passionate, just a small peck on his nose.

and another one on his forehead, and then another right on the mole under his eye.

"'s for all of the kisses i couldn't give you while i was gone," you murmur, pressing another to his cheek, and then one on the other side of his jaw, "so you can stop thinking, okay?"

it's not rare that he finds himself agonizing over every decision, every particular characteristic that holds a tight leash on his life, but at this moment, he wants nothing more but you.

"i think i'm sick again," he closes his eyes, taking a shallow breath as he feels your breath on his skin, "i think more medicine would help, don't you think?"

it's your smile that did it first, he thinks (or lack thereof), the same smile you give him now as you lean down for another kiss, deeper this time, slower, like the ice that melts around his lungs, like the flowers that bloom in their place.

his arteries move with your fingers, his thundering heart beating in sync with your breath, his low groans matching yours.

(he knows he belongs to you, anyways.)

"let me take care of you, will you let me?" your hands place themselves at the buttons of his shirt, and your eyes peer up at him in assurance, "make up for lost time?"

and just for that night, zayne unravels, and he surrenders completely to you.

"zayne is cold" have u ever considered he might just be autistic

are you the newspaper? (because i’ve got an issue with you)

synopsis: You’re a reporter for the 2021 Olympics, but you’re pretty sure that Oikawa Tooru’s chest is warmer than the morning press. Because fact from fiction, contract to signature, bill to check, and scribbles to speech—it’s all a reminder that you shouldn’t be falling for Oikawa when he’s the reason you can’t have Barbie movie marathons with that teen mom down your apartment street anymore. 

A/N: Fake dating x celeb AU? hurt/comfort. 

tw: i curse like once and reference god so beware! word count about 8k? part 1

You don’t hate him; you think he’s trouble. You don’t hate him; you think he’s like a crossword puzzle (with too many empty boxes and hidden clues when you’d rather search the words that circle the right boxes).

You don’t hate him, but you certainly don’t like the way Oikawa Tooru speaks his last words like headline news, like he’s not a footnote in the story when everyone’s begging to see him fall to the subtitles. 

“I honestly think you hate him,” mutters Kuroo, your promotional press division manager who hears too many of your rushed deadlines. He’s been the front page of your memories in Japan, the first person you call when your life needs more papers to print. He is the second-side to your sheets of thoughts, and you’re beginning to have more bleed-throughs.

“You can’t… hate someone you barely know,” you bite with your lips that catch doubt.

He hums and silently nods approval, shifting to the files in your cabinet. Kuroo’s too cocky to be your secretary, but he’s more assistance to your life than you’d like to admit.

You can hear the way his eyes widen with a hidden sense of mirth that’s too loud in office cubicles. “Applications in your junk pile… Don’t tell me you plan on leaving us this early.”

“Because of you?” You offer with more delight in your voice than you’d like to admit. “I think I’d rather leave without retirement funds than spend a decade here.”

Kuroo sighs, “Funny, very funny.”

“So funny that I might ask the editor to push yours to the back page.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t,” he chortles, but you can feel the lingering of a thought trailing his mind. Kuroo is a weird specimen; he’s too much like you, too much like the way you choose to write in pen and long for permanence. “But my offer wasn’t that bad.”

“We need someone typical…” He trails off with a wave of his hand. “…And you happened to fit the part!”

“I thought you said we were the protagonist of the world,” you reply, playing with the sugar and spoon mixing your espresso of hot-messes that morning.

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “And sometimes you don’t read all the chapters to a book you skim for that test the next morning.”

“Are you saying I’m a filler chapter?”

“I’m saying you could be someone else’s filler chapter,” Kuroo responds, playing with the ends of his gray-vest. You might be slipping into a coma of regret and sorrow now at where your job has left you, and Kuroo isn’t helping.

“Oikawa’s publicity team is begging for a fake-date for a few months,” he answers. “It’s something to make him seem more human, and it’s to calm down his ‘big-boy brat’ attitude for a while.”

You nod, taking in what Kuroo is saying and the absurdity of the situation. You wished your coffee offered you free third-degree burns instead of a blind date towards hell.

“We run the Olympics, and they wanted more viewership after the rise of pandemics and decrease in sales,” Kuroo explains, moving away from the small sticky-notes that piece your one-night stand-alone ideas.

You raise an eyebrow. “What did they offer?”

“A promotion on both your and my end, and 10% of Oikawa’s income sales,” he reasons and insists as you spot the gel in his hair losing its shine. “Plus, he’s not that bad. I’m practically best-friends with the guy since high school!”

“Really?”

“Yeah! It all started when I asked him for a tampon once.”

Keep reading

jjk men + dreaming you cheated on them.

gojo, geto, nanami, toji, megumi, yuuji.

cw: all super suggestive! sex is implied in most so..[nsfw +18, minors dni.] they’re all grumpy and jealous even if they dont seem like it lol.

⊹˚₊⭒ GOJO & GETO.

⊹˚₊⭒ NANAMI & TOJI.

⊹˚₊⭒ MEGUMI & YUUJI.