Spideysoldier28 - ILokiH8Chu

Just some Screenshots ⑨ I love V ´ω`)

I curse my stars in bitter grief and woe

That made my love so high and me, so low.

I couldn’t hold back || J.K.

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: Mentions of death, bad language

“The name of that good friend of yours, that one you told me about. Oh right, it’s Marco.”

Your eyes bored into the bowl of stew held in your hands, doing your best to remain calm through this conversation.

“You said Annie was involved in his death, didn’t you?”

You didn’t need to look over at Jean to know he was scowling. Marco’s death had taken a toll on both of you, finding out Annie was involved was even harder.

“Have you asked about it yet? The truth behind his death.”

Your head flashed up, eyes snapping between Yelena and Annie quickly. You hadn’t, truthfully, You didn’t think Jean had either. Up until now, you weren’t sure you really wanted to know. The point of it was Marco was dead, you didn’t need to know the details.

“I took off Marco’s ODM gear.” Annie spoke before anyone could inquire more information. “That’s why a titan ate-“ Reiner cut her off.

“Annie was only following my orders.”

The anger in your chest burned, bubbling under the surface. You could’ve assumed he’d have something to do with it as well, but hearing the words come out of his mouth was a different experience entirely.

“Marco overheard a secret conversation I had with Bertholdt. In fear of our cover being blown, I thought the best way to silence him was to have a titan kill him. I slammed Marco into a roof while in the air. And while I held him down, I had Annie take off his ODM gear. Marco was stuck there until a titan ate him.”

It was deathly quiet as Reiner finished, no one quite able to believe what they were hearing. You felt sick, you were furious. You couldn’t bring yourself to look back at either of them, knowing what they’d done to Marco.

“Did Marco say anything at the very end?” Jean spoke up, eyes trained at the fire in front of him. His tone was hard, cold, his body language seemed stiff, almost like a wall.

“He asked why I wasn’t willing to talk to him.” You looked towards him then, meeting Reiner’s eyes for the first time in years. There was nothing but pure regret in them, and it made something twist deep within your stomach.

“I think that question still applies. We hardly tried to talk, we all just kept fighting, assuming it had to be to the death,” You said finally. Your gaze fell back onto your stew as if suddenly uninterested, unable to maintain eye contact.

“I stood and watched the titan as it devoured Marco and then a switch flipped and I couldn’t figure out why it was happening. I just snapped. I flew into a rage, hellbent on avenging Marco. I cut down the titan myself.”

Your grip on the bowl tightened, your body stiffening at Reiner’s words. Anger fired up again in your blood, fueling a burning sensation behind your eyes that made you want to scream.

“We get it, Reiner. You feel guilty and it screwed with your head,” you snapped, your fingers digging further into the bowl, your glare focused only on the blonde man across from you.

“Don’t forgive me. I’m truly worthless.”

It was silent for another few seconds, Reiner’s eyes refusing to meet yours, but the tension was thick. You were on the verge of exploding when he spoke again.

“I’m sorry.”

You were moving in an instant, your half empty bowl of stew thrown to the side, your body moving towards Reiner before you could even register it.

“Y/N!” Hange’s yell fell on deaf ears as you lunged forward, tackling Reiner to his back. You barely registered your fists connecting to his face, your mind buzzing, eyes seeing red.

He made no move to fight back, your hits only stopping when Mikasa grabbed your wrist. “Stop!” You looked over your shoulder, sending a harsh glare up at the girl before yanking your arm out of her grasp.

“Listen to me, Reiner,” you spoke, turning back on the man under you in a flash, your hand roughly grabbing his shirt to force him to look at you.

“You lied to me, for years. You made me fall in love with you and then broke my heart in the worst way possible. You killed how many innocent people? How many scouts? People I knew, people I cared about. And now I can add Marco to that list. My best friend! Now, you’re gonna sit there and try to apologize? After everything you put me through?! I’ll act civil until we stop Eren. But after that, if I ever see your face again, I’ll fucking kill you,” you growled, glaring into Reiner’s eyes, a level of anger you’d never felt before flowing through your veins.

His eyes widened slightly, as he processed what you had just said. The rage inside of you was something you didn’t know how to handle. The need to hurt Reiner overwhelmed everything else, even logic. It was like an instinct. One you could hardly deny.

But you released him, standing and stalking off from the group, ignoring the calls of your name as you did. You needed time alone to process all this. To calm down. Time away from Reiner and the constant reminder of all those you had lost because of his actions.

You hadn’t noticed the footsteps following closely behind you, not until you heard the familiar voice cut into the silence.

“You got him pretty good.” Jean’s tone held a bit of amusement, but there was concern hidden beneath his words. You knew Jean well, if you hadn’t blown up on Reiner, it was likely he would’ve. He cared about Marco just as much as you did, you knew he was angry too. He had just gotten better at masking it.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like that.” You turned to meet his gaze, his eyes soft, his expression kind. He was worried about you.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been that angry,” you replied, shrugging lightly. “I know I probably shouldn’t have done that, but I couldn’t stop myself. I’ve wanted to see him again for so long, just to yell at him. But hearing him talk about Marco, I couldn’t hold back.”

Jean nodded thoughtfully, running a hand though his hair. His gaze wandered towards the ground as he thought. Then he looked back at you. “I thought it was hot, honestly, but that’s just me.”

You met his eyes again, a second passing before a small laugh left your lips. You grinned at each other for a moment before breaking out into laughter together.

The laughter soon died down, Jean’s arms moving to pull you into his chest. You sighed into his body, melting into him as you dug my face into his shoulder. Your heart calmed itself, settling against the comforting warmth of Jean.

“Are you alright?” Jean asked softly. You could feel his breath ghost across your head as he spoke. “Yeah, I think I am. Just exhausted, honestly.”

As Jean pulled back to check on me, you smiled weakly, his fingers reaching up to push back some stray hairs around your face. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours. Your hands moved automatically to rest on his waist and you felt his hands cup your cheeks gently as he closed the distance between you.

Our kiss was light, yet filled with emotion. You could sense the sincerity of it, in the way Jean held you tightly and pressed himself closer. Our lips were moving rhythmically, your breaths mingling together. His thumbs stroked circles over your cheeks, soothing your nerves. You relaxed further into his touch, sinking deeper into his embrace and basking in the moment.

When you finally pulled apart, your bodies remained close, both unwilling to let go. Your cheek rested gently on his shoulder, holding him tight. He ran a hand lightly up and down your back, his touch reassuring.

“Thank you. For being here, with me.” Your voice was slightly muffled, still pressed against his body.

“Of course. Always.” His arms wrapped tighter around you. I could hear his heartbeat slowly starting to steady, his breathing calming once more.

Profile Jean. Yes please.

Saw that Palico Nero art and be like wait I had this Nero feeding stray cats unfinished in my dumpster folder lol

TMNT Leo x Reader: Broken Glass

Request @blxckrxse45 : 42. “It’s okay to break.” - “I’m not going to break.” For Leo please! Btw love your work, your amazing!!!

Summary: In which they discover that brokenness is a contagion that only they can cure. 

Warnings: Angst, Kissing. 

He watched you warily. 

The way you moved, the way you breathed, the way you looked at him; all of it he wished you would just stop. 

Internally, he pleaded that you would stop shifting as though you were clothed in shards of broken glass- like every twitch was agonizing. Like you were bleeding through every pore in your body and the only people who could see it was you and him. But no one could help- not even if that was his purpose.  

Every breath you took was stolen from his own chest. Occasionally haggard but often harsh, sometimes slow and sometimes fast; it never changed the fact that your every inhalation was his suffocation. 

But nothing compared to the way you looked at him. 

It made him wish he were blind. 

Keep reading

Please don’t leave || R.B.

Warnings: I don't think there are any?

Word Count: 1.7k

He knew this would never last, not nearly as long as he desperately hoped it would. He'd known you for three years, he knew at some point, some point soon, you'd find out what he'd been hiding from you since the day you met as cadets. He was smart enough to know you'd hate him, there was no way you wouldn't. He wished he could keep you, take you home when it came time to, but he knew better. It was painstakingly obvious to him he was just going to get both of you hurt in the end, he was in too deep and there was no hope of ending things before the time came. But he couldn't help himself.

He's doomed both your hearts as he leans down to catch your lips in another sweet kiss. He's drowning in guilt as he wraps his large arms around your frame, pulling you into his chest. His heart is breaking all over again and he hates how much he loves you, even though he shouldn't. He hates that there's so little he can do about it. He hates that he's just going to end up breaking you.

But he can't bring himself to pretend he doesn't love you. He can't force himself to stay away from you, not when you care for him this much. He knows that eventually you'll come to resent him, but for now, he'll allow himself these precious moments. If only to give you a small taste of true happiness, however brief it may be.

It will only make everything worse, he tells himself silently, as he holds you tighter. It will only make it hurt more later on. He knows this all too well.

———————-

Your mind was racing to catch up with the events unfolding around you. You were unable to register the hot tears pouring down your cheeks as your eyes stay trained on the back of the armored titan. You hadn't realized you'd fallen to your knees, unable to make any move against the man you'd fallen in love with three years ago. You only snapped out of your daze when his eyes momentarily looked up, meeting yours for only a second before focusing on Eren in front of him. You can finally feel the blood boiling in your body, burning through your veins like lava, threatening to consume your entire being and rip you to shreds.

Your eyes stayed watching the fighting titans on the ground below you, a ping of hurt stabbing into your chest as you watched Eren gain the upper hand. This is it, the enemies you'd been fighting so hard to find, Eren had him in a chokehold, so why did you feel so desperate to free Reiner from his grasp?

You were quick to use your ODM gear as Reiner roared out, causing your blood to run cold. Your eyes studied the empty field around you, waiting for more titans to show, but none did. It was only when the sound of cracking bones reached your eyes that you found out his plan. Bertholdt began falling from the top of the wall, slowly toppling down towards the two titans, steam exploding from the impact, nearly blowing you and the rest of the soldiers from your positions against the wall. As soon as the steam cleared, you used your hooks to attach to Reiner's retreating figure, holding yourself tight against the cracked armor.

Bertholdt's eyes were wide when he landed beside you, the shock clearly visible through his expression. "Y/N…?" you heard him whisper quietly, reaching an arm out to touch your shoulder, almost unsure if it really was you or not, his brow knitting together in worry and confusion.

He hadn't expected you to follow them, he had listened to Reiner talk about you for what felt like hours. He had also been convinced you would hate them when their secret was found out. But you didn't seem interested in hurting either of them, Bertholdt was human again, you could fight him easily, but you made no move to.

Reiner had been running for what felt like forever, but he finally stopped next to a tree, allowing you and Bertholdt to climb onto the wide branch before reverting to his human form and joining you two.

His eyes were trained on your figure, leaning against the bark behind you, tears still streaming down your face. His gaze was intense, almost pleading for you to look up at him, but you refused. You continued crying quietly. You couldn't meet his gaze.

A startled gasp left your lips as you felt his arms encase you against his body, his fingers running through your hair as his lips pressed against your forehead gently.

“You don't have to cry, I don't want to hurt you, Y/N." His voice sounded raw and broken, filled with anguish. You could sense that he wanted to say something more, but words failed him. After a few minutes, you heard him pull himself away slightly, taking your shoulders and turning you so you'd look him in the eye. Your hands were still gripping his shirt harshly, trying to hold yourself steady as you watched him. "We're both safe now."

He whispered hoarsely, his breath hot against your skin. "Please understand." There wasn't much more he could add, but the sincerity evident in his voice gave you pause. You let go of his shirt and instead wrapped your arms tightly around his waist, burying your head in his neck. He returned the embrace with a sigh, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. "I'm sorry."

He apologized once more, his grip on you tightening slightly, as he buried his face in your locks, breathing heavily. You shook your head quickly and pulled back, wiping at your face with a shaky sigh, before leaning forward to place a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, your eyes shining. "I still love you." You said softly, your voice shaking slightly. "I always will."

He blinked at you and then smiled softly, cupping your cheek tenderly. You felt his thumb trace your jawline before he leaned closer to press his lips against yours, kissing you with a passion you hadn't anticipated, a passion that told you he'd never stop loving you.

"You don't care about what I am? About what I did?" He asked softly, pulling back just to see your reaction. Your eyes grew wide for a moment, your mind reeling as you processed his question. You stared at his golden eyes, wondering if they held even the tiniest bit of remorse. They weren't showing any kind of hesitation. They were begging for you to tell him that no, you cared for him, truly. That you loved him. That you wouldn't leave him. That you'd believe in him.

"I don't," You murmured after a moment, melting into the honey hues of his eyes, "because I love you." You said simply before moving to plant a slow yet thorough kiss on his lips. His arms immediately slid around your waist and drew you impossibly closer, your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, feeling as though your life depended on every single inch of contact you shared with the man. You gasped as his hands gripped your skin tightly, his tongue brushing against your lower lip, teasing you for opening your mouth to him. You obliged, parting your lips just enough for him to slip inside, tasting your tongue in return. He hummed at the contact and you could practically hear his smile against your lips, and the way you were able to make him forget his worries just by touching you.

But he pulled away all too soon, leaving you wanting more of his kiss than you'd ever known. He rested his forehead against yours, keeping his eyes shut. "We don't have a lot of time for this right now, but when return home, we'll continue, I promise." His warm breath ghosted across your skin as he spoke. His warm hands moved from where they rested on your waist to caress your face lightly, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. You felt yourself growing dizzy from his touch and you leaned forward suddenly, resting your head against his shoulder.

"I can't go home, Reiner. You should know that better than I do." You breathed out sadly.

"That was never my home to begin with, we're going to my real home." He explained gently, lifting your chin up so you had to face him. You looked up at him curiously, his words causing you to raise an eyebrow. "Where's your real home?" you inquired.

"You'll love it there, I promise. I'll keep you safe." He whispered reassuringly, placing another gentle kiss against your temple.

———————-

The battle against the scouts had been hard, by the time you'd reached your destination, Reiner was on the verge of collapse. But he'd trudged along, leading you to where you'd be sleeping, quickly situating himself on the ground to finally get some well-deserved rest. "Hey…" You called out, walking over to the blonde, sitting next to him. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, it's just… been a long day." He replied shortly, looking over at you through half lidded eyes. You could see the exhaustion in them, in every part of him. Even after the battle ended, he was exhausted beyond belief, his body all but falling against you as he moved into a comfortable position. The both of you sat there for a while, silent, simply enjoying each other's presence, neither of you daring to break the calmness between the two of you.

"Please, don't ever leave my side." It nearly scared you, you thought he'd fallen asleep already, but he was fighting to keep his dropping eyes open as he looked at you.

"I won't." You promised earnestly. "Don't ever think I will. But please, sleep. You need it." You begged softly, bringing your hand up to stroke the side of his face.

He hesitated for a moment before his eyes closed, relaxing beneath your touch. A small smile spread across your lips as he finally fell completely asleep.

What people see

vs what I see

re : the world.

jean kirstein x reader, modern au.

summary ; sasha introduced the two of you as complete opposites, two different worlds. but you'd disagree, especially since it feels like jean creates a new world just for you. warnings ; a little too self indulgent? aka reader likes peach flavoured stuff. also mentions of drinking, nothing graphic. a/n ; erm! haha. sorry for my absence again. i promise im still writing d2d and blooming hearts. pls be patient with me you guys r saints. thank you. enjoy this as i run away. hc reqs are still open hmu babes i lowkey want d2d to blow up a little. like okbambi. throwaway thought. continue reading. thx taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic-again , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes , @gojo-ana , @ppushable, @candleohappiness , @zombiefiedskeivy , @1ovede1uxe , @sevriizy

masterlist is in pinned post! ✿ enter my taglist! ✿ headcanon requests are open! ✿

Jean has this habit.

Its not well concealed - hell, you're sure he doesnt even realise it himself, a muscle memory that seems to replay against his tendons, condensing him down to his action. You dont realise it at first either, but patterns have a tendency of making themselves apparent, especially since its about him.

The scene plays out something like this - kitchen lights are warm and shining, clinging onto the apples of your downtrodden cheeks, unheard and tired problems that weigh down your organs now find themselves boring down on your skin, a more physical proof of your labour. The week - scratch that, the month - had been rough. There's a cup of coffee against the palms of your hands, the tips of your nails a little blue from the cold you had just endured outside. Inside, its warm, your friends sit huddled around the coffee table that holds an unnecessarily important game of monopoly. The community chest cards were more than half gone, and Sasha sat with her back resting against the foot of the couch, tongue poking out of her lips thoughtfully, subconsciously. Your eyes blink blearily, steam from your coffee doing the exact opposite of it’s entirety, and Jean mixes just a splash of creamer into his own cup - just how he liked it. 

His eyes have been passing glances across your body, slumped with your back against the marble of the kitchen counter, picking up on something you refuse to be seen putting down. He clears his throat - an opening for a potential conversation, a test to see if you’ll take the bait and turn to him - and when you do, because of course you will, there's a victory that lifts his shoulders and puffs up his chest, muscle memory, tendons tightening. 

But youre so tired. He can see it in your eyes and under them, so when he asks his question, he doest so in the least gentle way possible. So he’ll get you to talk, because he knows that cornering you might be the only way he can get a real answer that lays unfiltered, beating still as it slips out of your mouth. 

“What is it this time?” he asks. His voice covers any unhindered iciness that his statement might hold, making it warm and curious instead of cold and blunt. Or maybe that's just how you see it. Maybe he’s a well meaning asshole who you’re accustomed to, whose language you’ve come to know well. Alphabets memorized.

You sigh. You wonder if your sigh itself could be an alphabet, if he understands all the frustrations underneath it. Your tongue can't conjure up anything else for a brief while, and for the same brief while, jean looks at you. Wholly, fully, more than you’ll ever be, though his eyes scatter themselves across your body. Your nose, your lips, your hair, your clothes, a slight sense of disarray but comfort nonetheless because the disarray meant that you had lived in it long enough and that you trusted your clothes and your hair and your nose and your lips more than enough to be here right now.

“Yknow.” you say, unsure of whether or not its a start of a statement or the end of an unsaid one. You decide to let it linger, staring into your cup until you find the words to say something important, clambering to find meaning that your voice somehow always inherently lacks. Theres a lump in your throat that’s small enough for you to ignore it, and then you begin speaking again, “i don't feel like im… enough for this.” you say. You're aware that it's unimportant, words lacking meaning. They always have, especially now.

“For what?” his voice asks, and you wish his reflection could share the same space as yours in the cup, make his space yours, but he doesn't. Instead, his shoulder presses against yours, which you suppose is better. An anchor, you think to yourself, even though he doesn't realize it. 

“All of it. Like, somehow… i keep trying, right? To be a good student, to be friendly and kind and just… try - like being good at work and at talking and all of it. But i’m not, even though sometimes i think im finally, finally making some progress, it all just comes crashing down on me and i feel so…dumb about it. Like im incompetent. Like all roles are too important for me to get them.”

It doesn't feel like the world is off your shoulders. You wonder why everyone always told you to talk about your feelings; claiming it’ll make the burden lighter. But the process of doing that would include giving it to someone else who’s less likely to have had a bad day and making their day worse by association. It felt like a math formula, another thing you were inherently struggling with.

No, the world feels all too real, all too on-your-shoulders, all too present and pressing against your shoulders, the hurt seeping to the ends of your collarbones.   

“Incompetent.” he says. Its not a reply, neither is it a question. Like he knows exactly what you mean and is contemplating on it. Consider it. Then he shrugs. Sighs through his next statement to make it sound less like a confession of admiration, “you're not incompetent.” 

A pause. You don't believe him, and he knows it. And before he begins his strategy of building you up; he does it. 

Turns his back to everything else. Stands in front of you so he can be the only thing in your eyesight, his back to your friends, to the rest of the world as he makes his attempts to lessen the weight of yours. And surely - and you know he knows it, realises it just as you do - you lift your head up, eyes directed to his, your face pointing to your world, directly to him. In that action, you match each other perfectly well, even if Sasha introduced the two of you to each other as complete opposites. You wouldn't necessarily agree with her, especially not now, when both of you create your own world so easily, with the least amount of the hesitation that easily comes to the two of you.

He speaks quietly. Almost under his breath, as if they are truths that are heavier than his words, “you're not. When you talk, its clear that you're passionate, knowledgeable. Even if you don't realise it. Somehow you convince people to believe in you everytime you speak. It's one of the things i like about you. You-” he weaves his hand into his hair halfway through; an action he only commits to when he’s passionate about the topic he's speaking about, “you could make an atheist believe in god. Maybe because you have bits of truth hidden in there, whatever it is, but you're fully lying if you think you're incompetent. Or dumb. You’re not. You're good. Fucking brilliant.” he says, scoffing as if its a universal fact that youre unknowing of. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west, the earth is round, and jean believes youre ‘fucking brilliant’. 

You blink. Before the gears in your heavy machinery of a brain can move, he says, “i know you wont believe it, so let me do the believing for you. Depend on me a little, yeah?” he asks, like it's a plea. And honestly, you give in, without hesitation. 

His back faces the world and there’s a resolution in your eyes as you face your own world, smiling gently.

The next time is one you can particularly take note of. 

You're at some party that eren was throwing - pre halloween, everyone in costume, the song from the speaker so loud that the ground beneath your shoes was shaking, etching a reminder of tonight on it - a typical college-like event. Everyone was having a bubbling and tipsy conversation amongst themselves, connie and eren arguing over the music that they put on, sasha fawning over mikasa who could be seen blushing lightly even under the flashing lights, reiner with his arm around someone you knew from class - and admittedly set him up with - as you try not to let a proud smile set over your lips at the fact. You had a bet with Marco, another inside conversation that had been had all the way to the party; you bet on reiner finally “getting some” tonight, and marco betted on him not. Which he clarified, was not because he didn't believe in the guy, but because reiner had a way of… being awkward when he was tipsy. Fifty solid dollars over this. You weren't going to lose.

Your head bopped to the argued-over music, scanning the crowd for jean, who claimed he was going to find you a drink you’d actually enjoy sipping on through the night. He knew you well enough, so you’d allowed him to, posing it to him as a challenge that he took with a cocky smile and a self-assured confidence that you were tempted to break.

You weren't going to break it. Of course not. Not unless he won. 

Bert asks you about your plans after the party. You tell him that you’d probably go home with the girls - unless they find their own plans for the night, which, you hope they do - and ask him the same, and he tells you he’ll go home with reiner, unless the obvious were to happen. You shout at him about your bet with Marco because you know your voice wouldn't be carried to his ears otherwise, and he smiles and says, rather wisely despite his slightly slurred speech, that you’d probably win. You tell him that if Marco were listening you’d flex about it. He laughs a little before someone from his class waves him over and you're left to your own devices again, scanning the crowd for a familiar head of soft hair that you imagine far too much running your fingers through.

And you find it. Shoulder the crowd, holding two glasses of his concoction, heading straight towards you, making sure not to spill even a single drop. You applaud his persistence, and he reaches you with the same smile he left you with, eyes sparkling and soft around the edges, looking at you like the world’s been tuned out, handing you your cup.

“Peach sparkling…spirit.” he says, not having had a single thought about naming the drink, but nodding once in satisfaction after it slips out of his mouth. You nod back, impressed, and look down at the ice floating in it. “Ice so your iron deficiency has something to chew on.” he completes with a laugh, one that you playfully punch him for as if your insides dont melt at the fact that the drink is more of a symbol, really, of how much he really knows you. peach , your favourite flavour, to dilute the wretched taste of alcohol. The coolness to keep you awake, and the ice floating at the top just as he said, because you liked chewing on it.

And as if just that much wasnt enough, he does it again.

Back to the world, he faces you completely, now closer than ever. Chest to chest, not because there were people unknowingly pressing your back from both sides, but because you'd be that close by choice either way. He traps you, but youre a willing accomplice, guilty of the same crime, and you create your own worlds with none of the hesitance that you both so frequently carry with everyone else as if this is the easiest thing youd ever do. As if its always been easy.

You tip your glass to his, and he clinks the rim of his cup to yours, lifting it to his lips with the same smile, now softer, gentler, because he knows only you're looking, because he knows he’d let you. 

The drink tastes divine. The completeness of knowing you, fully, wholly, without hesitation, the peach mixing with whatever cheap vodka he could find, knowing just how strong to make it so you wouldn't scrunch your nose at it’s burn but rather enjoy it, knowing you'd nurse the same drink for the rest of the night, close to your chest as it would vibrate not to the sound of the music but to the sound of your quietly beating heart because out of everyone, jean made it. 

Despite the drink's coolness, enough to freeze your fingertips, your insides felt. They felt, every organ - your lungs, your heart, your liver, your kidneys - felt, conscious and whole, flipped inside out and alive. 

Your back to the world, you and jean creating your own. 

Habits have a funny way of catching on, jean noticed, as you made a knowing decision to turn your own back to the world that you knew to be so large and unknown, opting for the warm one that jean hoped to preserve for you.

He notices, too. The first time you do it, its september. Your boots scruff up against the harsh of the pavemented sidewalk, orange and red leaves under your feet, with a cup of coffee in your hand, the one that he happily paid for like it was muscle memory. There could be silence between you, sure, because he knows that even that would be pleasant. But there isnt, and hes glad nonetheless, bringing his cup close to his lips, knowing that yours have touched the same rim to get a taste, hoping it would cover up the small smile that creeped onto his face, threatening to stay against his cheeks for you to notice, because of course you would. 

You finish the end of your sentence. Something about autumn, he knows, and your shoulders are brushing his as they perpetually are, coat against his, and he swears a world is created because of it, the lint of your fabric almost like magic when it presses against his, even if brief, because it cant be anything short of it with the way he’s feeling. Comfortable, whole, significant. He licks his lips, cleaning off the residue of the coffee and tasting the lingering of your lips indirectly on his like a revered devotee, a saint waiting for sacrifice, and says something probably insignificant. About the rain? He’s not sure. And then it turns into, “one time, connie - i think in middle school? Like back when i first met the guy - had his mouth wide open under the sky so he could get a full gulp of direct fucking rainwater in his mouth because we’d just learnt about… the water cycle. I think.” he says, and you laugh.

And then it happens. You do it, and he takes notice, because of course he does, of course, because its you. Turning on your heel, your back facing the world, as you fall into step, still beside him, walking backwards just so you could face him. For a moment he’s concerned - youre not the most synchronised person in the world, he once watched you stub your toe fully on purpose while trying to prove a point of how you’re not that navigationally challenged - but he shakes the thought out of his head as a slew of others fill it instead. You trust him. Enough to be a slight nuisance, enough to know if there was anything blocking your path that your back was facing so you wouldnt stumble, enough to know that he’d find this enjoyable rather than annoying. And then another larger, overwhelming thought.

You noticed. You noticed him doing that to you - turning his back to everything else, willingly, wholly, so you knew his attention was pinned on you and you only - and wanted to repay the insignificant favour.

And then he continues. As if nothing had occurred, as if a world just hadnt opened up and swallowed him up, organs flipping inside out. “And then when i made fun of him, the fucker went out there again, waited for the rainwater to fill his mouth up fully, and spit all of it on me.” he said, your laughter continuing to bubble and pour out of your lips and onto his, infectious as he thought it was, your shoulders shaking, no longer pressed against his, but he felt it anyway. Straight to his heart, his hand aching to cover it because his hesitance was carved onto his bones, but his choice to let it beat for you overwhelmed his tendons. 

He wondered if you knew. If you somehow, in your own way, knew that he’d always hold out for you as a knowing choice. That he’d went out to buy that peach drink for you to mix into the cheap vodka that eren had on his kitchen counter. If you knew that he’d never known what the right words to say were until you taught him a whole new dictionary, a vocabulary he’d somehow been blind to. Hes fluent now, he thinks, because he knows you fully, wholly. A world created and burnt into places, because both your backwere against the world you both knew.

Because jean saw you as his. And he knew - a new vocabulary - that you saw him as yours.

Back to the world, chest to a new one, your steps sync together, smiles the same on your lips as they were on his.