tumblr what is wrong with you first the walrus vs fairy thing and now this? are you saying it's less fucked up to find out you're not a biological organism than find out you're a human created from one parent-twin who is genetically identical to you?
Clone: horror at the lie of your body (for what purpose? how many are there? are they like you?)
vs.
Robot: horror at the lie of your mind and your humanity itself (have you ever actually had a thought of your own, or is everything you are/you think/you understand just created by another person’s brain? whose mind/brain are you?? whose thoughts are in your head?? What does it mean to “think” when you’re only a manmade echo of humanity constructed from Boolean logic loops? Do you even have a soul?)
clone: you are the theft of another being, inextricably tied by the blood running through your veins they may not have even given to you. you aren't you, you're them, you were made to be them, you're not different, there shpuld not be a you, you are them,
robot: ok well im a robot so show me my blueprints so i can install a sword in my arm to beat up ppl that i dont like. what the fuck ever. can i run doom
Could i maybe ask for headcanons for reader that rejects the aot boys because she admits to only being into women?
ꕥ the aot boys & their reaction to you being into women ꕥ
eren jaeger is baffled, not because you’ve rejected him and not because you’re into women. he’s extremely surprised that he couldn’t tell.
armin arlert goes silent for a moment, to think about the best response to this. the only thing he comes up with is “oh, i’m sorry.” he’s not heartbroken, just slightly wounded.
jean kirstein is speechless. he has no problem with you liking girls. he just can’t believe he wasted all this time pursuing you. eventually, you two laugh about it.
connie springer is thrilled when he finds out the reason you rejected him is because you’re into girls and not because you didn’t like him. he gives you a high five and calls it a day. he’ll go to you with all his womanly problems.
reiner braun cannot believe this happened AGAIN. he is so heartbroken. he silently curses all you extremely good looking women and all the other women who ‘take girls like that away from him.’
bertholdt hoover is embarrassed to have to put you in that position. his ego isn’t damaged but infact it’s gotten slightly bigger. he’s happy you trusted him enough to tell him something like that.
levi ackerman just…frowns at you. he is heavily disappointed but he understands that you can’t change who you love. he offers to remain friends. he has no issue with who you are.
erwin smith is upset at first but he gets over it. he ends up a little too involved in your love life, rooting for you and your lady of choice.
zeke jaeger gasps and then takes a moment to think. he asks if you’d like him more if he wore makeup and such. when you say no, he shrugs his shoulders and says “i tried.” he accepts you.
porco galliard ends up becoming your best friend after you break the news to him. he’s all like, “oh that’s what’s up.” i’m just imaging the lesbian and emotional support himbo trope.
I don't think Reiner will grasp how small his child is until he holds them and realizes that they barely weigh anything when he holds them. He could place his palm on their chubby cheek and still have plenty of room. They are so teeny tiny especially compared to their gargantuan father.
It would be so sweet. And I would be so overcome with emotions I would not be able to deal with life!
Like the idea of Reiner sprawled out on the couch with this teeny tiny lil gumdrop sleepin in the center of his chest. Both of his massive hands are atop the baby. Making sure it can't accidentally roll off, and because of that, you can only really makeout their plump lil cheeks pokin above the top of his hand.
before his flight back to his hometown for thanksgiving - an invitation for which had been extended to you as well, by Jean's mom. you had refused politely. you didn't want to come in between a special family holiday with their own traditions. jean tried to persuade you, told you that he'd be so bored without you there, that you're going to like it, but you brushed it away anyway. said you really didn't want to be a bother, flight tickets would be even more expensive with you there, Jean's mother would have to prepare extra food for you. you'd take too much space, you said.
jean said that it was a space he'd let you take. you shook your head with a smile.
before leaving, however, the two of you decided to spend three nights together. everyone had already left to see their families - sasha and Connie had taken the road, Marco left by flight as well. your apartment felt eerily empty so you asked jean one night, tipsy on cheap and old wine, to stay with you for the last three days he was there. after which you would see him - and by extension, everyone - a week after new years. you'd be stuck here, in an empty apartment, all alone, and he really shouldn't be leaving his dear best friend alone to rot, should he?
and jean had been so stupid to agree. he knew he shouldn't have after what he discovered he kept feeling about you. but you were looking at him with such conviction and warmth that he had to.
god, he was so lovesick. it made him feel stupid, really. but it was you, so he didn't really mind it. he'd learnt to shed any sort of discomfort with you.
well, he hadn't learnt it. you had just coaxed him into it without even using your voice.
he rolled his eyes and agreed.
"alright, alright, fine. I'll stay over. but I need to pack first."
you smiled brilliantly. "done!" his heart leapt out of his chest and into your warm arms that were currently trying to pour some more wine. he moved the bottle away from your hand.
"no more wine for you," he said, pushing a forgotten glass of water your way. "have some of this instead."
your smile didn't dissapear, though, and Jean hoped that his heart was still beating in your hands. you just looked at him with your cheek resting on the table and you looked so comfortable in that blue sweater of yours, with him. you lift your head up and drink the water diligently.
he was so, so stupid.
he got everything packed in two hours. made sure everything was organized and easy to remove, and left the suitcases next to your door so he could leave directly from your apartment to the airport. you smiled, again, when you welcome him in, proposing to go to the ice cream parlor.
it was winter. jean grumbled as he adjusted on your couch to glimpse at you from the corner of his eye. you were rummaging in your kitchen for something - chocolate - when you asked him if he wanted to go there with you. he rolled his eyes.
"it's winter." he reminded you. as if you could forget.
"please. you know I don't want the ice cream there. it's the ho-"
"hot chocolate, yeah, I know. that's not why I said it's winter. i dont want to walk in this cold." he complains, but he's already getting ready to move from the couch.
"you make it sound like it's a grand mission." you say, but you've gotten the hint as you, too, move to grab your coat from the rack near the door.
"well, it is, for me. my toes freeze up just like your hands do." he says, but again, he's already slipping his shoes on.
you smile teasingly. "whats the point in having such long legs if you're not going to use them?" you're slipping your phone, wallet and keys into your pockets.
he wears his coat. "self defense." he says. it's not the most normal answer. it makes you laugh as you close the door behind you with a click, locking it. jean would continue to say anything you want him to to make you laugh.
you don't ask him to say anything. he does it anyway. the walk to the ice cream parlor is short, and jean wonders if it's going to snow soon.
"i hope it snows," you say, almost reading his mind. jean isn't even surprised by it. he nods, muttering "same."
"i thought you hated cold?" you say. he should've guessed you would've said that because it's so obivous, the low hanging fruit that came back to bite him in the ass.
"snow is different from cold," he lies, "it's..." he trails off. it's idiotic. he didn't even have anything to say. you breathe out a laugh.
"it's what? better than rain?" you bump your shoulder into his.
"anything is better than rain." he answers, shaking his head, "snow is like if rain was cooler and better." he says, adding a "literally cooler." at the end.
it makes you laugh again, but softer this time. it wasn't that funny. he notes that down in his head like he's going to be quizzed on it later.
"i knew you'd say that." you speak. your warm breath gets fogged up against the cool weather.
the sentence is said in one breath, a certain softness and confession to it. of course you knew what he'd say, out of all people, you would. you'd know what he was planning to do, how the gears inside his body worked, and still let your gears work right beside his anyway. he was sure you knew every little working of his stupid heart except for the fact that it beat only for you.
your shoulders are brushing again. he licks his drying lips, trying to come up with a better joke to pass the time. not that he had to, because silence with you wasnt uncomfortable or forced. it felt like peace, like a small pocket of warmth that couldn't be broken. but he wanted to hear your laugh again; the sound was his own pocket of warmth, even if you complained, sometimes, about your laugh being too loud and boisterous, he didn't care because you were happy and smiling and he wouldn't do anytning to take that away.
he's still thinking of what to say when there's a buzz in both of your pockets - someone messaged the group chat. he watches as you pull your phone out of your pocket, typing in an answer that makes his phone vibrate again. he takes a peek at your screen.
Marco :D : my mom is going crazy over how many people she invited :')
she's showing me off to all her friends ijdlsk
constance : I'd show you off if I was your mom too tbh
sasha <3 : agreed
aww say hi to your mom for us!!
Marco :D : will do!! wish you guys were here tho :/
constance : kinda miss annoying jean right about now
sasha <3 : *atttachment : 1 image*
it was a picture of Connie sitting next to sasha on the flight, his phone was open to a video of jean grumbling something under his breath and connie leaning in close to him snickering a whispering a joke in his ear.
sasha <3 : he was watching this the entire flight
constance : stop EXPOSING me
jean hears you snort out a small laugh. he sighs in annoyance, saying "I don't miss it." as an obvious lie.
you breathe out another laugh; jean wins again, and hold up the phone to take a picture of the two of you. it's a little blurry when you click it, jean hold a small smile looking at you and you hold up a peace sign with a smile that's yours.
the picture is sent to the groupchat. jean loops his arm into yours so you don't stray away too far from him while typing out 'trip 2 ice cream parlor for the hot choco'
Marco replies instantly.
marco :D : you two are inseparable istg :') send hot choco pics
constance : Marco asking for hot choclate pics like people ask for nudes
I'm 6'3 btw
sasha <3 : LIARRR
also wow hot chocolate without me????? sin.
you smile before closing your phone and slipping it back into your pocket, saying something about how the two of you should steal their hot chocolate recipie. jean nods half-heartedly.
his mind is on fire. 'you two are inseparable istg' in Marco's words, something he hadn't thought about before. he didn't have to think about it, either, because being with you didn't make him question it. of course he'd always come back to you even if his bones were charred from the inside, even if his body screamed at him to take rest. you were his rest.
he thinks about how yes, the two of you are inseparable, and maybe he's being delusional, but he thinks about how you co-exist with him so peacefully : a feat noone could do with a smile on your face. there has to be cold to imply the existence of warmth, there had to be chaos to imply peace. there had to be you for there to be a him. he thinks about how glad he is to exist the same time and same place as you, your arms linked and pace synchronized. you rest your head on his shoulder when you walk. he thinks about how the two of you simply breathing in such close proximity beat all odds.
his heart beat faster at the thought. or maybe it didn't, maybe he was just aware of the fact that he had one, maybe you were the only one that could make him listen to his own heart that he had forgetten existed for a while.
an ungodly amount of hot chocolate had been drunk only because your "jean they have a discount and it's winter. we have to." persuasion had worked like always, and he had refused to let you pay like always, and you were rubbing your full belly as you unlocked the door to your apartment. it was dark now, reminding jean that winter had a way of forcing stillness and silence before it was due, but it didn't feel that way anymore. it didn't feel like there was a stillness or stiffness because the lights in your apartment were warm, and the hot chocolate had oiled up the machine of his body as much as your presence had. you removed your coat and shoes near the door and jean looked at you, surrounded with these lights and this warmth and softness and thought about how perfectly you belonged here. with him, sharing a space, the same air, the same layers. and he thought about how he belonged here too. with you.
"wish we could do that everyday," you claim, stretching your arms above your head, fingers interlocked. jean scoffed.
"im concerned about your diet." he said.
"it was the best meal we ever had! if I commit murder and am put on death row-"
"death row doesn't exist in this state-"
"then I'd want, like, a whole barrel of hot chocolate as my last meal. with whipped cream on top."
"i think you'd be dead by chocolate overdose instead of the actual punishment."
you smiled, and jean swore he'd melt despite the cold weather after seeing the glint in your eye. "exactly. don't act like you wouldn't like to die by chocolate consumption. I've seen the way you look at chocolate ice cream."
jean clenches his jaw because you're right. "i dont look at-"
"yes you do. you look at it like it just like you look at Reiner's cat."
"she has a name, yknow." he reminds you, sitting beside you on your couch. his hands fold on top of his chest to keep his hands straying and holding yours. hes afraid you'd feel the yearning behind his touch, because it was something he couldn't control. he could control his tongue from telling you about it, he could control his thoughts to an extent, he could control his stupid heart to an extent, but not his touch.
"right, my bad. what's her name, again?" you ask, just because you know it'll get a rise out of him.
it does.
"it's mcflurry. the fact that you forgot speaks a lot about your character, just so you know. im judging you."
you giggle. he loves it. "you're always judging everyone."
"not you. never you." he says. he doesn't just mean it for the judging everyone part, though, because his voice is soft and startlingly slow, enunciating every syllable because he wanted you to know, he wanted you to know and understand that he'd never not give you the benefit of doubt. he'd never doubt you in the first place.
you're not startled. you smile to match the tone of his voice and eyes. he inhales.
"thank you." you say. you want to say much more. jean doesn't need to hear much more though, because he knows already. he knows that you're not thanking him out of obligation, but out of devotion. like he had thanked the skies out of relief after his middle school English teacher got fired. it was deserved, honestly, the guy had it coming, and all the students had an unsaid hatred towards him-
your hand rests on his shoulder, rubbing the fabric of his shirt. jean exhales.
"whadya wanna watch?" you ask, reaching for the remote on the coffee table, your hand still on his shoulder as if you belong there.
you do. "that episode of new girl we left out on." he says.
you smile. he belongs there. "fuck yes."
despite thinking that he'd sleep in and relax, his eyes woke him up just as the sun came up, which was to say extremely early. jean groaned as he stretched his limbs, finding himself on the sofa just as he was left last night; only without you. you had fallen asleep on his shoulder and he refused to move until you'd wake up, which turned out to be only twenty minutes ago. his head fell on yours and he fell asleep as such, and his mind quietened with the sound of the t.v. and your soft snores in his ear.
he blinked his bleary eyes up, his bones creaking in protest. but he didn't let them be heard because he found you, with your back facing him, outside the small balcony of your apartment.
it wasn't even a balcony - when you first moved in, it was just an empty space attached to the large window that was unkept and dirty. sasha and Mikasa, her previous roommate, didn't find that much of a use there anymore, but you did. you insisted on renovating the little platform, adding fake and real plants along with a small mat on the ground so anyone could sit there. come every small celebration, you'd decorate it with fairy lights and different ornaments, and jean found it all too endearing how you kept making things yours, including the kitchen that now held mugs with sayings that had outdated humor on them that you had purchased 'ironically', the couch which was now covered in a blanket you had found in a thrift store, the walls where you'd stuck up pictures of all of them together and little sticky notes that the five of you had passed around to each other during class throughout the year, and Jean's heart.
he'd let you rip apart any semblance of empty space in the workings of the pumping organ if you promised to make it yours in the process. and you had, somehow, because his heart now refused to feel empty, and just like you did with the apartment, you had marked every rusted and untamed part of him with your own touch and words that would play on repeat in his chambers for a long time.
he gets up from his place on the couch, passing a hand through his hair before making his way to where you stood outside. you were leaning on the railings, your chin resting on your palm. if he had to guess, it was almost 8 in the morning, the sun was shining in the way it always did in the winters - it's presence was known but shone only softly, refusing to be forgotten. jean leaned on the railing in the space right beside you, shoulders touching yet again.
you smiled at him. "good morning." you said, and your voice matched the skies above you - soft and refusing to be forgotten. he'd never forget you.
he smiled back, face scrunching up so his eyes were squinting as he looked at you, still getting used to the morning light. "morning." he replies raspily. "couldn't sleep?"
you shook your head, looking at the treetops below you. "slept well enough. thanks for being my pillow."
jean's ears redden. you're convinced it's the cold. "youre welcome." he wants to make a joke about how his services would need a payment, but he's too lost in the way your face is lit up by the sun to say anything.
even if you're looking away from him, he can see the shine in your eyes. you've always said, in your own way, that his eyes were really pretty, but he'd argue that it was your eyes that were pretty because only yours could meet his the way they did. only yours looked at him the way they did, only yours had the courage to. only yours could see the way you saw the world.
he looks at the way your lips are shining - he had noticed how whenever they were chapped and dry youd lick your lips a little too much. he had carved all your little traits into the forefront of his skull, drawing in shapes and filling in the blanks of the expanse so that it could be filled with you- your smile, your eyes, your hands, your laugh, your blinks. everything.
god, he thinks, he's so lovesick.
the wind brushes his hair away from his face. he can tell you're shivering slightly even if your arms are under a layer of thick sweater, and his chest heaves slowly - inhale, exhale, inhale - he tucks you under his arm to keep you warm. you smile. - exhale.
if there was a god that day, he was sure that he was out to get jean when he saw you use his mother's noodle soup recipe, warm foods to keep his insides safe not knowing that you were doing that already by just being there. the pair of you had the soup in two servings each, the second one topped with that new chilly crisp you had gotten, the one that made Jean's mouth turn into a puddle, and he was sure whatever fates had aligned that day were out to get jean because his stupid heart did that stupid thing it always did when he was around you. it didn't skip a beat anything poetic like the Hallmark movies, no, instead it stayed there, in his chest because that's where you belonged. it stayed with you, in his chest, in his wheezing, creaking, old machine that was only just realising that it was creaking and wheezing because it was loved.
and he swore he was down on his luck because he saw you dancing to the end credits of yet another shitty movie that you had jokingly decided to hate-watch but only ended up slightly liking - an opinion he would not share with anyone else but you - unsynchronised to the beat of the song, not knowing what to do with your hands, until jean joined you in the cramped space infront of your t.v. where you were dancing and held them, held your hands, guiding them to the melody, telling them what to do with a softness that was only reserved for you.
stupid beating heart.
when the last day rolled around, jean refused to move from his seat on your bed. the laptop you had decided to get homework done was left askew on the unmade and comfortable bed, and Jean's neck held a small ache at its base, but it was worth it because you were beside him and he was sure your own neck had the same pains he had. it was well into noon, and unlike the previous day where the pair of you had woken up early, you were still dozing off at his side, rolled over with your back facing him.
he had never known this type of peace. the silence that coated the room was welcome to the point that it felt like it had always been there, something jean was only just realising.
he sighed. wondered about how his life had gone on without you in it for so long, how he'd been clambering for meaning not knowing that you were in it, the same earth, with the same beating heart. he wonders how he'd live without you again, how he'd avoid feeling the grief if you ever did leave.
he'd have to hold you then. he'd have to grasp on to you in the same gentle way that he always had, and not give you any reasons to leave. but that was the thing, right, because if you wanted to leave you'd have done it already, and you hadn't, so thst had to mean something, right?
he's always been afraid of loving too much. he'd always been afraid of the fact that he had too much to give, so he always ended not giving any of it because he was too cautious, too self aware to. but you made him comfortable in the way he had never felt before, you made him want to love you too much. he was still deathly afraid of it, but you made it bearable to look at it in the face without flinching.
the rustle beside him made him blink back into reality, turning his head towards your no longer sleeping figure, a small smile etching itself onto his stubborn lips.
what had you done to him?
the wires in his brain were wound too tight as you talked about everything and anything, him replying and adding onto your obscure sentences like they were always supposed to. the gears in his heart continued turning and turning and turning to the sound of your laugh when he, again, had made a joke as a desperate hope to make you commit to fleeting happiness.
it wasn't so fleeting for him, however, because it was you.
night rolled around just as you finished a late lunch/early breakfast for dinner situation - pancakes and french toast and hashbrowns sprinkled with seasonings - and jean rubbed his belly as he came face to face with the confrontation of him leaving in an hour.
but you were simply blinking, sitting infront of him, going through you phone to find a picture that you thought was relevant to the conversation, a smile on your face. and even if it was so mundane, so normal, it felt like a good dream. like he was going to wake up any time soon and come to the revelation that it had all been fake and conjured up because it had to, because there was no way this was real. when you finally found what you were looking for, flipping the phone around so he could see, he found a hard time looking away from your eyes and giddy smile.
did you know? you had to, right? he laughed covering his mouth with his hand as you flipped your phone back infront of you. you had to know. there was no way you didn't. there was no way you had turned him into himself without knowing that you were the cause of it. it was so obvious-
"I'll miss you." you say. it's a quiet admission, sounding like you've wanted to get it over with for a while now. hes sure you have. he looks at you and his heart - the damned machine - does what it always does; it clangs and makes noise.
maybe you hear it. maybe you're meant to.
"i know we'll see eachother again in a while but...I don't know. I've always wanted to spend new years with my friends and not alone. I'm glad we met. I'm glad we exist together." you say. it's not rushed or hidden or desperate. you're baring yourself open to him and it doesn't feel uncomfortable like it does when youre changing clothes infront of someone and you're bare and open and all your scars and hairs and marks are on display for them to see. it feels like this is how it's meant to be.
he blinks.
hes sure if there was music accompanying the moment, it would be swelling and high-pitched and perfect - the type that makes you feel and ache in just the right ways. but there wasn't, and the silence played a greater cacophony than any instrument, because your sentences didn't need embellishments to be pronounced. your statements didn't need proof of being alive - they were alive and bare open and vulnerable and so was he now, because of you.
his heart ached comfortably.
stupid, beating heart.
he realised he hadn't said anything when you got up from the table. he was still staring at the spot where you were a minute ago as you took both your dishes back to the sink. he blinks again. inhales, exhales. gets up to join you, takes your hands that were reaching for the soap in his own warm ones - god they're so warm - and says, "I'll miss you too."
he was glad there's no music. he's glad that his voice, even if it was soft and gentle, wasn't muddled with melody. inhale, you were smiling, exhale. blink. his involutary actions got more attention because you made him aware of his machine. how his machine didn't feel like a machine anymore. how his machine - metal and steel and nuts and bolts - felt soft. plyable. putty in your hands. you're squeezing his hands again; the comfortable ache returning and the two of you start doing the dishes that had been ignored for a while.
warm, orange lights glowed from above you, the sounds of dishes clanking and the sink running was the only things to be heard, and the domesticity became divinity. the kitchen became holy, and his hands - metal and steel and nuts and bolts - became the remark of a sculptor creating something beautiful. the moment didn't feel crafted but it felt like he had caused it, and if he was capable of creating something as great as this then he was sure he was walking side by side with God.
beating heart. inhale, exhale, his hands dry the plate you just handed him, he's hearing you hum softly to a song he knows far too well. inhale, exhale.
night had fallen soon, he drove all the way to the airport next to you. you kept talking like you had to get it all out there before he left. it was only a month and a half, and he knew you knew you were being dramatic, but he loved it anyway. you opt the radio instead of the aux for the first time, surprised when your favourite song comes on.
he turns the volume up. you sing to match it's pitch. he wishes he can show you his childhood bedroom. you'd love it, he says. "i have speakers. i used that fact as like a bribe to make new fridnds. i told people, 'hey I have speakers in my room' and they'd want to hang out with me." what he didn't say, however, was that he only wanted them to see the speakers in his bedroom. now, he wanted you to see him in his bedroom, he wanted you to linger near the doorway. best part was, he knew you would someday.
it wasn't that long of a drive. it felt long though, somehow, because time stretched and restricted when he was with you, and he stopped the car at the airport gate with a heart pounding off from his chest. he wonders if yours was too, but one look at you confirms that yes, it was. you two were in the same boat, the same machine that had been sanded down and weathered until it was soft and rounded.
inhale, "well, this is...it" exhale.
you nod slowly, "this is it." you breathe out laugh. "why are we acting like we're never gonna see eachother again?" you say but you already know the answer. jean does too.
he laughs the same way you do, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looks ahead, one hand on the steering wheel, refusing to move anywhere without you. "maybe it's the amount of movies we've seen." he says. a lie.
"and who's fault is that?" you ask, teasing and laughing.
"all mine." he admits. it was his. he doesn't feel any remorse for it.
you nod again. you're looking at him. the lights reflect in the water of your eyes.
"call me when you reach?" you ask.
he nods. "promise."
silence. inhale, exhale.
"i think I'm in love with you." you're the one that says it. if he could, he would hear the fast pace of your heart that beat dutifully with his own and he swears there's something in the cool winter air that been locked out of the car because there's no way he's hearing it right. there's no way he heard those words said with deliberate commitment and a hell of a lot of hope - something jean was learning to have from you - because no-one but you had the courage of regard him like this.
but it was you. of course it was you.
his hand holds your cheek before he can even think about it. he blinks. inhale, "I think I'm in love with you too," exhale. matching sentiments has always been easy, but it feels more breathable and bearable now. with you.
bearable, beating hearts.
you smile. you smile so hard your cheeks hurt, you smile so hard that your face feels like your face and not just a symbol of you, your face doesn't feel like a machine and it feels like muscle and skin and fat and blood like it's supposed to and you realize, a little too late, that jean makes you feel a little more human than you are in the way where it feels holy, almost, because being human has always been about being divine. jean makes you see it clearer than you have been seeing it.
another breath passes.
"is this the part where..." he swallows, trailing off. "where we kiss?"
you laugh. "you really think this is a hallmark movie, don't you?"
he laughs too. "no, if this was a hallmark movie then you'd be chasing me at the airport. you'd say-"
"oh my god," you're laughing and your stomach hurts comfortably.
"you'd say 'jean I've been in love with you since I laid my eyes on you'-"
"you wish," your voice is breathy.
"'i can't take my mind off of you, jean, and you deserve the best. also you're very handsome.' you'd say that."
you hold the hand that is resting on your cheek. "oh, jean, I've been in love with you ever since i saw you.-"
"ever since I laid my eyes on you. that sounds poetic."
"you're insufferable."
"and you're in love with me." he says. he's confident and he's never felt better about it than now.
you shake your head with an affectionate smile. "unfortunately yes."
there's a pause. the two of you are smiling. you lean forward to press a kiss on the top of his nose, turning it pink and human. "you'll get a kiss after getting back." you say. it's a promise.
"I'll look forward to it."
stupid, bearable, comfortable, beating organ.
his heart felt alive. his lungs felt like they were no longer chambers filled with air but something that could experience the space of being around you.
god, he was so lovesick. but he was with you, so it didn't matter.
“Americans believe in big portions! That’s so crazy.” Look at this European getting scammed into paying for 100 calories worth of food. Fool. Idiot. You wish you could have this 16 ounce Big Gulp and this serving of rice I will eat off for three days but you can’t. Cope and seethe.
I also love watching Italians get mad at Italian American food. You’re cranky because your hungry, aren’t you? Cranky because you don’t get that delicious olive oil and balsamic vinegar to dip your bread in before meals? Cranky because your pizza kinda sucks?
who has that one post that’s like “americans will lightly rib british people for their accents and brits will be like ‘your children will die in a school shooting’“
I’m tired of people acting like Zhongli is a serious and chill guy who would never cause problems on purpose as if he isn’t one of the biggest menaces out of the Seven. He used to throw mountains at Venti for annoying him. He, the god of history, starts fights among historians for shits and giggles. He tried to gaslight the Traveler into thinking he was totally not at the Chasm guys really Aether/Lumine you must be seeing things maybe you should go see Baizhu. When Qiqi wanted “Cocogoat” milk he was like “Oh yeah sure totally let’s go look for it” knowing damn well it was a wild goose chase. He made the Traveler sing to a flower and then was like “Oh would you look at that” when a Whooperflower jumped out to maul them. I love him. He’s like a cat pushing things off the counter to see how people react. I would pay to see him interact directly with Neuvillette because I know for a fact he’d get on that man’s nerves and argue about water tasting just to feel something. Furina used freedom from godhood to take a nap and Zhongli used it to give psychic damage to anyone who talks to him longer than 5 minutes. Iconic.
Literally one of my favorite things about him is how he’ll just sit there and lie to you/the people around you. Like ik why he does it but man does not give a single fuck 😂😂
now a little blurb because this non-existent man is sending me into heat…..
DNI IF NOT 18+
author’s note: this turned into a little more than a blurb…..i simply could not help it!!!!! free me from eren’s hold plz :((((((
also! i did not look for errors or misspelling so please lmk if there’s something that needs fixing! enjoy the story<33
eren swears that he’s not a mushy person, he’s just simply a result of his environment. and when he’s surrounded by you, there’s no way he wouldn’t fall victim to the silent killer called love.
eren’s love for you is constant, and while it ebbs and flow, it always remains.
yet, he finds himself recalling these specific instances in where the love he feels for you is almost too much, like if he truly recognized it in its entirety and sat with the gravity of it, his heart might explode.
eren’s brain is like a little kaleidoscope of memories, and there’s specific ones with you that only capture half of his feelings. if asked, he doesn’t know if he’d really be able to explain it, if there are even any words to cover feeling one thing so strongly towards another person.
eren remembers sitting on the couch, watching the raider’s game. he couldn’t help the way his ears perked up at the little chit-chat between you and his mom.
“is he still a slob? i swear that boy needs to learn how to pick up after himself!” carla teased, to which you grinned with a reply of, “tell me about it, i think he just attracts mess.”
the both of you found that way too funny, your shared laughter falling over eren’s ears. he turned over his shoulder to look into the kitchen, watching his mom hip bump you as the two of you smiled.
he decided to let your little jabs slide for now. he was going to turn back and watch the football game, but he couldn’t help but watch as his mom shared the ingredients to her ‘top-secret’ homemade cookie recipe with you.
he watched as you began rolling some dough in your hands, with the question of “like this?” to which carla smiled with a “yes, yes, that’s perfect!”
his ears tuned in as she asked you about your life, about things outside of eren. he loved that about his mom, her eagerness to know you as a person separate from him. and what he loved about you was the eagerness you felt to love the people he did.
he turned back to the screen, the ref calling something on some play as he grinned from ear to ear, the two of you still chuckling in the kitchen.
eren will tease you about your obsession with pinterest, but in some instances, it’s okay, a worthwhile obsession, some would say.
like right now, you in your pretty little sundress, rambling about how you made this charcuterie board from instructions on pinterest. it was a beautiful day, the sun out, beaming on your skin. you had your hair up as you rummaged through the picnic basket.
you were still going on about all these recipes you found, grinning all the while. and god, you looked so beautiful, eren doesn’t know how much more he could take. and suddenly, his lips were on yours, so sudden that it took even him by suprised.
so…., that shut you up. “o-oh,” you said softly, heat rushing to your cheeks. “just as a little thank you,” eren joked, “made such a pretty picnic, baby.”
you were cheesing at that, with a soft, “thank you, ren.” eren was starting to get hungry looking at all this food, “now c’mon let’s eat,” he grumbled, reaching for one of the star shaped sandwiches, only to be cut off by your hand slapping his.
“patience! we have to eat everything in a specific order,” you chastised, eren just chuckling before he listened to your instruction.
“you roll em’ so sloppy, angel,” eren laughed softly, grabbing the messily rolled joint from your fingers. “ren!” you barked, no bite attached to it as you hit him in the arm.
“doesn’t really matter,” he continued, licking the re-rolled joint to seal it, “don’t needa know how to roll cause you’re so pretty,” his inflection went up on the last part teasing you as he began to litter messy kisses along your neck and shoulder.
“st-stop it!” you laughed softly, fumbling for the joint in eren’s hands, “jus’ give it here,” you pleaded around giggles, eren eventually subsiding his movements and handing it to you.
“want me to light it for you?” he asked, to which you nodded, placing the joint in between your lips. the flame flickered between the two of your faces, a stark and short burst of light in the dimly lit room. you took a deep inhale, puffing out an exhale before handing it over to eren.
after a few passes between the two of you, eren was turning to you, his eyes clear enough to say something he had so many times before. you simply just parted your lips, eren’s lips brushing yours as he blew smoke into your mouth.
“s’good,” he hummed softly before pulling back. time passed, hell if you could say how much, and you were now in eren’s lap. frank ocean’s nights was softly playing in the background as eren’s hand rubbed patterns into your thigh.
your lips were connected in a sloppy kiss, your shared whimpers melting into the others tongue. before you and eren started dating, you would smoke together, and eren would always proclaim that he was ‘touchy’ when he was high.
that was still very much true.
“ren,” you whined, grinding down on eren’s lap as his hands found purchase on your tits, groping them through the soft cotton material of your shirt.
“yeah? fuck, what y’need baby, what y’need me to do?” you could feel his hard-on pressing against the swell of your ass, lust taking you over as you pressed down harder against him.
“fuck,” he sighed before grinning lazily, his hands moving from your breasts and down to your hips as he began rocking you against him. “dry humping like fucking teenagers,” eren’s voice was low, gravely, “that’s how needy you get me, angel.”
you were full on moaning now, the friction against your clit making you see stars. “gonna cum for me baby? gonna let me make you feel good, gonna make you feel so good, all for me, yeah?” eren had a tendency to ramble when high, but god if you weren’t grateful.
his voice was the final thing to tip you over the edge, your climax tainting the cotton fabric of your panties. eren didn’t allow your hips to stutter, rocking you against him faster as he began to choke on his words, “oh-oh! yeah, gonna, gonna–fuck!”
eren’s cum painted the grey fabric of his sweats as the both of you panted, coming down from your highs. you whined, wishing you could feel his cum deep inside of you.
little did you know, you were muttering that exact thought under your breath. “yeah?” eren huffed, his hand coming up to find purchase around your neck, “we can make that happen, baby, don’t you worry.”
eren doesn’t think he’s ever heard someone yell so loud for a team, and he’s pretty sure his dad would die for the rams. but, god, if he’s not about to crack up on court when he hears you yelling, “yeah, ren, come on, break some ankles!”
his teammates don’t even tease him about it, they just simply pat him on the shoulder with, “you bagged a keeper.”
and they’re right. the way you wait outside the locker room after each game. if it’s a win, your face perks up when you hear the door to the lockeroom creak open, and you’re bounding into eren’s arms, not even affected by how sweaty he is, just littering kisses against his face with murmurs of “so proud of you, baby,” and “you did so good!”
if it’s a loss, your face still perks up, but your eyes droop when you see him. it’s always a soft, “m’sorry, ren” and a soft kiss and similar mutters, “did so good, baby,” and “i can kill them if you want.”
and as his number one supporter, you wear his practice jersey to every game and you’re always in the front row, that pretty little grin on your face. and that’s his motivation as he crosses this dude in front of him up, the crowd murmuring “ooh,” and “damn!” as eren goes in for the layup.
“connie you’re a fucking cheater,” you jokingly shouted, connie laughing as he held his hands up. “don’t be mad that i’m better y/n, you know it’s alright to lose. we lose some, we win some, or in your case, we lose some and we lose some more, it’s alrig-”
connie yelped as you began lunging for him, the two of you eventually running around the house, you chasing connie with a promise of “i’m gonna fucking corndog you so hard!”
eren couldn’t help but laugh with mikasa as he watched you and connie stare at each other over the couch, connie pretending to go one way but juking and going the other, “you fucker!” you laughed, sprinting down the hallway to catch up wit him.
eren loves how good you are with his friends. from the moment you first met them, you were already a part of the group. and mikasa really liked you, so that was a major green flag.
you had the approval of every monumental person in his life, meaning there was only one thing left to do…..
eren swore to never be the groom to cry when his bride walked down the aisle, but, fuck, he understands it now.
you, in a stunning white dress, walking towards him and vowing to be his forever. life couldn’t get much better than this.
and as he watched you take each step, tears collecting along your waterline too, he thinks back to all those moments. all the times he couldn’t cope with the totality of his love for you. he wants you to feel his love in its entirety, he wants his love for you to always let you know that you are enough and more.
and that’s what he conveys through those two simple words.
The way you wrote the boys with lipstick has me very feral and I may have bookmarked in my “Read when sad to get serotonin(happy chemical)” because dANG IT IT WAS VERY GOOD-
Samuel’s has me like 🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️ and if you ever have the motivation or desire to write a part two with other characters im letting you know i will eat it up like a man starved
Cause now im imagining others wearing it and how pretty they’d look and the desire to smooch them all is strong
Like i can imagine Vasco wearing it cause we gifted it to him and he thinks we wanna see him in it(maybe he comes to school wearing it and the burn knuckles are collectively like “???!!-“ or just at one of our places) and ever with the facial hair he rocks it and we smooch him a lot and he’s surprised that wearing the lipstick got him so many more extra kisses
Or with Zack he wears it cause he was bored and wanted to try it on and thinks he looks good with it on and of course, we give him a smooch to agree with him
Or Daniel who’s insecure but thinks that we wanted him to wear it and we call him beautiful and pretty and how amazing he looks and of course some kisses
You got me vibrating with ideas and i am coming for you
!!!! I am so flattered by your kind words anon! I’m so glad you enjoyed reading the impulsive piece of writing the lipstick scenarios was!
Samuel may have done many questionable things but he’s baby in my eyes- Other characters will be written about! Dw- (I’ve actually been waiting for an ask like the one you sent bc I keep writing exclusively for Gun and Jake if left to my own devices lmao)
Let’s be real all the Lookism boys will look gorgeous with lipstick on-
Babe- anon dearest- feel free to drop your ideas in my ask box bc I love the boys??? So much??? And I wanna write about them???
But! Here are the mini ficlets for the lipstick scenario- Characters included are; Vasco, Zack, and Daniel (the adorkable J high trio)
Masterlist and first part! Enjoy <3
Vasco
You gaped at him, your water bottle slipping from between your fingers when you saw Vasco wearing the bright, hot pink lipstick you had given him as a joke- You should have known that he would take you joke gift seriously. This was Vasco, after all.
If you were to be honest to yourself, the joke gift... wasn't really a joke. You had always wanted to see him wear make up of any kind. His lips were unfairly pretty too, especially after you had gotten him into the habit of putting on lip balm.
Vasco caught the water bottle as it fell, blinking at your expression as he placed it onto your desk.
You could hear the whispers in your classroom, because the Burn Knuckles never left the architecture department. But here they were now- the leader of said group actually in the classroom, with the rest of the members peaking through the doors of the room.
But you couldn't care less. Vasco had lipstick on.
"You're wearing lipstick."
"You gave it to me." Your heart fluttered at his low voice and the tilt of his head- as if he was stating the obvious. The fact that he would make use of anything that you gave him. "It's nice."
Without thinking, you grabbed his face, the slight stubble on his face scratching lightly against your palms, and you kissed him.
Nothing too heated, because you were conscious of the audience you had, but it definitely wasn't a simple peck either. You opted to ignore the gasps and wolf whistles coming from around you, and instead focused on the feeling of his waxy lips on yours, and his large hands hovering uncertainly over your waist.
When you pulled back, his lips were smudged with the bright pink of the lipstick and his ears were tinted with a similar colour.
Vasco looked adorable, and you couldn't help it. You pressed your lips all over his face, peppering him with kisses, laughing breathlessly when you saw the light lipstick marks on his face where you had kissed him.
"Vasco." You said his name softly and pecked the tip of his nose. "You're... perfect."
He grinned at you and opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by the bell ringing.
Your face dropped in disappointment, but that was soon washed away when he pressed a firm kiss onto your cheek.
"I could stay here-"
"No. Get back to your classroom, Vasco. Think about your attendance."
You locked eyes with Jace, who was hovering awkwardly beyond the doorframe, and gestured for him to take Vasco away.
With a slight, nearly unnoticeable pout on his lips, Vasco left your classroom as Jace half-heartedly tugged him out.
When you sat back at your desk, you were immediately asked by the student sitting next to you;
"Since when were you dating Vasco?"
Zack Lee
You immediately pulled out your phone and snapped a photo of him as he pouted with his purple tinted lips. He was staring off into the distance, watching some kids playing in the playground the two of you had decided to meet in. He was sat on the bench with his hands were shoved into the pocket of his hoodie.
Zack must have heard the clicking of your camera going off because his head snapped towards your direction. His hair was soft and slightly wet, as if he had come out to meet you right after a shower.
"Where did you get the lipstick?" you asked, half-jogging towards him and plopping down next to him.
"You got it for me. As a joke. For the secret santa thing we had last year."
"Oh yeah. I'm pretty bad at keeping thing low key, aren't I?"
"I just know you too well." You slid your hand into his pocket, and carded your fingers through his. Zack blushed, and you found it endearing that he was so easily flustered at every physical contact you initiated. "I was bored, and this was on my desk, so I put it on."
You settled to press your cheek against his shoulder.
"I think it suits me."
You looked up at him and saw that his lips were pulled up in a half-smile.
"It definitely does. I have to thank past me for getting you that." You pulled away from his shoulder and grinned at him. "Come here so I can show you how good I think you look with it on."
Zack flushed and his gaze avoided yours, but he followed your command nonetheless.
You reached to press your lips against his, squeezing his hand as you did so, feeling him sigh softly against your mouth. His other hand- rough and callused- cupped the back of your head to tug you in deeper.
He pulled away after a while but he was quick to press his lips onto your again soon enough. For a while, it was just you and him, sharing soft, nearly continuous pecks and enjoying each other's company.
Soon enough, you pulled back fully to see his purple lips swollen and bruised in the prettiest way possible- cheeks flushed and hair in even more of a mess-
Zack reached over to you to press a firm kiss onto your forehead, and you felt warmth crawl up your cheeks too.
Daniel Park
"You want me to help you put this on?"
Daniel nodded as he fidgeted slightly, his fingers plucking at his sweatshirt- something obscenely expensive that Jay bought him for sure- nervously. You knew Daniel was shy, despite the unfairly attractive face he had.
You played with the lipstick he had asked you to put on him. It was one that you had gotten for him as a joke, months ago. You thought he had forgotten about it, but in hindsight, you shouldn't have thought that. Daniel appreciated anything his friends gave him, and of course he appreciated anything from you doubly.
"Yeah. That's why you got me that, right?"
You immediately felt guilty. You didn't want him to feel forced to wear it- it was a joke, after all-
"You don't-"
"I want to!" He cut you off, eyes glittering as his gaze locked with yours. "I want to- I just don't know how to properly put it on."
You studied him. He did have pretty lips- which only you had the privilege of kissing.
"Alright. Come here, baby."
Daniel immediately leaned into your touch, and you felt the smooth skin of his chin under your fingers as you tilted his face up.
Slowly, you popped the cap off of the lipstick- it was a bright, neon green, and you had no idea why you had chosen that colour- and gently applied it onto his lips.
Your mouth went dry as his eyes closed, eyelashes fluttering-
When you finished putting the colour onto his lips, you admired the view in front of you. The colour was obscene and obscure, and it looked amazing on him.
"Daniel..."
His eyes fluttered open and his lips tugged into a slight frown.
"Why? Does it not look good?"
He raised his hand to wipe it away, but you knocked his hand away to cup his jaw and kissed him stupid- tongue slipping into his mouth momentarily before pulling away.
The green lipstick was smeared around his mouth, and you knew for a fact that your lips were also coated with the same colour.
"You look so pretty, Daniel." You breathed out, capturing his chin in between your fingers and running the pad of your thumb along his lower lip. "So, so pretty. Absolutely gorgeous."
