#reader x eren

[bbstastycake]

here we go again.

pt. 2

you wince at the low breath you accidentally allowed to escape you as a group of guys approached you and your friends’ table. you prayed it wasn’t heard, but by the way a few of them glanced toward you, it was and judging by looks on their faces, it was the first time they were noticing you in the thirty minutes that they had been eyeing your group.

“…yeah and if you want, we could get you into vip,” one of the guys say loud enough for you to barely catch, causing you to come out of your thoughts. hearing that, you slightly perk up with the hope of being able to at least drink for free while your friends are finding their… escapade for the night.

you look around your table and see your friends grins and their excitement for the prospect of being invited into the most exclusive section of the hottest club of the year. you giggle at their elation before looking back at the group of boys.

“yeah, we all get a plus one so let’s go,” another says, the slurring of his words making it obvious that he’s had more than his fair share of drinks.

he’s definitely not it.

your friends move to couple up while you stay seated waiting for them to leave you with their last pick, not in the mood to experience rejection. you watch and wait, finding the ice at the bottom of your glass far more interesting than anything going on around you at the moment. you move your straw to the left, then to the right watching the ice melt into the liquor.

slowly, you look up in search of whoever you were so lucky to have been left with.

shit, the drunkie. fucking perfect.

you make eye contact with him sending a soft smile his way.

well, there’s nothing that says i gotta fuck him. just gotta act like i will.

you prepare yourself to approach him, fully prepared to drown him out with alcohol once you got to the club, when you see it. you see the realization set in. the realization that you were the last of the girls in the group. the realization that he was forced to couple with you.

here we go again.

you watch in disappointment and disgust, but not surprise as he searches frantically among the girls in your group for someone else, anyone else … who didn’t look like you. you don’t even attempt to make your way towards him, opting to instead head the opposite way towards the bar, but not before feeling someone grab onto your arm.

“hey, love! what’s up? where you going?” you relax into your friend’s hold and force yourself to look happy.

“yeah, i’m actually not up for it tonight, babe. i’m sorry! don’t worry about me though! i’m just grabbing a drink for the road, so go have fun !” you give her the best smile you could muster seeing that you obviously didn’t convince her. she gives you a worried look before you widen your smile.

“listen! i’m fine, i promise,” you say in another attempt to convince her. “…and you have my location! now stop worrying about me and GO! have fun ! text me , okay? let everyone know i’m fine.”

you give her hand a squeeze and watch her give in, the wine she had with dinner making it easier for her to let you go.

“i don’t like this but… if that’s what you want then okay. you have to text me when you get home… ‘kay?” you nod, taking your lip between your teeth.

you watch as she goes back toward the girls you came with and you mouth your goodbyes before turning around and allowing your smile to drop. you get to the bar and throw back a last shot before strutting your way out of the restaurant, failing to notice how dark it’s become.

as you stand on the sidewalk outside of the building in your skimpy outfit, you can’t help but to feel like an idiot.

what the fuck was i thinking?

you let out a bitter laugh at yourself.

“what’s so funny, sweetheart?” you freeze as the smell of booze overwhelms your senses. your body tenses as you feel the warmth of a large figure creep dangerously close behind you. you ignore the man, hoping he would take the hint and go away. you feel a hand placed on your waist. the blood drains from your face as you try to build up the courage to speak.

here we go again.

“hmm? i said what’s a pretty girl like you doing laughing outside all alone?” your body is stiff with fear as you feel the weight of his hand on your body increase. you clear your throat and struggle to keep your voice from shaking. “i asked you a question, sweetheart. it’s rude not to speak when spoken to,” you feel his grip tightening more. “you don’t wanna be rude, do you, doll?”

“please don’t touch me,” you say weakly as your heart pounds.

“hmm? what’s that? don’t be like that. i’m just tryna have a little fun. isn’t that something a girl like you is into?”tears threaten to fall from the edge of your eyes and your mind races, the alcohol dulling your senses. you begin to claw at his hands, attempting to remove them.

“fuck are you doing, asshole?” you flinch at a voice directed toward you, but you don’t dare look up. the man behind steps back.

“what? man, get out of here. this has nothing to do with yo-” the abrupt stop causes you to glance up for the first time and get a good look at the men above you. the man behind you had a muscular build. his grey t-shirt struggled to contain the strength that bulged out of his arms. the chain that rested on his chest seemed like a thread in comparison to the pecs it was nestled between.

he could bash your head in if he wanted to.

you looked to your right at the other guy who wasn’t nearly as muscular, his look far more sleek with a half open silk t-shirt and a messy half up-half down that rested on each of his shoulders. his dead eyes drifted to you before resting back onto the man behind you. “you wanna finish that sentence or do you wanna live?”

his eyes pierce into him and you slowly turn to focus on his face. even with the obvious size difference, the larger male trembled under his gaze. the tall, slender man looked down at the cowering man with disgust as he held his hand out towards you. you quickly take it and stand by him, eyes cast down.

the shorter, muscular man doles out an apology and rushes away, leaving you with-

“eren,” he says now putting his focus on you. “nice to meet you. can i get you a drink?” you look up in shock at the situation, wondering why he made such a quick getaway. you realize you were still trembling and as though he read your mind, the man (who you now knew as eren) wrapped you in his coat and draped his arm around you, surrounding you in his scent and as a result.

“you don’t have to do that,” you muttered, already embarrassed about the whole ordeal and about the fact that you needed to be saved by a stranger. “i really appreciate your help and everything but i’m okay now and i already called an uber so you don’t have to.” your head dips down in appreciation.

“i know,” he says. “i know i don’t have to do anything, but who said i didn’t want to?” he walks over and holds the door to the restaurant open.

“so? what you think lil mama? you in?” he awaits your response with a smirk.

***

“and theeeennnnn he looks at me like i was some dog shit at the bottom of his fucking shoe! like bitch PLEASE !” you’re a couple drinks in and already rambling about the night’s events. you open your mouth to continue and gasp, clasping your hand over your mouth before you can let another word out.

you turn to the side and feel your face heat up as you realize that you were rambling like an idiot to a man you didn’t know.

“i am so sorry!” you say, obviously embarrassed. you scold yourself in your mind as you lower your head in apology. eren bursts out into laughter as more blood rushes to your face.

“don’t be, you’re cute,” he says waving the bartender down for another drink for you.

“you tryna get me drunk?” you raise your eyebrow feigning suspicion.

“as long as it’ll keep you talkin’. ”he smiles at you. he smiles as if he’s known you forever, and for a split second you forget the circumstances of how you met. you forget that he, a rather lean man with a pair of the coldest eyes you’ve ever seen, chased off a man that could have snapped both yours and his arms clean in half without a second thought, and he did it with nothing but a look. you forget that the name eren sounds familiar. he smiles, and for a split second, you forget that you have horrible taste in men.

here we go the FUCK again.

[syoish-aot]

"I Found You (too)" - EREN/READER - REINCARNATION AU (chapter 7)

eren/reader

reincarnation & memory loss

rating: M (16+)

cw: canon-typical & internalized xenophobia, disassociating

word count: 2061

<- CH 6

“Mr. Kruger?”

“Um- …yeah.”

You scowl.

Mr. Kruger looks over at you. “What?”

“Why do you do that?”

“Why do I do what?”

“Get uncomfortable when I say your name.”

“It’s-” his cheeks flush pink. You’re not used to them doing that because in the real world they don't; but here, in this dream you find yourself trapped in, things are different.

Mr. Kruger is different.

“Is it because that’s not your name here?” You ask him. “I can call you by your other name if you want.”

He shifts uncomfortably on the couch next to you and you can’t help but want to tease him, just a bit. He’s so easy to tease here and it’s fun. You lean in closer.

He freezes as your hand rests against his arm. As your chest brushes his shoulder. As your lips tickle the shell of his ear:

“Eren.”

His cheeks burn an even deeper red. It makes you think about thedifferences between this dream and reality. 

Everything is so much quieter here. The city is still loud, of course, but there’s a peace to it. A peace that you never find in Liberio. 

The food here is better. There’s more flavor and more food in general because nothing is rationed.

There’s no war. No pain. No suffering. And no red spray paint against brick walls.

And then there’s Mr. Kruger.

Eren.

He looks the same (although he’s got both eyes and legs). With the same long hair (although he normally ties it up instead of letting it hang down) and the same facial features (although his skin is less rough, with fewer scars and no tired bags under his eyes). He’s the same height. Basic build. And has the same blue-green eyes that reveal golden flecks of stars when the light hits them just right. But…

Mr. Kruger smiles here. He smiles and he laughs and he plays with the cats while he tells you about his friends. 

He was alive in Liberio in the sense that he was breathing, eating, moving around and going through the motions of life. But here, in this beautiful vivid peaceful dream, here Mr. Kruger is able to live.

And there’s a difference, you suppose. A difference between living and being alive.

Maybe that’s what made them different people, despite all of their similarities.

There was something depressingly poetic about the whole thing, but you didn’t want to spend too much time thinking about it right now.

“Mr. Kruger.” You say and he visibly relaxes. You follow up with: “I’m hungry.” 

Mr. Kruger shoots off the couch and darts into the kitchen without another word.

You smiled to yourself as you watched it, reminded of another difference between this beautiful peaceful dream and reality.

He might look like him, sort of, but at the end of the day Eren wasn’t Mr. Kruger at all.

Mr. Kruger had no idea how to cook.

“I made you a cake, obviously.” You tell Mr. Kruger in answer to his question, as you begin to rebandage his head.

“What kind of cake?” He asks.

“Hmm… strawberry.”

He grimaces.

“Chocolate?”

He shrugs.

You stop bandaging. “You like vanilla?”

“I don’t like flavors that are too strong.”

You scoff.

“Hey,” he protests, “it’s my birthday.”

You smile as you continue to bandage his head. “Alright fine, I made vanilla then,” as you expertly wrap and tuck the bandages, you continue to ramble about the made-up birthday party you would throw him in your head. Describing it in vivid detail, as if it was real. 

As if it was in front of you instead of the palace in your head.

You imagine Mr. Kruger’s hand brushing against the back of yours as you hand him a slice of cake.

But you don’t tell him about that part of the fantasy.

“I would wear… a blue dress. Oh! And one of those big floppy hats to keep the sun out of my face!”

You’re helping him across the courtyard. He’s sore from an intense session of physical therapy and needs more than just his crutch to get around.

Mr. Kruger grunts as you lower him to his favourite bench where he said he was meeting his friend. 

“Do you sunburn easily?” He asks.

“Yes. All the time.”

He lets out a short huff of amusement as his eyes trail your face. “I bet you skip tan and go right to red.”

Your cheeks burn as he says it.

In your head, you’re potting hanging baskets of pretty red flowers on the balcony. In your head, it’s not just his eyes that trail your cheeks. In your head, his hand reaches up to brush against them too.

Again, you don’t tell him about that part of the fantasy.

“Chamomile.” Mr. Kruger says softly as you hand him his paper cup and his three pills. You already slipped the green one into your pocket.

You blink away the tears that have started to well up in your eyes.

“That’s the kind of tea I’d bring you.” Mr. Kruger says. “It’s relaxing.”

You always get this way on the anniversary of his death. You weren’t supposed to be sad though. He was a traitor, so you were supposed to be happy he was dead.

But you weren’t.

You take in a shaky breath. “Would you… Would you sit with me while I drink it?”

“Yes.” Mr. Kruger takes his medicine.

You imagine the couch. The tea.

You imagine letting your head fall to his shoulder and your eyes slipping closed as Mr. Kruger describes the chipped cup he’d hand you, and the cat that would be asleep in your lap.

Once you were finished with your tea, he’d take the empty cup from you. He’d place it on the table and then wrap his arm around you so you could tuck yourself against his chest. He would rub your back as you cried. As he let you cry. 

When you were done, he’d kiss the top of your head while you drifted off to sleep.

Like usual, you don’t tell Mr. Kruger that last part.

The house grows more vivid. More detailed. More wonderful and into a more perfect escape with little pieces of you and little pieces of Mr. Kruger as well.

Paintings. Souvenirs. A collection of different mugs and teacups because you can’t help constantly buying new ones.

It becomes more than just your home.

It becomes his home too.

“What would you do?” Mr. Kruger asks. 

It was well into the evening and several hours past the end of your shift. You should have gone home ages ago, but instead, you were sitting in his hospital bed next to him- so close that you could feel the heat radiating off his shoulder.

But you weren’t touching.

Never touching.

The few centimetres between the two of you are as close as you’ll be able to get in reality.

Thankfully, you’re not in reality right now. Instead, you’re swept up in the fantasy of your small, safe home. You're somewhere that’s nice. 

“I would read a book on the couch,” you answer. “What would you do?”

“Sit next to you,” he says. “The cats won't leave me alone.”

You laugh. “It’s because you ignore them. Cats like that, you know. They like it when you play hard to get.”

“Maybe I should play harder.” 

“It’ll only make them like you more.”

The corners of his lips just barely lift into a smile, but they drop again a moment later.

A silence passes over you as you sink into the moment. You’re staring at the wall across from you, but the hospital room isn’t what surrounds you.

Not really.

What surrounds you is framed photos. Plants. A warm couch and the smell of a homemade dinner wafting in from the kitchen. There are people in the streets below. People at peace, because there isn’t any war here. No pain. No suffering at all.

There are only things that are nice.

Nothing else is allowed.

It’s just you and Mr. Kruger.

You lean against him.

But you don’t-...

You take a short breath.

You’re normally confident when you talk to Mr. Kruger about the nice place in your head, but right now that confidence is fading. It’s fading because you can imagine doing it, but you’ve never let those thoughts be known like you let all the others. But what if you did? Just this once. What if you…

“I’d move closer to you...” you tell him, just above a whisper, “...so our arms could touch.”

You can imagine it so perfectly. The brush of his arm against yours. If you leaned over, even just slightly, you’d feel it. But that’s reality.

You’re not in reality right now. You’re somewhere nice.

You take a short breath: “And I’d-”

“I’d hold your hand.” Mr. Kruger cuts you off, “...I bet it’s soft.”

Your fingers twitch against your lap. They curl together and you imagine the sensation of his hand replacing one of yours. 

“I-...” you stutter, “...yours is too…”

It’s warm. 

Not just his hand, but everything else. The house. The couch. The life. The people on the street below you. The cat in your lap. Mr. Kruger sitting beside you.

It’s warm. It’s soft. It’s comfortable. It’s perfect. The most wonderful escape. The most amazing dream. You wish it was real, you do, but at the same time you hope somewhere like that never slips into reality because you know if it did it would become tainted. 

Reality is thick ropes. Flesh. Bone. Red words against brick walls. Reality takes the tiniest spark of something pure, of something good, and turns it into a nightmare.

Somewhere nice couldn’t possibly be real. That warm, soft, comfortable, perfect place would be ruined if it was.

So you don’t want it to be real. Not at all. You never want it to be real. If it was real it wouldn’t be perfect.

If it was real, you could never-

“...I’d kiss you...”

You can see it, so vividly, just like the couch and the food and the chipped tea cups.

You see Mr. Kruger right next to you. Holding your hand. You see yourself pull back, just enough that you can meet his blue-green eyes. Your own eyes flick down, just for one second, to his lips, and when you glance up he looks different.

His bandages are gone and he’s got both eyes and legs. His long hair is tied up instead of hanging down. His skin is less rough, with fewer scars and no tired bags under his eyes. He’s the same. He’s the same height. Basic build. And has the same blue-green eyes that reveal golden flecks of stars when the light hits them just right. But…

He’s smiling.

He’s smiling and laughing and talking to you so much faster and louder than he normally does he’s--

He’s alive.

And there’s a difference, you suddenly realize, a difference between living and being alive.

Without a second thought, you lean forward.

You kiss him, cutting off whatever he had been rambling about in favour of sinking into the feeling of his warm lips against yours.

Warm.

Just like the rest of the wonderful dream.

You’d spent the last few weeks describing a lot of your fantasies to Mr. Kruger, but there were still things you kept to yourself. Stolen glances. Soft touches. Feelings that you couldn’t admit to, not even in the fantasy.

But then you’d gone and said it:

‘I’d kiss you.’ You had told him, only a fraction of a second ago without taking a moment to think it over. 

And you aren’t given a moment, not really, because the image of it happening flashes through your mind so quickly, and in that time, Mr. Kruger makes his reply.

He takes in a short breath. His body completely motionless next to you.

He’s looking out the window.

“...I’d kiss you too…” he says, his eyes never leaving the line of the horizon.

He lifts a hand to cup your cheek and kisses you back, pulling you against him on the couch.

The scratchy couch.

The warm world.

The perfect fantasy where you’ll never live - but for once in your life you can be alive.

You stare at the blank, depressing hospital wall.

You should go home.

TAG LIST - [like this post to be added]

@azulaenthusiast @ilovemollyweasley @kooromin

@janneeeexdxc @dumdxm @ebubeu

@merrygo14 @gojojang @maluvilela

@shmaptainbonky @fvckingeetar @hyunsbaby

@vlsquuu @f4irygard3n

@xngelsau @venus1224idkpleaze @dahliawarner

@huni7857 @dracucil @misshale21

@magictrump @longestline @sky-full-of-magic

@suagxsugax @dattebakay @br0ken-g1rl

@datshittuebrat @hayleighloatx @skoll1897

((I'm getting a bit of burnout with this fic, and some comments on your thoughts so far would go a long way in terms of igniting that spark. So please let me know what you think so far <3 thank you guys for reading!!))

[rreyie]

ok you don't understand now i need possessive eren headcanons! like him being an absolute asshole to everyone who just dares to look at his s/o for longer than a split second and him being overly jealous when she's out and about! always asking questions and just being borderline paranoid of her cheating on him

possessive eren headcanons

warnings- toxicity, one sentence of smut at the end

a/n- um yes??? he’s totally the jealous type of lover and gets possessive of you very easily

he gets suspicious of everyone. even fucking ARMIN.

fr if he sees you talking to armin for more than a minute about things that have nothing to do with the war he’s assuming you’re breaking up with him and getting with armin.

it does piss off armin a little that eren assumes that his best friend would actually let his s/o cheat with him. it’s like eren doesn’t trust him or something.

if he sees you talking to any guy that isn’t him, he will quietly ask you to do him a favor to get you out of the area, and then will proceed to threaten whoever was talking to you.

“listen up, big boy. see her over there? yeah, she’s mine. hands off or i’ll make sure they stay off. for good.”

okay he wouldn’t actually cut their hands off but he would give them a few good punches to the face and a kick to the crotch.

gets a glimpse of someone looking at you for a little longer than he would like? an arm will instantly wrap around your shoulders and pull you in tightly to his body- all while still making eye contact to the person who dared to look at you.

most times you go out he goes with you, but if he can’t be with you he will question you endlessly about what the social atmosphere of the place was like.

“find any good apples? how were the people there? who did you talk to? which shops did you go into? any perverted men trying to hit on you, if so what did they look like?”

if you seem apprehensive to answer these questions, he will instantly assume that you had something to do with a guy.

he does not hesitate to hold grudges against you if he suspects you’re with another guy. he will only give you the cold shoulder and sleep on the couch instead of the bed you two share.

he knows those grudges make you upset. that’s why he holds them.

and let me just indulge myself in some smut for a second.... if he’s feeling possessive during sexy time he will be rough. like really fucking rough. choking and spanking are in the books. and he will nut inside of you if he knows you’re on birth control.

[attackontitanwritings]

Hi again, I have Titan Eren brain rot and can not get this au or your writings out of my head and I was just thinking,,,I know you said that even in human form, Eren would keep talking to short curt sentences, but imagine him practicing with hange and working up the courage to just tell the reader how much he loves them, recounting their adventures, and even though he says it in few words, the reader is absolutely moved to tears

Read more about the AU | Read this on AO3

-

Your heart almost stops when you hear the sounds that come out of Eren’s mouth. Once the moment passes with your heartbeat continuing on without issue, you blink at him in a combination of shock and wonder. 

“What...did you say?”

You don’t mean for the words to sound the way they do. It’s not like you’re offended or angry, nor do you mean to ask them as some sort of accusation--you simply could not believe what you even might have heard the man attempt to say. 

Eren stands just a few feet away from you, brows knitted together in something of annoyance, though it’s not at all directed at you. He drops his jaw, then closes it, and then makes the motion a second time.

“I luh...yeeu.”

It takes a moment more for it to hit you square in the face.

I love you.

You know that he’s been acclimating to being a human again. Though there were some things that seemed to come easy enough to the shifter, one of the hardest proved to be one of the things that frustrated him the most--speaking. He couldn’t say how long he’d been a titan, and Hanji guessed it anywhere up to a decade of his life. A decade of living in an entirely different form, perhaps for as long as he had been a human prior to that. 

He didn’t exactly have lips in his titan form and thus, speaking with the addition of lips, even if he could understand someone speaking to him perfectly well, was a talent he was trying to re-learn.

The sounds requiring the use of his lips were the hardest for him to make.

You set down the plate you were washing and step closer to Eren, hands reaching out until they fold into his own. His eyes watch you smile, then say,

“I love you.” you notice how Eren’s eyes seem to hone in on your lips and how they move against teeth and tongue in an otherwise simple phrase. “I... love...you.”

You emphasize the letters giving him the most trouble, heart hammering in a pure rush of adrenaline the whole time.

Eren’s brows knit tighter, but he carefully parts his lips and speaks that gentle, low voice of his, “I... love... y-... you...”

“I love you too!” you all but laugh, joyful in how such simple, sweet words mean so much--not just in the notion, since you and Eren have been in love for what feels like forever--but in the fact that he can now tell you.

And he seems just as happy in the fact, if not moreso. You watch as the corners of his lips pull back into a smile--one that looks fairly average at first glance, if one didn’t take notice of the way the edges seemed a little wide, or how there seemed to be the slightest glint of teeth where there shouldn’t be.

But that’s hardly important. All you care about is pushing yourself into Eren’s chest and wrapping your arms tight around him--and he does the same, whispering slowly all the while “I love you... I love you... so muh-much.”

[xiaomomowrites]

Heyyy can I please get 19 y/o Eren x reader angst and a little smut or a lot ;) thank you

Introduction: alright haha I hope you like this. These are getting longer and longer lol. Also, so, I really couldn't help it yo, had to throw in some EM, which hey it works if you wanted angst! -s.a.

Because it was not specified by the person who requested this, we decided to make the reader female. So here we go, fem!reader x 19 y/o Eren. Have fun lol -u.n.

(y/n) hails from Marley, meets Eren a little before chapter 112, and is instantly smitten. 

Honestly, Eren was just looking for something to feel again. 

She tries to be his friend, but he’s just so distant especially with how he treats his friends, and it just makes him all the more alluring- like “I can change him, I can soften him up.”

So (y/n) spends time around him, supporting his dreams and goals because it seems like his friends won’t even be there for him. 

“Why won’t your friends help you?”

Eren doesn’t want to answer.

“Talk to me, please, it’s just me, I’m here for you.” 

He scoffs, “you don’t know anything, don’t assume.”

Obviously this just makes her want him more lol

He spends some time with her, honestly just craving human presence, it really doesn’t matter who it is. He still feels empty and kinda wonders why, but it’s pretty obvious. 

(y/n) tries to comfort him with her touch and for a second when he falters she believes it’s because he was affected by her, not because he’s got someone else on his mind.

Okay, fine, Eren steers into the skid, maybe it’ll relieve some stress

Next thing she knows his hands are in her hair and running up the back of her shirt and he’s so close. 

whoa ayeee things get heated

They’re sitting, so she crawls into his lap and he lets her

There’s no eye contact, even if she keeps trying to look at him. He does everything he can to look away

He breaks the kiss to tug at the neckline of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head and she starts kissing at his neck as soon as its exposed

Eren stops himself from rolling his eyes. So eager. he feels a little bit irked, but at this point he’s just going with it. She wasn’t even trying to hide that it was obvious she had been wanting this for a long time. One night can’t hurt, Eren decides. If anything, it could be fun. So he pushes her up and onto the bed, pulling her shirt off once she’s seated

He pushes her onto her back, she reaches for his pants

Grabby Hands™

She reaches down, undoing his pants, and her hand slips in

but when she feels him, he inhales sharply and all of a sudden his hand is around her wrist, putting an abrupt stop to everything

“What?”

She’s breathless. Lips a little swollen, cheeks are flushed a pretty red and Eren can’t help but think how good she looks like this. Any other normal person would have jumped on this and just kept going with it. The longer he takes just gawking at her and the situation, the more contorted her face gets in annoyance.

“I… I can’t.”

He feels a little guilty, leaving her hanging like this. He knows, above all the douchebaggery he’s ever committed, that she deserves better than someone like him. Eren can only think of the relationships he just burned, and doesn’t want one more person to go through the same thing with him. 

“Yes, you can. You don’t want to.” 

“You assume too much.”

“Okay, talk to me then!” 

“Why are you so insistent on trying to get closer to me? You don’t know anything, Mikasa!”

They both freeze, Eren recoils, hair a mess, clothes disheveled. He buttons his pants again and remains silent as (y/n) watches him, speechless.

He’s taken aback by his own words. He falters for a moment before regaining his composure. Default anger has been selected

picks up his shirt angrily, walking off and not even bothering to put it back on. He slams the door on the way out.

(y/n) is left on the bed, shirtless and flustered. she scoffs, tossing her shirt back on before stepping back outside

Pats her cheeks aggressively to get back on track lol and combs her hand through her hair, ignoring the white hot feeling in her abdomen, and in her chest

“Cold son of a bitch,” she thinks angrily. 

While walking around aimlessly, she passes the cell the foreigners are held in. she sees a girl with short, black hair, presumably the notorious Mikasa. She’s the only female in the room, so she must be.

She’s pretty, (y/n) thinks, but she looks utterly heartbroken, fiddling with the scarf in her hands, looking anywhere but up

(y/n) scoffs. She hates girls like that. Girls who will so willingly throw their lives and heart away for someone who doesn’t care; invest so much time and love in someone who won’t even spare them a minute.

it’s the most efficient way of killing yourself without dying

Though, maybe she was just projecting her issues onto Mikasa.

And yet, as she stares at her, she realizes she knows absolutely nothing about Eren, his past, or his past with Mikasa. (y/n) is an outsider, but that sure as hell won’t stop her from trying. 

She glances at Mikasa again, eyes softening with pity and empathy

Her heart was clearly not the first one that’s been broken

postscript:

She finds him a couple nights after they kissed in the room he had been staying in. She catches Eren changing, and although everyone around here has seen him with his shirt off, the sight still makes her mouth water. (y/n)  can’t really be blamed, though, he’s annoyingly chiseled. Eren’s abs look like they were sculpted by the gods themselves, and his face (despite how dead he looks these days) is undeniably attractive. His arms are roped with muscle obviously developed over years of strenuous work as a titan shifter. 

But regardless of how good he looks, (y/n) is rudely reminded of the way he pushed her off when he greets her. 

“What?” he deadpans at the woman standing at the door frame. Annoyance flares throughout her chest.

 “Hey smooth guy,” she says impassively. “How’s your girl?”

“She’s not my girl. I don’t know.” Eren answers curtly. 

“Well if you’re treating every girl like that, I wouldn’t expect you to.” (y/n) answers heatedly. She doesn’t even know why she’s getting upset again, there’s just something about Eren’s energy as of late that’s been pissing her off. 

“It literally doesn’t matter to you.”

She sucks in a breath. “You’re mean, as fuck.”

“Good one.”

“I hope you figure it out, Eren,” she says instead of snapping at him. Arguing wouldn’t help anyone.  “You’re not happy like this.”

“And what would you know about what makes me happy?” his eyes narrow as he shrugs his jacket on.

“It’s just a hunch, stop being a dick. I didn’t come here to fight you. Call me presumptuous, but it’s not that hard to see that there’s just no light in your eyes and the only time you speak is when you’re spoken to. Have you always been that way?”

He doesn’t answer her.

“I want to help you, Eren, I really do. But it seems like the only person who can save you from this shit hole you dug yourself is you.” She pauses, “Not even Mikasa can help you out on this one.”

Something about mentioning her name seems to elicit some (though barely) reaction from him, like a small electric surge of hope woke him up. (y/n) feels a pang of jealousy in her chest. She takes a deep breath to push down the pain; if that’s what it takes to get to him then so be it.

After a moment, Eren says in tiny font, “thank you.”

Because maybe it’s not what he wanted to hear, but it’s what he needed to hear. 

(y/n) smiles sadly. She walks up to him and places a chaste kiss on his cheek, leaning back as quick as she came. “I’m always going to be here for you, Eren. Hit me up when you’re done being lonely.”

Eren chuckles. The sound snaps grabs her attention. She stares at him in awe of the small noise of amusement he made. “Don’t hold me to that,” is all he says.

(y/n) smiles, biting her lip as she lingers by the door. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

[bbstastycake]

his smile captured you. it was warm…familiar, and for whatever reason, looked like it was hiding something.

pt. 1

his eyes—the kind that seem to have seen all the world has to offer: the good, the bad, the ugly—hold yours for a moment longer than expected. it’s like you’ve momentarily caught a glimpse of something deeper, something that shouldn’t be there but is, anyway. eren shifts slightly, the smallest movement, just enough to let his otherwise perfect neutral expression falter.

damn, that’s a hell of a poker face.

“not much to say, really. i’m honestly pretty boring,” he mutters, almost dismissively, before continuing with a few generic answers to the questions you ask, as if he’s running through a script. as time passes, though, you notice he’s starting to loosen up, just a little—his words become less clipped, his tone more relaxed. but his guard? still firmly in place. always.

when his gaze shifts toward you, it lingers for a split second longer than necessary—just long enough for you to catch the subtle shift in his expression. his lips curl up at the corner, his eyes flicking down your body before returning to your face. it’s quick, almost imperceptible, but it makes your cheeks flush before you can stop it. you glance at your phone, pretending you didn’t notice, but in reality, you’re keenly aware of the notifications lighting up your screen—missed calls, messages from your friends checking in, wondering if you’re okay.

you snap your phone shut again, the cool glass meeting your palm with a soft thud. the time catches your eye, and you can’t help but frown. “it’s getting late, isn’t it? wouldn’t want the restaurant to kick us out.”

the words are meant to be light, casual, but you can’t stop the tiniest pang of disappointment from creeping into your voice. before you can disguise it, your lips curve downward into a reluctant pout.

eren catches it, and his eyes soften. “hey, don’t look like that, pretty girl. i had a good time too. if i didn’t have business to handle in the morning, i would’ve shown you an even better time...” he trails off, his cheeks flushing just a shade darker, and you realize—he’s drunk.

how cute.

you can’t help but laugh softly, rolling your eyes playfully at his tipsy rambling. “yeah, yeah. let’s get you home, princess.”

despite your protests, he insists on paying your bill and escorts you outside. you pull up your uber app, already halfway through ordering the ride when eren steps off to the side to take a call. as soon as his conversation wraps up, he’s back by your side, and you’re hit with the sudden realization of just how much you’ve had to drink. the cool night air feels like a relief against your flushed skin, and the silence between you two feels strangely comfortable.

you glance over at him, noticing the way the moonlight paints his features—sharp jawline, tousled hair, the way his eyes glint, like they’re holding something back, something you can’t quite place. you watch him for a second too long, and he catches your gaze, his lips curling into a playful smirk.

“don’t look too long, pretty,” he warns, his voice low and teasing. “you might fall in love.”

that smile—God, it could light up the night sky. you swallow hard, your heart giving an unexpected flutter, and before you know it, your hands are already reaching out to him, instinctively placing them on his chest. the air between you both seems to thicken as you lean in, drawn to him in a way you can’t explain.

it feels like an eternity of suspended longing before he finally meets you halfway. the space between your lips is almost unbearable, but when your noses brush just slightly, and then his lips meet yours, it’s like a gentle wave, soft and fleeting. it’s so tender, you almost think you imagined it.

but then, with his hands finding your hips, he pulls you in just a little closer. his kiss deepens, and the heat rises in your chest. still, there’s hesitation—he pulls back, just slightly, his eyes glinting with something unreadable.

“i think your ride is here, mama,” he mutters softly, a trace of regret in his voice.

you turn to look, your heart sinking a little at the sight of the waiting uber. "a-and you're sure you don't wanna come?" you try again, a quiet, uncertain edge in your voice. “it’s the least i could do since you helped me out earlier.”

he lets out a breath, his gaze flickering with internal conflict. for a moment, it looks like he might change his mind, but then he shakes his head slightly, his lips curving into a wry smile. “i don’t think i’d be able to hold myself back.”

the disappointment in your chest sharpens, but you nod, whispering a quiet "okay" as you step back toward the uber. he holds the door open for you, the gesture so simple, but somehow it feels like the end of something unspoken.

"thanks again," you murmur, one last time, before the door clicks shut behind you.

through the tinted glass, you catch eren's lips moving—probably saying something you can't quite catch. his words are muffled, but his gaze holds steady, like a silent goodbye that’s somehow heavier than it should be. the uber pulls away, and you can't help but wonder if that was the last time you'd see him... or if that was only the beginning of something you’re not sure you’re ready for.

[syoish-aot]

"I Found You (too)" - EREN/READER - REINCARNATION AU (chapter 2)

eren/reader

reincarnation & memory loss

rating: T

word count: 2378

<- CH 1 | CH 3 ->

There’s a weight against your chest when you wake up.

A solid weight.

It’s warm. Soft. And it lifts, just slightly, before something tickles your nose.

“Mrr…”

As you blink awake, two wide yellow eyes with pupils in straight slits stare at you.

The cat, with brown striped fur and a single canine sticking out from between its lips, moves forward to nuzzle its face against your cheek.

When you don’t react, it yawns, stretches, and then crawls off your chest before hobbling on three legs to the end of the bed. It sits down, looks back at you, and then hops off the bed with another “mrr” as if to say: “It’s time to get up.”

You blink away the sleep in your eyes as you sit up and glance around the room.

When you’d fallen asleep last night the room had been unfamiliar. 

And now, as you’re waking up, it’s the exact same. 

It’s unfamiliar. 

But there are photographs of you and Mr. Kruger on the walls. A shelf full of books that look very well-read. A pile of laundry. And a warmth that surrounds you, immediately making you feel calm.

This place is home.

Even if Mr. Kruger hadn’t told you that last night, you felt like you’d still know.

Without needing to be told, you’d just know that this place was home.

A small home. No war, pain, or death. A warm bed. A cat and the smell of good food wafting from down the hall.

It won’t last long- this beautiful dream, because the beautiful dreams never last long. So you make up your mind that you’re going to cherish it. Every moment of this dream you’re going to cherish.

The cat sticks its head back into the room:

“Meeeooowwwwwwww…”

The dream is too nice to let it go to waste.

“Good morning, Mr. Kruger!” The sound of your cheery voice pulls Eren out of his sleep. He grumbles as he squeezes his eyes shut, pulling the crisp white hospital sheets over his head.

You laugh in response and he hates it so damn much.

Your dumb laugh.

Your stupid smile.

The way you always greet him with a ‘Good morning, Mr. Kruger’ as you pull open his window and say:

“It’s a beautiful day out!”

Yeah. That. 

Fucking hell it’s awful.

And yet he still lowers the sheets and, with a groan, he sits up. 

His head is pounding, it always is, and he takes in a deep breath as he forces the pain to continue.

…don’t heal, don’t heal, don’t heal…

It’s been his mantra for two weeks.

His missing leg is an annoyance, but his missing eye is a pain. He constantly has a headache as his body begs him to let it grow back. To fix itself. To regenerate and return him to his full potential. But he can’t do it yet. He has to wait for the perfect opportunity and lay low until then.

So, the headache.

And because of the headache, pretty much the only good thing you bring him:

“Here,” you say with that same cheery smile as you hand him a paper cup holding three pills.

Blue, antibiotics.

Chalk white, a multivitamin.

And of course, red, for the pain.

Did he have his suspicions that that wasn’t all those pills were for? Sure.

Was he about to compromise his position by questioning it? No.

He’d play the part of the good little traumatized soldier as he waited for Zeke to contact him. Then things would really get going and he’d kill every last Marleyan in sight. 

“Can you hold your arm out for me?” You ask, jotting something down on your clipboard as your words ooze with fake kindness.

Eren fucking hates it.

He knows what you really think of him. What all Marleyans think of anyone that had the misfortune of being born Eldian.

You think he’s a devil.

And you’re right, he supposes. He is a devil. Which is exactly why, as he holds out his arm so you can measure his blood pressure, he fantasizes about the day he can burn this hospital to the ground with you and every other person that’s been poking and prodding him for the last two weeks trapped within it. 

“There you go again,” you say with a lighthearted laugh, “slipping off into one of your daydreams. Where are you always slipping off to, Mr. Kruger?”

He normally doesn’t reply to you because there’s no point.

He prefers your days off when one of the more quiet nurses has this job.

Despite it, for some reason, he answers you. With a short sigh, he says:

“Somewhere nice.”

You remove the rubber strap from his arm and go back to your clipboard. “I know what you mean,” you tell him with a soft smile. “I like to go somewhere nice too.”

Eren has a feeling these two nice places are very, very different.

“You take a suspiciously long time with Mr. Kruger every morning,” Myra tells you as the two of you walk down the hall on the way to the break room.

“I- I do not!”

“Yeah, okay.” She rolls her eyes as your cheeks flush pink.

“I’m just being thorough. Unlike you I take pride in my work.”

Her loud laugh bounces off of the bleak walls. “Did you know that you always get feisty when you’re being defensive? All you’re doing is proving my point~”

“Well, sometimes he can be- difficult. Everyone knows that.” You say, not wanting to argue with her and further “prove her point”. 

“Yeah,” she scoffs, “not with you though.”

You roll your eyes.

“Maybe he’s got a crush on you or something.”

Immediately you stop walking.

“What?” Myra asks.

“That’s- I-... don’t joke about that. Someone might hear you.”

Myra scoffs. “Who gives a shit.” She dismisses with a casual wave of her hand. “That kinda thing happens all the time.”

She’s right, of course. Plenty of the soldiers at the hospital have indicated that they’ve developed-... something for those caring for them. It was natural, you supposed, given the trauma they’d experienced in battle. A terrible experience like that followed by someone treating your injuries, regardless of how cruel they may be while they do it, would seep into someone’s mind and turn into-...

Whatever it turns into. 

It’s a mess, regardless. A mess that you would never let yourself fall into.

“It doesn’t matter if it happens all the time.” You mutter as you storm past Myra, “I could still get in trouble.”

She rolls her eyes again as she catches up with you. “Only if you do something about it.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Good.” She says simply. “And not just because he’s your patient. You know what happens to people that get tangled up with Eldians.”

The way she says it makes your breath catch. 

The reminder always does and why wouldn’t it?

You do know. You know exactly what happens with people who get “tangled up” with Eldians because you’ve seen it first hand and you’ll never forget it.

No matter how much you wish you could, you'll never forget the way your brother’s body hung limp against the fence outside the internment zone. The way he was left there, for days, to rot against the wall. The way the birds picked at the skin of his face, his fingers, tearing away bits of flesh to the point that his body was turned into something else entirely.

You’ll never forget the words ‘ELDIAN LOVER’ painted in deep crimson against the brick wall behind him.

“You have to make something of yourself.” Your mother had told you that night as she sobbed for her loss. Not the loss of her son, but for the loss of your family’s reputation. “Make something of yourself that we can be proud of,” she cried, “make them forget about him… you owe it to your family…”

Flesh. Rope. Red spray paint.

Your stomach turns at the memory. 

And suddenly, you’re no longer interested in your lunch.

It traps you in a daze for the rest of the day.

It always does.

The reminder of why you worked so hard to get this job, why you slave away working extra hours and rarely ever taking a day off unless it’s absolutely necessary. You had to work hard for your family. For their reputation. So you could undo the sins of your brother and make up for what he’d done.

It exhausts you.

Your life here exhausts you.

You’re supposed to hate your older brother, you know you are because he betrayed you. He betrayed your whole family and put them in danger for his own selfishness. 

It would have been easy for your whole family to be executed for what he’d done, even though none of you had any idea it was happening. You could have been seen as accomplices and punished as such. The only reason you were still alive was because your family had been fortunate enough to pay for your lives. And your lives were a hefty payment.

You’d grown up in a large house in the countryside with pretty dresses and expensive toys. Servants who did whatever you wanted and enough money that you’d never know what it felt like to go to bed hungry.

Your father had been a banker.

Had.

Because after your brother’s affair with an Eldian maid was found out, your family lost it all.

So, you should have been mad at him. You should have been livid. You should have hated him and spent the rest of your life cursing his existence for what it’d brought you.

But you didn’t.

Despite where your life was after all of it. Despite the pressure that was suddenly put on your shoulders. Despite every moment of agony after it. You couldn’t be mad at your brother.

Because…

…your brother had been in love.

“I’m leaving soon.” He told you, the night before he was found out. The night before he was hung on that wall and left to rot.

But neither of you knew that would be his fate. So you just scowled as you clutched your doll tightly to your chest, watching as he darted around the room and packed his things.

“Father said you don’t start university for three more years.” You pointed out.

“I don’t.” He laughed. “But I’m not going to university.”

“You aren’t?”

“No.” He stopped in front of you and knelt down so he could look you in the eye. “Can you keep a secret?”

You nodded.

“Promise?”

You nodded harder.

He chuckled softly before he pulled a ring out of his pocket. “I’m getting married.”

You gasped. “To who?”

He got a far-off look in his eyes as the smile on his face turned to something else. Something softer. As if he was suddenly swept up in a daydream that took him somewhere completely new. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I-...” He sighed as he slid the ring into his pocket. “Look,” the wishful expression he had been wearing slipped away as his gaze hardened. “Sometimes adults are wrong.”

“No, they’re not.”

“Yes.” He said pointedly. “They are.”

You stayed quiet.

“Sometimes they’re wrong and the reason they’re wrong is that they’ve never taken a moment to think about what they’ve been taught. I’m going away soon, but don’t ever forget that, okay? Don’t you ever forget to think for yourself when someone tells you something, no matter who they are or how much confidence they have when they say it.”

You scowled. “What does any of that have to do with you getting married?”

He laughed as the smile returned to his face. “It has everything to do with it.” He patted your head and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he went back to packing. 

As he packed he told you about the life he was leaving to create for himself and his special person.

A small home, just big enough for two. Far away from war and pain and death. Somewhere they could be happy. A warm bed. Homemade food. Maybe even a cat, if they found one that was nice enough to keep.

“You should have more than one!” You told him as he described the kitten he would find in this made-up fantasy, tucked under a rose bush in a rainstorm. 

“I should, shouldn’t I! How many cats should I have?”

“Four!!” You exclaimed with a giggle.

“Four!?!” He said in mock surprise, which had you laughing all over again.

It was a beautiful dream. A fantasy. 

But that’s all it would ever be because nice places like that, no matter how desperately you wished they could, didn’t exist.

Still. It’s where you always found yourself, when you stared for a little too long out the window, when you walked home after a hard day, or when you struggled to fall asleep at night.

That small house in a faraway world without war. Without pain. Without even death.

It was warm. 

And it was where you found yourself. 

You push open the door to Mr. Kruger’s room with his evening medicine. You’re smiling as you carry it to him. Smiling at the world you’ve created in your head. A special escape, just for you.

“You’re late.” Mr. Kruger tells you as he closes his book.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Sorry, I had to go somewhere.”

“Hm.” He hums. “Where?” You don’t know if he actually cares. Maybe he’s just in one of his rare moods where he wants to make brief conversation.

You pass him a paper cup full of pills and the tips of your fingers brush against his. Just the tips. 

It sends a rush of warmth up your arm.

You watch as the paper cup meets his lips and he tilts his head back.

A small home. No war, pain, or death. A warm bed. Good food. Cats.

You slip away just long enough for him to finish swallowing his pills and when he lowers the cup, you finally answer him:

“...I went somewhere nice…”

It’s a shame, really. 

A shame that you’ll only ever be able to visit such a nice place in your dreams…

like this post to be added to the tag list for new parts

[syoish-aot]

"I Found You (too)" - EREN/READER - REINCARNATION AU (chapter 5)

eren/reader

reincarnation & memory loss

rating: M (16+)

cw: canon-typical xenophobia

word count: 1420

<- CH 4 | CH 6 ->

Mr. Kruger isn’t in his room.

Which isn’t a bad thing, his schedule marks that it’s his free time so he’s allowed to be in one of the open areas of the hospital. Normally he stays locked up in his room despite it, so you’re happy to see that he’s out getting some fresh air for once.

However… you’d smuggled him a peach tart from the morning market and you want to make sure he gets a chance to try it before you’re found out.

There aren’t many places that he might be, so it doesn’t take you long to spot him in the courtyard. You watch him for a moment, from a stairwell on the first floor where a large window faces down to the lower level.

A tree covers half of the bench he’s sitting on, concealing the person that he’s talking to.

But he is talking, and it makes you smile.

Mr. Kruger kept to himself most of the time, so you were glad to see him socializing. 

By the time you’re down the stairs and crossing the courtyard towards him his new friend is gone. Maybe they went back to their room or grew bored of the conversation. As much as Mr. Kruger is your favourite patient, he is a pretty terrible conversationalist. 

He stares at the ground in front of him as you approach. 

“There’s a surprise in your room.” You tell him with a smile.

“What kind of surprise?”

“If I told you it would ruin the surprise part of it.”

He sighs. “You’re going to make me walk all the way up there, on one leg, without giving me a reason for why I should be doing it?”

His dry sense of humor (at least you think it’s humor, honestly maybe he’s being serious, sometimes you can’t tell) makes you laugh as you take a seat next to him.

“Your free time’s almost over anyway.” You point out.

“Hm…” Mr. Kruger hums in agreement before he reaches for his crutch and uses it to support himself as he stands. 

Your eyes fall to the bench. “Is this yours?” You ask as you grab a baseball and hold it up to him.

“It was a gift.” Mr. Kruger answers as he starts to walk away.

You stand up and follow after him, flipping the old battered baseball between your hands. “Whoever got it for you must not know you very well.” You say.

He stops walking and looks over at you with one eyebrow (the one that’s visible through the bandages wrapped around his head) raised, wordlessly asking you to elaborate. 

“It’s just-...” You look down at the ball again. “You’re not exactly in the right condition to play catch.”

You meet his eyes.

Then you gesture to his missing leg.

For the first time ever, Mr. Kruger smiles. He lets out a short huff of amusement and then he keeps walking.

You don’t follow after him though.

You can’t.

Instead, you stare at the back of his head- completely transfixed by the way his smile lit up his face and made deep green eyes all the more breathtaking.

Your knees feel weak. Your arms feel like noodles. And for a moment, you wonder if Mr. Kruger would let you borrow his crutch.

He thanks you for the tart and eats it right away.

He doesn’t smile again, but his eyes light up as he does.

That night, when you’re trying to fall asleep you take yourself somewhere nice. 

A warm house, just big enough for two.

Nice food.

And a comfortable bed.

You think of his eyes.

You think of his smile.

Rope…

…red spray paint…

…Eldian Lover.

After two months, you and Mr. Kruger have a routine.

Every morning you wake him up.

Give him his medication (slipping the green sedative into your pocket to dispose of later), check his vitals, and make your notes about his progress.

Then you help him change so he can go down to breakfast.

He gets free time for a few hours after that.

You make sure he eats lunch.

After that, he goes to physical therapy with Dr. Rall.

He’s normally in a bad mood after physical therapy so he returns to his room and reads whatever he’d been given from the library. You’ve commented on his books a few times because they’re normally ones you’ve read- but he never wants to talk about them. Sometimes it makes you wonder if he’s been reading them at all. Sometimes you think he might just be staring at the words with his mind somewhere else, only returning to his body when an appropriate amount of time has passed and he should flip to the next page.

Regardless, he’s there for another hour.

After that he has dinner. A shower (on his days to do so). And then it’s back to his room for his last dose of medications before you lock him in his room as he goes to sleep.

You chat sometimes throughout the day as you make his bed or check his blood pressure. And every day you notice he gets more and more talkative. 

He’s healing. That’s why he talks more now. He’s healing. 

That fact alone would make any nurse proud.

But at the same time, selfishly, it does something else…

“Do you think you’ll be discharged soon?” You ask as you pack up your small bag of equipment, now that you’re done changing his bandages. 

His eye isn’t healing as quickly as it should be. You’re worried about it, but it’s not your place to say anything, so you put it in your notes instead and leave it up to the doctors to discuss.

“Dunno.” He answers casually.

“What will you do once you are? Do you have family in the internment zone?”

His silence says everything. 

“I don’t either.” You tell him and he slowly looks over at you. “Have family, I mean. My parents died a few years ago and my older brother he-” You freeze, bandages half packed into your bag as it flashes through your mind.

Rope.

Flesh.

Crimson words on faded brick.

No.

A house.

A warm bed.

Homemade food.

Better.

“Anyway.” You shove the rest of the bandages into your bag and zip it closed. “I guess that’s why I’m so much of a workaholic!” You laugh.

“Hm.” Is Mr. Kruger’s only reply.

“Maybe that’s what you could do once you get out of here!”

“What? Be a workaholic?” His tone is dry and void of emotion, but you now know that’s how he tells jokes.

“Oh ha-ha.” You answer back in a tone just as dry. “Not a workaholic,” you’re back to smiling as you take a seat on the bed next to him, “but a job.”

“Yeah,” he says as he glances out the window, “maybe…”

You watch him as he stares out of it. Not to the courtyard below, or the trees that line it, or even to the street that runs beside the hospital.

He stares at the horizon.

And you can’t blame him for it, really. He knows what’s below him, but the horizon-... well…

Over the horizon, there could be just about anything.

“Where do you go, Mr. Kruger?” You ask him softly.

“Hm?” He doesn’t look back.

“When you stare out that window and slip away, where is it that you go?”

His gaze moves from the window and back to you.

Your breath catches and you want to look away. You should look away. You should look away and stand up, grab your bag and lock the door behind you as you leave.

Instead…

You don’t look away.

Instead, you sit in a bed you shouldn’t be sitting in. Looking at a man you shouldn’t be looking at as your heart speeds up in a way it shouldn’t speed up.

There are a lot of “shouldn’t”s when it comes to Mr. Kruger.

The biggest one being the way you feel when his eyes meet yours.

But you can’t help it that your stomach flips. You can’t help it that your face feels warm. That your heart hammers against your chest. That you know why your body does this- why it’s always done this, despite the fact that it shouldn’t.

He’s still looking at you, a reply hanging off his barely parted lips.

Where do you go, Mr. Kruger?

You hope he’ll answer you. You hope he’ll tell you.

But instead, he says something else:

“...where do you?”

TAG LIST - [like this post to be added]

@azulaenthusiast @ilovemollyweasley @kooromin

@janneeeexdxc @dumdxm @ebubeu

@merrygo14 @gojojang @maluvilela

@shmaptainbonky @fvckingeetar @hyunsbaby

@vlsquuu @f4irygard3n @yhrgh

@xngelsau @venus1224idkpleaze @dahliawarner

@huni7857 @dracucil @misshale21

@magictrump